Romance

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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/).

"Heat Prostration" published on 2003-12-13 17:44:28.

"Relaxed" published on 2004-01-14 21:19:58.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Rare" published on 2004-02-16 21:28:23.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yaru, Part Three" published on 2004-09-26 12:40:59.

"Yaru, Part Four" published on 2004-09-26 13:04:07.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Confession" published on 2005-02-13 15:43:17.

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

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

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

"Resolve" published on 2005-08-15 20:02:33.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Once More...Dear Friends - Six" published on 2005-12-19 13:51:57.

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

"Counterpoint - Previous Experience" published on 2005-12-20 14:00:56.

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

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

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

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

"If I Should Wake Before I Die #3" published on 2006-02-02 21:45:34.

"If I Should Wake Before I Die #4" published on 2006-02-02 21:51:02.

"Hearts and Flowers" published on 2006-02-04 20:51:41.

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

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

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

"Abiding" published on 2006-10-04 21:27:13.

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

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

"Personal Weapons" published on 2007-03-26 14:22:30.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Heart Shaped Petals" published on 2007-05-16 13:56:19.

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

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

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

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

"Cotton Sheets" published on 2007-06-02 14:09:31.

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

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

"Waiting For Dragonflies" published on 2007-09-13 20:29:38.

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

"Sky in Shade" published on 2008-02-12 16:36:01.

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

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

"Easy" published on 2008-03-28 16:07:50.

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

"The Wave that Turns the Tide" published on 2008-06-19 14:22:52.

"Else the Bottles Break and the Wine is Spilled" published on 2008-06-19 14:23:47.

"Coals and Ink" published on 2008-06-19 14:55:23.

"Without Fear" published on 2008-10-05 21:37:39.

"Kiss for a Lifetime" published on 2008-10-05 21:58:46.

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

"Rain on the Mountain" published on 2008-11-13 17:47:47.

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

"Choice and Necessity" published on 2009-01-05 14:39:39.

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

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

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

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

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

"Comfort Food" published on 2009-03-16 16:00:20.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Naked Truth" published on 2010-02-08 14:49:44.

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

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

"Iron Under Water" published on 2011-10-26 16:59:46.

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

"Twelve Views of Summer" published on 2012-08-05 17:01:22.

"Kantoku Means I Love You" published on 2012-08-15 15:33:35.

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

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

"White Camellias Turning Red" published on 2012-10-03 14:40:50.

"The Tang of Hibiscus" published on 2012-10-10 14:17:21.

"Trust in the Palm of Your Hand" published on 2012-10-31 17:36:56.

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

"Wrapped in Honeysuckle" published on 2012-11-14 17:02:18.

"Evening of Primroses" published on 2014-06-07 11:05:21.

"Ring Led" published on 2014-04-15 17:11:23.

"Sun-warmed" published on 2014-04-25 12:13:47.

"Fitting to the Crime" published on 2014-05-08 10:12:36.

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

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

"Cool, Clear Water" published on 2015-07-06 12:38:35.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

Heat Prostration

An alternative encounter between Tatsuya and Novem. Kind Of Sort Of Romance, I-3

"You don't have to die like this."

The soft voice out of the shadows sent Tatsuya staggering to his feet and back against the wall. Novem stepped slowly toward him, light gliding over dark clothes and pale hair. He stopped a short breath away.

"You don't have to die like this," he murmured again.

Tatsuya coughed against the pain in his throat and managed a glare.

"If you don't think so why don't you stop it, then? It's your friend choking me."

Cool, gray eyes narrowed.

"To destroy any who impede us, this is Sensei's wish. The others are right. I will not ignore his wishes."

"Then why don't you try to kill me too?"

Novem stirred, and raised one hand just shy of Tatsuya's face. Novem's eyes were softer now. Staring up at him, pressed against the wall, Tatsuya saw a different blond man. Darker, not so inhumanly tall, dressed in casual jeans and coat rather than a sleek and weirdly patterned black tunic.

Fujisaki...

...who had seen his fear that first time and always waited for Tatsuya's consent now. Whose cool, gray eyes softened in that moment when he looked down at Tatsuya before extending his power.

...the same eyes...

In the moment Tatsuya breathed out, shoulders falling, hands opening, Novem closed both palms delicately around Tatsuya's face.

...shock...the shock of contact...like Fujisaki's power, but more...not cool and supple, but warm, flooding, closing around him...

And strange.

"See. Feel," Novem whispered.

...like the taste of salt in a dessert...a current of sand in the ocean...a tiny electric shock in a cloud of warmth, always moving, unpredictable...Tatsuya twisted trying to find it, brush it away...the warmth was growing...enfolding...water over his head...

He opened his eyes...

...when had he closed them?...

...and found that he was clinging to Novem's shoulders, sagging against him. He raised his face like a diver seeking air. Novem's eyes took up the world. His husky voice echoed in Tatsuya's mind, quiet, musing.

Not-human, but human too.

Novem's arms wound around Tatsuya's waist as he leaned down and touched his lips to Tatsuya's.

...water closing...heat...another wave of power swelled through him...the salt was sweet, the sand was soft, the shock...his breath was gone, his body...Novelle...

Tatsuya clung harder to Novem, trying to find one still point, any still point. Novem caught him closer, lifting Tatsuya up off his feet.

...another body, hard, cool in the heat...the shocks everywhere...twisting to find them...parting for them...heat...open...the shocks touching...everywhere...his breath, fast, almost gone again...

Novem's voice found him, sound tangible in the strangeness.

Not-human and human; living, like us all.

...husky, cool, velvet hand moving down his body...between his...his body again...the rough texture of his own cry...

Tatsuya returned to find himself still lifted up, Novem's lips against his throat. Tatsuya stared blankly over Novem's shoulder as his panting breath slowed, and the heat seeped into his bones.

"Novem..."

Novem let him down and stood, gravely, waiting. Tatsuya leaned against him, the one still point he could touch, that touched him.

Why had he thought Novem's eyes were cool?

A faint smile quirked Novem's mouth, such as he often wore when he saw Tatsuya.

"Don't die like this. Live like this, instead."

He kissed Tatsuya again, hard and deep this time, and Tatsuya met him, opening his mouth under Novem's.

heat

Tatsuya made a small sound and tucked his head under the sleek ivory curve of Novem's jaw.

...Novem...?

No, that was not his name. Not...here. Tatsuya felt a pattern in his mind, hefted it.

...midnight violet...dull curves...a few sharp, broken edges...light, lemon ice...

This was his own name. And that was the other's.

...electric blue...upswept...long...keen and bright...hot, dry bitter...

The one written on Novem's tunic.

The other's wings enfolded him, the scrape and rustle comforting. He trailed his talons lightly down one of the arms around him, and hear the other's chuckle.

Come.

End

Relaxed

In the National Library. Porn With Insights, I-4.

Ed didn't particularly like the yearly requalifications. In point of fact, he considered them a monumental waste of his time. They did, however, mean time to visit the National Library every year. Spending a few days in the papery, sunlit quiet always relaxed him.

Well, mentally, anyway.

Ed leaned away from his stack of books, stretching his spine over the back of his chair in an attempt to pull out some of the knots.

"You're going to injure yourself one of these days, hunched over like that."

Ed looked around a little too quickly and winced as his neck seized up. "What are you doing in here, anyway?" he grumbled, rubbing at the cramp.

"Escaping from ceremonies. You'll just make it worse like that." Roy Mustang brushed Ed's hand aside, pressed hard on the juncture of his neck and shoulder, and twisted his hand sharply. Ed yelped.

"And that's making it better?!"

"It is, isn't it?"

Ed rotated his head gingerly.

"Of course..."

Ed blinked. Mustang had somehow insinuated himself between Ed and the desk, leaning easily on the latter. He reached down and swiftly pulled Ed up against him, straddling Mustang's legs.

"...a gentle touch has equally useful applications."

Ed was shocked. Roy never got like this in public. And now here they were in the National Library.

"Taisa! What are you doing?" he hissed.

"Everyone else is stuck at the ceremonies, if that's what you're worried about Edward-kun." Roy's hands started rubbing Ed's back.

"That isn't... the point... ohhh..." Ed's protest trailed off. Roy's hands were very strong, and found every knotted muscle, kneading them loose.

"...that feels good," Ed sighed, only half aware that he spoke aloud.

For a while the only sounds in the library were Ed's sighs.

Eventually, though, those sighs took on a different note, and his movement against Roy became less innocent. The more Roy's hands relaxed him the more aware he became that he was draped against Roy, legs spread over Roy's thighs, and that Roy was clearly interested in more than simple massage. Indeed, Roy's hands were sliding down over Ed's rear to pull Ed more firmly against him. Ed's sigh broke.

"So, Edward?" Roy breathed against his ear.

"We're in the library," Ed pointed out, shivering.

"Indeed. A pleasantly deserted library," Roy's purred against Ed's neck and Ed pressed into him, gasping. "And if someone does come in? If someone does see you, naked, spread out under me?"

Ed was torn between two opposing reactions, flinching from Roy's words, and melting under Roy's tone.

"Roy..."

Roy laughed softly. "Well, then, perhaps I'll have to burn them to a cinder for the temerity of hearing your voice like this." His hands returned to Ed's back, stroking, kneading, and Ed wrapped his arms around Roy's shoulders and buried his head in them.

Roy's voice gentled. "No one will come here, Edward. This once, let go. Relax. Let me touch you; let me open you. This once, let me have you without the teasing and the sparks."

If the heat of Roy's body between his legs hadn't been enough, the heat of Roy's voice would have set Ed on fire.

"All right," he whispered, shaking just a little at what Roy was asking from him.

Still. For all his teasing, Roy had never hurt him in any way while they were together like this. And it was exhausting to keep up with the teasing; if Roy wanted to leave it aside this once, Ed supposed he was willing to trust him.

Roy stood, lifting Ed with him, and set Ed down on one of the narrow, blue benches scattered among the carrels. Ed lay and watched as Roy stripped off his clothes, knowing his eyes were wide with his uncertainty. He let Roy undress him, sighing at the brush of his hands. Roy straddled the bench and guided Ed's thighs over his.

Ed was breathing fast, trembling, as Roy kissed him slowly, deep but gentle. Ed leaned up into him.

"Roy... touch me..." Ed was set off balance by the absence of their usual edged words; he wanted the reassurance of Roy's body against him very badly.

"...please..."

A harsh intake of breath answered him, and Roy caught Ed up into his arms, kissing him hard, now. Again, Ed leaned into it, making a soft sound when Roy's tongue stroked his. When Roy let Ed down again he stayed close, and Ed relaxed a little with relief.

"Is this so hard, my hawk?" Roy's thumb stroked over Ed's cheekbone.

Ed shook his head, but found himself completely unable to explain why he was shaking, almost clinging to Roy.

Roy looked down at him, eyes thoughtful. Then he threaded one hand into Ed's hair and tilted his head back against the bench. His teeth closed over Ed's throat.

"Aah!" Ed's spine arched sharply, but he felt the tension in him release, felt the muscles of his stomach and legs relax abruptly. Roy's other hand slid under his back, sustaining the arch. The trembling lessened.

"...naked, spread out under me..." Roy's voice echoed in Ed's ears, and this time the words themselves rippled pleasure through him.

"Roy," he gasped, breathless, "now... please... now."

"Yes," Roy murmured against his throat.

Roy coaxed him to turn over, legs on either side of the bench, and drew him back to the very edge. The sunlight falling across them touched Ed like another hand, gliding over his skin, reminding him of where he was. This was hardly the first time Roy had taken him to bed in daylight, but this...

The idea of it had changed, though. Ed would unquestionably be mortified if someone came in, but to have Roy seek him out here, desire him even here, stroked heat along Ed's nerves.

Roy's fingers touched him, feathered over his bare skin, slid between his legs, and Ed's thoughts were brushed away. Ed moaned as Roy's hand closed over him, rubbing softly; he shifted his hips, spreading his legs wider over the bench.

When Roy pressed forward, Ed was more than ready for him, already open to him, and Roy's thrust sank deep into him.

Ed's moan was lower, husky, as Roy's slow, hard movement pressed him into the bench, into Roy's hand. Roy was fire inside him, spiraling out through him so fast that when it flared Ed could feel Roy still hard in his tightening body, and somehow that drew the fire out until Ed could only lie limp and panting on the bench.

Irrelevant thoughts floated through is mind. The warmth of the sunlight on his back. How irritated the cleaners would likely be over the bench's upholstery. How wonderfully smooth everything had felt...

Suddenly he blinked. Levered himself up on a shaky arm and looked around at Roy, who was leaning against his side. Sure enough, there was a very recognizable small bottle set carefully just under the bench.

Ed started laughing, and his arm refused to hold him up any longer. Roy brushed a hand over Ed's hair.

"What?"

"Do you carry one of those with you everywhere?" Ed gasped out.

"Ever since the contract transfer," Roy confirmed, serene.

Ed heaved a deep breath, getting his laughing back under control, rested his head on his crossed arms.

"So, what ceremony was it you dodged out of?" he asked at last, conversationally.

Roy dropped a kiss on his shoulder.

"Get dressed and I'll tell you."

End

Ed: *eyes story* Was that necessary?

Branch: Well, I kind of needed something to balance out the release of physical resistance in "Rough". It just turned out like this. And I bent one of my own signal rules of smut for the sake of your psychological development, which I hope you appreciate.

Roy: What, embarrassed? Whyever should you be, Edward-kun? *leans against wall* Just because you begged me to take you over a bench in the National Library?

Ed and Branch: *gape at Roy*

Branch: Well! We'll just be off, then, to let Roy recover from his testosterone poisoning... or whatever's gotten into him...

Gift

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

Part One

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

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

"And?" Mustang inquired.

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

Mustang nodded.

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

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

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

Ed stopped dead in the middle of the hall.

What had the man said?

"...food for gyrfalcons..."

And where he had read the word...

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

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

Mustang turned, brows raised.

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

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

"Not here."

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

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

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

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

Mustang sighed and straightened.

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

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

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

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

"It cannot continue. It must not continue."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Standing at the window, straight and calm, waiting.

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

"I will fly for you. Taisa."

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

"Thank you, Edward."

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

Part Two

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Edward?" Roy was entirely bemused.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Roy sank down into the heat with a moan.

Before too long, though, Edward drew back and stretched himself beside Roy, pressing more of those strange kisses to his neck. At some point in the proceedings he'd managed to get off the rest of his own clothes. Roy was impressed.

"Taisa."

"Mmm?"

"Roy."

The intensity of Ed's voice pulled Roy's eyes open. Edward's fingers brushed his lips.

"...what do you want?"

Roy knew, looking in Edward's eyes, that whatever he wanted Edward would do tonight. That this was the point of the apparent seduction. That was the strangeness in his kisses. A gift Ed had chosen to give him.

Anything he wanted. What did he want?

Well... the way Edward had been going had a certain appeal. It had been a long time, certainly, but it was something he'd enjoyed in the right mood.

Roy laughed, and pulled Edward into his arms. "I want to feel the touch of another human being. Everywhere."

It took Edward a moment to unravel that, and then he stiffened, staring down at Roy. "You really...?"

Roy smiled lazily up at him. "Yes."

He half expected to see that spark of challenge that sometimes lit Edward's eye around him, but the serious intentness never flickered. Roy's own expression softened. "Edward," he whispered, drawing a thumb over Edward's lower lip. His voice deepened.

"Kiss me."

Ed shivered and came to him.

After a few breathless minutes, he glanced over at the nightstand and then back at Roy. "Where?"

"Second drawer."

"What," Edward muttered, rummaging, "not the first?"

Roy chuckled. "I never expected to have you in this bed, Impatience."

Ed, leaning back over him, offered a sly smile. "Are you now?" he breathed against Roy's mouth.

"Ask me again after," Roy replied, just as soft.

Edward knelt between Roy's legs and reached under him.

"Mmmmm."

Roy lay back as warmth rippled out from Edward's slow fingers. It took a little while for him to relax, but Edward, possibly from his own nervousness, didn't rush. His touch was remarkably gentle, and Roy spread his legs wider to encourage him.

And then he felt something cool, hard. It took a shocked second to identify it.

The fingers of Edward's right hand.

Roy arched up off the bed as they pressed into him, an icy tingle shooting down his nerves. "Ha...! ... Ed..." The heat of Ed's mouth closed over his cock again, and the contrast drowned his senses. "Ed..."

Finally Edward drew back for a moment, laying a hand on Roy's chest. "Taisa?"

Roy's voice came from deep in his chest. "Oh yes."

Ed's eyes burned, and Roy suspected they only reflected his own.

Edward shifted and his cock pressed against Roy, and Roy's hands closed hard on the sheets. Slowly, slowly warmth and hardness pushed in, and he could hear Edward's breath hissing through clenched teeth, and then the strange moment of release and capture, and Edward gasped.

Sliding heat. Roy stretched back with a long breath, disconnected shivers dancing over him. He opened his eyes and smiled, because Edward's expression was that of someone who had just completed a complex calculation to his satisfaction.

The calculation was apparently one of angles and forces, because Edward shifted inside him and fire plunged up Roy's spine. Ed's hand wrapped around him, and Roy shuddered.

Ed's touches were slick and hard, and Roy let himself stretch open into them, let them fire his body, let them drive him beyond himself and release him into surging brilliance.

As he caught his breath again afterward Roy pulled Edward down to him before he collapsed. They lay, legs tangled, pressed against each other.

"Was there any particular reason for this?" Roy asked at last.

Ed shrugged one shoulder, glancing up from Roy's chest. It seemed that however their lovemaking went that was Edward's favored pillow after. "I said that I would fly for you," he answered slowly, "but it wasn't... enough. For what you're doing. For what you've given. It wasn't enough." He tucked his chin down. "You said I might understand later. Maybe it's later."

Roy remembered his words to Edward one especially bad-tempered day in his office. "My hawk..." When Edward looked up Roy kissed him as if he meant to inhale Edward's breath and soul.

"Thank you, Edward, for a magnificent gift," he whispered.

If Edward saw the gleam of wetness in Roy's eyes before he turned his face into Edward's hair he gave no indication of it then or later.

End

Branch: *fans self* Wow! Maybe we should try that another time, hey guys?

Roy: *insufferably smug*

Ed: *panting* You've got to be joking! He's twice as demanding like this!

Branch: *wheedling* Ah, come on, Ed, wasn't it fun?

Ed: *grumpy* Well, yes, I suppose. Maybe.

Roy: So, Edward-kun, what do you think? Did I have you?

Ed: *pointedly not answering*

Ever - Chapter Nine

Roy starts to notice Ed growing up. Drama with Romance, I-3

Edward Elric had invaded Roy's house.

More precisely, Roy's library.

Roy supposed he should have expected it. Edward's argument that, since Roy was the one who wanted the current research project, he had a responsibility to contribute his own materials to its success was a cogent one.

Edward really was getting quite good at that.

And, since he had no intention of allowing Ed free run of his library without him present, he found himself spending several long evenings in his favorite armchair watching while Edward buried the small couch under piles of books.

It was actually fascinating to watch. It had been years since Roy had been able to concentrate on research for any extended period; he had almost forgotten what it felt like to devote that intense focus to books instead of people. The completeness with which Edward immersed himself in study reminded Roy forcibly of his first few years as an officer, when his books had been a familiar shelter that could soothe away the stress and frustration of dealing with intractable humans. Ed was intensely businesslike about this project, and yet far more relaxed than Roy usually saw him.

The first thing he did upon arriving was kick off his boots into a corner, and it wasn't long before any overshirt or sweater he might start out with followed, tossed over the back of the couch. Edward also had a habit of whole-body fidgeting as he read, sprawling on his stomach, throwing his feet over the couch back, changing position every ten minutes at least.

When Roy had pointed this out to him, Ed claimed that it was because Roy didn't have a proper desk or table in his library, and that Edward only did this when stuck with inferior furniture to organize his books and findings on.

Roy replied that it was the sign of an insufficiently organized mind to require such a crutch.

Edward threw a pen at him and buried himself in Forman again. Five minutes later he patted the cushions looking for his pen and merely thanked Roy, distractedly, when Roy handed it back.

It was, in other ways, extremely painful to watch, a reminder of what Roy had given up when he chose to keep his commission rather than work as a civilian Alchemist. He had put it out of his mind, fairly successfully, how much he missed the pure research. Now he tasted that again, knowing it could only be a fleeting return, and the cutting edge of that thought stopped his breath if he didn't push it back down fast enough.

He resolved, once again, to dissuade Edward from following Roy's own path too closely, should Edward ever lose his mind sufficiently to consider it. Roy didn't think he would, but then he hadn't expected the exchange that Edward had asked in return for continuing to serve Roy's ends either.

If it hadn't been for those ends, for the faint hope that he could succeed in them, these three days might have convinced Roy to resign his commission and return to work he truly loved.

He rather thought Edward would throw a fit of epic proportions if he ever realized the extent to which the same three days engaged Roy's protective instincts on his behalf. Roy had never met anyone quite so fiercely independent.

Watching Ed work also clarified for Roy just why Edward had been able to rein in his temper so fast once he had a reason to do so. While he worked, Edward's fire and flamboyance were channeled, honed to an edge that would shame a razor. When they had occasion to debate interpretations, which happened frequently, Edward did so with a ferocity and speed and focused force that delighted Roy, sometimes even provoked him to open laughter.

Edward's life had given him an emotional maturity beyond his years in some ways, while stunting him in others, Roy was very sure. It was only these last two years, with his brother restored and their friend, the Rockbell girl, to help, that Ed was gaining any experience of the stability that might let him survive a normal life. Should he ever stumble across one.

His mind, though, had always leaped beyond. Roy had counted on Edward's power, ever since he had first found the boy, but he had always regarded it as something a little apart from the person Edward was. He had considered Ed's mind sharp but unformed; his intuition accurate and valuable, but not entirely reliable. Now, watching the driving brilliance of Edward's understanding, Roy found admiration stirring in him.

Maas was right, Roy reflected. Edward wasn't that boy anymore.

TBC

Ever - Chapter Twelve

Ed talks to Hughes about his changing relationship with Roy. Drama with Romance, I-3

When Hughes arrived at their house, mid-morning, with a gleam in his eye, Ed was positive he'd been targeted for something.

"Ed-kun," Hughes caroled, "how would you like to go on a little outing today?"

Sure enough.

"That depends on where," Ed answered warily.

"To get glasses."

Silence.

"I beg your pardon?" Ed said finally.

"Don't be difficult, Ed-kun, several people have noticed you squinting over your books lately, so I have been dispatched to see that the problem is fixed."

Ed opened his mouth to deny that there was a problem, but Al cut him off.

"He's right, Nii-san, and you've been getting more headaches lately." Al gifted Hughes with a pleased and grateful look. "It's very kind of you to do this, Hughes-taisa."

Ed shut his mouth. There were times when he could argue with Al, but this didn't look like one of them. With an obligatory grumble about who was the older brother, here, anyway, Ed went to fetch his coat.

"So whose idea was this?" he asked as he and Hughes strolled along. "Gracia-san's?"

Hughes chuckled. "Good guess, but no. It was Roy's. I suppose he sees more of you reading than she does."

"Ah."

Hughes waited a beat, but Ed said nothing more. Predictably, Hughes decided to needle him a bit, fishing for a reaction. Ed braced himself.

"You have been spending a lot of time with Mustang. Hm. I suppose he is the only man you know that you might someday manage to grow taller than," Hughes commented, not looking at Ed.

He did look around, rather quickly, when Ed laughed. "I almost have already," he pointed out.

Hughes examined him for a moment and gave him a slow smile. "I believe you will, at that, Ed-kun," he said, and Ed knew he was not just speaking of physical height.

And then Hughes tugged on Ed's pony-tail, earning himself a growl.

After what Ed was positive was an unnecessarily long and tedious visit, they escaped the oculist with Ed's glasses. By that time Ed had decided that Hughes might be the best person to talk to about something that had been bothering him for a while. With that in mind he steered them toward a hot pie stand and suggested eating their purchases out in the sun in the usefully deserted little park nearby.

He was sure he wasn't fooling Hughes for one second.

He couldn't, for the life of him, think of a way to broach the subject, though, so they ate their pies in silence. At last Hughes stretched out on the sun-warm grass with his hands behind his head.

"So, Ed-kun, what's on your mind?"

"Well..." Ed fidgeted with the hem of his coat. "It's kind of... Roy."

Hughes examined a passing cloud intently. "Roy, hm?"

"I think," Ed broke off, pulled up a few blades of grass, "I like him."

"Happens to the best of us," Hughes allowed, smiling. "He may be the most likable bastard I've ever known."

"That's not... it's... I mean..." Ed made a stern effort to cut off his own floundering. "I mean like... the other way." He let his head thump down on his knees with a sigh. Oh, yes, that was coherent. He looked sidelong at Hughes as the man sat up.

"You're... drawn to him?" Hughes translated.

Ed nodded silently.

"Hm. Well, yes," Hughes said judiciously, "I can see where finding yourself drawn to a ruthless political player with a reputation as an unspeakable flirt, who happens to be your commander, and never ever lets anyone know what he's thinking if he can possibly help it would be a bit... troubling."

"Thanks so much," Ed said sourly, hunching down a little further.

The strangest thing was that that breezy description of Roy Mustang didn't ring true to him any longer. Well, except the ruthless part. And he did flirt a lot, but he obviously wasn't serious about it; half the time, Ed swore, he just did it to get a rise out of Hawkeye. And... Ed did usually know what he was thinking these days. Ed sighed.

"You worry too much, Ed."

"Excuse me?" Ed straightened up to stare at Hughes.

Hughes made calm-down gestures. "Let's think about this. It could just be a crush, which really does happen to the best of us. If that's the case, it'll pass off in time with no one the worse for it."

Ed considered this, trying to decide whether the idea made him feel better or not.

"And, then, you have seemed to deal with him much better as a teacher than as a..." Hughes fished for a good word.

"Puppet-master?" Ed supplied, baring his teeth. "That's certainly true."

"So. And, really," Hughes flopped back down with a sigh, "the fact of the matter is that Roy is a very charismatic man. He does draw people to him. His staff is a good example." Hughes chuckled. "Did you ever hear what happened the last time Personnel tried to transfer Hawkeye away from him?"

"I thought they'd stopped trying that."

"Oh, they did, after this! I don't think she even noticed that they'd thrown in a promotion to sweeten the deal. As soon as she got the papers she marched down to Personnel and held a gun to the head of the officer who signed the transfer until he wrote up a cancellation."

They both laughed.

"That sounds like Hawkeye-shousa, all right," Ed chortled.

Hughes stood, and offered a hand to pull Ed up. "I wouldn't worry, Ed-kun. If it lasts... well, time to do something about it then."

Ed nodded, accepting the advice.

"Good! So when are you and Al, and Winry too, going to come out to the bar with me again?"

"Are you that eager to lose to Al at darts again, Hughes-taisa?" Ed asked archly.

"That was a draw!"

Ed lay, that night, staring at his ceiling and considering.

A crush. A bit embarrassing, but passing. He could deal with that.

And if it was something else?

Ed ignored the tightness in his chest at that thought, and rolled over.

TBC

Ed in glasses is also thanks to Sakki's art.

Ever - Chapter Thirteen

Roy tries to deal with his changing relationship with Ed. Drama with Romance, I-3

"Shousho?"

Roy looked up to see Ed leaning in the doorway of his office. "Still here, Edward-kun?" he asked, surprised.

"Hawkeye-shousa mentioned you were still in here, and didn't seem to be coming out any time soon. I said I'd check." Edward sauntered in, kicking the door shut behind him.

Roy reflected on the immutable nature of certain things, one of them apparently being his door's collection of scuff-marks, courtesy of Edward Elric.

"So, what's all this?" Edward wanted to know, flinging himself onto the couch and nodding at the volumes on Roy's desk.

Roy sighed, leaning back. "I'm starting to think Marsh wasn't acting of his own initiative when he interfered with some of the State Alchemists' work. Since I managed to transfer him he's been spending more time than I like with Forsythe, who would dearly love to take over Research himself. I'm looking through the reports of the Alchemists in question to see if I can find what might have interested him."

Ed made a face. "Well, hand one over then." He held out a hand.

Roy raised a brow. He'd hardly expected a volunteer. "There's no need for that, Edward-kun, I'm more than half-way through already. Though I appreciate the offer."

Edward snorted. "If you're only half-way through, you'll probably be here another five or six hours with the rest of it. And then you won't get enough sleep, and Hughes-san will worry about you."

Roy glared. Ed smirked.

"Even Hughes doesn't have quite the concern for me, or hold on me, that Alphonse has on you, Edward-kun. Speaking of which, surely Alphonse will be still more worried if you don't come home on time."

Edward's smile turned even more smug. "I called already. They know I'll be home late." He wiggled the fingers of his outstretched hand, imperatively.

Roy was torn between annoyance at conceding and a strong desire to finish quickly. Expedience won. "On your own head be it," he proclaimed, and tossed over one of the reports.

Ed pulled out his reading glasses and promptly stretched out full length on the couch, until all that Roy could see of him were his boots, propped on the far arm, and a tail of gold hair trailing off the seat and almost to the floor. Roy shook his head.

No lover of his will ever be able to keep their fingers out of that hair.

He stomped hard on the thought, as he'd quashed the several similar thoughts he'd surprised himself with recently. His awareness of Edward's physical presence was really getting just a bit disconcerting. He blamed it on the growing extent to which he was able to relax his perpetual wariness when he was with Edward. After all, Ed already knew a great many of the things Roy had to be careful to keep from nearly everyone around him.

Not that that was any excuse.

Though it would be wonderful to have a lover he could relax with, as he couldn't with any of his little flings.

Stop this foolishness, he admonished himself sternly. There was no way he could betray the trust of someone who followed him, knowingly and willingly followed him at that, just because it would be nice to sleep with someone who actually knew him.

Ed had become a good partner in his work, and unless Roy was very much mistaken he was becoming a friend as well. That was more than enough.

Roy turned his eyes firmly away from the gleaming fall of gold and back to the report he was supposed to be reading.

TBC

Ever - Chapter Fourteen

Roy and Ed finally admit how close they've gotten. Drama with Porn, I-3

It had been a harder day than most, and Roy was showing it, at least to Ed's eyes. When they got back to his office he went to lean his head against the window and didn't move.

He didn't often show this kind of stress even to Ed, and Ed was worried.

"We're done for the day, Edward-kun. You should go home." The flat tone of Roy's voice didn't make Ed any less worried, and he made a snap decision. He'd thought it over for long enough. He was sure of himself. He knew he would have to speak some time. For both of their sakes, let it be now.

"No."

After a pause Roy lifted his head and turned to look at Ed with an expression somewhere between bemused and displeased. "Excuse me?"

"I said, no." Before Roy's expression could decide which way to go Ed gathered his courage and crossed the room to lay his hands on Roy's shoulders.

"I'm getting tired of watching this, Shousho. Watching you do this to yourself and hold everyone at arm's length, except Hughes, and pay with a little more of your self every damn day." Roy's eyes darkened, and Ed tightened his grip as if that could make Roy listen to him. "Let me help."

"Edward-kun," Roy began, only to break off as Ed lifted his left hand to touch Roy's face. At that his eyes widened slightly.

"Did you really think I could watch you do this, see what it costs you, and not—not start to care?" Ed lowered his hand to Roy's shoulder again and rested his forehead on the back of it. "If you say anything like 'It's only a crush'," he added, "I am going to hurt you."

Roy's shoulders twitched as if with a stifled snort of laughter.

"I've considered the possibility that it's just a crush, except that I've had crushes and they weren't like this. I've considered that it might just be hormones, but I'm not looking at anyone else this way. I've thought whether it could just be admiration for my teacher, except that you've already said I know just about all you can teach me." Ed took a deep breath. "And I've certainly considered the fact that you're fourteen years older than me, and my sponsor and commander here, and I don't care."

Roy's hands came up to settle lightly on his back. "Edward, do you know what you're offering?"

That induced Ed to look up with a glare. "Oh, tea and cookies, of course, what else could I possibly mean?" he snapped.

A laugh fought its way past Roy's exhaustion and tension. "Ah, I'm relieved to see that it really is you after all. I'd thought for a moment that I must have a changeling in my office."

Ed made a grumpy sound and ignored Roy as much as he could without letting go.

"Are you sure?" Roy asked.

Ed turned back to him. There was the pain he'd gotten better at seeing in the dark eyes, and something that might be hope if Roy let it.

"I'm sure."

Roy's arms closed tight around him, pulling him hard against Roy, and the heat of his body, of his breath against Ed's ear was a shock.

"Are you sure, Ed?" Roy asked again, very softly.

Ed had to try twice before he managed to reply. "Yes..."

Roy lowered his head to rest against Ed's. Brief shudders had started to run through him, and his arms tightened further around Ed. It took Ed a moment to gather his wits sufficiently to wind his own arms around Roy and hold him. It took longer for the shudders to stop, while Ed hesitantly smoothed Roy's hair.

"I will never doubt Maas' judgment in personal matters again," Roy said at last, a bit muffled.

Ed opened and closed his mouth a few times. "He told you?" he rasped.

Roy raised his head and looked down at Ed with a faint smile. "Some time ago."

"That... that... snake!" Ed's indignant sputtering was preempted when Roy ran a finger down his jaw, set it under his chin and lifted Ed's head the inch necessary for Roy to kiss him.

Roy's lips on his were soft and slow, the brush of his tongue electric. Ed opened his mouth under Roy's, catching his breath at the sinuous heat as Roy wound the fingers of one hand into Ed's hair and deepened the kiss.

Ed had no idea how long it was before Roy drew back, sucking lightly on Ed's lower lip before letting him go. "Roy," he breathed, and opened his eyes.

Roy stroked Ed's hair back. "Will Alphonse and Winry worry if you aren't home this evening?" he asked.

"No. It's happened often enough. If I'm not back for lunch tomorrow Al will start asking at the libraries for me."

Roy smiled. "That's my scholar. That being the case... will you come home with me tonight?"

Ed shivered at the heat in Roy's eyes. "Yes."

It wasn't a long walk to Roy's house. They both made it with their hands tucked into their pockets, though they walked close enough that their shoulders brushed. Once inside, coats and gloves shed, Roy offered Ed his hand to lead him upstairs.

Ed felt a bit shy as they undressed each other, and concentrated on his hands. When they finally stood together with nothing between them Roy took Ed's face in his hands and coaxed him to look up.

"Have you ever done this before?" he asked gently.

"No," Ed smiled a bit. "I always had too many other things to be doing."

Roy's thumb stroked his cheekbone. "I am honored," he said, voice low.

His sincerity affected Ed more severely than his kiss had earlier. They were only a hand span apart, and it was too far. Ed reached out and spread his hands against Roy's chest. Roy breathed in quickly before running his own hands down Ed's back, drawing him closer. Roy tugged loose Ed's hair tie and his fingers combed Ed's hair down. Shivers rippled over Ed, simple sensation rapidly becoming overwhelming.

"Roy," Ed whispered

He was glad when Roy responded to his unspoken request and caught him close, because he didn't think he could be any more coherent just now and he really needed something to lean on. He was more pleased when Roy drew him down to the bed; with a solid surface under him and Roy leaning over him he felt far more secure.

Secure enough to tug Roy down for a kiss.

Things became disjointed from that point.

Roy's mouth seemed to be the only thing holding him down to the bed, as he arched up seeking the heat of Roy's body above him. The touch of Roy's hands lingered on his skin until he wasn't entirely sure where Roy was touching him at any one moment.

At least until Roy's hand moved between his legs.

Every sense he had narrowed down to Roy's mouth against his, Roy's tongue curling against his, beckoning, Roy's fingers stroking him, circling, Roy's palm closing around him.

And then Roy's mouth left his and Roy's hand slid further back, and heat surrounded Ed. He strained up, into that heat, sliding against him like fire made liquid, and it flooded him completely.

Ed lay, after, panting for breath as Roy stretched out beside him. He turned and buried his head against Roy's chest, and Roy held him, rocking him just a bit. Ed was glad that Roy seemed to have expected him to be overwhelmed and non-verbal for a while.

After he'd collected himself somewhat he raised his head to look inquiringly at Roy.

"Roy? Are you..." his vocabulary failed him, but Roy seemed to catch his meaning.

"Just fine," he assured Ed.

"You're... sure?" Ed was trying very hard not to blush.

A glint of mischief entered Roy's eye as he took one of Ed's hands and guided it down.

"Ah." Ed was sure he was blushing now. Roy had, however, unmistakably taken his pleasure from the evening too.

On reflection, Ed wasn't really surprised he hadn't noticed. He wasn't sure he'd have noticed a brass band on the back of a waltzing hippo for most of the time Roy had been touching him. He settled back down on Roy's shoulder.

"Thank you, Ed," Roy murmured in his ear.

"Mmm," Ed said without moving. "...you too."

Roy's fingers carded through his hair, and Ed wasn't sure when he drifted off to sleep.

End

Morning - One

How Roy and Ed deal with the way Ever ended. Drama With Romance and Porn, I-3.

Ed.

Ed woke up wondering why his pillow was such a strange shape.

Waking further up, however, he remembered where he had spent the night and why, and opened his eyes to stare at the expanse of Roy's chest in front of his nose. Finally stirring, he raised his head to find Roy already awake and watching him. As Ed did nothing but blink at him, a smile tugged at Roy's mouth.

"I think this is the first time I've ever rendered anyone speechless for quite this long," he commented.

Ed opened his mouth, closed it, and let his head fall back down, onto the real pillow this time. "It's just kind of... hard to believe this is real," he said at last.

Roy laughed, low in his throat, and leaned over Ed. "Shall I convince you it is?" he teased, running a finger down the center of Ed's chest.

Ed glanced aside, afraid he was blushing. "Would you think it was really silly if I said yes?" he asked softly.

"Not at all," Roy murmured in his ear before nibbling on it.

Ed sighed as Roy's lips traced the line of his throat, and let his eyes fall closed again.

Roy.

"Coffee?" Roy offered as Ed came into the kitchen.

"Thanks." Ed sipped and paused in the act of sitting down at the table. He eyed the mug and then Roy. "You make the coffee at the office, don't you?" he asked, faintly accusing.

Roy sighed dramatically. "Ah, one of my darkest secrets, revealed! Yes, in fact I do. Hawkeye prefers tea, and no one else can make coffee that doesn't taste acidic."

Ed smiled into his mug and settled onto the chair, one leg drawn up under him. Roy contemplated his body language and hid a smile of his own. He was unexpectedly charmed this morning. He had never, in all the time he'd known Ed, seen him act shy. Even last night. He'd been hesitant at times, yes, but this morning he was acting downright bashful. Accepting a towel for his shower, a cup of coffee, it seemed to be these small things rather than actually going to bed with Roy that made Edward unsure.

Of course, Roy reflected, if he had stayed the night at Ed's house instead of the other way around it would certainly have taken all the face he could muster to stroll blithely down to breakfast in the morning. Not least because Ed's extremely protective brother and near-sister would likely have colluded to draw and quarter him.

Speaking of which...

Roy came to lean against the table. "Edward?"

Gold eyes looked quickly up at him.

"Does your family know where you are? Or, more precisely, what you're doing here?"

Ed's expression shifted to one of affectionate exasperation. "No and not exactly," he answered. "I think Winry might have guessed, but I haven't told them..." he broke off, and looked down again.

"That you planned to seduce me?" Roy supplied, wryly.

After a moment of blank silence Ed folded up on the table laughing until he was breathless. "Can you imagine," he gasped, "their expressions," another gasp, "at the very idea..."

Roy had to laugh himself at the image.

Ed.

"Nii-san... you... he... you..." Al sat down rather abruptly on the couch.

Ed rubbed a hand over his forehead.

Roy had seen him off, with a light kiss, before leaving for headquarters, and Ed had made his way home torn between contentment and anxiety. One of the causes of anxiety was the question of how Al and Winry, who each had their own reasons for not entirely liking Roy, would react to the news that Ed was sleeping with him.

So far, Al was stunned and Winry was quiet.

Winry sat and took one of Al's hands without taking her eyes off Ed. "Why?" she asked.

Ed was silent for a long time trying to organize dozens of half-thoughts into a reasonable response. "Because being with him makes me feel like I'm more alive," he said at last.

"You're happy with him?" Al pressed.

Ed threw himself back in his armchair and stared at the ceiling.

"Happy," he agreed. "And infuriated. And like I want to protect him. And like I want to spend a week arguing theory with him. And scared. And like I can lean on him. And he'll hold me up."

Al and Winry had both softened somewhat during this recitation. Ed had a sudden urge to add And like I want to run my hands over every inch of his skin and let him kiss me senseless, but stepped on it.

Clearly, Roy was rubbing off on him.

Winry looked at Al, who was looking at Ed with a reluctant smile, and nodded briskly. "Right. Just as long as he understands that if he hurts you I'm going to disassemble him, flame or no flame."

Ed grinned for the first time since he'd gotten back. "I'll be sure to pass that on."

Roy.

Hughes, stopping by Roy's office, took one look at him and burst out laughing.

"You did it! Didn't you? Didn't I tell you?"

"Do I have it printed on my forehead or something?" Roy wanted to know, irritably. "Hawkeye asked me if my evening went well, and she almost smirked."

"Just about." Hughes leaned on his desk, chuckling. "You have that extra smug glow that says what happened, and an underlying hint of panic that tells the informed who it happened with."

"Panic?" Roy asked frostily.

"Quite justified, of course," Hughes breezed on. "It's been a long time since you had a serious lover instead of an affair."

"You should know," Roy grumbled.

"Yes, I should." Maas looked sidelong at him with a crooked smile. "And that's why I can tell that this is serious. So be careful with yourself, Roy. I know how deeply you can dig yourself in."

Roy set a hand over Maas' to make his friend look at him straight on. "Do you think there's some reason I shouldn't?" he asked quietly.

"Oh, no. In fact I think this is just about the best thing that could happen to both of you. But he's still young, Roy. It might take time before he's ready to settle down, even if he spends all that time with you."

Maas turned his hand over and gripped Roy's tightly. Roy looked up at him, warmed by the concern in those hazel eyes.

"Thank you, Maas."

Ed.

"Shousho?" Ed tapped on the office door.

Roy turned away from the windows. "Come in, Edward-kun."

Ed entered and hesitated just inside the door. The sunlight falling across Roy made him glow and picked out the elegance of his bones. Ed wanted very much to touch him, but reminded himself that they were at work and should be reasonably discreet...

Roy smiled and held out his hand.

Well, never mind, then.

Ed came to him and settled against him with a sigh, resting his head on Roy's shoulder. Roy stroked the nape of his neck with soothing fingers.

"Is everything all right, Ed?" he asked eventually.

"Yeah. It's just... I didn't think it would be so different. After." And, much lower, "I want to touch..."

"It's usual with new lovers," Roy reassured him, smoothing his hair. "It gets less intense after a while."

"How much of a while?"

"It varies," Roy said thoughtfully. "With Ariana it lasted about four days. Hughes and Gracia were mutually entranced for nearly two years."

Ed lifted his head and stared, eyes wide. "Two years? How did they manage for two years like this? It's incredibly distracting!"

"I couldn't agree more," Roy purred.

He traced his fingertips over Ed's face and then down his neck. Ed drew in an uneven breath.

"Especially when you do that," he whispered.

"Do you want me to stop?" Roy asked just as softly.

"Hell no."

He met Roy's kiss open mouthed, let Roy's tongue twine around his and draw out his breath. Roy leaned back against his desk and pulled Ed between his legs to lean against him. Ed wound his arms comfortably around Roy's shoulders, pleased with the solidity of Roy's body supporting his.

"Are there any rules against this kind of thing?" he asked, struck by a sudden thought.

"Specifically or generally?" Roy inquired.

Ed glared. "Be difficult for the fun of it later; answer my question now."

Roy smirked. "Being a civilian, most of the military regulations don't apply to you. A liaison between a civilian State Alchemist and his military commander is not specifically forbidden. It would probably be wise to be discreet, though."

"Thought so," Ed sighed.

A gleam entered Roy's eye. He bent his head and Ed felt teeth close on his throat. His body snapped taut as those teeth nipped a path up to his ear.

"So," Roy breathed, "is it later?"

Roy.

"What are these?"

Roy looked around to where Edward was holding out the sleeve of a burgundy suit-jacket.

After two weeks, during which Ed had spent over half his nights with Roy, Ed had gotten tired of not having clean clothes in the morning and asked a bit diffidently whether Roy would mind if he kept a change tucked in a drawer somewhere. Familiar with this particular annoyance, Roy had cleared out several drawers and a section of the wardrobe, and invited Ed to fill up as much of the space as he liked.

He had yet to resolve the matter of Edward stealing his bathrobe in the mornings, but one problem at a time.

They were now putting things away, and Ed was discovering that Roy did, in fact, own more than uniforms.

"Well, that one in particular is what I wear when Hughes insists on hauling me along to a concert."

"And the black suit?" Ed wanted to know.

Roy sighed, and came to kneel on the floor behind Ed with an arm around his waist. "The black is for funerals, the green shirt is for going out in the summer, this" he plucked at a brilliant scarlet sleeve, "is for being obtrusive..." He paged through his clothes, naming them as he went, ending with a stack of blue cotton pants and white shirts. "...and those are for just wearing. Satisfied?"

Ed was quiet for a bit, contemplating the clothes as if they were some new diagram. "Costumes." He looked over his shoulder at Roy. "Except for those last. They're costumes aren't they?"

Roy was taken aback for a moment, until he remembered exactly who he was speaking to. This was the person he had taught to see these things, not infrequently using himself as an example. He rested his chin on Ed's shoulder, reflecting on the pitfalls of habit. The physical intimacy was easy enough, but he kept forgetting that it was paired with a much deeper intimacy this time.

Ed, probably sensing his mood, half turned in his hold to snuggle against his chest.

Roy was discovering that, despite his standoffishness with just about everyone, Edward was actually an extremely tactile person with those few he trusted. Roy still had to conceal his crogglement that he was, apparently, someone Ed trusted.

Ed seemed to decide Roy was still thinking too much, because he shoved against him, tumbling them both over onto the floor. He planted an elbow on either side of Roy's head and propped his chin on his hands, grinning down.

"So you've caught me, have you?" Roy asked, amused.

"Pretty sure, yeah." If Ed's voice had been a little lighter and his eyes hadn't become shuttered, it would have been a joke, and likely led to a wrestling match that Roy would have lost until he managed to... distract Ed. But it wasn't quite.

Roy thought it might be a question.

Had Edward caught him? Well, yes, Roy didn't usually sprawl on the floor with casual friends lying on top of him. Roy supposed the real question was how thoroughly Ed had caught him.

How thoroughly did he want to?

"Come here," he whispered.

Ed let himself slide the rest of the way down, laying his head on Roy's shoulder. Roy stroked his hair aside, arranging the long tail of it in an aesthetic curve on the floor, and ran a hand gently up and down Edward's back. Ed relaxed against him, fitting his body more comfortably to Roy's.

It took a while for Roy to really notice that Ed was still making tiny movements, and a little longer to realize that Ed was adjusting himself in relation to Roy's hand on his back.

Hm.

Roy slid his hand under Ed's shirt and scratched between his shoulderblades. Ed made a small happy noise and arched up a bit. That was definitely it. Roy obligingly continued scratching. Ed squirmed against him.

"Mmm. To the right... little further... down some. Oo, there. Ah. Mmmmm."

Roy couldn't contain his chuckles as Ed collapsed bonelessly over him, making little humming sounds in his ear, as close as a human could come to purring.

Edward, he reflected, might just be able to capture him completely.

TBC

The coffee in particular, and in fact significant parts of this whole arc, are largely thanks to Sleeps with Coyotes' influence. She keeps writing stories that raise questions that won't leave me alone, not to mention images that sneak into my own stories when my back is turned.

Morning - Two

How Roy and Ed deal with the way Ever ended. Drama With Romance and Porn, I-3.

Roy.

"So, what..."

Ed had to stop for a jawcracking yawn before trying again.

"What possessed you to use the east facing bedroom anyway?"

Roy looked on in amusement as his bedmate squirmed yet further into the covers in a vain attempt to escape the morning sun. "It's the largest, and the one with an attached bath," he explained, very reasonably, for the nth time.

Ed made a grumpy noise and huddled against Roy's side.

Roy suppressed a laugh as he stroked Ed's back, coaxing him out again. Ed had some very set morning routines, and, on weekends when they had time for it, grumbling about the early sunlight was one of them. Ed was perfectly cheerful once he was up and awake, but he seemed to enjoy being persuaded.

Finally, Ed uncurled and stretched from toes to fingertips. If Roy was in the mood for it, he could start a morning tussle by trailing a finger down Ed's stomach at just this moment, which would make him squeak and curl up in a ball before assaulting the source of the indignity. This morning, though, he had a different surprise in mind.

Ed rolled out of bed, shaking his hair into a semblance of order, and snatched up the plush black robe that hung just inside the wardrobe. As he was turning away, though, something seemed to catch his eye.

Roy allowed himself a tiny grin.

"What's that?" Ed asked, glancing back at him.

Roy had told Ed some time ago just how fetching a sight he made with his hair down and the robe hanging open from his shoulders. He hadn't mentioned that this was why he had put up with Ed's theft of his robe. He had, however, taken it into account when he decided what to do about the matter. He came to stand behind Ed, and lifted the blue plush robe down off its hook.

"This," he said, pulling it on, "is for me to wear while you steal mine."

A faint flush rose in Edward's face before he turned and leaned into Roy. "Thank you," he said, very low.

"You're welcome," Roy replied, winding an arm around Edward's waist. "Shower?"

Edward nodded. Roy lifted his chin. "Do you mind if I join you?"

"No. That would be... fine." The blush was more distinct now. Well, it was the first time Roy had asked this.

Ed let Roy lead the way, and draw him under the water. Ed naked with his head tipped back and water running down him was even more fetching than Ed in Roy's robe. They washed each other leisurely, trading the sponge back and forth.

"Shall I do your hair?" Roy asked.

"If you want," Ed agreed, surprised.

Every now and then his lover's innocence about his own beauty made Roy shake his head.

He was slow, careful not to tangle or pull, and Ed relaxed into him. "You'll put me back to sleep," he murmured.

"If you need the extra sleep that badly, perhaps I should," Roy told him, rinsing the soap out.

"No. You just... relax me that much." Ed opened his eyes, looking up through lashes beaded with water drops.

Roy didn't know whether Ed understood how great a compliment he'd just paid Roy; he thought not. So he simply smiled and kissed away the water on Ed's lips.

Ed.

"No, that can't be it!"

Thursday's breakfast was long gone, and the kitchen table had been taken over by paper and pencils. Ed had been arguing cheerfully with Roy for nearly an hour over how and whether a team of alchemists in the South might be transmuting a fantastically unstable compound whose import was forbidden. Well, cheerfully for them, anyway.

Ed narrowed his eyes at Roy and flourished a piece of paper from the pile on the table between them. "It's obvious that they would need a seven point diagram if they're trying to transmute this stuff out of sapphire!"

"Only," Roy pointed out with a cutting edge, "if they have someone familiar with the Saturnine manuscripts, which are rare enough to make that unlikely."

"You're going to trust the incompetence of your opponent?"

"It's often a reliable approach," Roy returned.

"Yeah, well, not this time," Ed growled.

Before Ed could continue to the evidence of knowledgebility Roy unfolded his hands and leaned across the table.

"No," he agreed, silkily, "not this time." He slid his palm down Ed's jaw line, brushing his thumb over Ed's lips.

Ed's hand rose to push Roy's away before he thought about it. "Don't do that!"

They both pulled back and Ed tried to think why he had objected so strongly. Roy had touched him before when they were arguing. In fact, just a few weeks ago they had had a wonderful debate over the use of leopards versus lions in alchemical codes while lying naked in bed.

But this was different. Roy's manner was different. Slowly, Ed realized that he'd seen Roy look like that before... when he was maneuvering some political target into doing what he wanted. Ed swallowed and looked up at Roy just in time to see his eyes widen and his mouth flinch.

He... didn't realize either? Ed thought about that for a moment. And shuddered. "You've used sex that way, too?" he asked, a bit choked. "Just another lever?"

"For a long time," Roy admitted quietly, staring straight ahead.

Ed was torn right down the middle between the urge to comfort Roy and the urge to run screaming.

"Edward. I'm sorry."

Ed looked up, wide eyed. He could not, off hand, remember Roy ever apologizing for anything before. He bit his lip and reached a hand over the table. After a beat, Roy slowly lifted a hand to meet him. Ed laced their fingers together.

He couldn't say it was all right, because it damn well wasn't. But he tried to show in his grip, in his face he hoped, that the apology was accepted. It seemed to work, because some of the bleakness left Roy's eyes.

Then he went around the table and burrowed into Roy's arms, stroking his hair while Roy buried his face in Ed's shoulder.

Roy.

"Good afternoon, Shousho. You look like you're in a good mood today."

Roy made an agreeable sound as Hawkeye set the day's reports on his desk.

"In fact," she continued, "you've been looking better in general lately."

Roy eyed his aide. "I'm pleased that my personal life provides so much entertainment to my staff," he drawled.

Hawkeye stared him down. Roy couldn't remember a single moment she'd ever been intimidated by him in any way.

"I don't know why the others are so happy, but I'm happy that you've stopped abusing yourself."

Roy raised a brow. "I beg your pardon, Shousa?"

"You know what I mean, Sir," she told him firmly. "The ones for political reasons were bad enough, but the throw-away affairs with people you could never trust were worse. I'm just glad it's over."

"You make it sound like I've gotten engaged," Roy remarked, amused. Hawkeye had always kept an eye on his personal affairs, he knew, but she rarely commented on them. "I would remind you that Edward is only nineteen. He could well choose to move on."

Hawkeye looked like she had something she very much wanted to say but didn't think she should say it. "I doubt Edward-kun is going to let you go that easily," was all she tossed over her shoulder in parting.

Roy blinked after her, contemplating her choice of words.

Ed won't let me go? Has she seen something I haven't?

Ed.

"Morning, Shousho."

Ed knocked on the office door as he opened it and booted it shut again behind him. Roy made a distracted sound of acknowledgement. Ed tucked the volume of research results he'd been wading through back into its place on a shelf and went to see what Roy was occupied with, leaning on the back of Roy's chair. "Still with Forsythe?"

"Unfortunately." Roy tossed the flow chart he'd been scribbling on back onto the desk. "Any luck with your end?"

"Not yet," Ed sighed. "I hate it when work stalls like this."

A sudden, impish smile curled Roy's mouth. "Well, how about a break, then?" he suggested, turning the chair to face Ed.

"Such as?" Ed asked, a bit suspicious of that expression.

"Something... relaxing," Roy assured him, hands coming to settle on Ed's hips.

Ed blinked down at him. "You're kidding."

Roy pulled him gently forward until Ed was kneeling over him on the chair, grinning the whole while.

"You are serious!" Ed was laughing as he caught Roy's shoulders for balance. "Roy, we're at work!"

"The door's closed. That's discreet enough," Roy declared, running his hands up the back of Ed's legs.

On the one hand, the door was merely closed, not locked, and Ed had no intention of sharing this part of his life with anyone else, thank you.

On the other hand... well at the moment the other hand was Roy's, and it was tracing patterns up his back in a very tempting manner.

Oh, what the hell.

Ed concentrated, which wasn't easy just at that moment, and sent the crackle of transmutation through the wood of the desk, of the floor, of the doorframe, which temporarily became a single piece with the door.

"Delightful," Roy murmured, as his hands trailed down Ed's front, undoing things as they went.

Ed took in a wicked glance from dark eyes, and then he was lost in the heat of Roy's mouth on him. He let his head fall back, let himself melt into the heat, trusting Roy's hands to hold him up. The slide of Roy's tongue pulled a long moan from him.

When Roy drew back, Ed sank down, wrapped his hand around Roy's chin and kissed him deep and slow.

"You're completely crazy," he announced against Roy's mouth, hands busy with the clasps and buttons of his uniform.

"Without a doubt," Roy agreed easily.

Their clothes went to decorate the desk, but they themselves finally wound up on the couch.

Or, at least, Ed was on the couch, arms spread across the back, with Roy kneeling on the floor between his legs. At this time of day the sunlight fell directly across them, and Ed closed his eyes against the brightness even as he luxuriated in the feel of the warmth on his skin.

Roy's hands swept up his back, pressing Ed tight against him, and Ed made a soft, inarticulate noise as Roy's teeth closed on his bared throat.

Roy's hands drew him to the edge of the cushions. He felt Roy's cock sliding against his rear and arched back, breathless, anticipating.

"Ed?" Roy asked against Ed's shoulder.

"Yes," Ed said, definitely.

Roy went very slowly, as he always did when they made love like this, and Ed appreciated it. It let him feel every millimeter of Roy that was inside him bit... by... bit...

And then Roy's hand closed around him, teasing, knowing, and Ed lost track of individual senses in the tide of heat and tension and pleasure. When he opened his eyes to brilliant light it seemed only appropriate.

He slid limply off the edge of the couch and into Roy's lap, where they leaned on each other and exchanged small, slow kisses.

"We just had sex... on your office couch... in the middle of the morning," Ed commented between kisses.

"Nice thick walls," Roy replied, "I doubt anyone noticed."

Ed laughed. "Completely crazy," he reiterated. "I love you."

Then he blinked. Did I just say that?

Roy caught Ed's face in his hands and kissed him far harder and hotter than before. And then he simply held Ed and gazed at him for a long moment before his mouth quirked.

"I believe I love you as well, Edward Elric," he said softly, tone somewhat rueful.

Ed ducked his head against Roy's shoulder, as Roy's arms closed around him, and stayed there for a long time.

TBC

Morning - Three

How Roy and Ed deal with the way Ever ended. Drama With Romance and Porn, I-3.

Ed.

Ed sprawled on the living room floor, watching as Al and Winry debated whether they needed new armchairs or could just get the old ones reupholstered.

"What do you think, Nii-san?"

Ed shrugged, lazily. "I like the ones we have pretty well."

Winry gave him a sharp look. "And how much longer are you going to be around to have an opinion on them?"

Ed flopped back, groaning. He'd known that was coming, sooner or later. "I don't know."

He could feel the look Al and Winry exchanged, even without seeing it.

"Nii-san? Do you... not think he's serious?" Al's voice was concerned.

Ed supposed there was some reason for the concern. Ed spent at least half his time at Roy's house instead of his own. His conversation had become peppered with Roy's comments even in the man's absence. And now Al was wondering whether his big brother was about to get his heart broken for him. Al thought that way.

And by serious Al most likely meant lifelong. That, after all, was the way he was serious about Winry. But when Ed tried to compare what was between he and Roy with what was between Al and Winry, somehow the terms just didn't seem to translate very well.

"I do think he's serious," Ed tried to explain, "we just haven't talked about things like that yet."

"Ah." Al still sounded concerned.

Winry took pity on Ed in a very typical fashion, and turned the conversation. "So, is he any good in bed?"

Both brothers choked. Winry attempted to look innocent and failed miserably. After wasting a few moments glaring, Ed decided on a subtle revenge. He let his expression go a bit dreamy.

"It's like falling into the sun without getting burned," he told her with complete truthfulness.

He checked Winry's expression, and found it approaching doting. All right, never mind subtlety. "Why, are you looking for tips?" he asked, and let his gaze slide from her to Al.

Winry turned the color of a ripe raspberry, and Ed grinned. Victory was his. Not even a high velocity couch pillow could take it away.

Roy.

Roy liked the fact that he almost always woke before Ed. It gave him a chance to watch Ed without being observed. Ed did not, contrary to popular wisdom, look more innocent while he was asleep. He sometimes looked just as innocent awake. Nor did he precisely look unguarded; even asleep his body held the hint of motion, of readiness. Roy supposed that what Ed looked asleep was more himself, without calculation or care.

Of course, in a purely physical sense, most of the time a sleeping Ed looked like a fallen angel after a good party. Roy took the strand of silky hair that slipped over Ed's shoulder in his fingers and lifted it to his lips.

He looked down again to find Edward awake and gazing up at him, eyes wide, lips parted.

"Good morning, Ed," Roy said, softly, over the strand of gold he still held.

Ed's eyes softened, and Roy shivered, brushing a hand over his cheek. "Edward," he breathed, only half aware he was speaking out loud. "Do you really mean what that look says...?"

"What does it say?" Ed asked, voice husky.

Roy was silent a moment before he answered. "That you would give me anything I asked you for."

Ed tilted his head considering. "Yes," he said at last, and laid his hand flat on Roy's chest. "If I could ask back."

Another shiver ran through Roy, and he lowered his head until his temple rested against Ed's. "What would you ask me for?" he whispered, formless anxiety tightening his nerves.

A tiny laugh brushed past his ear. "I don't know," Ed answered. "Do you?"

Roy took a deep breath and felt the corners of his mouth curl up. "No, I suppose not."

He kissed Ed's shoulder, down his chest, letting his tension transform into desire. Letting Ed's responsiveness carry them both away into a simpler intensity.

Ed.

"Is something bothering you, Ed-kun?"

Gracia-san had eased Al out of the kitchen by asking him to keep her husband away from the food preparation, and given Ed a bunch of carrots to slice to keep him busy. Now Ed knew why. "Not really," he denied.

Gracia-san waited. There was no need for her to be concerned, Ed told himself. It wasn't a huge problem. He shouldn't trouble Gracia-san with it.

Oh, who was he kidding?

"When did you know you wanted to be with Hughes-san for good?" Ed asked at last.

"Hm." Gracia-san smiled reminiscently. "Well, let's see. I knew him for about a year, casually, before we ever really got to know one another. I met him through Roy, you know."

Ed blinked.

"I used to work at the city library, didn't I ever mention? I met Roy when he came to Central to study, and Maas when they made friends." She stirred sauce and looked thoughtful. "I suppose it was a little over six months after Maas and I really started to know each other that I winkled an engagement out of him. I think I had to work on him for about two months. So, four months or so after we became close was when I decided."

"Ah." Ed paid very close attention to his carrots.

"I think it's harder when it's someone you've known for a long time, actually," Gracia-san said, reflectively. "Harder to tell what's changed."

"Mm." There had probably never been such perfectly diced carrots before in culinary history.

"Are you still wondering about Roy?"

Ed just barely missed his own finger.

"It's not... we're... not that, but..." Ed stammered.

Gracia-san patted his hand, and he looked up to see her smiling sympathetically. "Or is it that you are sure?" Her voice was gentle.

Ed bit his lip. "I think so," he said softly.

Gracia-san smoothed his hair back and dropped a kiss on his forehead.

"Well, then, you need to talk about it instead of dancing around it, or backing off from it, or whatever it is you do instead of talking." She gave Ed a meaningful look.

Ed was positive he had turned the same color as the radishes. Carrots. Carrots were absolutely entrancing, yes they were.

"Gracia-san?" he asked after a little while.

"Yes?"

"How did you and Hughes-san really get to know each other?"

Gracia-san looked over her shoulder with a soft smile. "We started talking."

Roy.

Roy looked up from his book to see Ed leaning in the doorway watching him. Seeing that Ed had a book of his own, Roy smiled and held out a hand.

"Business or pleasure?" he asked, nodding at the book as Ed came and wrapped his hand around Roy's.

"Pleasure, mostly," Ed answered. "History."

Roy rearranged himself against one arm of the couch and tugged Ed down to recline against his chest. Ed settled back with a sigh as Roy slipped an arm around him. It wasn't long before Roy set down his book and wound the other arm around Ed also, resting his cheek against Ed's hair.

It felt... very good to have Edward here like this.

"You're thinking," Ed asserted. "What are you thinking about?"

"How well you fit," Roy told him.

Ed let his own book fall. "Well enough to stay right here?" he asked, voice low.

Roy was sure Ed could feel his heart speed up. He didn't think Ed was asking whether Roy's legs were falling asleep.

"Yes," he murmured at length. "If you want to."

"I do," Ed said, looking straight ahead. And then he turned in Roy's arms until he could brace his right arm on the couch behind Roy and lift his other hand to cup Roy's cheek. "Do you want me to?"

"Yes," Roy whispered. "I do."

Ed took a breath like he'd just come up after a long time underwater, and let his head fall to Roy's shoulder. "Then I will." His voice was a little choked, and trembling on the edge of a laugh.

Roy gathered him as close as he could, the same laugh rising in his own throat. He had laughed more in the last few years than he had honestly thought he ever would again. Most often because of the young man in his arms right now.

"Ed..." He smiled and said very quietly in his lover's ear, "Welcome home."

End

Rare

A pleasant end to a trying day. Porn Without Plot, I-4.

Ed padded, barefoot, into Roy's living room, still toweling his hair.

"Next time Hawkeye asks me to go with you for a routine inspection because she's busy and you know what he's like, Edward-kun, remind me of this," he grumbled.

Roy cast a look over his shoulder at the second line Ed quoted, mouth open to comment, and paused. A corner of his mouth curled up. Ed grinned behind the towel. When he'd rummaged through Roy's closet, not fancying wearing a couple of towels until his clothes dried, he'd found two robes. One was soft but practical terrycloth; the other was lush, double-sided velvet. Ed had promptly taken the second.

After the day he'd had, he thought he deserved it.

Roy, he noticed, had lost no time lighting a fire in his rather extravagant fireplace and had already shed most of his bedraggled uniform. The latter came especially to Ed's attention as Roy rose and paced toward him, firelight sliding across his skin.

"So," Roy purred, "you approve of my hedonism, I believe you called it the other day, if you can take advantage of it?" His touch moved the velvet across Ed's back and sides, and Ed couldn't stop a sensuous stretch under Roy's hands.

"Mmm," he agreed, looking up through his lashes.

Roy pressed him close, slowly, bent to brush his lips over Ed's, light, teasing, until Ed reached up and pulled him down hard against his open mouth. Roy's tongue on his was warm and soft, rather like the velvet, and Ed leaned into the kiss as Roy's hands slipped over his hips, up his back...

And Roy drew back, stepped around Ed and strolled for the door.

"I trust you left me some hot water," he tossed back over his shoulder.

Ed shut his gaping mouth with a snap. "You are a complete bastard," he declared with conviction.

A low laugh echoed down the hall.

Ed flung himself down in front of the fire. It had just been that kind of day. The trip out to the garrison three towns away had only been boring. The fawning of the garrison commander had raised the ante to nauseating. Then it started raining. And on the way back, three miles outside of the city, the car had run out of gas and Roy, in a fit of caution, had refused to let Ed transmute more. So they had walked, or more exactly slogged, the entire way back because no one else was stupid enough to be out in the freezing cold rain. That was enough to advance the day to utterly miserable in Ed's book. He suspected, darkly, that That Author had something to do with it; this was just the kind of set-up she liked.

At least Roy had given him the first shower.

And there must be three rugs layered over the spot in front of the fire, because it was comfier than the couch.

And the fire was warming his automail up nicely, which was finally stopping the ache around the ports.

Ed didn't realize he had dozed off until Roy's returning tread woke him. He opened his eyes to find Roy, in the terrycloth robe a corner of his mind was amused to note, standing over him with the air of a man arrested mid-motion. Ed realized why when Roy sat down beside him and started running his fingers through Ed's loose hair. He really didn't understand this thing Roy had with his hair, but he wasn't complaining. He stretched, wriggling against the softness of the robe.

And then Roy's fingers found his ears.

Ed would never have credited it if Roy hadn't demonstrated first and explained second, but having his ears rubbed felt absolutely wonderful. It made all the tension in his head and neck go away. It made his shoulders tickle and relax. It made his toes curl.

Ed was fairly sure he made tiny humming noises the entire time, given the way Roy was always laughing afterward, but he couldn't hear himself to tell for sure and really didn't care because it felt so good.

At last Roy stopped, leaving Ed a warm puddle of happiness. Roy leaned down to collect a quick kiss. "In a better mood now?" he inquired, chuckling.

Ed pulled a thoughtful face and looked up at him. "Some, I suppose," he answered loftily.

A glint entered Roy's eye. "Well, we'll just have to keep working on that, hm?"

He trailed a hand down Ed's body and lifted, rather to Ed's confusion, his right foot. What now? Ed wondered. He must have looked as confused as he felt because Roy flashed him a wicked smirk.

Then his mouth closed over Ed's toes.

A shiver ran the entire length of Ed's body, and his eyes widened. The intensity of sensation shocked him, the soft, silky warmth overwhelming every other sense message and echoing down every nerve. When Roy sucked gently on his toes Ed gasped. When Roy's tongue slid over his instep Ed let his head fall back, feeling very much as if Roy's tongue were sliding down another body part entirely. It was almost unbearably ticklish, and almost unbearably pleasurable, and Ed couldn't keep still, his whole body twisting as he tried to feel it as one or the other. Roy didn't let go until Ed was panting for breath, fingers dug into the carpet.

Ed shuddered as he relaxed from that knife edge of sensation. Roy leaned beside him looking faintly smug.

"Feet are a great deal more sensitive than most people ever realize," he remarked conversationally.

"I noticed," Ed told him with as much snap as he could muster.

Which wasn't much just then, but it was the principle of the thing.

Ed answered languidly when Roy kissed him; the relaxation after that much tension was making him feel just a bit... floaty. Roy propped his head on one hand and gave Ed a speculative look. "And would you be willing to try a little experiment, my hawk?"

If Roy was calling him that there was only one kind of experiment it could be. Well, the last one had been enjoyable... "Sure."

Roy unwrapped the robe, laying it open, and slipped it off Ed's shoulders. "Turn over," he murmured.

Ed sighed as his lingering hardness pressed against the velvet. Roy nudged his legs apart, kneeling between them, and Ed shivered. Roy's hands passed over his rear lightly, spread him open. The heat of Roy's breath sighed over him, and Ed sucked in a breath of his own only to lose it when the soft warmth of Roy's tongue melted across his skin.

The gentle, coaxing slide unstrung him entirely, and Ed's body opened for that softness, his legs spreading wider, his muscles turning to butter. Roy's weight kept Ed pressed to the velvet under him, and the feeling as he moved against it was so like Roy's tongue against his entrance that Ed shuddered, which only intensified the feeling.

The movement of Roy's tongue changed, became firmer, no longer stroking but circling and pressing, and Ed moaned, pushing back, asking for more. Roy's tongue flirted with him, pressing into him and flicking away, curling against skin that felt on fire.

"Roy...!" Ed couldn't manage any more coherence than that; fortunately, Roy had become reasonably adept at recognizing that particular tone in Ed's voice. With a last, lingering caress he drew back and stretched out against Ed's side as he collapsed.

"If you want more than that we need to move to the bedroom," Roy said in Ed's ear.

Ed considered this, a bit hazily. Yes, he certainly did want more, but he didn't really want to move. Here and now he was in a bubble of wonderful lassitude that he was sure would break if he got up. So he twisted around just far enough to slide his left hand up Roy's cheek.

"No."

Roy blinked at him. "Edward, there's nothing here..."

"I know," Ed answered, a grin tugging at his mouth. Roy's voice echoed in his memory: Another time, perhaps. "Here, Roy. Now."

Roy looked at him silently for a moment, eyes turning darker as he understood. A hungry smile curved his lips before he turned his head to kiss Ed's palm. He let his own robe slide off and moved between Ed's legs again, kneeling back and pulling Ed with him to straddle his lap.

"Tell me if this hurts you at all," he said softly.

Ed tipped his head back until it rested on Roy's shoulder. He was definitely floating now, almost laughing. "You won't," he told Roy, voice husky from the arch of his neck, or perhaps from the feeling of Roy pressed against him.

Roy leaned forward, pushing Ed with him until Ed had to catch himself on his hands. Roy's thumbs stroked down his back, down, parting him, and Ed felt Roy pressing into him, smooth and solid. He clung to the openness Roy's tongue had left him with and slowly, slowly, Roy was inside him.

Ed remembered the feeling of Roy's gloved fingers in him, and this was like that, only more. It was so rough, so hot, this feeling like individual nerves striking sparks as Roy's cock slid over each one, and finally his back was pressed hard against Roy's chest, and Roy's arms were around him. He could feel Roy trembling; or maybe it was himself.

"Ed?" Roy asked, voice low and burning.

"Don't stop," Ed whispered.

Roy's hands stroked down his stomach, between his legs, coaxing his hips forward as Roy drew back, and Ed lost himself in the intimate, intense friction of Roy inside him, the smooth, teasing touch of Roy's fingers fondling him, the shuddering fire that raced down his veins, building slowly, slowly, until it finally released him with enough force to stop his breath.

When he could tell that he was breathing again, Ed realized that he was still kneeling over Roy's lap, and that Roy's arms were tight around him, supporting him, and that Roy was leaning his cheek on Ed's left shoulder, looking toward the fire. Ed stirred, and made a small sound at the feeling of Roy still inside him.

"Is everything all right?" Roy murmured into Ed's shoulder.

"Mmmmm. Very much." Ed basked in the heat from the fire, and the softness of velvet under his knees, and the sleek planes of Roy's body against his back. "You worry too much," he added as the faint concern in Roy's voice registered.

"Not everyone enjoys that, my hawk, and I don't want to hurt you."

"Did I sound like I wasn't enjoying myself?" Ed demanded.

"Well, no," Roy had to admit, and Ed could hear the smile in his voice.

"Well, then." Ed drew away and curled up on a dry section of the robe before tugging Roy down and wrapping the man's arms back around himself.

Taken all together, he reflected as he started to drift off, the day had probably come out even after all.

End

Branch: *whistles* That was some PWP, guys.

Roy: Well, the plot bunnies appear to be busy mating with the angst bunnies, so I suppose all your creativity focused on this one point.

Ed: Creativity, hm? Is that what they're calling it now?

Branch: *examining nails* You know, Ed, you shouldn't slander the focus that just might go toward the violin-bunny next. You know, the one where you get to be on top again?

Ed: *freezes* Really? You're not just stringing me along, here?

Branch: *small, evil smile* Maybe.

Ed: *glares at Roy* This is all your fault. You're rubbing off on her.

Rosin

Roy considers some of the difficulties of his relationship with Ed. Light Purple Drama, I-3.

"...that only leaves Ausred. Rumors say that the research center there has been reopened, but the Alchemist supposedly in charge is someone who's been dead for two years." Hawkeye passed her notes over to Roy.

"Hm." He paged through them. "None of my correspondents are in that area, are they?"

"No, sir, and few are in a good position to move from what Fury says." She narrowed her eyes in thought. "Taisa, what about Edward-kun? This is the kind of rumor he might reasonably have an interest in." Roy smiled.

"True enough. I believe he cleared out one of the storerooms, today, for experiments. Ask him to speak with me when he's done."

"Yes, sir."

Roy contemplated the Captain's solution as she left. It should work. Edward's interest would be unremarkable, and if anyone could kick the truth to the surface, it was his hunter.

His knowing, willing hunter.

It still surprised Roy that Edward had given himself to Roy's cause. He knew Edward was uncomfortable with what Roy meant to do, but he hadn't truly expected even tolerance. The most he had hoped for was Edward's silence after he left. His long familiarity with Edward's steel sense of ethics had not led him to expect the young man to condone cold-blooded murder. Edward's offer of allegiance had both comforted and worried him.

On his darker nights, Roy wondered if Edward had confused desire for his lover with approval for his leader.

It had not surprised him, at the beginning, that Edward had let Roy take him to bed. Roy knew perfectly well that he was a skilled lover, and he had been careful with Edward. Careful not to alarm or completely overwhelm him. Careful not to let their time in bed affect their relationship at work. Too much. And despite Edward's occasional grumbles about how no contract was worth putting up with Roy's ego, it was clear that Edward was enjoying their liaison.

If he had know, then, where it would lead them Roy might have chosen to break the contract himself.

Because it had all become tangled. The unthinking purity of Edward's response to him had drawn Roy, bound him to Ed more tightly than any other lover ever had. And the more he had seen of that bright spirit, the closer he had come, the more he had found himself relaxing into Ed's trust. He knew that it was not a good idea to relax, and still couldn't seem to stop himself.

At the start, eight years ago, Edward's sense of rightness had been a useful extra. Roy had used him as a dowsing rod, to tell where corruption had spread. Half the time just giving Edward his head had solved the problem, too.

So why hadn't Edward rejected the cold expediency of Roy's plans? Roy couldn't deny that Edward's acceptance had soothed him, comforted him with a gut-level assurance that what he did was right. He had spent too long contemplating the dirtiness of his own methods to accept that comfort easily, but Roy had come to rely on it more than he knew he should.

Had Edward's trust of Roy's touch led him to trust Roy's integrity? Was that all that had led him to it?

Could Roy really face drawing back, if that was what it took to leave his hunter's judgment unimpaired?

Roy started a bit when a knock sounded at his door, followed by Edward himself.

"Taisa, Hawkeye-taii said you wanted to see me."

Roy held out his hand. Edward tilted his head, curiously, but crossed the room and let Roy pull him down to a kiss.

"Should I have locked the door behind me?" Edward asked against Roy's lips, sounding amused. Roy didn't answer. He drew back to look at Edward, grateful that the afternoon sun would be in Ed's eyes and he wouldn't see the uncertainty in Roy's.

"May I hold you for a little while, my hawk?" he asked softly. Ed looked at him wordlessly for a moment, perhaps a bit taken aback, but settled into Roy's arms willingly enough. Roy suppressed a shiver as Ed casually rested his cheek against Roy's hair.

The thought of letting go, permanently, affected him with something uncomfortably like panic. Roy didn't like losing control that way, but he had yet to see any solution. For now he simply bore with it, and hoped a solution would present itself in time.

He leaned his head against Ed's shoulder and closed his eyes.

End

Title Note: Rosin is powdered pine sap (fir, I believe). It is used, among other things, on the bows of stringed instruments to provide the right amount of friction against the strings. Without this it is far more difficult to control the sound and shape it into accurate or complex music.

The Rain

Ed and Roy go for a walk in the rain... at least that was Ed's intention. Fluffy Drama, I-2.

- Associated Fanart: Roy in the Rain by Jedera

Edward Elric had spent years living out of his suitcase, and thought it a waste of time to actually unpack when he traveled. Accordingly, he dumped his current suitcase on top of a very battered chest of drawers, opened it and considered his unpacking done.

Ed wandered into the main room of the hostel suite and glanced at Roy, who stood at the window looking out at the breaking storm. They had barely beaten it to the door. Lightning flashed, a crack of thunder hard on its heels.

"So, I guess this means you'll spend today holed up inside?" Ed asked.

"I actually like rain, you know," Roy answered, tone reminiscent. "I used to go out in it all the time when I was little. Especially storms like this. Even when I started specializing, I still liked walking in it. It wasn't until later that it became," he paused a moment before finishing, "inadvisable."

Too dangerous, Ed translated. He gave Roy's back a long, thoughtful look, chewing on his lip. They had almost two days, yet, before the Fel garrison commander was expecting them. He knew Roy wanted to surprise the man, but maybe they had a little time, too, for the wistfulness in Roy's voice.

Ed went to Roy's side and held out his hands. "Come on."

Roy laid his hands in Ed's with a tiny smile. "Where?" he inquired.

"Outside."

Roy halted. Ed tightened his grasp.

"Look, no one knows we're here yet, right? And you're out of uniform. And neither of us have ever been here before so it's not like anyone will recognize us. We're about as safe as we can get." He tugged lightly, urging Roy to come with him. After another moment of frozen hesitation, Roy did.

They had wound up in one of the second floor suites with an outside entrance. The landing in front of their door was small enough that Ed, locking up, felt the shiver that ran through Roy as the rain struck them. Roy descended the stairs slowly, looking up rather than at where his feet were going, and Ed had a momentary qualm. He couldn't, offhand, remember Roy acting quite this absent-minded ever before.

When they reached the street Roy stood with his eyes closed for a moment, and Ed saw another shiver pass over him. Lightning flashed. In the taut silence before the thunder Roy tossed his head back, flinging his hair out of his eyes, and laughed. He spun towards Ed and held out a hand.

"Come on," he called over a long rumble.

Ed's eyes widened.

Roy's smile was open and unconstrained, and his eyes were bright. He looked barely older than Ed.

"Come on," Roy repeated. His grin practically glowed. "If you think you can catch me!" And he was off running, with another laugh, stride long and easy. Ed stood, open mouthed, for several long moments before collecting himself sufficiently to give chase.

Roy was in the town square by the time Ed caught him, standing with his face tipped up to the sheeting water. Ed touched his shoulder just a bit cautiously. Justifiably so, in his opinion, since Roy promptly clasped his wrists and proceeded to swing the both of them in circles until Ed was dizzy. When Roy finally caught him close, Ed could feel that he was laughing again.

When Roy kissed him, Ed tasted the rain on his lips. Roy's mouth was hot in contrast to the water running down them, hot and... bright somehow. That was the only word that came to Ed, the only one that fit this open, laughing, dripping, Roy who kissed him the the middle of the town's public center with thunder rolling overhead. Ed clung to him, dizzy again. He felt like he'd been dropped from a great height, and somehow missed the ground.

Roy drew back slowly, resting his palm against Ed's cheek for a moment before taking his hand. They strolled back through the storm, Ed just a bit dazed, Roy with a bounce in his step that almost qualified as skipping.

"Here," Ed said, once they were standing in their entryway again, "let me dry us off."

Roy caught his hands, keeping them apart. "No, no, trying not to get too much water on the floor while dashing for towels is part of the fun," he admonished, eyes sparkling.

Words failed Ed completely, and he let Roy drag him down the short hall without protest.

The bathroom was not made for two people, and Ed was laughing himself by the time they managed to peel off their soaked clothes and dump them in the tub to drain. Ed spent a moment longing for the plush robe he had stolen from Roy; cotton just wasn't the same. They completed the afternoon's exercise in the miniscule kitchenette, where Roy made tea.

"Is this part of the fun too?" Ed asked with a tiny grin, as he accepted his mug.

"Certainly," Roy answered serenely. "In the summer, at any rate. Hot cocoa in the fall."

Ed forgot his tea, gazing up at Roy instead. He had never seen Roy's eyes this brilliant, or his mouth this relaxed, not drawn the way it usually was even when he smiled. He was absolutely beautiful like this. Roy looked up from his own mug and tilted his head, questioning. Ed caught up Roy's free hand, bending his head over it, pressing the strong fingers to his lips. "Roy..." he whispered.

Roy knelt, coming down to where he could see Ed's face again. "Ed? What is it?"

Ed looked at that unaccustomed, wild happiness lingering in Roy's face and was suddenly, absolutely infuriated. He pulled Roy into his arms and buried his face in Roy's shoulder.

"Damn them all to hell for making you hide this," he breathed, almost shaking with rage. He heard the faint thunk of Roy's mug on the table, felt Roy's hand stroke his still-damp hair.

"Ssh. It's all right. It's only hidden, not gone. If it were," Roy's voice picked up an edge of teasing, "you'd never have convinced me to surprise you, today."

Ed relaxed again with a shaky sigh. "I just wish," he stopped, considered, and went on anyway, "that I could see you this way more often."

"Well, now you know one way," Roy told him. Ed lifted his head to give his lover a wry smile.

"Guess so. Thunderstorms. Who'd have thought?"

Roy gave him back another bright grin. "Get your tea," he directed, "I want to watch the rest of it."

Ed trailed after him, and consented to curl up with a blanket in the open doorway, where they could see the sky, but insisted that Roy sit upwind and keep him from getting wet again.

End

Glow

Ed gets home after a rather rough trip. Fluffy Drama, I-2.

Ed's fingers were too cold and stiff to fumble around with his keys, so he knocked instead. When Roy opened the door, Ed glared at him.

"I hate being cold, I hate giving reports to stupid Generals, and I hate sleeping on train seats," he declared, stepping in out of the biting chill.

"Mm. Makes you wish you were still short enough to fit on one neatly, doesn't it?" Roy shut the door, shooting a sly smile over his shoulder.

Ed was in no mood for banter, and gave him a flat look and a cold, "No." He ignored Roy's raised brow in favor to trying to get out of his coat. It was a real trick when it hurt to lift his arms above chest height. He slumped a little in relief when Roy came to help.

"You're that stiff from sleeping on the train?" Roy asked rather skeptically.

"No." Ed swore he could hear his muscles creak as he made for the kitchen. "I'm that stiff from sitting in endless meetings, chasing idiot criminals over rooftops, sitting in more meetings and sleeping on the train." To his delight, the kettle was already on. He eyed the cupboard that held mugs, doubtfully. Could he reach that far right now?

Roy's hands slipped over his shoulders. "You're walking like a ninety-year-old with arthritis," he noted. "Sit down."

"If I sit down I'll fall asleep," Ed protested.

Roy came around to face him, and brushed the backs of his fingers against Ed's cheek. "Edward. You're home now," he murmured.

Ed, listening to the echoes that sentence made in his mind, closed his eyes, and leaned against Roy for a moment. Roy's arms closed around him gently, careful not to stress sore muscles. When Roy nudged him toward a chair, Ed let him. He watched a bit enviously as Roy reached down a mug without a single twinge or wince. The man didn't appreciate his blessings, that was what.

Once he had folded Ed's hands around his tea, Roy looked Ed up and down, and pursed his lips. "Stay here for a bit," he directed on his way out.

Ed spared the retreating back an incredulous look. There must be something more interesting than he had expected in the tea today, if Roy thought he would voluntarily move ever again.

Faintly, Ed heard water running.

Well, all right, maybe he would move, then. Just not yet.

Roy returned, collected some glasses and a pitcher of water, and left again. Ed looked after him quizzically before deciding it didn't matter and finishing his tea. It was getting easier, as the mug got lighter.

"Ah, good, you finished." Roy took the mug away and held out a hand. "Come on."

Ed winced at the mere thought of standing and walking, and eyed Roy, trying to judge how determined he was. Roy looked amused.

"I suppose I could carry you," he offered. "Do you really want me to?"

Ed weighed his options, and reluctantly came down on the side of dignity. He hauled himself, slowly, out of the chair, only too glad to let Roy support him as he hobbled down the hall. Pleasure at the sight of the bathtub full of steaming water warred with his awareness that getting his boots off would be a serious trial. Busy contemplating the geometry involved in that effort, Ed blinked as Roy sat him down again and started to undo the footgear in question.

Well, that would make things easier.

Ed was unsurprised that Roy helped him with the rest of undressing. He had obviously observed how limited Ed's current range of motion was. He tilted his head, however, when Roy stripped off his own clothes.

"Roy?"

"I somewhat doubt you would make it over the edge without dunking yourself just now," Roy told him.

Ed had to admit, if only to himself, that Roy had a point. Ed loved this bath; it was deep enough to sit upright in and still have water brushing his chin. But that made it rather tall, and his legs weren't any happier about lifting than his arms.

With a good deal of hissing and grumbling, not to mention assistance, Ed managed to lower himself into the tub. It felt boiling hot, which was just about right.

He noted another advantage to Roy's presence once they were in the water. He made a handy backrest, and kept Ed from having to lean on still-chilly porcelain. Best of all, even if Ed fell asleep, Roy was here to keep him from drowning. Ed rested his head on Roy's shoulder.

Slowly, the water began to feel less searingly hot to his fingers and toes, and Ed began to relax. He drifted until Roy nudged him back to awareness.

"Mmm?" Ed asked.

"Drink something before you get too lightheaded."

Ed opened his eyes to find a glass of water in front of him. Temporarily too content to argue, he took it. It was pleasingly cool in his throat, and Ed felt a bit more reconciled with the world as a whole, sipping his water and leaning against Roy's chest. When he was finished he stretched, cautiously, feeling a bit less like that arthritic old man Roy had compared him to.

"Feeling better?" Roy asked.

"Everything still hurts, but it isn't all one piece of pain anymore," Ed decided after a moment's thought. Roy chuckled.

"If you feel like you can walk, I'll see what I can do about that."

Ed managed to dry himself off, but let Roy wind an arm around his waist to help him up the stairs. He greeted their bed with a happy sigh. He would have liked to flop over onto it, but wasn't that flexible. The best he could manage at the moment was a crawl that ended with a sprawl in the middle. Roy pulled up a blanket to keep him warm, and knelt beside him. Ed flinched a little as Roy's fingers pressed into his back.

"Hm," Roy commented. His touch lightened, stroking the grain of Ed's muscles. Ed sighed. "This may take a while," Roy told him, as he moved to straddle Ed's hips.

Ed made ah and ack and ggh noises as Roy's hands loosened his muscles, pressed pain out of them to be swept away.

"Breathe," Roy reminded him as he worked on Ed's shoulder.

"Trying," Ed hissed between his teeth. His next exclamation was a good deal less articulate, as Roy found a knot and pressed down. It loosened with something like a snap, and Ed lay panting as Roy's fingers smoothed up and down his neck. "Ow," he remarked at last.

Roy leaned down to kiss the back of his neck lightly. "All right?" he asked.

"Mmph," Ed answered.

Roy laughed quietly as he moved to sit crosslegged where he could reach Ed's arm. After his shoulder and sides, that only rated a few erks from Ed. He was dozing again by the time Roy pulled the blanket over his shoulders, and moved down beside Ed's leg instead. That got a variety of noises again, including a few gniis. Ed's hamstrings felt like they'd been twisted until they double-kinked, and he twitched uncontrollably as Roy pressed his palm down the back of Ed's thigh. He didn't relax again until Roy started kneading his hips and rear.

"I think you almost pulled something here," Roy said, passing his hand over Ed's left cheek. "There's a bit of swelling."

"I can tell," Ed winced.

"Hang on, then." Roy was back in a few moments, and Ed felt something warm drip onto his skin. He smelled peppermint a moment later, and felt the warmth spread out as Roy rubbed it in. "You're getting too old for this," Roy teased.

"Oh yeah? Then what are you?" Ed grumbled.

"Too wise to do such things to myself," Roy told him.

Ed would have retorted, but Roy had picked up his foot, and dug his thumbs into the center.

"Aaahh," he sighed, instead. He snuggled into the covers, humming happily, and wriggled his toes. He was deeply disappointed when Roy finished. As far as Ed was concerned, no foot rub could possibly last long enough.

Roy lay down beside him, one hand on Ed's back. Ed stretched, very slowly, feeling many of the knots in his body finally come undone.

"Thanks," he murmured, sleepily, turning over. Roy's hand came up to touch his face.

"My pleasure." Then he grinned. "One of these days I really will make a recording of those sounds you make."

Ed glared though half shut eyes. He growled, and reached up to wind his arms around Roy's shoulders so he could pull Roy down and kiss him. Roy stroked his hair back.

"One more glass of water, and then you can sleep," he said.

Ed growled some more, but let Roy coax him out of bed long enough to get a drink while Roy put the covers back to rights. He was better pleased when Roy joined him on his return to bed, and drew Ed into his arms.

"Welcome back," Roy murmured into Ed's hair.

Ed pressed closer against the length of Roy's body and smiled.

End

Sustained

When it comes down to action everyone has to find a way to handle the stress. Plot With Porn, I-4.

- Associated fanart: Roy with Violin by Hikariblue

When he got the note that Mustang wanted to see both Ed and his staff in his office, Ed figured it was probably bad news. Mustang's expression certainly seemed to confirm it, mouth tight and eyes distant. His first words sounded like good news, though.

"We're being recalled for assignment in Central again."

"What area?" Havoc wanted to know.

The tight mouth twisted. "Administration. Precisely what I hoped for."

Everyone looked at each other, and then back at their commander, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"According to my network," Mustang went on, "Bradley will be making an unannounced visit here in three days." He looked down at his hands, braced flat on his desk. "I will be going to Altlast to meet him before he arrives in East City."

"Alone?" Hawkeye asked, sharply. Mustang's expression stilled.

"No. You'll be coming with me."

Hawkeye relaxed, but Ed also noticed her eyes narrowing and her right hand tensing. His stomach lurched, and his gaze snapped around to Mustang.

"It's time." Those two quiet words echoed through the room. Or maybe it was just inside Ed's head. About once every week or so he remembered that he'd given his loyalty to a man who intended to assassinate their head of state. He generally shoved the memory back in its box as quickly as he could, because it made his stomach twist. Somehow, he didn't think that was going to work this time.

"Why?" he whispered. "Why now?"

Mustang's mouth drew down before he sighed and answered. "Because he's coming for me. Everything points toward him suspecting what I've been doing, and coming to catch me at a moment of disorganization and confusion to confirm it."

And if he confirmed it... Ed shivered and lowered his head, suddenly wishing that Al were here for him to lean against, and in the next instant fervently grateful that Al wasn't here and wouldn't be involved.

"I need the rest of you to conceal the fact that we're gone," Mustang continued, quietly.

Havoc whistled. "Tall order." He contemplated his cigarette for a few moments, thinking, before he nodded. "I think we can do it; it'll take a little character assassination, though." He grinned at Hawkeye.

"How so?" she asked, warily.

"Hell, no one wants to be anywhere you can see them when you're in a bad mood," Havoc grinned. "All we have to do is act scared and no one will come near this office."

Hawkeye's expression chilled.

"Er, case in point, ma'am?" Fury pointed out tentatively.

"We will take what advantages present themselves," Mustang said. Hawkeye glared at her smirking superior a moment before she sniffed and settled.

Ed listened with half an ear as deadly serious strategy was jokingly debated. He didn't think he was the only one made queasy by this whole thing, but you would never have known it by their tones. Ed found himself looking at Mustang's hands, eyes tracing the circle on the back of his glove, thinking about the fire that would leap out from it. A visceral memory of that glove moving down his back washed through him, and Ed had to take a few deep breaths to keep from choking on that juxtaposition. What was he doing involved in this? Finally, Mustang turned to him.

"If the timing could look anything but suspicious, I would send you away, but that isn't possible. I want you to keep as low a profile as you can until this is over, though. If you have some research that's been waiting, that would be perfect."

Ed leveled an evil glare at him, suddenly angry at Mustang for repeating his own thoughts. For offering him such an escape. For taking all the danger on himself. "You would send me away?" he repeated, voice grating.

Mustang's gaze turned piercing, and his tone took on the edge of command that he rarely used with Ed. "You will not be involved in this."

"You think I want to be?" Ed snapped, swinging sharply back to his original distaste. Mustang's face closed, his eyes frozen now.

"Do you think I do either?" he asked in a perfectly conversational voice.

"No, that's not...!" Ed broke off, not wanting to try to untangle his revulsion and fury and fear in front of their current audience. Roy's expression was very distant, now, and Ed's fear for him gained the upper hand.

"Sometimes problems solve each other," Roy murmured in such a detached voice that ice threaded down Ed's spine. He recognized that voice. He'd never heard Roy use it, but he remembered it. Years ago, in the rain, the offer of a trade... Al had been so furious with him after. Ed could feel that fury in his own chest now. Roy couldn't possibly mean to...

Ed pulled in a deep breath, not at all sure what he wanted to say with it. Before he could decide, or, alternatively, howl with frustration, Hawkeye stepped in front of him and laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Edward-kun." When Ed looked in her eyes he saw a promise there, to guard Roy's life as she had for years, and a request that he trust her. Did she hear it too? Would she guard Roy from himself? Ed chewed on his lip, and eventually nodded. Hawkeye nodded, firmly, back.

As they all left the office, Ed felt Mustang's eyes on him.

Ed trudged down the street, hands in his pockets.

It had only taken about forty-five minutes of watching him pace the room, stopping at unpredictable moments to stare at nothing, before Al had thrown him out. Well, all right, Al hadn't actually thrown him out, but his brother's voice had been more than usually exasperated when he told Ed that he should just go talk to Mustang-taisa already. Because that man was the only thing that ever got his older brother so wound up.

Al was right, and Ed had to find out what was going on with Mustang. Why had he spoken like that, earlier? Could he honestly think it would serve something if he didn't come back? Who else did the idiot man expect to pick up the pieces?

There was no answer when Ed knocked at Mustang's door, so he let himself in. He could hear, faintly, music coming from upstairs, and followed it. When he found the source he stopped short in the door of Roy's bedroom.

Roy was perched in the broad window ledge that usually served as an auxiliary desk, and he had a violin tucked under his chin. His fingers slid smoothly over the neck, other hand sweeping the bow across the strings. Delicate, ringing notes swirled through the room.

At the scuff of Ed's boots, Roy looked up, music pausing. Ed was seized with the fear that Roy was sufficiently withdrawn, or upset, or unbalanced, or whatever the hell he was that he would turn away. That he would hide this revelation.

"Don't stop," Ed breathed, barely audible even in the sudden silence. After a still moment, a tiny smile crossed Roy's lips, and he closed his eyes again. His hands slowed, the returning music softer than before.

Ed stayed where he was, entranced. He had seen Roy concentrating before, but never with such emotion. His face showed nothing, but the changing tones of the music set Roy himself on display, sharp, languorous, dark, dancing. Pure. One last note was drawn out, sustained without break for so long Ed saw spots because he'd been holding his breath, waiting for it to end.

As Roy started to pack the instrument away again the passion faded out of the room. Ed didn't want it to go, didn't like the distant look that was back in Roy's eyes. He wanted to call back the brilliant intensity that had surrounded Roy while he played.

Well... there was another set of circumstances under which Roy often showed him something similar. And despite Roy's past claims of not being a sex maniac, it was an offer he never hesitated to accept when Ed made it. And then, maybe, he would be here and warm and... alive again.

As Roy settled, a bit wearily perhaps, on the foot of his bed, Ed came to him and lifted Roy's left hand.

"So that's where these came from," he said softly, brushing his thumb across the calluses on Roy's fingertips. Roy only lifted one shoulder, sketching a shrug.

"I haven't played often lately; they'll hurt tomorrow, a little." Ed was really starting to dislike the detachment in Roy's eyes. Time for a more direct approach, then.

"If you die doing this, the way you think you're going to," Ed growled, lifting Roy's chin until they were eye to eye, "I swear I'll bind your soul to your damn desk, and you'll spend the rest of eternity buried in paperwork."

That got a brief laugh, and Roy's eyes warmed, but he still didn't reach out for Ed and Ed was tired of waiting. He slid one knee onto the bed and closed the distance between them, the hand under Roy's chin tilting his head further back so that Ed could kiss him properly. Roy stiffened for a heartbeat, two, five, and then, surprising Ed yet again, relaxed, opening his mouth under Ed's. If Ed had expected anything, it was for Roy to react by pulling him down to the bed and kissing him senseless in retaliation. Instead, when they broke apart, Roy leaned back on his elbows, watching Ed from under his lashes.

With a mental shrug, Ed decided he could work with that, too. It wasn't the first time Roy had given him the come-hither routine. He toed off his boots as he climbed all the way onto the bed to kneel over Roy's hips. As an after-thought he got rid of his shirt, also. Roy did nothing as Ed unbuttoned his shirt as well, only watched with an odd waiting expression until Ed pushed the shirt off his shoulders. Then he stretched under Ed, curving his back, baring the line of his throat.

Ed paused. Did he...? Was he...? To test the hypothesis forming in the back of his mind, Ed leaned down and kissed the underside of Roy's jaw. Roy responded with a low sigh, letting his head fall back still further.

As if to let Ed take the lead. A tingle shot down Ed's nerves. He had thought about this before, but the only time Roy had ever invited it had been... different. That had been Ed's gift to Roy, and Roy had still been the one directing things. Now...

Why now? Did Roy simply want to return the gift?

"Roy," Ed murmured against his neck, "are you serious?"

"Are you?" Roy returned, with no inflection at all.

Ed considered for about half a second. Was he serious about making love to Roy? Easy answer. He leaned up and kissed Roy fiercely. "Yes."

When Roy opened his eyes and looked up at Ed he was completely present again, eyes heated. "Then don't stop," he whispered. Ed smiled slowly.

"I won't."

Ed trailed open-mouthed kisses across Roy's chest, and slid the fingers of his right hand, lightly, down Roy's spine. Roy arched up into him and moaned softly. Ed had to rein back an answer in his own throat at that husky sound; he couldn't remember Roy ever being so responsive so quickly before.

But, then, Ed had never been near while Roy prepared to kill someone. Maybe Roy needed to not think, tonight, needed to only feel. Needed to let someone else do the planning and maneuvering and considering.

Like how to best get their damn pants off. Ed growled a bit over the recalcitrant buttons.

He was interested to note, though, the way Roy gasped when Ed's metal fingers brushed against his stomach. He trailed them deliberately over Roy's hip, and a shudder swept through Roy. Ed smiled wickedly and set out to tease, little, random brushes of chill metal catching Roy's breath again and again while Ed's left palm slid, firm and slow, over Roy's skin, soothing. Roy's answer to Ed's kiss was a little wild, now, but his hands stayed light where they grasped Ed's hips.

Ed was discovering a few new things about Roy's body. He'd known that Roy's sensitive spots included the hollow of his shoulder and the palms of his hands. He'd known that Roy's ribs were usefully ticklish. He hadn't known that Roy liked to feel teeth on his throat, though he might have guessed that. He certainly hadn't known that rubbing the tendon that ran up the inside of Roy's thigh turned him limp and boneless.

Of course that only lasted until Ed ran his right thumb, delicately, up and down Roy's hardening length, and Roy arched up off the bed, every muscle tensed.

Ed understood, now, why Roy concentrated so intently on him when they were in bed. He'd known how overwhelming it was to experience the play of tension and relaxation, of building pleasure, but to watch it happening, to watch his own hands calling it out of Roy's body, fascinated him. The image of Roy calling music out of the violin flashed through Ed's mind.

He leaned over Roy, sliding his right hand between Roy's legs, back, parting him. Roy stretched, spreading his legs, inviting Ed further. But Ed kept his touch light, circling, never quite entering Roy's body. Roy twisted under him, panting for breath now, eyes closed, lips parted, and Ed had a hard time pulling his attention away long enough to fish in the nightstand and find a familiar bottle by touch.

He had no idea how Roy managed these things one handed. Ed used his teeth to help him open it.

And then he hesitated.

He knew that the sensible thing to do would be to go slow. The one other time they had done this it had taken a while for Roy to relax, and Ed certainly didn't want to hurt his lover. But the line of Roy's body, the flex of his hips as Ed's fingers slid into him, was suggesting something else, suggesting a welcome that sparked a fire in the pit of Ed's stomach.

The heat in Roy's eyes when he opened them only fanned it higher.

"Ed," Roy whispered, "now. Now." There was a tone in that velvet and steel voice Ed was far more used to hearing in his own. Need. Entreaty. It drew him like iron to a magnet. Screw slow, then.

Ed ran his hands up the backs of Roy's legs, and pressed into him, steady, deep. Roy's body let him in, heat so tight around him that Ed felt sweat starting on his skin.

"Yes," Roy breathed. "...yes..." There were more words, low and rough, but the hot shift of Roy's body drowned them out. Ed already knew what they came down to anyway; Roy had said it earlier.

Don't stop.

Ed bit his lip, no longer completely in control of his own movement as his hips flexed to drive him into the grip of that heat. He freed his still-slick left hand to close around Roy's length, and the words dissolved into soft, raw sounds. Ed bit down harder, wanting to hold on, to wait for Roy, but he could feel the edge, feel the shiver that started at the back of his neck and would sweep down...

It caught him by surprise when Roy's body seized him, and for an instant Ed was frozen by the shock. Then reflex drove him forward, and the heat closing around him stole his breath, his sight, stole everything but the electric tide pounding through him.

It finally left him slumped over Roy, forehead resting on his chest as they both gasped for air. When Ed finally levered himself up he wondered for a moment whether Roy was still conscious. He had never seen Roy in such a relaxed sprawl when he was awake. But Roy's eyes opened, slowly, full of lazy satiation. Ed felt rather smug about that, even if his legs did wobble a bit on his way to get a towel. He was especially pleased since it likely meant Roy would be interested in doing this more often, which Ed would very much like. Just the memory of Roy giving himself so freely to Ed's touch was enough to make him shiver.

When they had curled together under the covers, Ed's head on Roy's shoulder, Roy spoke very quietly.

"Thank you, Edward."

Ed woke up to the rustle of someone getting dressed. Since Roy seemed to be trying to keep quiet, Ed pretended to still be asleep.

At least, until Roy's fingers brushed lightly over his hair. Then Ed reached up and grabbed a handful of cloth.

"A desk," he reminded Roy without opening his eyes. "For the rest of eternity."

"I'll remember," Roy assured him, lightly.

"Besides," now Ed opened his eyes so he could give Roy a meaningful look, "we have to do this again sometime." He tugged Roy down to a hard kiss.

"I quite agree, my hawk," Roy laughed against his lips. Ed let him go.

"Gyrfalcon," he stated. "Don't let that be anything but the truth."

Roy straightened, dark eyes searching Ed's. Ed held that gaze with an effort, knowing he had just told Roy to kill.

"Who flies whom today?" Roy murmured, but Ed saw something relax in him. Roy touched Ed's lips with his fingertips and nodded.

And left.

Ed slouched in a library chair, staring at an open book. The same book he'd been staring at for the last three days. And, despite his love of and respect for books, he was about ready to hurl this one across the room from sheer nerves.

Where was Roy? He had said three days, it had been three days. If he'd managed to screw up and get himself killed, Ed really would...

"Research going well, Edward-kun?"

The deep, familiar voice struck through Ed like lightning. He closed his eyes, swallowing against the tightness in his throat.

"Everything is fine," he managed at last, turning to see Roy Mustang, neat and precise as always, lounging against the shelves with a faint smile and pained eyes.

"It's time to be moving," Roy told him.

End

Ed: You know, this arc started with humor. How'd we wind up here?

Branch: This arc started with you, how do you think?

Ed: ...you have a point.

Long Exposure - One

Upon meeting again in the hospital, after Seigaku plays Rikkai, Tachibana decides Fuji could use a friend outside of tennis. Drama With Romance, I-3

Tachibana Kippei was fretting. It wasn't a common activity for him, but he didn't have a great many alternatives at the moment. He still wasn't permitted to walk any significant distance. Certainly not far enough to visit the person he'd been told was also a guest in this hospital to see if he was all right.

So he was sitting up on the hospital bed he had come to loathe, picking at a raveled corner of the far too thin blanket under him. He'd been told before, most notably by his little sister, that he worried too much. But he couldn't shake off a feeling of responsibility for this injury. Couldn't forget the direct, burning blue look Fuji had shared with him over an innocuous roll of tape. That look had promised to take up the hope Kippei couldn't carry for a while, and asked for his help to gather the spirit to bear it.

How could he not feel he had some responsibility for what had happened?

A knock at the door was a welcome distraction.

When he saw who was coming in, though, Kippei surged up off the bed and strode to meet him, hardly noticing the warning stab of pain through his foot.

"Fuji!" Kippei caught his shoulders, examining his visitor closely. "Are you all right?" Fuji blinked at him, looking rather surprised at this greeting.

"Yes, I'm fine, thank you," he murmured. Seeing the brilliant eyes focus and track, Kippei breathed a short sigh of relief. Fuji's brows went up.

"Your teammates stopped by, along with mine, to tell me what happened. And Ann's tape of the match didn't exactly relieve any of my concern," Kippei told him. He lifted a hand to touch, very lightly, Fuji's cheekbone just under the temple. "That was an extremely reckless thing to do," he said, quietly.

Fuji's smile was a bit sharper than usual.

"So. Do you think you need to scold me in Tezuka's place, since he isn't here to do it himself?" he inquired. A half laughing breath escaped Kippei, and he dropped his hands.

"Of course not," he said, stepping back to sit on the edge of his bed. "For one thing, you never chose me as your captain, and I don't have the right. For another," he smiled slightly, "I have no doubt Tezuka can deliver his own reprimands, whether he's present or not."

Fuji didn't answer, busying himself instead with pulling out a chair. He sat precisely, hands folded. Kippei eyed his posture.

"You're worried about what he might say?" he asked, more gently. Fuji's smile froze just a little. Kippei waited.

"It's more complicated than that," Fuji said, at last. "I... haven't actually spoken to him about that match, yet." Watching him, Kippei recognized a variation on the expression Akira had worn the day he tried to keep a traffic accident quiet from him, and play on anyway. He doubted Fuji would let him push for details, though. At least not right away. Well, that needn't be a problem; he certainly had the time to spare to work it out.

"If I promise not to ask, will you come visit again?" Kippei asked. "It's really boring, here." Fuji looked up with a quick laugh.

"All right."

It took Kippei over a month to winkle out the source of Fuji's disturbance, following his match with Kirihara. By then Fuji was visiting his house, rather than a hospital room. It wasn't until he succeeded that he really thought to question why he was doing it. Even then, all he could really tell himself was that Fuji needed someone to ask, someone to have the patience to wait out his smile.

The break came the second time Fuji brought him ice cream to cool the frustration of physical therapy. It was also the day after Seigaku had heard from Tezuka that he would be home soon. They sat outside, passing the carton back and forth, but neither the good weather nor the butter-pecan was able to keep Fuji's attention.

"Have you ever had a friend you didn't understand?" Fuji asked, abruptly.

"Several." Kippei didn't mention that Fuji himself was currently one of them.

"And what if, suddenly, you did come to understand?" Fuji was staring up at the sunlit leaves above them, looking more lost than Kippei remembered ever seeing him look before, though he doubted a casual observer would recognize it.

"And didn't know how to say so?" he hazarded. He'd realized some time ago that Fuji wasn't really much good at speaking directly.

"And didn't know how to apologize," Fuji corrected softly, looking down at his hands.

"Was the friend hurt that you didn't understand?" Kippei thought he might be starting to see what the topic of this circling conversation was.

"I never had to. Not before then. Te... he never pushed me like that."

Kippei nodded to himself.

"Some things, only an enemy can do for you," he said, and paused. Fuji might be angry with him for the next part, but someone needed to say it and he didn't think Fuji could bring himself to. "Beyond that, though, you never let him push you." Fuji flinched slightly, and Kippei sighed. "You didn't want to be an opponent to him. I don't think Tezuka will hold that against you, Fuji. You came forward when it mattered."

"But it means so much to him," Fuji murmured. "It's always been his goal..." Kippei set a hand on his shoulder and shook him once.

"Stop that," he said, firmly. "Take it from another captain, Tezuka cares more for the well being of his team than for that title."

Fuji blinked at him a few times, jarred out of his introspection.

"You're right. Of course he does," he answered eventually, with a self-deprecating little smile that nearly made Kippei grind his teeth. He tightened his grip on Fuji's shoulder.

"Fuji. You did not fail him."

After a moment of aching stillness, Fuji took a deep breath and let it out, closing his eyes. When he opened them again he offered Kippei another small, but more genuine, smile, and laid his fingers over Kippei's hand on his shoulder.

"Thank you."

Kippei didn't have a chance to do anything about the conclusions he had come to until after Nationals were over. Over for Fudoumine, at any rate. Just their luck, he reflected, that after clawing their way to the quarterfinals they should come up against Seigaku. He would almost have preferred Rikkaidai again. He knew he couldn't speak beforehand. They had to play this round out however it fell.

In the end it worked out well enough. He was proud of his team; the matches actually went all the way to Singles One. Tachibana Kippei had never, in his life, been pleased to lose, and never would be. Nevertheless, he was satisfied that he had played his best against Tezuka, and had no hesitation about approaching him afterwards.

"Tezuka."

"Tachibana," his fellow captain acknowledged, stepping apart from his team at Kippei's silent request.

"Nearly the end of the season," Kippei observed. "It's been a good year for both our teams, injuries and all."

Tezuka's mouth tilted, rueful and partial agreement.

"It will be at least a year before either of us is in a position to draw up team rosters again, but there was something I wanted to ask you now." Tezuka tipped his head, inquiring with one brow. Kippei met his eyes evenly. "When we come to play each other again, I would prefer not to play opposite Fuji."

"Is there a particular reason why not?" Tezuka asked after a long, searching look. Kippei smiled a bit wryly.

"Because he needs someone who doesn't," he said, simply. Tezuka's eyes darkened, and Kippei shook his head. "I'm not criticizing you, Tezuka, it's just..."

Just that, although Fuji was devoted to Tezuka, and Kippei suspected that Tezuka was one of Fuji's few real friends, Tezuka saw all truly talented players as potential opponents. Even the ones on his own team. One had only to watch how he handled young Echizen to see that. And Fuji... Fuji couldn't seem to imagine truly exerting himself against those he cared for.

"You want to be safety for him?" Tezuka asked, deep voice soft, and Kippei relaxed. Tezuka did understand; good.

"Yes."

"I will see to it, then." Tezuka turned to head back to his team, paused, and looked back over his shoulder. "Thank you. For your compassion." Kippei thought his eyes were just a little sad.

Kippei inclined his head. "Thank you for your trust."

"It's his trust you need to worry about," were Tezuka's parting words.

Kippei didn't doubt them in the least.

TBC

A/N: I have used the manga version of the match between Fuji and Kirihara, since it's far more dramatic.

Wrapped Around My Finger

Mizuki seduces Yuuta, and possibly vice versa. Drama With Romance, I-3

It wasn't that Yuuta didn't know what kind of person Mizuki Hajime was. He knew perfectly well. Mizuki was viciously ruthless. He was the kind of person who worked through manipulation because he enjoyed it. He was a flaming control freak and downright obsessive. Yuuta recognized all these things quite readily.

The only thing he refused to admit was where he recognized them from.

Mizuki was also the first, and, for a long time, the only one to recognize Yuuta's skill, and his weaknesses, as his. The one who had never asked "Oh, did you start playing tennis because of your brother?" The one who took him, and, yes, used him, purely and completely on his own merits.

Of course Yuuta knew he had an ulterior motive for it, he wasn't stupid.

But that wasn't the point.

It started with a few casual touches, Mizuki's hand on his arm or shoulder to call his attention or in farewell. It would have been less noticeable if Mizuki had been the sort to touch anyone, however casually.

He wasn't.

That was Akazawa's part. When a hand fell on a team member's shoulder for encouragement or camaraderie, or, occasionally, a brisk shaking, it was their captain's hand not their manager's. Mizuki didn't touch. It was typical of the difference between them. Akazawa held them together as a team; Mizuki drove them forward as his personal game pieces. Between the two it pretty much worked out.

So Yuuta noticed those as-if casual touches, and wondered what Mizuki was up to. The idea that he might not be up to anything didn't even deserve a first thought.

Yuuta got his first clue, though he didn't recognize it at the time, in a heated discussion between Akazawa and Mizuki that broke off as soon as he approached. Akazawa gave Mizuki a hard look before turning away.

"You had better be right about this not affecting the team," he told their manager. Mizuki gave him a mock-surprised look.

"You doubt my analysis of the situation?" he asked with a dangerous lilt.

"Just remember who's always involved when your analysis fails, Mizuki," Akazawa said, sharply.

"I always do," Mizuki replied though his teeth. Akazawa snorted. He patted Yuuta's shoulder, absently, in passing, and Yuuta saw Mizuki's eyes narrow slightly.

"Mizuki-san?"

A smile was added to the edged look.

"Shall we work on your serve, Yuuta-kun?" Mizuki ordered as if it were a suggestion, urging Yuuta toward the far court with a hand on his back.

Yuuta didn't start to worry about what Mizuki was doing until the day Mizuki parted from him after practice with a hand on his cheek and a thumb brushing, ever so lightly, over Yuuta's mouth. That was when it occurred to him that this might not have anything to do with tennis, which reminded him of the conversation he had heard the end of, and then he spent the rest of the day locked in his room, lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling and trying not to hyperventilate.

Mizuki couldn't possibly be... well, he couldn't. Right? Admittedly, he tended to look rather predatory around Yuuta, but that was just how Mizuki was. Wasn't it? He'd looked like that for years, now.

It didn't take very long for Yuuta to realize that was not necessarily a reassuring thought.

The next day he was so hyper-aware of those maybe-not-casual touches that he dropped two games. After the second he noticed Akazawa giving Mizuki a very dirty look, and had to escape, pleading a headache. Memorizing his ceiling for the second evening in a row, Yuuta tried to think the problem through. He could do this. His brother wasn't the only smart one in the family.

If Mizuki really was... well, coming on to him, the first question was, did he want it to stop?

It was actually kind of a hard question. This whole thing was disconcerting, and had him very off balance. But, in a way, it wasn't actually new. He'd always been flattered, right from the first, that Mizuki paid attention to him, sought him out. He'd gotten used to how... intense Mizuki's attention was. The idea that Mizuki might want him, personally, made him shiver.

Ok, so maybe he didn't exactly want it to stop. Next question was, what to do about it?

Actually, was there anything he could do? Yuuta chewed reflectively on his lip. It wasn't as though Mizuki had done anything very obvious, yet. It was still possible that something else entirely was going on. Mizuki might be experimenting with a new management style, using Yuuta as his guinea pig. That would also explain Akazawa's irritation.

Or Mizuki could just be waiting for Yuuta to stop jumping like he'd stepped on a tack every time he was touched.

Yuuta glared at his ceiling as though it were responsible for the conclusion that the best thing he could do was wait and see, and try to relax a little. There was no getting around it, though, and he spent the next few days attempting to have more patience than he usually needed. His captain's temper subsided as Yuuta's game steadied again.

Sure enough, that seemed to be the signal for the next step.

Mizuki took to, not just touching, but stroking down his arm or across his back. Yuuta stopped doubting his original conclusions. And, as the days slipped by, he started wishing that Mizuki would get on with whatever he had planned. The touches had gone from odd to shocking to commonplace to downright teasing, and Yuuta was tired of waiting.

He asked Mizuki, later, whether every language had a saying about being careful about what one wished for.

Yuuta was finishing a weight workout late in the evening when Mizuki tracked him down. Neither thing was unusual. Yuuta liked having the room to himself, which meant coming in late, and Mizuki liked to check on his training and adjust his regimen if necessary.

"Not even out of breath, Yuuta-kun? Perhaps you should increase your repetitions."

It was not usual for Mizuki to prowl into his personal space and run a hand down his chest, reminding Yuuta forcibly that his shirt was still lying on the bench behind him. Mizuki's fingers outlined his muscles, and Yuuta thought sparks might be skittering in their wake. He couldn't pull his eyes away from Mizuki's hooded stare to check.

"Excellent definition, Yuuta-kun," his manager murmured. Yuuta stood, frozen, as Mizuki's palm skated down his stomach. He shuddered as it stopped there.

"Mizuki-san," he choked. Mizuki's lips curved, and his hand rose to the back of Yuuta's neck.

"Do you have any idea," he said, softly, "how much it pleases me to know that, if I decided I wanted you right now, on one of the weight benches, you would offer me no resistance?"

The light-headed thought crossed Yuuta's mind that, yes, he did have some idea how much that would please someone like Mizuki Hajime. Maybe, sometime, he would tell Mizuki that yielding was a reasonable trade for being the center of his focus. That focus was almost as tangible as body heat, as Mizuki leaned forward and whispered in his ear.

"Not yet." He drew back, graced Yuuta with a demure smile, and strolled out the door.

Yuuta couldn't make it back to his room this time, and had to settle for memorizing the ceiling of the weight room instead. At least, until it occurred to him that he was lying sprawled on one of the weight benches, and that Mizuki might just decide to come back, and take that as an invitation. He hauled himself upright and forced his shaky knees to support him.

What had that been about? Mizuki touching Yuuta like that and in the next breath assuring him that nothing would happen.

He supposed that Mizuki might have just wanted to ease his anxiety by making his intentions clear. Or it could be that he wanted to be sure of Yuuta's willingness. It was also quite possible that Mizuki had done it just because he felt like provoking someone. Yuuta would actually have put his money on it being a little of all three. As he tried to convince the adrenaline singing through him to subside enough for sleep, he reflected that it was probably weird for him to be attracted to that combination of whimsy and iron calculation. But there it was. Things that caused most people's eyes to cross seemed quite normal to him. He'd come to terms with that much.

And he honestly had to admit to himself that Mizuki had gotten it dead right. If he had kept going, Yuuta wouldn't have stopped him. Yuuta's backbrain helpfully presented him with an image of Mizuki pressing him down on that bench and running his hands lower.

So much, Yuuta thought, gasping, for lowering his adrenaline.

He spent the next week being ganged up on by his subconscious and his hormones at extremely inconvenient moments, such as when he was called on to read in Literature or translate in English. As a result he wound up with extra homework and spent several long evenings in the common room of his floor, dwelling on the unfairness of the universe and the incomprehensibility of English articles.

"Trouble with your English again, Yuuta-kun? Would you like some help?" Mizuki's voice inquired from the door. That voice always had an insinuating edge, but Yuuta swore it hadn't been this suggestive last week. He debated throwing his textbook, but decided that would probably only lead to a longer period of frustration. He settled for glaring.

Mizuki seemed to find this amusing.

This time, at least, Yuuta was ready for it when Mizuki crossed the room, stepped over his legs and leaned his hands on the back of Yuuta's chair, caging Yuuta under his body. Yuuta rested his head back so he could look Mizuki in the face, offering, waiting, challenging, and could they please actually get somewhere this time? Fire lit in Mizuki's normally cool eyes.

"Ah," he breathed. "That's what I've been waiting for, Yuuta-kun."

Mizuki's lips covered his, and Yuuta opened his mouth under them. Mizuki kissed the way he did everything else, intense and thorough, his tongue tasting every part of Yuuta. When he drew back it took Yuuta a few moments to realize that his eyes had fallen shut. He opened them to see Mizuki smiling down at him. It was not a smile that gave anything away, and Yuuta found himself having to ask.

"Mizuki-san, what... where... is this going?"

Mizuki trailed a finger down Yuuta's neck, smile sharpening at the shiver that resulted.

"I think that's for you to say, Yuuta-kun," he murmured. Yuuta blinked.

"It is?" he asked, a bit nonplussed. At Mizuki's nod, he sank back in his chair, even more breathless than the kiss had left him. Yes, this was Mizuki, the one who knew him, the one who had watched him, who knew exactly what would win him. Not just the trade of his pliancy for Mizuki's complete attention, but giving Yuuta the choice and determination.

So, what was it going to be?

"Dating?" he suggested, eventually, finding no better word for where he would prefer to start.

"Indeed." Mizuki leaned down again, brushing another kiss across Yuuta's lips. "In that case, would you care to join me for dinner next Friday, Yuuta-kun?" For some reason, that made Yuuta blush, where the kisses hadn't.

"Sure," he answered, glancing aside. Mizuki laughed, low, and turned Yuuta's face back up to his for a third kiss, long and slow, before he pushed back from the chair. He left Yuuta staring at the ceiling of the common room, this time, and completely incapable of thinking about the difference between a and the. Help with his English, yeah, right.

Yuuta decided it would be a good idea to write to his brother about his upcoming... date. Aniki was usually scrupulous about letting Yuuta go his own way, keeping his manipulations obvious enough to avoid if Yuuta really wanted to. But Aniki really didn't like Mizuki, and if this was going to be one of the times he lost his temper, and Yuuta lost his prospective boyfriend to a homicidal sibling, well better to know sooner than later.

Five days later he wrote again to say that it had been cheating to send Aniki's boyfriend's little sister to try and talk him out of it. They had ended up yelling at each other at the tops of their lungs, across a picnic table on the campus lawn, about pig-headed idiots and interfering amateurs. It had actually been kind of nice to yell at someone who would yell back properly, instead of smiling and speaking softly and making Yuuta feel unbalanced.

Unfortunately, Ann's rather acidic observations about Mizuki had enough truth in them to stick in Yuuta's head. He knew perfectly well that Mizuki was focused pretty obsessively on his brother; it was one of the things they shared. When Aniki had said that he wasn't going to continue professionally in tennis, Yuuta had gone to Mizuki as the only person who would understand his fury over the news. A niggling uncertainty refused to be dislodged.

Though being taken out on a date where, however casual their surroundings, Mizuki insisted on holding the door and pulling out a chair for him, went a long way toward flustering Yuuta enough to swamp it. When it became clear that Mizuki intended to see him back to his door, and quite probably past it, the thought of what was likely to happen next was actually familiar and calming by comparison. Yuuta thought that was probably why Mizuki had gone to such lengths to unsettle him in the first place.

When Mizuki closed and locked the door behind them, and pressed Yuuta gently back against the wall, though, the uncertainty resurfaced.

"Yuuta-kun?" Mizuki asked, as Yuuta looked aside, chewing on his lip.

"Mizuki-san... why?" Yuuta finally asked. "Why me? I thought it was... my brother... you wanted." He might never forgive himself for actually saying that, but he had to know.

"Mmm. It would be nice to have him, too," Mizuki agreed, casually. Yuuta's head snapped back around, jaw loose. "But that has nothing to do with this."

Yuuta sputtered. Mizuki tilted his head and looked at him, measuringly.

"I want something different from him than I want from you," he explained. "I don't doubt I'll get it, eventually, because I understand him. And there's something he wants that I can give him." Yuuta found the curl of Mizuki's lips and the light in his eye very unnerving. "If I survive the experience, perhaps I'll tell you what it is. But what I want from you is," Mizuki pursed his lips, "deeper."

Yuuta's heart jumped at the silky tone of the last word.

"What do you mean?" he asked, voice husky in his own ears.

"I want you for good," Mizuki told him, cool and low. "You're passionate, Yuuta-kun, and determined in a way he can never hope to be. I like that." He leaned in. "I always appreciated your looks, of course. Such strong, clean lines to your body," his hand smoothed down Yuuta's side, "such expressive eyes, rich and sharp as new steel," he drew Yuuta down to him, "and such a soft mouth for someone so fierce." He stroked his tongue gently over Yuuta's lower lip, and Yuuta gasped.

"But that wasn't what really drew my eye, at the beginning," Mizuki continued. "It was the fire in you. Useful and beautiful both; my ideal, Yuuta-kun." He caught Yuuta's face between his hands. "And all the more when I saw you knew I would let you destroy yourself to win, and you accepted that. Yet again when you defied me, and took only what you wished of my advice, and still returned to me." His mouth quirked up. "Helpless things are only of passing interest. You are fascinating. You yield to me and yet keep your own way."

Yuuta was grateful for the wall at his back, because without it he thought the intensity of Mizuki's gaze and words would have had him on the floor. And then Mizuki smiled, and shook his head, and said the one thing that Yuuta never, honestly, thought he would hear.

"It was you from the very first, Yuuta-kun. At the start I mostly wanted to defeat Shuusuke as a gift to you. Here and now, he has no relevance. It's you I wanted first." He ran a hand up Yuuta's neck, lifting his chin with a thumb, and pressed his mouth over Yuuta's pulse. "So?"

Yuuta was shaking as his hands found Mizuki's waist.

"Yes," he whispered, harshly. Mizuki's lips curved against his skin.

He let Mizuki pull him away from the wall, onto the bed. Let Mizuki's hands strip off his clothes. Lay, breathing fast, waiting to see how far Mizuki would take his consent. Mizuki stroked his fingers through Yuuta's hair, looking down at him curiously.

"Not completely innocent, are you?" he murmured. "It shows in your eyes. Everything does, of course." He shifted and ran his hands down Yuuta's thighs, pressing them apart. Yuuta shuddered, breath stopping completely. The weight of Mizuki's body settling over his, the softness of his skin against Yuuta's, pulled a choked off sound from his throat.

"What would you do if I did choose to take this all the way?" Mizuki's voice brushed his ear. Yuuta closed his eyes.

"I said yes," he answered, unevenly.

"So you did," Mizuki agreed, sounding amused. "But perhaps we'll start a bit slower." He kissed Yuuta softly, hands stroking him, soothing the trembling. "I am curious about your source of information, though. Let me see." Yuuta opened his eyes to see Mizuki leaning on an elbow with his chin in one hand, contemplating him thoughtfully.

He bit his lip and turned his head a little away. Mizuki's rare laugh washed over him.

"You walked in on someone? Probably Akazawa and Kaneda, then."

Yuuta nodded, though, technically, he had not walked in on them. The sight of Kaneda bent over under their captain had frozen him on the threshold, and Kaneda's moans as Akazawa drove into him had been loud enough to cover the sound of Yuuta, very carefully, closing the door again.

"Well, let me assure you that I have a far lighter touch than our esteemed captain," Mizuki purred. "We'll get to that later, though."

He kissed Yuuta more deeply, through teasing, and now Yuuta relaxed under him. Mizuki's touch danced down his body, drawing low sighs from him, and Mizuki's mouth gradually followed. Yuuta twisted and arched into the glide of Mizuki's tongue down his stomach, came up off the bed with a sharp cry at the swift, slick heat of Mizuki's mouth closing around him. Mizuki's tongue slid down and then up his length, curled around him, coaxing, demanding. Yuuta lost track of time and place, attention narrowing to the hot sensation that wound around him tighter and tighter until the world snapped into glittering shards from it.

When his breath returned, Mizuki moved back up to lie beside him, smiling down at Yuuta with smug pleasure. Yuuta turned on his side and laid a hand, hesitantly, on Mizuki's hip.

"Mizuki-san... you...?" He chewed on his lip until Mizuki stroked a finger over it to stop him.

"In a little bit, Yuuta-kun," Mizuki told him, lazily.

The phone rang.

Yuuta glared over at it, wondering who had the bad timing to be calling now. Mizuki smiled and waved in a don't let me interrupt you manner, so he answered, despite some misgivings. He couldn't suppress an exasperated sigh when he heard who was on the other end.

"What are you doing calling me now?" he asked.

"I just wanted to make sure you'd gotten back all right, Yuuta," his brother answered. Yuuta rolled his eyes.

"Yes, Aniki, I got back just fine, and Mizuki-san didn't eat me on the way home."

There was one beat of dead silence from everyone before Mizuki folded up laughing and Yuuta felt his face growing hot.

"Yuuta," Aniki's voice was getting dangerously pleasant, "who is that?"

Before Yuuta could muster a coherent answer, Mizuki held out a hand for the phone. Yuuta shrugged and handed it over. Redirecting his brother's attention would be a good thing, and if Mizuki was volunteering to be thrown to the wolf, far be it from Yuuta to stop him.

"Indeed, Shuusuke, I didn't eat your brother on the way home," Mizuki said, still chuckling. "I waited until we got back."

Yuuta was positive he was the color of a radish.

"Mizuki-san!"

Mizuki handed the phone back with satisfied smile.

"It got rid of him," he pointed out, and leaned over Yuuta, pressing him back with a hand on his chest. "I can bait him at greater length later. Right now, I have better things to do."

Ann had asked him, once, how he could stand to be in between two such possessive people. On the one hand was his brother, who would be perfectly happy to rip the lungs out of anyone who looked at Yuuta the wrong way. On the other was his boyfriend, who would be equally happy to break the hands of anyone who touched Yuuta. Not that either of them would ever be so straightforward about their revenge. No one seemed to understand that it was the equal possessiveness that made it work.

Well, that made it work for Yuuta.

His brother detested his boyfriend, and his boyfriend was obsessed with his brother. It was Aniki's hostility that ensured Mizuki would be careful what he did to Yuuta. What he did without Yuuta's consent, at any rate. And it was Yuuta's acceptance of Mizuki that kept Aniki at a little distance, gave Yuuta some breathing room. Yuuta liked his brother's protectiveness, as much as he liked Mizuki's touch. As long as there was something to keep each from getting out of hand.

It all worked out for Yuuta.

End

In the Forest of the Night

Takes place in Current Tenipuri Year. Ohtori reflects on the pair he's found himself a part of. Drama With Romance, I-3

Choutarou couldn't remember precisely when Shishido-san had started calling him by his given name. It had been some time during those first, grueling, late night training sessions. He did remember being surprised by it. A number of things had surprised him, right around that time.

He had never, before that, given much thought to the cutthroat system of Hyoutei's tennis club. It was just the way things were. Well, he had noticed that it seemed to make for astonishing rudeness among the pre-Regulars, but that didn't have to affect him. Choutarou had been raised to show courtesy; Otou-sama always said it was one of the best ways to disarm an opponent. So he was polite to his peers and his seniors, both, and lent a hand wherever one seemed needed, and devoted every bit of his strength to working his way up the ranks. It hadn't taken long. The grumbling of people with less dedication had little meaning to him. By the same token, it was pleasant, the mass support that Atobe-buchou's hand with the club placed at his back once he was a Regular. But Choutarou never deceived himself by thinking that his performance rested on anything but his own will and effort. The shape of the system that went on around him didn't matter.

And then Shishido Ryou had come to him, after his sudden defeat at Fudoumine's hands, and asked for help with some training. Choutarou had agreed, as he always did, though the help Shishido-san wanted had been a bit out of the ordinary. He had watched Shishido-san drive himself to catch an unreturnable serve with his bare hands, night after night, and seen something he hadn't expected.

After very little observation, during his first year, Choutarou had decided that no one among the Regulars shared his own dedication, with the exception of the captain. They were all very talented, but also flippant and careless, not devoting anywhere near the concentration that Choutarou thought the game called for. Under the floodlights, though, in the burning of Shishido-san's eyes, in the scrapes and bruises and blood on the court, in his voice with every snarl of Next!, Choutarou had seen drive and will to match his own.

That was what had driven him to break his usual reserve and plead with Sakaki-sensei to reinstate Shishido-san. And when their coach's threat had brought home, for the first time, the cold finality of Hyoutei's system, it was that recognition of kinship-at-last that had driven him to lay his own position on the line. He would certainly have regretted it, if he had lost his place. But if Hyoutei's system had no room for the pure determination and burning edge that Shishido-san had reached, then perhaps Choutarou truly didn't and couldn't belong there, either.

Not that he hadn't been extremely relieved when Atobe-buchou had stepped in.

And when Shishido-san had finished trading insults with Atobe-buchou, and it had taken some time for Choutarou to figure out that this might be Shishido-san's way of thanking their captain, he had turned to Choutarou and called him by name. That was the first time Choutarou really remembered, though at the same time he had recalled an increasing number of Choutarous slipping in among the Ohtoris during the weeks they worked together.

No one else at the school called him by his given name.

Choutarou wondered, sometimes, if Atobe-buchou had seen it starting then. It would explain why he had immediately thrown them together as a doubles pair. It was the kind of thing that he, long acquainted with Shishido Ryou, might well have seen at once.

It took Choutarou somewhat longer to realize that, when he had given Shishido-san his support, he had gained something in return, tossed in his path as easily as Shishido-san might toss him a towel after a long practice.

Shishido-san's loyalty.

Choutarou was friendly with many, but friends with few. It was the way he had always been. Shishido-san didn't seem to care. He breezed through Choutarou's public manners as casually as he elbowed past Atobe-buchou's arrogance. Ohtori Choutarou was now his partner, and his friend, and that was that.

Choutarou had been stunned.

He had never known someone who would so freely grab his arm to get his attention, grin at him to share an inside joke, yell at anyone he found giving Choutarou grief about his control and then turn around and lecture Choutarou himself about the same thing. He had certainly never known anyone at Hyoutei who matched his focus on the court without hesitation or complaint. But Shishido-san did all of that, now. And, for the first time since he had entered the tennis club, Choutarou had relaxed. As part of a pair, his success was no longer purely dependant on his own effort and will; but Shishido-san's fierceness left no room for anxiety or reluctance to depend on him.

When they had beaten Oshitari-senpai and Mukahi-senpai at doubles, Choutarou had returned Shishido-san's brilliant grin with a smile so open it felt strange on his face.

Shishido-san's determination for him, and pride in him, when it came to defeating Choutarou's own weaknesses, had, for the first time, given Choutarou more than his own will to support him.

Shishido-san's spendthrift energy and warmth had drawn Choutarou in until he found it hard to imagine living without them. But in another half a year...

A cold, dripping waterbottle against the back of his neck pulled Choutarou out of his introspection with a yelp.

"You're miles away, Choutarou," Shishido-san chuckled, dropping onto the bench beside him. "What's up?"

"I was just thinking," he said, taking a sip of water to cover his confusion.

"About what?" his partner prodded, leaning back. He waited while Choutarou gathered his thoughts.

"This spring, mostly. Graduation," Choutarou answered, finally. "I... don't really like the thought of playing alone again."

"Who said anything about alone?" Shishido-san asked, sharply. Choutarou blinked at him. "Just because we can't play together in the tournaments for a year, that doesn't mean a thing. We're a team, Choutarou. The Shishido-Ohtori pair. Got it?" Shishido glared at him, the one that meant he thought his partner was being dense.

"Of course," Choutarou said, slowly, "but it will be two years before we can play as a pair again."

"Bullshit," Shishido-san pronounced. Choutarou opened his mouth and closed it again. He contented himself, at last, with raising his brows at his partner. Shishido-san grinned, teeth gleaming.

"First class doubles pairs are hard to find," he said, "especially at the really competitive schools. They'll let us play. You'll see. Atobe likes to win."

Ah. Shishido-san did have a point. And Choutarou had no doubt that Atobe-buchou would have a good deal of influence, even as a second year.

"So," Shishido-san continued, "the only thing you have to worry about next year is keeping Hiyoshi from trying to take over the entire world."

"Shishido-san, he's not that bad..." Choutarou began, a smile starting at the corners of his mouth.

"I imagine I'll be stuck as the one who gets to try and keep Atobe's ego from gaining any more mass, than, say, Jupiter," his partner continued, blithely.

"Shishido-san..." Choutarou was laughing now.

"And we'll have to get together often to blow off steam about what a pain they are to deal with, and since we'll be together we might as well get in some match time while we're at it, right?"

"Yes, Shishido-san," Choutarou agreed, once he caught his breath.

His partner nodded at him, firmly.

"Don't you forget it, Choutarou."

"I won't," Choutarou promised.

End

Long Exposure - Two

Fuji, slowly, learns how to be cared for; fortunately, Tachibana is patient. Drama with UST, I-3

Shuusuke sat with his chin in his hands and watched as Tachibana celebrated the first week of their first year in high school with an... experiment.

He couldn't quite manage to simply call it "cooking", not when he'd seen labs using hazardous chemicals pursued with less concentration.

Tachibana tasted what had started life as a Thai curry recipe with a thoughtful expression. He rummaged through through the spice rack for yet another unmarked canister and shook a careful sprinkle into the pot. After a thorough stir and another taste he finally nodded.

"Almost ready for the squid. Fuji, could you give me a hand and chop those lime leaves into strips?" he asked, turning to the refrigerator.

"Of course," Shuusuke agreed. As he arranged the leaves on their long axis and took the knife Tachibana handed over, he reflected on the knack Tachibana had, the one Shuusuke admitted all his friends probably had to have, of drawing him in. Of making him participate rather than simply watch. Tachibana seemed to do it more unthinkingly than Eiji, who favored nagging until Shuusuke gave in. It was a game between them. Tachibana just asked, as casually as if he never noticed Shuusuke's tendency to observe from the sidelines.

It was a puzzle, since Shuusuke couldn't imagine that someone as observant as Tachibana himself was really hadn't noticed. Fortunately, Shuusuke was fond of puzzles.

"So, how is the high school tennis club?" he asked, recalling Tachibana's misgivings on that subject. Tachibana sniffed.

"There is one. That's almost all I can say for it." The innocent squid received an increasingly cold look. "The players are third rate, judging kindly, with no discipline to speak of. The coach lets them slack along with no motivation at all."

"Ah, well, history is hard to overcome," Shuusuke needled, gently. Tachibana gave him a trenchant look that Shuusuke parried with a cheerful smile.

It was true in both senses, though. Certainly the inertia of apathy did nothing to help Fudoumine's high school tennis club. But the history that clung to Tachibana himself undoubtedly formed a stumbling block of its own. Ann had told him the whole story one day, last winter, when Tachibana had been detained by school matters and she had detailed herself to console his friend by taking Shuusuke for hot chocolate. Fear of Tachibana kept the coach and other students from interfering with his team, but it probably wouldn't make either listen to his recommendations now.

"It isn't as though I make a habit of losing my temper," Tachibana grumbled, taking the shredded lime leaves and stirring them in. Shuusuke leaned against the counter beside him.

"No. But you can and you have, and that's enough." Shuusuke was familiar with the phenomenon.

"It shouldn't be," Tachibana said, inflexibly. "Anyone with the common sense to look at the circumstances would know perfectly well that I'm no more dangerous than you to people who are merely infuriating."

Shuusuke blinked at him. After a moment his silence seemed to catch Tachibana's attention.

"What?" his friend asked. "It's obvious that you never let your temper go unless someone provokes you intolerably. You certainly never lose it on your own behalf."

Shuusuke blinked again. Even his own teammates were a little... wary with him at times. But Tachibana appeared both serious and completely matter-of-fact. He made no further comment, but offered Shuusuke a spoon and gestured to the pot.

"See what you think."

Shuusuke complied, and made a small, pleased, sound over the rich, tangy burn.

"Wonderful," he declared. Tachibana nodded, satisfied.

And then he proceeded to divide the concoction into two separate pans, and added four cans of spice-diluting cocoanut milk to the larger, before apportioning the squid and covering them to simmer.

"Then everyone should have a good dinner," he concluded.

Really, very little escaped Tachibana's notice, Shuusuke decided.

By the middle of summer, Shuusuke was a frequent enough visitor at Tachibana's house to tease his mother by calling her okaa-san, which made her laugh and say that he could almost pass for Ann's brother. Ann had suggested that Tachibana should start calling Shuusuke his little brother, so Shuusuke could see what it was like for himself. Tachibana had given them all a tolerant look and sent Ann to fetch more ice for the water pitcher.

He seemed to understand how sensitive the subject of little brothers was for Shuusuke. Which made it more uncomfortable when he did press the issue.The most uncomfortable conversation on the subject actually started as one about Tezuka.

"I told him, today," Shuusuke said, looking out the door to the Tachibanas' porch.

"Tezuka?" Tachibana asked, and Shuusuke nodded.

"I told him I would play for him until we graduated. After that," Shuusuke shook his head, "there's really nothing in it for me." Tachibana's mouth twisted a bit.

"Did he argue with that?"

"No." Shuusuke gave his friend an honest half smile. "Tezuka understands, I think."

Tachibana said something under his breath that sounded like about time, but, before Shuusuke could ask, Ann came flying into the room and tackled her brother, who oof-ed obligingly.

"You're almost too big to do that any more, Ann," he told her, laying a hand on her head and smiling down at her. "What is it?"

"Okaa-san wants me to go shopping for some vegetables and fish. Is there anything you want me to pick up?"

"If you pick up some plums I'll make umeboshi."

Ann squeaked happily and promised to do so.

"Bye, Onii-chan, Fuji-niisan!" she called back on her way out the door.

"Ann..." Tachibana sighed, looking after her with exasperation. Shuusuke suppressed a chuckle. Nothing her brother said convinced Ann to stop calling Shuusuke that.

"It's all right," he said, mildly. Tachibana turned thoughtful eyes on him.

"Have you told your brother yet?" he asked. Shuusuke ruthlessly held back a flinch.

"Not yet. Did I tell you that Yuuta is the captain of St. Rudolph's tennis club this year? The start of term is busy, and he hasn't visited home yet, but he sent me an email to say." He turned his public smile to Tachibana, and had to stifle a second flinch.

Tachibana's expression was even and waiting, and just a touch stern. It was the same expression Shuusuke saw on Tezuka, when Tezuka knew he was talking around something.

"Fuji," Tachibana said, quietly. Shuusuke looked away. "He's not angry at you."

"Really." Shuusuke let his eyes turn sharp, even though he'd already noted that it didn't have quite the usual effect on Tachibana. He still wanted his friend to know he was getting annoyed.

"Not," Tachibana allowed, "that he isn't several times more likely to argue with you about this than Tezuka. I expect Yuuta-kun will be outraged that he won't have the chance to keep trying to beat you."

An involuntary snort of laughter escaped Shuusuke. He had to admit, that sounded very likely.

"Fuji, part of why he loves tennis is because he loves you."

That hit Shuusuke like a ball in the stomach, and he swallowed hard. There were times when he would have preferred a less perceptive friend.

"Does Ann-chan ever get angry at you just for being her older brother?" he asked, quietly.

"Of course she does, how do you think I know?" Tachibana answered, looking rueful. "Not to mention the uproar as soon as I say the first word about her dates."

"Now that," Shuusuke observed, "is not something I've had to worry about."

"Be thankful for your blessings," Tachibana told him, darkly. Shuusuke smiled for real.

"Oh, I am."

It was an especially frosty day, which suited Shuusuke's mood admirably.

He knocked on Tachibana's door, and made polite conversation with his mother absently and automatically, mind ticking down the minutes until he could gracefully leave her and go find Tachibana in his room. Tachibana let him in, looking a bit surprised since they hadn't arranged to meet that day and Shuusuke hadn't called ahead. He ceded the desk chair, which by the looks of it he had been working at, to Shuusuke and sat against the side of his bed.

Shuusuke examined his folded hands, considering the best way to begin.

"The tennis club was talking today about who were likely to be Regulars next year," he said at last. "Everyone assumes Tezuka and I, and Eiji and Oishi, of course." He paused. "One of the second years, it seems, has noticed you and I talking at the tournaments this year, and wanted to know if it was all right with me, being so friendly with someone who would be an enemy. He was joking, I think," Shuusuke added as Tachibana started forward a little.

"As we were leaving, though," he continued, "Tezuka mentioned to me that I would not, in fact, be playing you. Ever. That you had asked not."

"Yes, I did," Tachibana agreed. The casual calm of his tone came close to snapping Shuusuke's temper. One more question, he thought.

"Did you think I needed to be protected?" he asked, and despite his best control he could hear the cut-glass edge in his own voice. Tachibana was silent almost long enough to make Shuusuke look up at him.

"Yes," he said at last. Shuusuke's gaze shot up at that, glaring.

"I am not weak," he enunciated, low and dangerous, "nor fragile, nor so volatile that I can't handle playing against you."

"I didn't think you were," Tachibana sighed. He ran a hand through his hair, looking harried. "Fuji..."

Shuusuke raised a brow and waited. He didn't move as Tachibana got up and came to kneel in front of the chair. Not an eyelash flickered as Tachibana set both hands on his shoulders.

"Fuji, everyone needs to be protected. Even the ones who usually do the protecting. It doesn't mean you're weak; it means you're as human as the next person. And I don't, for one instant, believe you are less human than the next person."

Shuusuke stiffened, hearing echoes in his mind of things overheard, spoken behind hands. It wasn't very far from genius to monster, he'd known that for a long time. But that wasn't the point.

"I don't need to be sheltered," he said, firmly. Tachibana heaved a much longer sigh this time.

"Fuji, listen to me," he said. "Just because you can survive exposure to ice cold rain doesn't mean it's healthy. I'm not saying you aren't strong enough for everyone else, or that you shouldn't be. Just let someone return the favor every now and then." His eyes softened. "No one ever really has, have they? Or you wouldn't be making so much of this."

That gave Shuusuke pause for thought. Eiji helped him... to make mischief. He always listened when Shuusuke wanted to talk, but he never pushed and he'd certainly never done anything like this. Onee-san, well, she was always there, but... never like this. Tezuka... Tezuka drew him on. Tezuka guarded, but he didn't protect. Still. Wasn't there some inconsistency, in Tachibana saying this to him?

"Who do you let protect you?" he challenged. The sudden lightening of Tachibana's expression took him by surprise.

"Ann, sometimes. Kamio, sometimes." Tachibana laughed a little. "Neither of them would ever forgive me if I didn't let them."

Shuusuke considered that. No one with the slightest observational skills would ever suggest that Tachibana Kippei was less than a very able protector of his family and his team. Yet... they protected him? Memories emerged, of Ann facing down anyone who showed her brother and his people less than respect, of Kamio fielding administrative problems before they could ever come to his captain's attention. Perhaps they did, Shuusuke mused.

Actually, that suggested a compromise that his heart and mind might both agree on.

"Would you let me?" he asked. Tachibana smiled up at him slowly.

"Turn about is certainly fair play," he admitted.

He started to sit back, and, impulsively, Shuusuke caught one hand as it left his shoulder. Just to say thank you... it wasn't enough this time. He lifted Tachibana's hand, pressed his lips to the back of the fingers, and let go.

He heard Tachibana's breath catch. The fingers paused, returned to brush against his cheek, light as butterflies landing.

"Fuji?" he asked, very softly.

Shuusuke found he could only look at Tachibana openly for a few moments. There was warmth there. Not just an umbrella against that cold rain, but a pile of towels, too, Shuusuke though, amused at his own imagery. But it was warmth he wasn't quite sure how to reach towards.

"I interrupted your homework, I'm sorry," he apologized, veiling his eyes again.

"It's all right." Tachibana stood and stepped back. "I was about to take a break and make some tea in any case. Join me?"

"I'd like that," Shuusuke agreed.

TBC

Fearful Symmetry

Snippets of how Ohtori and Shishido keep company while they're apart, during Ohtori's third year of junior high and Shishido's first year of high school. Drama With Romance, I-3

Ohtori

At the end of the first day of his last year of junior high school, Choutarou found Shishido-san leaning against the wall of the school grounds, waiting for him. Tension he had carried all day without noticing unwound from his shoulders.

"Shishido-san," he greeted.

"Choutarou. How'd it go? Is it Hiyoshi?" Shishido-san fell in beside him, hitching his bag over his shoulder. Choutarou nodded.

"Hiyoshi-kun is captain this year. I think it will work well. He's very different from Atobe-san." It didn't need to be said that Atobe-san had the ability to back up his flamboyance, and anyone else who tried to use the same style to lead the club was likely to make a fool of himself. Shishido-san chuckled, just a bit nastily.

"Yoshimaru-buchou is already worrying about Atobe."

"But seniority won't let Atobe-san take his position," Choutarou said, puzzled. "Not even Atobe-san."

"No. But he'll be playing as a Regular; no one really doubts that. And it won't be fun, being captain when the ace who can beat his socks off is a first year," Shishido-san pointed out.

Choutarou smiled at Shishido-san's glee over his captain's discomfiture. Yoshimaru-san must be the quiet type; that always made his partner uncomfortable. He listened, as Shishido-san detailed the quirks and attitudes of the high school tennis club, in a better mood than he'd been all day.

Shishido

Ryou eyed the sakura trees along the route home with annoyance. Sure, they were pretty, but they also made a mess, and you'd think the things would have finished blooming by now. It was getting on toward summer.

"Shishido-san?"

Ryou glanced back at his companion with a quick grin.

"Yeah, so, anyway, Kaa-san said it would be fine with her, even if we run late and you wind up staying for dinner now and then. I figure it's easier to get work done with company; even if we're not studying the same things."

Choutarou still looked hesitant, but Ryou knew better than to take that personally. His partner was just allergic to putting himself forward, at least socially.

"I'll have to ask," he started, and Ryou's grin widened.

"No you won't. Kaa-san decided to call your mother herself. They agreed to trade off who feeds us." Ryou nudged Choutarou in the ribs to make him close his mouth. "The direct approach runs in the family," he added.

"So does thinking ahead of your opponent," Choutarou told him, with a small smile to show he was teasing. Ryou was pleased. Most people would probably say Ohtori Choutarou wasn't capable of teasing, or of a smile that bright. Nice, but distant, most people would say. Not, Ryou thought, smugly, with him.

"Just anticipating my partner," he corrected, easily. The way they should be.

Ohtori

Shishido-san flopped down on the bench beside Choutarou and grabbed for his water bottle.

"Is anything wrong, Shishido-san?" Choutarou asked. "You seemed kind of distracted today."

It was as polite a way as he could think of to point out that Choutarou didn't normally win when they played singles against each other. It was getting closer, but still. Shishido-san shook his head and tossed Choutarou his own water.

"Just had a weird night," he said, reassuringly. Choutarou raised his eyebrows. Shishido-san made a face.

"I was out playing pool last night, and ran across Seigaku's Fuji." He shuddered, though Choutarou thought he probably did it for effect. "Never, ever trust that guy, especially if he's smiling. He completely fleeced four players in an hour, and three of them were the kind who usually do the fleecing themselves. And when one of his fellow sharks took exception to being cleaned out, Fuji backed him off without even raising his voice. He's seriously creepy."

Choutarou found himself smiling just a little at the disgruntled tone of Shishido-san's story telling. He rather thought that Shishido-san's real distraction came from the reminder that he wasn't playing in the tournaments this year, while Fuji was. It was something close to unheard of, to have two first years among the Regular team, but Seigaku's high school captain was apparently more interested in giving talent free rein than abiding by seniority. Hiyoshi-kun had smiled an extremely sharp smile, when he'd heard, probably at the idea of what Atobe-san would have said when he heard.

"I think another doubles pair has showed up, Shishido-san," he said, instead. "Do you want to ask them for a game?"

Shishido-san's eyes glinted, annoyance forgotten.

"Why don't we do that?"

Shishido

Ryou still hadn't managed to stop snickering by the time he met Choutarou to walk home. His partner gave him an inquiring look.

"Did something happen at practice, Shishido-san?"

"You could say that, yeah," Ryou snorted. "Oshitari and Mukahi finally got walked in on. And the best part," he added, snickering again, "was that Oshitari just looked over his shoulder, told them to come back in fifteen minutes, and kept right on. In the general club room, no less! I knew it was gonna happen some day."

Choutarou cleared his throat, and Ryou saw that he was blushing. Whoops. Sometimes he forgot just how reserved his partner was about personal things. He patted Choutarou's shoulder.

"Didn't mean to embarrass you, Choutarou. It was just that everyone's reactions were hysterical! You should have heard Atobe reading Oshitari the riot act about doing things with style."

Ah, there was the little smile, again. The one from their early days as a pair, that meant Choutarou wasn't entirely sure, yet, that he should be showing that he was happy or amused. A change of subject would probably make him relax again.

"So, how did your matches against Fudoumine go?" he asked, "I meant to come watch, but Atobe was feeling like a bastard and practically dragged me to the high school matches instead." And he was going to get Atobe back for that. He was not married to his partner, thank you very much, he just cared more about Choutarou than the entire high school tennis club put together.

"Tachibana-san couldn't make it to this match, to watch, either, and there's really an edge they lack when he's not there," Choutarou said, a hint of disapproval in his tone. "It went all the way to Singles One, but we won."

"Completely uncool," Ryou agreed, firmly ignoring the small voice in the back of his head that was pointing out certain similarities to his own performance without Choutarou.

That was different. Choutarou wasn't the center of his game; he was just... the other center of his game. Ryou had to shake his head at himself, wryly, before bumping Choutarou with his shoulder.

"So, your mom make any more of those killer chocolate cookies this week?"

Ohtori

Choutarou was having a very bad day. His E string had broken last night, and the store close to his house didn't have the brand he favored. He'd had bizarre dreams that he couldn't remember very well, involving a tennis court that somehow had nets all over it. The lingering restlessness from that had distracted him so much he'd burned three pieces of toast in a row, before Okaa-sama made him sit down and let her do it.

Normally, a match, especially a tournament match, let him put things like that aside, but today he was playing Seigaku's Echizen-kun in Singles Two, and somehow it was just the last straw. Despite all the concentration and discipline he could muster, Choutarou couldn't shake the horrible, foggy feeling of losing right from the start.

He tightened his mental grip as much as he could, preparing to serve.

"Choutarou!"

His head snapped up at the sound of his name, and he spun to see Shishido-san standing behind him, one hand wound into the fence. Choutarou recognized the look on his face. It was the same one he'd had while they worked on controlling his serve. Impatient. Sharp. Burning with incontrovertible belief that Choutarou would succeed.

Choutarou took what felt like his first real breath all day, and nodded. Shishido-san smiled back, bright as sunlight flashing off a knife.

All right, maybe he'd have a little more sympathy for Fudoumine next time. Maybe.

These days Echizen-kun could return over half of Choutarou's serves. This one was not one of that half. As Echizen-kun shook out his hand, he gave Choutarou a one sided smile, eyes interested for the first time this match. Choutarou let his own mouth curve slightly, cool and pleased.

He knew Shishido-san was grinning, behind him.

Shishido

Ryou closed his History of the Heian Era text with a thump and cast himself back, carelessly, across Choutarou's bed.

"I will be so glad when it's next year," he commented to the ceiling, knowing Choutarou would have looked up at the rustle when he fell back. "I mean, singles is fun, and all, but it's just not the same."

"Me, too." Choutarou slipped out of his desk chair to sit leaning against the bed. "There's just something... missing."

"Yeah," Ryou agreed, softly. It was almost enough, just to hang out with Choutarou, to share frustrations over their teams, to redesign the curriculum when they got bored with their homework. And they had played together a lot this year. But there was an extra edge that came with playing as a pair, against real challenges, that the street courts only supplied once in a blue moon.

Though the street courts did make it easier for Atobe to come watch them unobtrusively. Which he was capable of, if he put his mind to it. Being himself, Atobe hadn't said a thing, but Ryou hadn't known him this long for nothing. He had no more doubt that he'd be able to talk Atobe around to supporting he and Choutarou.

"Besides," he went on, mood lightening a little, "somebody's got to get Oshitari and Mukahi's heads out of the clouds. They think they've got a cakewalk to Doubles One next year." He turned his head, crooked grin meeting Choutarou's sudden, brilliant smile. There was confidence there, and anticipation.

"Too bad Oshitari-senpai and Mukahi-senpai will have to settle for second," Choutarou said, reaching out his hand to his partner. Ryou clasped it.

"Yep. Too bad for everyone else."

End

Burning

In the winter of Ohtori's third year of junior high and Shishido's first year of high school. Shishido reflects on his partner, and their bond as a doubles pair. Drama With Romance, I-3

The first time Ryou found himself admiring his partner's body, he chalked it up to hormones and went on from there. He'd read his mother's old human biology textbooks, and knew he was at the age where these things were supposed to start happening. It wasn't the first time he'd caught himself looking at one of his teammates, either.

After a few months, though, he started noticing something.

When he looked at Choutarou the appreciation wasn't colored by his usual awareness that he'd sooner sit through a makeover with his brother's girlfriend than let the person in question within actual arm's reach. And half the time it wasn't precisely Choutarou's body he was appreciating. Of course, Choutarou was striking to look at; the contrast of silver hair and large, dark eyes got lots of attention. But what caught Ryou's attention was the poise of that tall figure; the straightness with which he always held his shoulders; his habit of running a hand through already rumpled hair, making it glow as it feathered down again; the way his eyes brightened and warmed, like chocolate melting, when Ryou complimented his technique.

By the time Ryou figured out that he was genuinely attracted to his partner, and it probably wasn't going away, he had it pretty bad.

Some people, especially a certain other, really annoying, Hyoutei doubles pair, might have said it was a perfect setup. Ryou knew better. For one thing, he had no idea what Choutarou liked. His partner's reserve made him one of the most asexual people Ryou had ever known, short of Hiyoshi. And while Choutarou was a lot nicer about rebuffing advances than his yearmate, everyone who made one to date had still been turned away.

Ryou had no intention of screwing up their combination by coming on to his partner if Choutarou wasn't interested. He and Choutarou were already as close as siblings, without the disadvantage of having annoyed each other all the while growing up. Ryou valued that very highly. His hormones could damn well go sit on ice. He stared out his bedroom window at the light dusting of snow glittering on the trees and houses. It was certainly the right season.

Well, spring would be here soon, and Choutarou would graduate, and they would be in the same school again. He could always keep an eye out, and see. He was pretty sure that, when Choutarou made up his mind what he was interested in, it would show in spite of that reserve. For one thing, Choutarou tended toward the intuitive the same way Ryou tended toward the analytical. With him, everything just was. Which was an occasional drawback when it came to finding and training out his technical weaknesses, but that was what partners were for. For another thing, Choutarou let a lot of his reserve go with Ryou.

Ryou grinned up at his ceiling, remembering his absolute shock, that day he'd heard Choutarou put his position on the line for the sake of Ryou's. That had been the first day he'd seen a hint of the shy, friendly brightness beyond the steel determination that was Choutarou's trademark as a player. That, as much as Choutarou's genuine respect for him in his hour of disgrace, had reconciled him to playing as part of a doubles pair.

"Shishido-san?" came his partner's quiet voice from across the room. Ryou rolled over to see him stacking his books, papers neatly tucked away.

"Yeah?"

"Do you think all doubles pairs are this close?"

Ryou blinked, startled once again at how closely their thoughts matched sometimes.

"Where did that come from?" he asked. Choutarou drew his knees up and rested his chin on them, looking thoughtful.

"My History and Society course is talking about how chance influences events, and it just started me thinking. It was really chance that we wound up as a pair. But we work together really well in doubles, because our styles and personalities fit. And that made me wonder about what it is that makes doubles in general work. All the really good pairs that I've seen seem... very close. I wondered if that personality match is necessary."

Ryou regarded his partner. Was Choutarou's reserve starting to rebel against that closeness? It didn't seem likely; Choutarou had always seemed pleased, almost relieved, that he and Ryou were so in synch. Still.

"We're closer than just a personality match would make us," he observed. "Compatible personalities can happen even with people who have barely met."

Choutarou nodded, solemnly. No clues yet.

"I think the best pairs probably are all close like this. It would take kind of a strange mind to share so much understanding in a game and then just drop it when the game ends," Ryou said, carefully. "Do you mind?"

Choutarou blinked at him, brown eyes wide.

"Oh! No, that wasn't what I meant, Shishido-san," he assured his partner. Ryou relaxed again, mouth quirking.

"You sure?" he asked. Choutarou smiled, and Ryou savored more of that brightness that Choutarou didn't show to anyone else.

"I'm sure," Choutarou affirmed. "I was just wondering about what that means for a pair like Inui-san and Kaidou."

Ryou thought about it for a long moment, and then almost fell off his bed laughing at the mental pictures.

"Shishido-san," his partner admonished, but Ryou could hear the edge of suppressed laughter in his voice.

"I just," he gasped, "had this image of the two of them griping over Tezuka, the way we do over Atobe and Hiyoshi..." He dissolved again, and this time Choutarou was laughing too.

When they calmed down again, Ryou felt satisfaction displacing the uncertainty of his earlier thoughts. As long as he was the one who made Ohtori Choutarou laugh out loud, the rest of it was almost beside the point.

End

Long Exposure - Three

Tachibana and Fuji ease into intimacy. Drama with Romance, I-3

A month into his second year of high school Kippei was very pleased with the world. The fact that he was currently surrounded by spiky, vicious looking plants didn't change that in the slightest. Nor the fact that Fuji was laughing at him, silently. Ann had been laughing at him for weeks, after all, and she was far less subtle about it. But the fact was, Kippei had his team back, and that was enough to distract him from any number of chortling siblings and flora of carnivorous appearance.

Not, of course, that he hadn't been meeting with his team, his real team, to practice all last year. But now they were all in the same school again, and it was official. They were his again, and no one would even consider arguing. Least of all the lingering older tennis club members, none of whom could hold a candle to any of his players.

Fudoumine was back. Was it really any wonder he couldn't stop smiling?

Even if he was wondering how many variations on gray-green and spiky one botanicals exhibit could fit in.

"It's good to see you so happy," Fuji murmured as they wandered the branching, pebbled paths that had, so far, been deserted of any fellow plant-life enthusiasts.

"I suppose I've been a bear about the tennis club for the last year, haven't I?" Kippei asked, as apologetically as he could while he felt like grinning every time he thought of his team. Fuji chuckled.

"No more than Tezuka, certainly. He never said out loud, but we could all tell he was twitchy over not being in control of the team any more."

"He seemed to respect your captain, though," Kippei noted, with a hint of question.

Fuji didn't answer immediately, instead exclaiming over the planting they had just come in sight of.

"They do have a Saguaro!" He laid his hands on the perimeter rope, as if he yearned to reach out and touch the tall plant. To Kippei it looked like the archetype of a cactus: a tall, striated barrel with arms branching out and up. "They're endangered in America," Shuusuke told him, sounding a bit wistful, "I thought it might only be a rumor. They take a very long time to mature; it's one of the problems with propagating them."

"Cacti are good at enduring, aren't they?" Kippei asked. "Surely these will, too."

"They're like any plant. They endure anything except sudden environmental change." His smile quirked. "I suppose it's true of animals, too." He sighed, faintly. "Tezuka does respect Yamato-buchou. He's the one Tezuka got a lot of his sense of responsibility from. But Tezuka prefers direct commands, and Yamato-buchou tends to be rather roundabout. I think it made Tezuka... uncertain. Nor was there really anything any of us could do but wait it out."

Kippei responded automatically to the shadow that darkened Shuusuke's eyes, and wrapped a light arm around his shoulders. He could wish that it didn't make Shuusuke feel guilty when he couldn't help Tezuka, but that was the kind of person Shuusuke was. Natural success always left you ill prepared to deal with any failure at all, even failures that weren't your fault.

"Humans are more flexible than plants," he observed. He glanced down to find Fuji gazing at him with the same curious fascination he had been directing at the cacti. Kippei raised his brows.

"You touch so easily," Fuji said.

"Is there some reason I shouldn't?" Kippei asked. That wistful edge was back in Fuji's voice, so Kippei didn't think the statement was an indirect request to let go. Even when Shuusuke shied back from some intimacy, he never objected to Kippei's touch. Kippei wondered, sometimes, whether that was Fuji's promissory note; his assurance that, when he retreated, he only wanted a little space, not for Kippei to leave him alone. So Kippei had waited and let Fuji choose his own time. Lately, based on the thoughtful, sidelong looks he'd been getting from under Shuusuke's lashes, he had started to hope that the time might be soon.

Thus his increased freedom with touching Fuji, which led to more direct looks. Looks that had begun to seem less thoughtful and more decisive.

Fuji seemed to consider his question, for a moment, before a small, secret smile crossed his face and he leaned ever so slightly against Kippei.

"No."

Kippei felt a tension that had been with him for a long, long time let go. It wasn't that he thought Fuji had been deliberately teasing him...

Well, mostly not.

But the fact remained that Fuji was very skittish about receiving expressions of simple affection. Or, at least, he had been. He seemed to have decided that he could relax now. Kippei slid his arm down to Shuusuke's waist and drew him a little closer. Shuusuke, however, having made up his mind, didn't seem to think this was sufficient. He gave Kippei a sparkling, laughing smile and reached up to tug him down far enough to kiss him.

It was probably fortunate for Kippei's heart that he'd realized some time since that Fuji Shuusuke didn't have much in the way of middle gears. There was neutral, and then there was full ahead. Full ahead, in this case, was a warm, open mouthed kiss that lasted quite a while before Shuusuke let him go. Kippei took a moment to catch his breath and another to be pleased they were still the only visitors at the exhibit.

"You know," he said, eventually, "for the longest time I thought you were in love with Tezuka."

"I will always care very deeply for Tezuka," Fuji told him, softly. "But if we were closer than friends, what he wants from me would be too..."

He broke off, but Kippei could fill in the rest. It was hard enough for Shuusuke to exert his strength seriously against a friend; to do so against a lover would probably tear him apart. He gathered Shuusuke a bit closer, still.

"Was that why you asked not to play opposite me?" Shuusuke asked, suddenly. Kippei blinked down at him a few times before releasing an exasperated sigh.

"I'm not the one who's that machiavellian," he pointed out. "I simply thought it would be better." A chuckle vibrated through the body in his arms, and Kippei realized he was being teased.

He buried a smile of his own in the caramel colored hair under his chin.

Tuesdays, like most days of the week, featured afternoon practices for both Fudoumine and Seigaku. Thus, Kippei was a bit surprised when he emerged from locking up the club room to see Shuusuke pacing like a tiger in a cage under the somewhat alarmed eyes of Akira and Shinji. He must have left practice half-way through to be here already, and that wasn't like Shuusuke.

Nor was the tight-lipped, hard eyed expression on his face as he glanced up at Kippei.

"You're here early," Kippei noted, a bit cautiously.

"Tezuka said I should go," Shuusuke said. His voice was low and sharp, the way it got when he was angry and trying not to show it too much. And if Tezuka had sent him away from practice, it meant that whatever was wrong had made Shuusuke angry enough to affect his game.

Kippei had a few quick words with Akira and Shinji before waving his concerned seconds off and leading Shuusuke under the trees beside the courts. There was room to pace, there, and little likelihood of passers by at this time of day.

"What's wrong?" he asked, leaning against a sturdy maple. Shuusuke stalked to the fence and back.

"Yuuta," he bit out, "is actually considering dating that... snake Mizuki. The one who was almost responsible for injuring him. That heartless, amoral bastard is making advances on my little brother."

Kippei carefully refrained from saying anything foolishly reasonable, at this point, such as It's Yuuta's choice in the end. It wouldn't help. Besides, he knew perfectly well that, if it were Ann, he would have set off immediately to make Mizuki eat his own tennis balls until he renounced any interest in her.

"Are you worried he'll hurt Yuuta-kun?" he asked, instead. Shuusuke came to an abrupt halt, fists clenched.

"It's not just that," he said, at last, sounding more strained now. "Mizuki has used Yuuta, before, to get at me. What if it's like that again? And I can't say something like that to Yuuta, not even to warn him!" He looked at Kippei, tense conflict in his eyes. Kippei winced. No, that wouldn't work very well, would it?

Kippei didn't really think that Yuuta hated the fact that his brother was a better tennis player than he. Anyone who watched him watching Shuusuke play could see the glow of pride, and Yuuta smiled when he heard someone praise Shuusuke's skill. Always provided they didn't mention Yuuta. What invariably enraged the boy seemed to be the automatic assumption that he was secondary. To be told that he was being approached only because of his connection to his brother, to be told by his brother no less, would send him up in flames.

Well, now he understood why Shuusuke was angry and tense enough to show it openly.

Voices coming around the side of the court interrupted his thoughts.

"...tennis club. They have a lot more pull than they did last year." Another second year, who Kippei unfortunately recognized, turned the corner. He seemed to be showing a friend the school grounds. He looked up, noticed Kippei, and immediately sneered.

"Of course, it's still a pretty slapdash club," he remarked loudly. "Mostly a bunch of first years; can't seem to get any interest from the senior students. Rumor has it they're kind of... rowdy."

Kippei sighed. Tokogawa and he had never gotten along, and the other second year liked to bait him. He'd chosen the wrong time to do so, though. Shuusuke was already in a poor temper; something of his had been threatened. He never let something like that slide, and for it to happen twice in one day...

Kippei leaned back against his tree and crossed his arms. Well, with luck this would let Shuusuke release some tension.

Tokogawa froze as Shuusuke pinned him with an arctic blue glare.

"Every team who has gone against Fudoumine with that attitude has met with the humiliating defeat such blindness deserves," Shuusuke said, a flaying edge in his voice. "Their courage and determination, even more than their considerable talent, have earned the respect of both professionals and peers. Of whom you are clearly not one. To belittle something you know nothing of makes it clear how much of a fool you are." His eyes narrowed, glinting, as Tokogawa gaped. "Unless, of course, you would like to try proving to me you do know enough?" he purred, gesturing toward the courts.

Tokogawa nearly tripped over himself getting turned around and hustling his friend away. Shuusuke watched them go, satisfaction wafting off him almost visibly.

"My team will be pleased to know you have such a good opinion of them," Kippei observed, lightly. Shuusuke blinked over his shoulder, focus interrupted. Which had been the point of the comment, after all. Kippei smiled and held out his arms, offering. After a moment Shuusuke gave him a smile back and came to rest against him. Kippei stroked his hair and said nothing more. He didn't know whether it was simply the novelty or not, but being held, silently, always calmed Shuusuke. That Shuusuke would let Kippei calm him seemed like a good sign at the moment.

"I suppose that was an overreaction," Shuusuke sighed, at last, "but it annoys me when people make such petty attacks on you."

"My hero," Kippei teased, gently. Shuusuke sniffed. "What about Ann?" Kippei asked, suddenly.

"What about her?" Shuusuke lifted his head so he could give Kippei a curious look.

"Ann gets along reasonably well with Yuuta-kun, and she shares your opinion of Mizuki," Kippei explained. "She might be able to at least warn him of the possibility."

Shuusuke thought about that, and the longer he thought the wider his smile got. Finally he broke down chuckling, probably at the idea of the outspoken Ann pinning down the touchy, reserved Yuuta for a personal conversation.

"Ann-chan probably would be able to talk to him about it," he said.

"I'll mention it to her, then," Kippei promised.

For the first time that day, Shuusuke truly relaxed, and let his head fall back to Kippei's shoulder. Kippei set aside his own concerns in favor of appreciating the feeling of holding Shuusuke, alone in the warm, still afternoon.

That winter they had an ice storm, on a Saturday night by luck. Kippei found himself wandering through the frozen city, very shortly after sunup Sunday morning, with Shuusuke and his camera. He wasn't entirely clear on how this had come about, but thought it might have had something to do with the phone call before he was entirely awake, and a promise of hot chocolate.

He supposed it was a good thing, every now and again, to be reminded that his lover was a ruthless manipulator who liked to win, and who, moreover, did it by reflex the way most people breathed. At least this time it wasn't the pool hall. He'd never seen so many poor dupes fleeced in such a short period, and Shuusuke's high good humor about the whole affair had been faintly unnerving.

He'd mentioned it to Tezuka the next time they'd met and gotten an amused chuckle in reply. He had never suspected Tezuka of such a low sense of humor.

"All right," Shuusuke announced, having caught one last picture of the sun making an aureole of frozen branches, "that's all the film. Ready to go back?"

Kippei agreed as mildly as he could. Not that the ice-coated trees and streets weren't beautiful, but his toes were getting very numb.

He had never had more cause to be grateful that Yomiko-san was a sweet and thoughtful woman. Not only did she have hot chocolate waiting, she had also put a couple blankets by the heater to warm, and sent them straight up to Shuusuke's room with those and a tray when they piled in the door, shivering. Shuusuke carefully labeled his rolls of film and put them in his to-be-developed basket before availing himself of either.

"There," he said, with satisfaction, perching on the foot of the bed and winding his feet into one of the blankets. "And when it all melts, perhaps I can get some good shots at lower speed."

"What difference does the speed make?" Kippei asked around his mug. Since he suspected he might find himself along for the next trip, too, he might as well know what was going on.

"The longer the shutter says open, the more movement is picked up by the film," Shuusuke explained, wrapping pale fingers around his own mug. "You can get some wonderful effects with running water that way. Here." He leaned over to pluck an album from his shelves, and flipped it open.

Kippei's breath stopped. The photo was a study in contrasts. A small waterfall, long lines of soft white, was surrounded by leaves whose edges looked sharp enough to cut.

"Sometimes it's like the world waits for you," Shuusuke said in a far away tone. "The wind died completely just after I finished setting up the tripod. Nothing moved but the water, for the whole one second exposure. It was perfect."

"Yes," Kippei agreed, softly. Shuusuke glanced up at him, surprise melting into shy pleasure.

"Today was all very short exposure," he continued, busying himself with putting the album away. Kippei shook his head, affectionately. Every time he touched something important to Shuusuke for the first time, Shuusuke slipped around it for a while. "The shorter the exposure, generally, the sharper the image. And ice needs its edges to show the beauty."

"Will you show me today's pictures, when they're ready?" Kippei asked. Shuusuke gave him a smile more brilliant than the reflected morning light outside, and nodded.

Kippei decided, as Shuusuke curled up against him to share all the blankets, that this wasn't such a bad way to start a Sunday after all.

End

Tyger

Ohtori and Shishido finally come to terms with their attraction, and their partnership. Romance With Drama and Porn, I-4

Choutarou had learned years ago that a cool response was his best revenge on hecklers. So, when one of the second years suggested that Shishido-san must have done some extraordinary favors for Atobe to have arranged for the Shishido-Ohtori pair to play, despite Choutarou only being a first year, he didn't twitch. He wanted to feed the smirking bastard his own racquet, but he knew that wouldn't help anything in the long run.

For one thing, he knew no one actually believed any such thing. Shishido-san's... discussion with Atobe-senpai had been quite vehement and perfectly public. Half the club had hung around while Atobe-senpai had arranged for Choutarou and Shishido-san to play a match with the current Doubles Two pair. Their resulting win didn't count toward team rankings, since it had been after actual club practice time, and theoretically their coach was not aware of it. But Choutarou was quietly permitted to play as a pair with Shishido-san again. He had known there would be resentment, as they advanced, even without Atobe-senpai's silent warning just before their "trial" match began.

"If you think we aren't strong enough to be candidates for the Regulars, you're welcome to try proving it, Senpai," Choutarou suggested, calmly, now. The smirk turned into a grimace, which made him feel a little better. What he spotted over the heckler's shoulder made him feel a great deal better.

"That Shishido..." the second year spat, only to be cut off by a razor sharp voice behind him.

"Yeah? What about 'that Shishido'?"

Choutarou couldn't help a tiny smile as the heckler and his two friends whirled around to see Shishido-san leaning against the fence.

"You have a problem with me?" Shishido prodded, pushing away from the fence and advancing. "Or my partner?" he added, eyes narrowing.

He watched their disorderly retreat with a gleam of satisfaction, before sighing.

"It's fun to watch 'em run, but there are times I wish I had your cool, Choutarou. Furokawa's going to be a pain for weeks after this."

Choutarou bit back his initial response, but then thought again. This was Shishido-san, after all. His partner. So.

"I'm glad you don't, Shishido-san," he said, quietly. Shishido-san turned toward him, one winged brow lifting.

"Why not?" he wanted to know.

"It's... a cold way to be," Choutarou explained. "You're not a cold person."

Shishido-san's expressive mouth twisted, wryly.

"And you are?" he asked smacking Choutarou on the shoulder with the back of his hand. "Don't give me that, Choutarou. Maybe you can fool the rest of them, but I know you better." Choutarou ducked his head.

"Yes. But you're... you're very passionate, Shishido-san. I'm not like that."

They walked in silence until he turned toward the classroom buildings.

"You have something else today?" Shishido-san asked, surprised.

"I wanted some extra time to practice with the piano this week. The tutor said it would be all right for me to come in late, as long as I lock up behind me."

"Yeah?" Shishido-san tipped his head to the side. "It bother you to have an audience?"

Choutarou was startled. Shishido-san had heard him play before, but usually by coincidence. He'd never asked to listen.

"It won't bother me," he said, at last, "though I'm afraid you'll be bored." Shishido-san's mouth quirked.

"Doubt it." He fell in beside Choutarou again.

All right, so Shishido-san didn't look bored, as he slung himself into one of the chairs in the second music room while Choutarou started working through his warmups. That was good. It made it easier to slip into the music when he started practicing for real, listening, feeling, for the moments when the flow hitched, places he needed to go back and smooth. When he snuck a look at Shishido-san, between pieces, he looked relaxed and contemplative, eyes half shut. It was a rare look for Shishido-san to wear, but Choutarou had seen it enough to know it wasn't boredom. In the end, he was comfortable enough to wrap up with a run through one of his own rare compositions.

He had written this one last year, trying to catch a moment in the music. It was a day he and Shishido-san had been playing each other, on one of the courts near Shishido-san's house, and a storm had driven them under cover. Shishido-san had stood at the very edge of the pavilion, staring raptly at the sky and laughing with each especially impressive crack of thunder. He had leaned into the storm, the way Choutarou had seen him lean into a good opponent. The idea of playing a storm had taken Choutarou's fancy, and he'd tried to sketch out, in music, what it might feel like.

He took a deep breath and let it out as the last chord slid through his fingers. The stillness just after was one of the things he played music for, the peace after the rush. When he looked up, he was almost surprised to see Shishido-san still there, eyes burning into him. Shishido-san stood, without speaking, came to Choutarou's side, gripped his shoulder and shook him, gently.

"And you think you aren't passionate? Choutarou, for a smart guy, you can be really dense sometimes. Just because you don't show it in many ways doesn't mean it isn't there," he said, seriously. "I haven't seen you underestimate yourself very often. Don't do it now."

To hear that from the one person whose judgment Choutarou was willing to trust as he would his own laid peace over him as deep as the stillness after a good performance.

"Thank you, Shishido-san," he murmured. Shishido-san smiled down at him, the small smile that meant something was going their way. The thought flickered across Choutarou's mind that Shishido-san was close enough to kiss him.

He almost swallowed his tongue in startlement. Where had that come from?

"Choutarou?" Shishido asked, looking concerned. "You all right? You looked kind of odd for a second, there."

"Yes, I'm fine," Choutarou assured him, automatically. "I think I just spaced out for a minute; it's been a long day."

"You can say that again, Mr. Two Club Overachiever," Shishido-san teased. "We'd better get you home before you fall asleep on your feet."

Choutarou laughed and agreed, but when he finally went to bed that night he didn't go to sleep for a long time.

It was not news to him that he was powerfully drawn to his partner. When he had spoken of Shishido-san being passionate he had left out the parts about how it infused everything he did. Every gesture practically glowed with it, like the corona during an eclipse. It fascinated Choutarou, and all the more for the contrast it made with his own reserve and containment. Their complementary natures were as much what made them an outstanding doubles pair as the similarity of their drive and will to succeed.

Choutarou had thought that was all it was.

He decided to test it with a little thought experiment, of sorts. He closed his eyes on the dark room, and cast his mind back to himself sitting at the piano and Shishido-san standing beside him. How would he have felt if Shishido-san had closed that last distance, run his hand up Choutarou's neck to tangle in his hair, leaned down and touched his lips to Choutarou's...?

Tingling heat shot through him, curling low in his stomach. Choutarou's eyes snapped open to stare at the darkness, breath fast, heart pounding. All right. So. Yes. He really was attracted to his partner. Fine.

Now, what on Earth was he going to do about it?

Choutarou's thoughts insisted on running in circles, and they were starting to make him dizzy. The most reasonable thing he could do was decide whether he thought Shishido-san shared his attraction or not, and either tell him, in the first instance, or do his best to ignore it, in the second. The problem came in step one.

Shishido-san sought him out, even when they weren't practicing. Shishido-san used a language of expressions that was just between them. Shishido-san acted like Choutarou's wellbeing was an extension of his own, and cared for it as matter-of-factly. Those were things that Choutarou had seen established couples do. But it could easily be that Shishido-san did all that because they were a team, and friends, without being at all attracted to Choutarou. Then again, he touched Choutarou far more easily than he did anyone else. But, then again, it could just be...

Around and around.

And underneath it all, the intuition that he should just speak up, pushing against the fear of damaging what they already had.

The court was one of the few places he could put it all aside, because a game was a game and training was training, and nothing interfered with that. But Shishido-san was starting to notice his distraction whenever Choutarou stood still for more than a minute. There were a few things about which Shishido-san could show great patience, but his partner holding out on him did not seem to be one of them. It only took a few weeks before he cornered Choutarou while they were packing up after practice.

"All right, Choutarou, give. What's got you so wound up, lately?" Shishido-san didn't look up from zipping his bag, but his tone was not casual. Choutarou bit his lip.

"It's nothing, Shishido-san, there's just been something on my mind."

"Yeah, I got that part. You're throwing yourself into games like you don't want to come out the other side." Shishido-san blew out an exasperated sigh, and stood directly in front of Choutarou. "C'mon, what's up?"

Choutarou couldn't quite bring himself to look Shishido-san in the face when he was so close, and contented himself with examining his partner's shoes instead. "It's nothing. Really," he murmured. He could hear the frown in Shishido-san's voice, when he spoke.

"Choutarou, you're starting to make me nervous, here. Come on, look at me." When Choutarou didn't look up, his voice lowered, half an order and half an entreaty, "Choutarou..."

That tone, and Shishido-san's hands closing over his shoulders, drove Choutarou's head up. Shishido-san was leaning forward, barely a hand-span away. His breath caught, and a shiver sheeted over him before he could stop it. Choutarou was sure his eyes were as wide as an animal's caught in oncoming headlights.

Shishido-san was his partner, the one he willingly shared his mind and heart with when they played; he knew Choutarou. Choutarou felt apprehension, but no surprise, to see Shishido-san's expression changing, the frown of irritation and concern giving way to surprise, to inquiry, to a thoughtful examination that finally faded into a look almost as wide-eyed as Choutarou's own.

"You're kidding me," he said, softly.

Choutarou wanted to look away again, but since he couldn't give himself a reason for doing so, any longer, besides cowardice, he swallowed hard and kept his eyes on Shishido-san's. His partner was very still for twenty heartbeats; Choutarou counted them. And then one of Shishido-san's hands rose to his chin, thumb settling against his cheek. Choutarou's breath stopped entirely.

"You sure?" Shishido-san asked, tone gentler than ninety-eight percent of the tennis club would probably ever credit. Choutarou remembered Shishido-san asking him the same thing, the first time they had talked about just how close they were becoming. Warmth started in his chest, unlocking his lungs.

"Yes," he whispered. Shishido-san's thumb brushed over his mouth, and he had to close his eyes for a moment. When he looked up again, Shishido-san was smiling, crookedly.

"Is this what you've been so knotted up over?" he asked. When Choutarou nodded, Shishido-san shook his head.

"My partner, the brilliant idiot," he said, mock-disgusted. "Even if I didn't want you too, did you think I'd be upset about it or something?"

Choutarou felt a flush rising in his cheeks, and glanced aside as far as Shishido-san's hand would let him.

"You should know better than that, by now," his partner admonished. "And, anyway, if I'd had any idea you felt like this I would have done something about it a lot sooner, believe me."

Choutarou looked back at Shishido-san, ruefully.

"Actually... I only realized a few weeks ago," he admitted. Shishido-san leaned over him, laughing softly.

"Choutarou," he chuckled, before his lips covered his partner's.

It was... Shishido-san. Impulsive, and casual, and impatient. Sharp and sleek. Warm and open. And Choutarou relaxed into that warmth, the way he always did.

"Well," Atobe-senpai murmured to Shishido-san, as practice broke up two days later, "that's certainly one way to increase the effectiveness of your combination."

"One more comment like that, Atobe, and I'm gonna see if that mouth of yours is big enough to fit your racquet into," Shishido-san growled back.

Choutarou steadfastly made as if he hadn't heard a thing, as Atobe-senpai strolled off, laughing low in his throat. He was deeply grateful that no one else seemed to have noticed anything; he really didn't feel that it was anyone's business but his and Shishido-san's. As they headed toward Shishido-san's house, it being his turn to host homework and snacks, Choutarou couldn't help asking, though.

"Shishido-san, why are you and Atobe-senpai like that? I mean," he hesitated, "you're... friends... aren't you?"

"Yeah, well," Shishido-san snorted. Then his mouth quirked, reminiscently. "It goes back a long way. Atobe and I were in the same class almost from the start, and it was hate at first sight." He glanced at Choutarou, with the tilt of brows that meant he was just a little embarrassed."We're both kind of attention hogs; even Atobe admits that, though he has different words for it, of course. I forget what we were even arguing about, actually. I do remember that he made one smart remark too many, and I hauled off and socked him one." Shishido-san grinned, showing a lot of teeth, at what seemed to be a happy memory. "I also remember being surprised that he gave as good as he got." The grin twisted. "Atobe has always fought dirty, unless he has a reason not to."

Yes, Choutarou had noticed that. He'd spared a moment to be glad, every now and then, that being one of Atobe-senpai's team was apparently sufficient reason.

"Well, one of the Elementary teachers had probably just been to a developmental psychology seminar, or something," Shishido-san continued, a bit tartly, "because they shut us up in a room together to cool down."

"Um," Choutarou commented.

"Yeah. Thing was, in a way it worked. We didn't spontaneously become buddies or anything like that, but we did agree that, while we hated each others guts, we were even more pissed off at the adults who thought we would fall for a set up like that." Shishido-san shook his head. "The older I get, the more I understand why Tou-san says they couldn't pay him enough to teach at Hyoutei. But it's been like that ever since. We have enemies in common, goals in common. And he doesn't try to wrap me around his finger, and I always give him straight answers." Shishido-san shrugged. "It works out."

Maybe, Choutarou reflected, as they made their way up to Shishido-san's room, they had both needed someone to be open with. Really open.

They shed their bags, but Shishido-san stopped him before he could pull out his books.

"You have anything that needs doing right away?" he asked. A tingle danced down Choutarou's spine.

"No," he answered, softly, taking a small step toward his partner.

"Good." Shishido-san smiled, slow and pleased, sapphire eyes darkening as he ran a hand up to the nape of Choutarou's neck and tugged him down to a kiss.

Choutarou pressed a little closer to Shishido-san's body, opening his mouth as the tip of Shishido-san's tongue skated over his lower lip. Shishido-san seemed to take the hint, because his lips curved against Choutarou's, and he pulled his partner down to his bed. Choutarou let out a tiny laugh when Shishido-san planted an elbow on either side of his head and just looked down at him with the glowing smile he gave Choutarou when they won a hard game. Choutarou reached up, and Shishido-san's smile curled in just a little at the edges as Choutarou ran his hands through the brush of thick, silky hair. It was soft against his palms.

"You're just going to look, Shishido-san?" he asked, moving one hand to touch his fingertips to his partner's mouth. He gasped when Shishido-san captured one, delicately, between his teeth, touching back with his tongue.

"Mmm," Shishido-san purred, letting go. "You mind if I touch?" His voice made Choutarou shiver, lower and huskier than usual, and the spark in his half-lidded eyes suggested just what kind of touching he meant.

"I don't mind," Choutarou whispered, a little breathless. He wasn't entirely sure, himself, how far he was ready to let this go, but he wanted Shishido-san to touch him. He wanted to add the warmth of Shishido-san's hands to the warmth of his partner's simple presence and smile.

"The Student Council are sadists," Shishido-san said, conversationally if a bit muffled against Choutarou's throat, as his fingers worked their way down Choutarou's shirt buttons. "They design these uniforms to be taken off, and then expect us to keep our minds on studying."

Choutarou's chuckle unraveled as Shishido-san's hands stroked down his chest, brushing his shirt aside. His breath escaped on a soft aaaahh when Shishido-san slid down him to trace the muscles of his stomach with a warm tongue. His insides felt shivery, uncertain, as if he'd stepped into a fast elevator down. When Shishido-san bit down, gently, it felt like a static shock, and Choutarou arched up off the bed with a sharp sound.

"Shishido-san!"

His partner moved back up to kiss him, pressing him down with the comforting weight of his body.

"Too much?" Shishido-san asked.

"I..." Choutarou actually couldn't make up his mind about that. He certainly didn't want to stop. So he asked something else, instead. "Shishido-san... would you mind? If I touch?"

Shishido-san grinned, and rolled them both over, taking Choutarou above him. "Feel free," he said.

The shirt was, as Shishido-san had pointed out, quick work, and Shishido-san made small, appreciative noises as Choutarou explored his chest with light fingers. It was when he got to the pants that Choutarou hesitated, glancing up at Shishido-san to make sure this would be all right. Holding Choutarou's gaze, reassuring him more by action than any words could, Shishido-san reached down and unfastened the button and zipper himself before leaving it to Choutarou again. Choutarou had to tear his eyes away from his partner's before he could continue.

Seeing Shishido-san lying naked on a bed was a very different matter than seeing him changing into or out of uniform, and it stopped Choutarou again, all his attention taken up with tracing the lines of Shishido-san's body, dark against the white sheets. A soft laugh drew his eyes up to Shishido-san's face, and his wicked smile, as he stretched like a cat, muscles shifting and flowing under his skin.

"Like what you see, Choutarou?" he asked, teasing.

Choutarou swallowed, and nodded, and came to him, touching his partner with something like wonder. Shishido-san's skin was fine-grained, smooth as he stroked across it, and his partner sighed and stretched again under his hands. A pleased smile curled Choutarou's own lips as he glanced down and noticed just how much Shishido-san was enjoying this. Slowly, hesitating a little, he reached down and curled his fingers around Shishido-san's length.

"Choutarou," Shishido-san breathed, harshly. "Oh, yeah."

Choutarou stroked him, gently. He hadn't quite realized, touching himself, how soft this skin was, and feeling the heat of someone else's arousal against his palm was... very different. He was breathing almost as fast as Shishido-san. Small things lodged themselves in his memory: the flex of Shishido-san's moan; the line of Shishido-san's leg as he drew one knee up; Shishido-san's hands fisting in the sheets, not trying to return anything yet, leaving this moment to Choutarou; the arch of Shishido-san's throat as he threw his head back, suddenly voiceless, hips thrusting up into Choutarou's hand; the way Shishido-san was still hot to his touch when he finally fell back, panting.

Choutarou was just starting to wonder about the mechanics of cleaning them up when Shishido-san slitted his eyes open and laughed. He fished around the headboard of the bed without looking, and extracted a box of tissues. When Shishido-san had applied those and tossed them over the side, he pressed Choutarou down and kissed him slowly.

"So, can I return the favor?" he asked, his tone playful but his eyes serious.

"I'd like that," Choutarou said, softly.

"See? I told you you were, so, passionate," Shishido-san observed as he stripped off Choutarou's remaining clothing. "Or maybe I should just say aggressive."

"Shishido-san," Choutarou laughed, feeling a blush cross his cheeks.

"Hmmm." Shishido-san covered Choutarou's body with his own, drawing a quiet gasp from Choutarou, before he spoke again. "You know, all things considered, it's probably all right to be a little less formal now."

Choutarou blinked up at him for a moment before he actually understood. The formalities were so automatic for him... But his partner had a point.

"Shishido," he essayed, a little shyly. His partner's bare name in his mouth somehow felt more intimate than the bare skin against his own.

"Mm. Better," his partner purred, nudging Choutarou's head up so he could lick teasingly at the tender skin under his jaw.

Choutarou closed his eyes. If what he wanted was the openness that his partner offered him so freely, it was only right... And this was his partner, he was safe here...

"Ryou," he whispered. He heard his partner's breath catch, and then he was being kissed, hard, caught up against Ryou's body so tight he almost couldn't breathe, though he didn't miss it just then, kissed again and again.

"Choutarou." His partner's voice was rough against his ear.

Choutarou was still a bit dazed when Ryou slid down his body, but Ryou's fingers stroking him hard focused his attention. The hot, wet slide of Ryou's tongue licking up his length, delicately as he might an ice cream cone he wanted to make last, knocked him back again. He shuddered at the soft, quick touches, moaning when the heat of Ryou's mouth finally closed around him. That heat raced through him, snatching him up like a wave ready to throw him to shore, and the speed of it might have frightened him without Ryou's hands to steady him, remind him of who was with him. Choutarou closed his own hands, hard, on Ryou's arms and let the wave of heat and pressure and pleasure take him, lift him, cast him forward and out of himself.

Ryou was holding him when the tremors running through him finally relaxed, and he turned his head into his partner's shoulder, shaken but pleased.

"All right?" Ryou asked, quietly. Choutarou nodded, and a thought struck him, prompted by the knowledge in his partner's voice when he asked.

"You've... done this before."

"Yeah; a fling here and there at the seminars and camps," Ryou answered, shrugging.

"I think I'm glad for that," Choutarou murmured, wrapping an arm around Ryou's waist. His partner chuckled.

"Good."

Choutarou lay, thinking about how comfortable Ryou's arms around him, and Ryou's hand rubbing his back, were. Comfortable, comforting, warm and natural. Intimate. He stirred.

"Ryou?" he started, still shy with his partner's name.

"Mm?" There was a happy, satisfied grin in that small noise, and Choutarou smiled before biting his lip.

"Will you mind if I call you by your family name, at school, still?" he asked, softly. "It's... this is..."

"Personal," Ryou finished for him, holding him tighter. "Of course I won't mind."

"Thank you." Choutarou settled a little closer, into peace deeper than he had ever felt, even with his music. Clearly, he thought, smiling to himself, the closeness and the touching hadn't been just because Ryou was his partner.

Clearly, there was no "just" about their partnership.

End

Simple

A little Momoshiro introspective about how he manages to be friends with Ryouma. Drama, I-3

Momoshiro Takeshi considered himself a straightforward sort of guy. He didn't bother to hide what he thought much, and he liked the friends he made by being outgoing and cheerful. He didn't stand on formality, and if that caused certain stiff-necked classmates of his to call him an annoying idiot, well Momo knew that he gave respect where it was due and accepted it where he'd earned it, and that was good enough for him.

Which could be why he'd gotten along with Echizen Ryouma right from the start. They had very similar approaches, that way.

It was one of the more interesting things, to Momo, about their friendship. He was outgoing and outspoken, while Echizen was self-contained and sparing with his words. Momo, despite his casual ways, was really quite proper most of the time, while Echizen, despite his genuine respect for skill and accomplishment, mouthed off to absolutely everyone. And yet, somehow, they were always in the same place, always looking the same way, always knowing what the other would do.

Kachirou had mentioned, once, that it was strange Momo and Ryouma still couldn't play doubles to save their lives, since they seemed to understand and predict each other so well. Momo had replied that that wasn't enough for good doubles, especially when what they could unfailingly predict was that both of them would go for the ball no matter where it landed. Kachirou had agreed, ruefully, that Momo had a point.

In fact, the only one Momo had seen who could play doubles with Echizen was Kachirou himself. And that highlighted the difference, of course. Kachirou played as support to Echizen, and he did it well because he'd spent so long watching how Echizen played. Momo knew how Echizen played, too, but Kachirou... orbited Echizen. Ryouma was the primary in that relationship. And neither Momo nor Ryouma would ever do that for each other. For them, Momo decided, extending his astronomy metaphor, it was more like a double star, both turning around a common center. Not that determination to win generated gravity. Or, maybe it did...

An elbow in the ribs interrupted his musing.

"Momo-senpai, quit dozing off and work on the English," Echizen directed from where he was propped against Momo's back, reading his Japanese textbook.

Momo sighed. "Right, right, whatever you say. Buchou."

Ryouma reached over his head and noogied Momo.

Despite his startlement, Momo could hold back a delighted grin. Lately, Ryouma had been descending to physical retaliation, in their teasing; it was almost as good as having another little brother. Momo thought it was probably because Ryouma was afraid of losing contact, with Momo gone from the club. His sister had acted a little the same, when Momo had started junior high and wasn't in the same school with his siblings anymore. Whatever the cause, it meant that, every now and then, Momo actually won.

Thinking of his brother gave Momo an idea, and he reached around his side and crooked his fingers in Ryouma's ribs.

A stifled squeak answered, and half a second later Ryouma was on the other side of the room, plastered against the wall, glaring at him.

"You're that ticklish?" Momo asked, hugely amused.

"Of course I'm not ticklish," Ryouma snapped. Momo recognized the spinal-reflex, defensive denial, and grinned more broadly. Ryouma glowered.

"Oh, don't worry, I won't let on," Momo assured him.

Ryouma gave him a very suspicious look.

"After all, I have to keep some advantages to myself," Momo finished.

Ryouma now looked like his worst suspicions had been confirmed.

"You worry too much, Echizen," Momo told him. "C'mon, homework." He patted the floor next to where Ryouma's book had fallen.

Ryouma didn't budge a centimeter. Momo sighed a little. Looked like he'd found another gap. Most of the time, he and Ryouma could have their little brawls without worrying, because Ryouma gave as good as he got; it passed the time until they encountered an outsider they could cooperate to take down. Every now and then, though, Momo stumbled across some gap in Echizen's poise. The first one had been Karupin, and he still remembered being startled at how badly Ryouma's cool attitude had shattered when his cat was missing. Feeling the slightest bit vulnerable did not seem to be something Ryouma did with any grace whatsoever. Momo held out a hand.

"Come on, Ryouma," he said, more gently. "You know I wouldn't." Wouldn't attack his friend in a weak spot anywhere except on the court. Wouldn't deliberately hurt him.

Ryouma tucked his head down, and didn't say anything, but did come back across the room and settled down beside Momo with his book. Momo smiled, wryly, down at his friend's bent head. Not quite like having another little brother, he decided. He understood Ryouma better than he did his brother, most of the time, and Ryouma was more willing to be coaxed. Not that a single other person would believe him about that last, but it was still true. Under certain circumstances, Ryouma was also more willing to be protected. As long as Momo was casual about it, Ryouma would let Momo protect him when it came to one of those little gaps.

No, not quite like a brother.

Ryouma leaned against his shoulder, silently, and Momo leaned back, reaching for his homework again.

End

Twist

Ryouma encounters someone who jars his view of what tennis is, and has a few revelations in the aftermath, some less comfortable than others. Drama With Almost Romance, I-4

As soon as this Matsueda character had shown up at the street court, Momo had figured he was bad news. He had the contemptuous smirk of someone looking to make trouble, but he hadn't moved right away, and it was a bad sign when troublemakers stopped to think first. He'd waited, watching the other players, and finally approached Echizen for a game. Even though Echizen didn't play at speed on street courts like this, unless someone really got his goat, it was clear to Momo that Matsueda had pegged Echizen as the best player present. And, of course, the day Echizen turned down a challenge would be the day there was a blizzard in July. Momo had still disliked the look of Matsueda enough to murmur in Echizen's ear to keep an eye out, even if it did make his friend give him the raised eyebrow.

By the end of the third volley, Momo was sure there would be trouble.

When Echizen switched to his left hand at the end of the first game, Momo's jaw tightened. A whisper swept around the court; the ones who played in this area regularly knew, by now, what it meant. This challenger was good.

And he was, Momo had to admit. Not good enough to win against Momo himself, and certainly not good enough to win against Echizen. But good enough to make Echizen smile.

Normally.

Echizen wasn't smiling now.

Momo swore silently. He knew what was wrong. He'd met a few of Matsueda's kind before; even played one, once, and regretted it after. But he didn't think Echizen ever had. Oh, he'd played plenty of the crazy ones, the ones who were out of control and dangerous. Heck, he'd been on the same team with Fuji-senpai, and Momo hadn't even taken a whole year to figure out that Fuji-senpai would have been one of the crazy ones if Tezuka-buchou hadn't, somehow, steadied him.

But even the craziest had respected the game, or at least they had once Echizen was done with them. A real challenge, the chance to gain the respect of someone brilliant... that did it every time. Forged a connection in the heat and glee and craziness of the game itself. Even that lunatic Akutsu had responded to that, and it had eventually brought him back to the game once everyone had the brains to stop nagging him.

Momo remembered being concerned during that game, too, worried that the nut case Echizen was playing would cross the bounds of the game, worried how Echizen would deal with an opponent who held the game itself in contempt. But, in the end, Echizen had broken through. Echizen had seen past Akutsu's derision to the desperate, frantic desire for a real challenge underneath, and, in his own inimitable way, had kept hammering until he'd reached it. Momo remembered going from being a bit worried about Akutsu's dismissive contempt to being a little alarmed at his absolute, devouring, manic focus on Ryouma, once the game heated up. At no point had Momo really been surprised, though. Even then, he'd taken it pretty much for granted that Echizen could hold any fire barehanded, on the court.

But not this time.

This time, it was acid, not fire, and Momo didn't like to think what might happen if Echizen grasped it. There was a vicious edge to Matsueda's smile that got sharper every time he pulled out another move, pushed Echizen a little harder. A fast drop shot; a respectable smash; a sly, curving slice that came in deceptively slow. For all Matsueda's skill, though, Momo could see that the true center of his attention was elsewhere. By the end of the third game he thought Echizen had seen it too. Momo would have bet a week's tab at McDonald's that it had only taken so long because the very idea was so utterly alien. The ones he'd played who thought like that, that Momo knew about, had always been pretenders; no real talent, no challenge.

Echizen stood for a moment, before he served, staring at his opponent.

"What's the matter kid?" Matsueda called. "Getting scared?"

Echizen's hand clenched around the ball, and Momo snorted. It was probably the best thing the bastard could have said right then.

The best thing for Echizen, at least.

Echizen's mouth set hard, under the shadow of his cap, and Momo knew he had laid aside his disturbance for later. The line of his body and the flash of his eyes as he cast the ball up said that now was the time to end this.

The last games rushed by in a flare of power and finesse that left Matsueda's jaw hanging. Despite his own misgivings, Momo could help a smirk as the man slunk off at the end of the set, chased by the grins and condolences of the other players. The grin faded as he watched Echizen pack up, too. Momo zipped up his own bag and silently fell in beside his friend as Echizen left the court.

Echizen never exactly chatted, but his quiet now made Momo uncomfortable. Despite that, he didn't press for conversation; it wasn't the time. He watched Echizen as they walked, following his path without comment. They weren't exactly going in circles, but every time they went a little closer to Echizen's house, his friend managed to take the next turn in another direction. Momo was just wondering whether he should nudge Echizen toward the school and let him walk around the track until he wore himself out, when they fetched up in a playground between his house and Echizen's.

Echizen finally stood still, there, and Momo eyed him, considering whether it was time to push. A violent shudder ripped through Echizen, dropping his bag off his shoulder, and he started moving again, pacing between one hollow cement animal and another. Momo's mouth thinned.

"He didn't care," Echizen said, voice tight, spinning on his heel for another round.

"No, he didn't," Momo agreed, quietly. Ryouma whirled on him.

"How?" His eyes, even in the low light, were shadowed, wide and hurt. "How can you be any good and not care? Somehow?"

The drawn look and voice were too much for Momo, and he took the two strides forward that would bring him to Echizen, and pulled his friend close. Now he could feel just how tense Echizen was, almost shivering with it. Ryouma didn't protest, for which Momo was belatedly glad; his friend still wasn't quite as tall as Momo, but he wasn't tiny anymore, either. If he were upset enough to strike out it wouldn't have been fun. But the fact that Echizen stood still in his hold, neither stiffening nor grumbling at him, more than anything, told Momo just how upset Ryouma was. He sighed and leaned back against the climbing tower, tugging Ryouma with him. He'd known Echizen wouldn't understand it; so, how to explain?

"I asked Ryuuzaki-sensei that, after the first time I played someone like that myself," he recalled, after a bit. "She said it just happens, sometimes."

Ryouma stirred against him, and Momo heard a shadow of his usual sniff of contempt.

"She said," he continued, encouraged, "that there are two kinds of players who are bad. Bad for everyone else, dangerous to the game. One is the kind who has a whole lot of talent but no challenge. She said that those are the ones who don't respect anyone else, and do stupid or dangerous or cruel things because they're bored. Like they're trying to provoke someone into stopping them."

Echizen nodded, faintly. Momo had figured that description would ring a bell.

"The other is the kind who has talent, but only sees the game as a means to an end. Not something they enjoy for itself, just something that lets them get something else they want."

Echizen stood very, very still for a long moment.

"Like I was," he said, at last, muffled, "before Tezuka-buchou..."

Momo's arms tightened in automatic response to the blank emptiness of that usually sardonic voice. His first instinct was to deny it completely, because, damn it, he'd always seen more than that in Ryouma from the first moment they laid eyes on each other. But he hadn't spent a year as team captain without learning to face unpleasant thoughts, and he was sure that if he was anything less than totally honest right now Ryouma would ignore him entirely.

"If Tezuka-buchou hadn't gotten through to you, you might have been," he answered, carefully. "Eventually. But I can't believe you would have gone much longer, anyway, without meeting someone who could show you what else tennis could be." He puffed a little laugh against the raven-wing hair beside his cheek. "You had too much fun with it, even if you wouldn't admit it yet."

He felt, rather than heard, Ryouma's answering laugh, and breathed a sigh of relief.

"All you can do is what you did," he concluded. "Beat them fast and go on."

Echizen slumped against him, head thumping down on Momo's shoulder.

"Great," Ryouma muttered.

Momo grinned and ruffled his hair, and this time Ryouma swatted at his hand with a growl and pulled away to stand upright. Momo was impressed all over again with his friend's resilience. He'd needed a few days of not playing anyone but his teammates to get over his own encounter with tennis slime. As they collected their bags and walked on he thought the atmosphere had lightened enough to tease Echizen about having fast recovery time. Ryouma blushed and glowered at him.

"Momo-senpai..." he drawled, threateningly.

"When are you going to get a girlfriend, anyway?" Momo prodded at him, having to choke back a snicker at the shudder and grimace he got in response.

"Never!" Ryouma's response was particularly heartfelt, and Momo figured his little fanclub must have been especially shrill this week.

"Boyfriend?" Momo suggested, helpfully, and got an elbow in the ribs for his trouble. The familiar chaffing made them both smile.

"Seriously, though," he added, "I knew you could handle it. After as many of the crazy kind as you've come up against, the slime are just a nasty shock. Not a challenge." Momo shot a sidelong look of satisfaction at Echizen.

"Haven't been that many," Echizen objected with a small shrug. Momo snorted.

"Yeah? Just think for a minute about how many people you've played who fit that first description."

Echizen tucked his hands in his pockets and slouched along thoughtfully for the block that remained before the turning that would take each of them home by separate ways. Momo expected an absent good night, or possibly a smart remark about the relative sanity of tennis players. He did not expect Echizen to stop short at the intersection, and stand as if turned to stone. Momo, looking over in surprise, caught a haunted, sick expression on Ryouma's face before he shuttered it.

"Echizen?" he asked, startled. Ryouma swallowed twice.

"I don't want to go home yet," he whispered at last, turning sharply away from his street.

Calculations cascaded through Momo's mind, starting with just how long someone in Echizen's excellent shape could stay up, walking, if he decided to; touching on the number of times he'd seen emotion that open from Ryouma, a very small figure; and finishing with the best way to actually get some sleep while not leaving his friend alone with whatever thought had hit him so hard.

"You can come home with me, if you want," he offered.

Ryouma blinked up at him, and Momo gave him a half-smile in reply, turning toward his own street.

"Come on," he directed. As he'd hoped, the peremptory tone broke Echizen out of his paralysis, and if his friend gave him a dark look he still came along. They were about half way there when Momo remembered that his sister had friends over to stay, this being Saturday, and wondered whether they had left so much as a spare blanket, let alone a spare futon.

They hadn't.

There was one extra pillow sitting, lonely, on the shelf of the linen closet. It was, Momo reflected with some resignation, better than a bus provided and he and Echizen had managed to nap on plenty of those. Echizen barely seemed to notice, accepting the t-shirt Momo offered and climbing into bed, when Momo scooted over to make room, with a somewhat abstract look on his face. When Momo turned on his side to give them both a little more kicking space, Ryouma turned his head on the pillow and gazed at him for a long moment. The large, dark eyes seemed to swallow what little light was in the room and Momo laid a hand on Ryouma's shoulder, questioning. Ryouma grunted and turned over too, putting his back to Momo.

Momo smiled and let his hand stay on his friend's shoulder as they settled down to sleep.

He woke, slightly disoriented, when sunrise speared light through the blinds he hadn't closed all the way. It took several seconds to pin down the cause of the disorientation. He remembered right away that Ryouma was next to him. He wasn't in quite the same place, however.

Ryouma had, in fact, turned over, managing to steal most of the covers, and burrowed against Momo's chest. He had also managed to throw an arm over Momo's ribs without in any way compromising his possession of the blanket. Momo snorted, and let himself drift back to sleep. He knew better than to try and get the covers back, and Ryouma himself was warm enough. He had no idea how long he dozed, but he was jarred to partial alertness when Ryouma woke up and stiffened with a start. Still half asleep, Momo responded with the protective reflex that had always run hand in hand with his competitive reflex where Ryouma was concerned.

"Sh. 'S okay," he mumbled, rubbing Ryouma's back soothingly.

Ryouma didn't relax in the least. Momo woke up a bit further, recalling that he had reason to be concerned for his friend, and tightened his hold.

"Ryouma," he murmured, "it's all right."

For a long moment Ryouma was so still Momo wondered if he was breathing, and then his head tilted a bit, hair brushing Momo's collar bone.

"Is it?" he asked. His tone was soft, hesitant. Momo had no idea what was behind that question; he was only sure that whatever it was struck deep. Ryouma usually covered any uncertainty with an easy sang froid, or else overwhelmed it with fiery determination. Was it all right? Was what all right? How could he answer?

One corner of his mind, slightly more awake than the others, perhaps, noted sharply that he could damn well answer the way he always answered when Echizen needed help.

Calmness settled over Momo's internal dithering. If he didn't know what had moved Ryouma to actually ask for reassurance, he did know that he would back his friend up, whatever it turned out to be. That was all he needed to know right now.

"Yes," he answered, with certainty. "It is."

Ryouma let go a tiny breath, and slowly, like stretching a sore muscle first thing at morning practice, relaxed. His back loosened; his head settled into the curve of Momo's shoulder; the hand Momo hadn't realized was clenched in the cotton over his side let go; a faint shiver completed the progression, and Ryouma lay quiet against him.

Now it was Momo who had the urge to hold his breath, rather than break the moment. The warmth of Ryouma's trust, more than even he had ever been given before, stole over him like the sunlight creeping across the bed. He gathered Ryouma closer, and pressed his lips silently to the morning-ruffled hair. Ryouma settled himself a bit more comfortably, with a very faint sigh, and they were still. The shrieks and crashes of his sister and her friends getting up and fed came and went with only the smallest twitch from Ryouma at the especially impressive bangs.

At last, though, Ryouma stirred, and Momo loosened his hold. He propped his head up on one hand as Ryouma flopped over onto his back and looked up at him. Ryouma's expression was... odd. Almost wistful. Almost scared. Maybe a little sad and a little hopeful. Momo had to quash a strong urge to catch Ryouma back into his arms and not let go. Normally, Ryouma could be counted on to whap him over the head for doing any such thing. Momo wasn't sure what would happen if he did it this morning.

Ryouma lifted a hand and laid it on Momo's chest, light and tentative. Momo had to close his eyes for a second, before he covered Ryouma's hand with his own. A smile lightened Ryouma's eyes. Momo wondered, not for the first time, whether Ryouma had started wearing his beloved cap when he played in order to hide those expressive eyes that showed every thought and feeling unless he was very careful.

"Good morning, Momo," Ryouma said, quietly. Momo ran his fingers through Ryouma's hair, and, for once, Ryouma accepted the gesture.

"Good morning, Ryouma," Momo answered.

End

Ripple

The day after the events of "Twist", Ryouma tries to sort out his thoughts. Drama With Slight Romance, I-3

Ryouma scrunched down in his bath until the water was at his nose and contemplated the surface of it.

It had been a strange weekend. First the game with Whatshisname, which had set him off balance pretty badly, and then the talk with Momo, and then this morning... Every time he had to deal with Momo's sister he was glader than ever that Nanako was so much older than he was. And not his sister. And not crazy. Maybe girls didn't become sane until they grew up.

The day itself had been better. He and Momo had wandered around, and a bit of luck had come his way when they stumbled over a few of Fudoumine. He'd had a pretty decent game against Ibu. And another against Kamio, once he'd managed to actually get Kamio's attention off of his staring contest with Momo. He wasn't one hundred percent sure they had thought it was a good game; they'd been too out of breath to say.

Momo probably thought Ryouma hadn't heard him thank them.

Ryouma lifted a hand out of the water and watched drops patter back down.

He knew Momo was a little worried about him, still. He'd insisted on walking Ryouma home, and it had been hard to miss the sidelong looks. He supposed Momo had a reason; Ryouma had kind of freaked out last night.

He leaned back with a sigh and poked at the thought that had been lying in the back of his mind ever since. Was his dad one of the crazy ones?

He didn't remember, now, when it had started. It might even have always been this way, that every effort of his, on the court, was met with the same words. Some variation on You'll never beat me like that; nope, a hundred years too early. And he knew what the real message in that taunt was: defeat me—if you really think you can. It was a dare. Pushing him down to make him push back harder. There was a name for that, in English, Ryouma remembered reading it somewhere. Ah, yes. Reverse psychology.

Ryouma snorted and swished a hand, impatiently, though the water. What a load of crap. He also knew perfectly well why it worked, when he thought about it. It was the dishonesty that got him mad. The way that never-changing formula pretended that any progress Ryouma might be making was negligible, invisible. Ryouma was capable of tracking his own progress, and he knew he was starting to close in. And he was bound and determined, and had been for years, to beat his dad completely enough that he couldn't brush it off or say it was a fluke, that he would be forced to acknowledge the truth!

Ryouma frowned at the water. What a stupid reason to play tennis.

He pushed a wave of water away from him, watched it rebound, caught a little bit of it and pushed it back again. It wasn't a motive that would ever open up the game to him, a fact that pissed him off more the better he understood it. He'd been going stale before he came to Seigaku. He could see that, now. He hadn't been playing tennis, he'd been pursuing a vendetta. Like that would get him anywhere! What had his dad been thinking, anyway? He was just damn lucky that Ryouma really did like this game he had a talent for and had found people to remind him of that, because otherwise Ryouma would have been stuck right there in the same place, without being able to move forward or to win or do anything but keep trashing the small fry and never understanding why he couldn't reach any further, watching his dad lose interest and...

He slapped a hand down, splashing water up, violently, and sucked in a long breath. It was all right. It hadn't happened. He'd come to Seigaku, and found good people to play against and with, and Tezuka-buchou had seen and understood. Ryouma folded his arms on the edge of the bath and rested his head on them. He had a sudden wish to be with his captain. Not even to play a game, necessarily; just being around Tezuka calmed him down, made everything seem a little clearer, a little cleaner. He didn't always say out loud what the point of his orders was, but his challenges to Ryouma, and his wish for Ryouma, was always clear and straightforward, and Ryouma could trust that the point was always the benefit of the team and its players. He could trust that Tezuka-buchou's praise or cautions or reprimands actually meant something.

It would be nice if he could trust his dad like that.

But his dad didn't think like Tezuka-buchou. His dad had never shown him that the game could be more than just beating some particular opponent, that there was a core to it, a spirit to it that went beyond that. Maybe his dad couldn't show him. Ryouma supposed he might give his dad the benefit of the doubt and figure that his dad knew that too—that it was why he had sent Ryouma to Seigaku. But he didn't know if he wanted to give his dad the benefit of anything, just now. After a day of simmering, the thought that had hit him hardest, last night, was starting to take on a shape Ryouma could grasp, and the edges on it were sharp.

To taunt and dare, to make himself into the enemy, to drive with insults... Ryouma could see a teacher doing that. Not a nice teacher, maybe not a good teacher, at least Ryouma had never seen that work too well when Mr. Cotswold or Yoshida-sensei did it, but a teacher that the student had come to and said 'I want to learn this thing you know'. There was a... a deal made, there, on both sides, and everyone more or less knew what they were getting into.

A teacher, maybe. But a father?

Ryouma twisted against the edge on that thought. It cut.

Did he really have a father anymore? Did his dad even see Ryouma as his son, anymore, or just as the one who might, possibly, finally, give him a real game? A real challenge. Even a real defeat. The better he played, the worse it seemed to get. Oh, yeah, his dad got all bright-eyed, but it didn't feel like that was because he was proud of Ryouma. It felt like the eagerness Ryouma saw in his opponents. And from them it felt right; that was what they were to each other. But a father? That wasn't how Kachirou's dad looked at his son, when they grinned and gave each other a thumbs up. It was a lot closer to how Akutsu had looked at Ryouma the first time they played.

That, that was the thought that had kept him huddled against Momo this morning.

Ryouma blinked down at the water in front of his nose. Weird. Remembering this morning was actually making him feel a little better. Like he could breathe again. Like...

Like someone was holding him.

Ryouma snorted a laugh. If he ever admitted to Momo that his protective streak made Ryouma feel better, he'd be doomed. Probably for life. Momo would never again believe Ryouma was serious when he grumbled or swatted Momo away. Still, he admitted to himself, turning over to stare up at the ceiling, it had felt... nice that Momo took the trouble to comfort him.

If Momo stopped believing Ryouma was serious, Ryouma supposed, as he climbed out of the bath, he could deal with that. Heck, maybe he could even deal with the rest of it. Maybe.

End

Clove Apple

The aftermath of Fuji's encounter with Mizuki, and explanations for Tachibana. Drama With Romance, I-4

Kippei tracked him down on a small, sunny hill in a quiet corner of the park near Shuusuke's house. He sat down beside Shuusuke, close but not touching.

"Eiji called me," he said, quietly. "He said you were acting strangely at practice today. He was worried." Shuusuke shrugged one shoulder.

"I was... out of sorts I suppose. Tezuka kept me away from most of the other club members. I suppose it is a bit strange for he and I to play much." He snorted, remembering. "Echizen had the nerve to tell me I play better when I'm calm, afterwards."

"That sounds like him," Kippei smiled.

They sat in silence for a while, and Shuusuke tried to gather his thoughts. He should have known he wouldn't be able to avoid Kippei for long; he really hadn't been thinking very clearly. At last he leaned back on his hands, looking up at the clear, pale sky.

"I had," he paused to fish for a neutral term, "an altercation with Mizuki two days ago. It got... a little out of hand."

Kippei waited, and Shuusuke relaxed a little when he didn't push for an immediate explanation.

"I was already angry that day," he went on, and released a half laughing breath. "It sounds so petty when I tell it out loud. But that morning..." he paused again, trying to find the beginning of the sequence in his memory. "Everyone pretty much knows who will go on professionally, from the club, and who won't. Everyone knows by now that I won't. Some know that my brother probably will. I suppose I'm not one to talk about competitiveness," he smiled tightly, "but sometimes I could do without the side effects. One of the second years was saying that it was too bad Fuji Yuuta would be the name the tennis world remembered. And then he realized I was listening and hurried to say that he was sure people would always remember Yuuta's talent as second to mine."

Kippei winced.

"Quite," Shuusuke murmured. "I was unsettled enough to message Yuuta over lunch and ask how his training was going. I really should know better by now, don't you think?"

Kippei moved around to sit behind Shuusuke and wrap an arm around his waist. Shuusuke leaned back against him with a sigh. The next part was going to be harder.

"I don't know whether Yuuta mentioned it to Mizuki, but Mizuki was waiting for me on my way home. He... challenged me."

"To what?" Kippei asked when Shuusuke didn't continue.

"A game. I suppose." Shuusuke sternly told the hollow feeling in his chest to go away for the nth time in almost three days. It made breathing feel like work. Once again, the feeling refused to go anywhere. Kippei's arm tightening around him reminded Shuusuke that he wasn't alone. And that there had, in fact, been a total of four parties fairly intimately involved in what had happened. On an impulse he turned and kissed Kippei.

It was a little wild, a little desperate, and Kippei started out returning it more gently, trying to soothe Shuusuke. As the seconds ticked by, though, Shuusuke thought the fact of the kiss fell in with what else he had said, and gave Kippei some of the shape of the "altercation", because his lover's kiss changed. It became deeper and hotter, demanding in a way that Kippei rarely was. Ironically, that calmed Shuusuke faster than the earlier softness. When they broke apart Kippei raised a hand to his cheek and held his gaze, eyes dark and serious.

"You aren't the only one who's possessive, Shuusuke," Kippei told him.

Yes, Kippei had an idea what had happened. But not all of it. Shuusuke shook his head, laying a hand on Kippei's chest.

"What he offered, what I did, it wasn't about sex." Kippei's lips tightened as Shuusuke confirmed at least the mechanics of the encounter, but he didn't protest Shuusuke's interpretation. Yet.

"What was it about?" he asked, quite calmly under the circumstances Shuusuke thought. He turned again so he could lean back against Kippei.

"Control," he answered, biting down a grimace as he remembered Mizuki's voice gliding over that word. "Knowledge. I suppose," he summoned a small smile, "it was more like a game of go than anything." Entrapment, oh yes. He had to hand that to Mizuki, and he should have recognized it sooner.

"A game of go with a bed as the board?" Kippei suggested, sounding amused despite himself at the idea. Shuusuke smiled more genuinely, letting the intellectual metaphor carry him over his discomfort.

"Mmm. More like the bed, and the bodies, as the stones. The board was the mind."

There was silence behind him for a moment before Kippei closed both arms around him.

"Shuusuke." He didn't sound amused any longer. He sounded a little shaken. Shuusuke supposed that made two of them. He didn't really want to dwell on that.

"Besides, I never let him touch me," he added, veering back to the original question and keeping his tone casual. Kippei's hold tightened, and Shuusuke realized he'd probably just given away a little more of the mechanics than he'd really wanted to.

"Mizuki accepted that?" Kippei asked, both surprise and a touch of distaste in his voice. Shuusuke laughed, wearily.

"Oh, yes. Mizuki waylaid me, provoked me until I was extremely angry, invited me to take him any way I pleased and accepted everything I did, just to prove a point." Shuusuke leaned his head back against Kippei's shoulder. "He knew what he was doing, Kippei." He fell silent, hoping his lover could unravel that and wouldn't ask him to put words to the details.

"He knew?" Kippei asked at last, carefully. Shuusuke's mouth twisted. Kippei had gotten very good at reading under what he said.

"Every last step," Shuusuke confirmed with false cheer. He never did that for long around Kippei, though, and let it go to turn in Kippei's arms until he could curl up against him.

"And it's so easy," he whispered. "To do that to people. To control, to break. Because I can. And when I'm in the middle of it it's so satisfying, but afterwards, when I stop and look back... it doesn't feel right." Kippei stroked back his hair.

"I know," he said. Shuusuke stirred at that. Kippei wasn't like that.

"You do?"

"I know that you don't really enjoy going that far. It's pretty obvious." Kippei smiled down at him when Shuusuke raised his head to give him an inquiring look. "All the people you're most drawn to are ones you can't control."

Shuusuke ran a quick catalogue in his mind, and decided Kippei was right. Tezuka, who wouldn't let him. Eiji, with whom there was no point. Taka-san, who was too sweet to tempt him. Even the firebrands like Echizen.

And Kippei, of course.

"So," he smiled, reassured enough to tease a little, "you're not worried about it at all?"

Kippei turned on his side, spilling Shuusuke into the grass, and dropped a kiss on his forehead.

"Of course not. I recall saying once that you don't strike out unless you're unbearably provoked, and never on your own account. It's still true. Mizuki prodded you about Yuuta, didn't he?"

Shuusuke nodded, holding back a snarl at the mere memory. From the quirk of Kippei's mouth, he didn't think he'd been entirely successful. That was all right, though; Kippei was the one person he could show anything to.

"So," Kippei continued, "you might not want to admit out loud that Mizuki won this round, but it's clear from what you have said that he asked for everything he got."

Shuusuke opened his mouth to protest, and then closed it. Unfortunately, that statement was correct on every count. He had been focusing on how much he disliked the aftermath of getting carried away to distract himself from the thought that Mizuki was every bit as much to credit, and possibly more, as himself. And he hadn't quite realized it until Kippei pointed it out. He felt a faint flush heating his cheeks.

"You've never been much good with your own motivations, Shuusuke," Kippei pointed out, gently. "Let it go and stop worrying."

Shuusuke took a stern hold of himself and considered his possible causes for worry. Was he dangerously out of hand? No. Was he, he sidled around to look at the thought with dislike, seriously concerned that Mizuki knew him well enough, now, to hurt him? To hurt him the way he knew, in a dark, back corner of his mind, Kippei could by knowing him so well. That one took more consideration, but the manner of Mizuki's approach implied that he didn't think he could overwhelm Shuusuke; and Shuusuke was now on his guard. So, no, not really. Was he really worried that Yuuta wouldn't forgive him for what he'd done to his brother's lover, be it ever so consensual? Shuusuke knew he had come very close to breaking Mizuki; it was why he had let Mizuki go with his success intact even when he realized what it had all been about. Somehow he doubted his brother would agree that any aftereffects were anything other than Shuusuke's fault.

All right, perhaps he would still worry about that one. He sighed and reached up for Kippei.

"Mostly," he allowed.

Kippei's smile was wry as he leaned down. Shuusuke sighed again, against his mouth, for quite different reasons, as Kippei's kiss folded him in weightless warmth like the sun on this hillside.

"No one but you touches me like this," he said, softly, as they parted. Kippei answered by catching him up in another kiss, this one slow and deliberately sensual, a sliding dance of tongues. The hollowness in Shuusuke's chest that had persisted for three days finally faded away. Shuusuke felt as though Kippei's breath helped fill his lungs all the way. He drew Kippei down until his lips were at Kippei's ear.

"Kippei," he murmured, "make love to me."

"Right here?" Kippei's tone was half serious and half teasing. Shuusuke shook his head, and spoke slowly.

"No. I think I want to remember who belongs in my bed."

When Kippei's arms closed around him hard enough to drive his breath out, he knew his lover had accepted that sideways apology.

Lying against Kippei's side, later, in the cool afternoon shadows of his bedroom, and far more pleased with the world, Shuusuke wondered whether he should call Yuuta. It would be nice to know whether his brother was upset with him or not.

The message tone rang on his phone.

"Someone has bad timing," Kippei muttered. Shuusuke made agreeing sounds, but craned for a moment to check who it was from.

Then he leaned across Kippei and snatched at his phone so that he could glare at the sender from close range.

"Shuusuke?"

He stabbed the message button and read. His lips pulled back from his teeth, though he managed not to snarl out loud. That arrogant, insufferable, little...

"Shuusuke?" Kippei repeated, a bit cautiously.

"Dear Shuusuke," he read off the message, "Please don't be concerned. Yuuta's opinion of my sanity has been confirmed, and he doesn't blame you for any of it. Except, possibly, the bite mark. Regards, Mizuki." Kippei didn't make a sound, but Shuusuke was leaning over his stomach and could feel the muscles trembling, holding back what was probably a laugh. He transferred his glare, dropping the phone pointedly over the side of the bed. So, Mizuki thought he knew him that well, and had the gall to reassure him?

"I don't think I ever fully appreciated just how much Mizuki likes to play with fire," Kippei observed, mildly. "Can I hope you'll chose a different way of burning him next time?"

The glare lost a good deal of force, and Shuusuke laid his head back on Kippei's chest.

"Of course," he confirmed, softly, pressing closer. Kippei's hand stroking his back lulled him, and he set out to ignore Mizuki's baiting in favor of Kippei's heartbeat.

He could teach his would-be rival a lesson later, Shuusuke decided as he slipped into a doze, rocked by the rhythm of his lover's breath.

End

Fence

A typical day in the life of Ryouma and Momo, with a few extra revelations on Momo's part. Karupin gets in on the action. Drama With Getting-There Romance, I-4

Momo tried not to take too much enjoyment in Ryouma's paperwork griefs. He figured a little was due him, though, and couldn't help grinning just a bit as he waited for Ryouma at the corner where their ways home came together. His approaching friend looked distracted.

"So," Momo said, as he pushed off from the wall and swung into step with Ryouma, "decided yet?"

"Mm," Ryouma answered without looking up, "for everyone but Rokkaku and Hyoutei. You never know where Aoi's going to show up."

"Oh, come on, that's the easy one," Momo scoffed.

Ryouma gave him an eloquent Oh, really? look from the corner of his eye.

"Has he gotten any less bouncy this year?" Momo asked.

"Nope," Ryouma said, glumly.

"And he's always impatient to play. Kind of like another team captain I could mention but won't."

Ryouma glared.

"So he'll probably put himself in Singles Two or Three to make sure he gets a chance," Momo finished. "You know," he added, thoughtfully, "I bet if you called him and offered to meet him in one of those slots, he'd adjust his own lineup to make it work."

Ryouma blinked, and a wicked smile spread over his face. "Maybe I won't mention that part to Ryuuzaki-sensei," he murmured.

"Ah, you're getting sneaky," Momo clapped him on the shoulder. "Fuji-senpai would be proud. Now, what's up with Hyoutei?"

Ryouma held the gate to his house open. "They're a pain, like always," he grumbled.

"Can't be more of a pain than Hiyoshi was, last year," Momo declared, kicking off his shoes.

Ryouma paused on the stairs to consider that. "Maybe. Come on, though, I'll show you." In his room, he dug out several sheets of paper and spread them on the floor. Momo settled behind him, looking over his shoulder.

"This year's captain," Ryouma tapped the name Fukuzawa, "he's a lot better than Hiyoshi was at talking their coach into new ideas. He took a few tricks from Fudoumine, and sometimes puts the best players in early. And just about everyone knows we only have one strong doubles team. Again. Even if Kachirou and I play doubles, that's only two wins and leaves singles completely open."

"Yeah, better assume one win and one loss in doubles," Momo put in, resting his chin on Ryouma's shoulder. "They should be short on good doubles, too, this year."

"Which means," Ryouma continued, "that Fukuzawa is likely to come in early, which means I should too. But what if he second guesses me? If I take Singles Three while he stays with One, I don't think Kachirou will be able to handle him, and they'll have three wins in the end. I hate this," he sighed, leaning back against Momo with a faint thump.

"Oh, yeah," Momo ruffled his hair, "you thought it was a lot more interesting when it was my job, and you could just poke your nose in for the fun of it."

Ryouma growled and elbowed him.

"I bet you were the sort of kid who went on all the really scary rides at amusement parks just to hear how loud everyone else screamed," Momo teased.

"That," Ryouma observed, with trenchant accuracy, "would be Fuji-senpai. Besides, I think we only ever went to an amusement park once, when I was really little."

"And here I thought America had lots of them," Momo remarked, surprised. "What did you do, then?"

"What do you mean?" Ryouma asked, poking the end of his pen at the paperwork.

"With your family," Momo clarified.

Ryouma glanced over his shoulder, brows raised. "Played tennis."

Momo sat, staring straight ahead, as Ryouma crossed something out and scribbled a different name in. The absolute incomprehension in his friend's eyes hit him like a fist. He thought about his own family, about the annual trip to the beach; about his sister nagging until he took her to pet stores to play with the puppies; about his father and brother wearing almost identical pleading expressions while begging his mother to come watch a local motor cross match with them; about his mother's soft laugh the first time she played his favorite computer game with him, after days of wheedling on his part, and beat his score. And then he thought of not having any of that happen—of having all of it swallowed by tennis. Tennis the way he had seen Ryouma and his father play it, taunting and needling and provoking.

Absolute fury boiled up in him, twisting his stomach and tugging at his mouth with a snarl.

Ryouma paused in his shuffling of names, and looked around at him. "Momo?" he asked, sounding surprised.

Momo wrapped both arms around his friend, and rested his forehead against Ryouma's shoulder, hiding his expression. "Nothing. It's nothing," he said, quietly.

After a moment, Ryouma leaned back into his hold, puzzled, Momo thought, but willing to offer silent comfort for whatever was wrong. The irony was almost enough to start him laughing. He tightened his arms, instead, thankful that, for whatever reason, Ryouma had decided it was all right for Momo to hold him.

A fuzzy touch on his ear startled him into looking up. Karupin had come in and was standing with one paw on Ryouma's shoulder, batting at Momo with the other. He meowed in a you're taking up my space kind of way.

"What if I don't want to move, yet?" Momo argued.

Karupin batted, insistently, at his cheek.

"No," Momo said, definitely.

Karupin paused, considered him, and then, with no warning at all, whapped him in the jaw with a remarkably strong, if furry, right hook. Momo jerked back.

"Ryouma," he said, indignantly, "your cat just punched me!"

The announcement was probably redundant, seeing as Ryouma was doubled over with laughter. Recovering himself, he gathered Karupin up in his arms and, before Momo could protest this favoritism, turned to lean against Momo's chest, bracing Karupin against them both.

"It's okay, Karupin," Ryouma assured his cat. "You don't have to worry about Momo."

"Yeah, see?" Momo seconded, cautiously putting an arm around both of them. "I'm not trying to steal him, I just want to share him. Didn't your mother ever teach you it's good to share?"

Karupin managed to give him a very skeptical look for something with such a round, fuzzy face, before he snuggled against Ryouma to be petted. Momo suppressed some uncomplimentary remarks. That furball was the only living creature he had ever seen Ryouma look at with open tenderness, and Momo had a good idea of who would lose if it came to a choice between the cat and himself. It was, in fact, utterly typical that Ryouma should let himself practically cuddle with Momo, not for Momo's benefit, but for his cat's.

Recalling what he had been thinking about before Karupin interrupted, Momo suddenly had a much better idea why that might be, and looked with less disfavor on the purring menace in Ryouma's arms. That cat was probably the sole member of his family Ryouma loved and trusted without reservation. Karupin might just be the main reason Ryouma had even been capable of trusting enough to becoming a part of the Seigaku team, much less willing to do so. Momo sighed and leaned his cheek against the top of Ryouma's head, and scratched behind Karupin's ears himself. Carefully.

When he left, that day, he gave Karupin a serious look. "Take care of him, okay?" he said, nodding toward Ryouma.

Ryouma gave him a startled look, and Karupin meowed in a tone Momo translated to Teach your granny to suck eggs, kid. Momo grinned and let himself out.

Away from them, though, Momo found his thoughts circling around and around the realization about Ryouma's family life that had struck him, and by the time he arrived at practice the next morning he felt like there was a rut worn in his brain. It didn't help his temper any. He finally resorted to a tactic he didn't need very often, and took himself off to one side to practice his swings. He tossed each ball up, focused on where it needed to go, and imagined Echizen Nanjirou standing there.

He didn't actually realize that his balls were breaking through the fence until Ryuuzaki-sensei yelled at him.

"Honestly!" she finished her harangue. "What were you thinking? Go get a drink and calm down!"

Catching his breath on one of the benches, Momo was aware of movement in his direction. A quick glance showed it to be Oishi-senpai, and Momo winced. Now, how was he going to explain himself? Oishi-senpai was never intrusive, but he was hard to hold things back from. Another odd note caught his eye, though. Tezuka-san had crossed, quickly, to have a word with the team's captain, and then turned and gestured Oishi-senpai back. Momo bit his lip and looked at the ground.

"That exercise will work better if there's actually someone there to return the ball," Tezuka-san said, beside him.

Momo blinked up at the vice-captain for a moment before cosmic irony overcame his surprise at not being dressed down. He snorted a laugh and scrubbed a hand over his face.

"I couldn't do it if it were you standing there, though," he said, a little tired, glancing away. "You're the one who changed things for him."

Tezuka-san looked at him for a long moment, and then his eyes narrowed. "I see," he said, quietly. He touched Momo's shoulder.

"Come practice while thinking about something else then," he ordered. "Like winning."

Momo looked up with a grateful smile. His favorite challenge, for all he doubted there was much chance of it ever happening. There was nothing better to get his mind off a problem. "Yes, Tezuka-senpai," he agreed.

Really, he reflected, as he followed Tezuka-san to an empty court, it was no surprise Ryouma had found Tezuka-san's cool approach more reassuring than intimidating. After his father, it must have been a relief to deal with someone so straightforward and consistent, even if what he consistently was was demanding. Tezuka-san challenged his people, always, but he also, somehow, and Momo had never quite figured out how, convinced them of his implicit belief that they would succeed. It was contagious. And it spread to other parts of a person's life, too. Momo wasn't sure when he had decided that keeping a snippy, independent-minded brat like Echizen Ryouma well and safe was one of his challenges, but there it was. And if it had become still more personal than that, it just made the challenge all the more exciting.

"Ready?" Tezuka-san called.

Momo grinned.

"Any time!"

End

Puzzle

The Clue Trout descends upon Ryouma. Drama Finally Romance with Slight Porn, I-3

- Associated fanart: Momo and Ryouma during a fluffy moment, by Hikariblue.

"You sure you don't want to get that looked at?"

Ryouma rolled his eyes. If one more person asked him that, they were going to eat a tennis ball. "Yes, I'm sure," he sighed. "I banged my funny bone, that's all. You'd think I'd been in a traffic accident or something."

Momo looked stern, which almost made Ryouma smile. A year and a half ago, Momo would never have been able to pull the expression off. Ryouma was forming the theory that you could only learn it by being responsible for people two years younger who kept doing stupid things. Kachirou was very good at it, though too good natured to hold it for long.

"Don't give me that," Momo growled, "you know perfectly well it's a nerve cluster; of course everyone's worried."

"Inui-senpai said there was nothing to worry about as long as my grip kept coming back steadily," Ryouma argued, deciding that if he ever met the person who had injured Tezuka-buchou and thus been the ultimate cause of all this mother henning, they would regret it very deeply. "It has been. You're getting as bad as Oishi-senpai."

That succeeded in distracting Momo, and Ryouma did smile at the indignant expression on his friend's face. "You coming in?" he asked, opening his gate.

"For a while," Momo agreed, smiling back a little ruefully, which Ryouma took to mean he would let the subject be changed.

About time.

They were waylaid, however, by his dad's hail from the court.

"About time you got back! Come and play some real tennis."

Ryouma leaned against the porch, trying to decide whether it would be more trouble to play with a lingering handicap or to refuse and deal with the ragging. He didn't have any particular interest in telling his dad about today's little slip at practice, which argued against playing, but... He blinked as Momo stepped past him.

"Well, now, Ryouma's had a long day. If you want a game, why don't you play me?" It was less a request than a demand, and Ryouma's brows went up at the hard light in his friend's eyes.

His dad eyed Momo up and down, and the little smile that said Momentary entertainment, how nice crossed his face. "Why not," he murmured, and beckoned Momo onto the court.

Ryouma frowned as he watched them play. They were both acting strangely. His dad wasn't being quite his fully annoying self, and Momo was...

Momo was angry.

Not angry in the snarling-with-Kaidou-senpai sort of way, which wasn't really angry, though Ryouma couldn't say just what it was. Not angry the way he got at an opponent who ticked him off and who he wanted to beat. This was colder. His eyes were burning, but it was like the fire of the cutting torch in the art class studio—so focused down that the heat became sharpness. Ryouma had watched Momo play for years, and he knew Momo played hot; Momo liked it that way. He didn't stop to think, unless he was playing doubles and had to take a partner into account. He saw and he acted. It was the same way Ryouma had seen him do his math homework: writing down the answer immediately, and then going back to fill in the steps that led to it, because they were required.

This time, Momo was thinking. Watching, and testing, and watching again. He wasn't playing for the score, Ryouma realized, slowly. He was playing to find something out about his opponent.

Ryouma was confused. What could Momo want to know about his dad, that could make him this mad? Momo's eyes still had that bright glitter in them when the match ended. Ryouma didn't think he'd ever seen quite that look before.

"So," his dad asked, casually, "find what you want?"

Ryouma snorted to himself, confusion momentarily overcome by familiar exasperation. Of course his dad had spotted it.

"Not especially," Momo answered, evenly.

"Hm."

Ryouma sighed as his dad smiled, inscrutably, and strolled inside. He looked up at Momo, who had come to stand beside him.

"What was that all about?"

Momo shrugged. "You didn't want to mention that," he gestured at Ryouma's arm.

"Yes," Ryouma agreed, and waited. Momo's mouth quirked.

"And I didn't think you needed to deal with it today," he added, and quickly held up a hand. "I know, I know, overprotective mother hen." He made a mock tragic face. "Even after all this time you don't appreciate your senpai. Ah, I'm used to it."

Ryouma, caught between laughing and glowering, folded his arms and looked aside.

Thus, he was surprised when Momo's hand came up to cup the side of his face. He looked back around, eyes wide. He'd long since given up on enforcing any idea of personal space with Momo, but this was a little unusual.

"You should have someone you can actually trust, every now and then, that's all," Momo said. His mouth tugged up at one corner. "Someone who can talk, instead of meow."

And then the oddness of the moment seemed to reach Momo, too, and he dropped his hand and shouldered his bag.

"See you tomorrow," he told Ryouma, and made for the gate, leaving Ryouma staring after him and still wondering what that was all about.

Ryouma was still wondering at club practice the next day, and stalked around the courts with only half his attention on his team. When his Singles Three player nearly nailed him in the back with a wild ball he didn't even bother to glare.

"You need to retape your grip, Ougurou," he said, absently, swatting the ball back.

"Yes. Um. I'll do that now," Ougurou said, sidling away before Ryouma could change his mind.

And normally Ryouma would have called him out to demonstrate in action just how the problem could harm Ougurou's game. But he had other things on his mind today, and Kachirou seemed willing to take up the slack if the way Ougurou was shuffling in face of his lecture was any indication.

What had that been all about? It wasn't that he wasn't used to Momo touching him; in fact, if he were quite honest with himself he'd started to invite it. The contact was comfortable, and Momo was a good friend, after all. But that had been more than just friendly.

Ryouma stopped, and stared blankly through the fence. Just friendly. What was just friendly? What wasn't?

He started walking again, more slowly. He knew he didn't necessarily have the most normal view of these things. Apart from his dad's occasional jokes about wanting to grope his mom for old time's sake, at which point she offered to smack him one for old time's sake too, he didn't see any examples of anything from them. With his mom so busy with her job and the house, they didn't really spend that much time together, he guessed. And if Nanako was dating anyone, she didn't seem to have any intention of letting her aunt and uncle, or her cousin, know about it.

Not that he could blame her.

"Sagara, Tsunan, get back to work on your new formation," he directed his gossiping Doubles One pair, passing quietly behind them. Another day he might have been somewhat more amused that they jumped half a meter before stammering out affirmatives.

Maybe he should ask someone's advice on this. Except that the person he would normally ask about personal things was Momo. Besides, he didn't like having to ask.

He knew that he took his desire for self sufficiency from his mother; Nanako had commented on it before. Maybe he could take some methods from her, also. She was good at logic. So, logically, how to answer this question?

If his parents weren't any help, maybe he could compare the situation to someone else. Someone a little more average. So, who did he know who was more than friends?

Well, there was always Ann and Sakuno. Yeah, they would be a good comparison; Ann had a protective streak wider than Momo's. Ryouma figured it was probably genetic. How did she act around Sakuno?

She was almost always in contact with her, for one thing. A hand on her wrist, shoulders brushing, leaning against Sakuno, a hand around her waist. The more of those gestures Ryouma tallied up, the more unnerved he felt. That was the way Momo was around him, all right. And he hadn't noticed. Why hadn't he noticed?

Whether it was intuition or logic, the answer sprang up in his mind and rooted his feet to the ground. He hadn't noticed because it hadn't felt any different. He had always been comfortable around Momo, from the first day they met and he recognized the gleam of challenge in the eyes of the second year who had interfered to protect his kouhai.

Which raised the interesting question, had Momo noticed?

He could see about answering that later, Ryouma decided, briskly. Right now, he had things to be doing. Mind relieved for the moment, he called his team in and set them playing two on one, in rotation. The expressions of relief rather startled him, given how grueling this exercise got before too long, and he looked a question at Kachirou, who was smothering a laugh.

"They've been worried all day that you were distracted by thinking up something more, um, interesting for them," his vice-captain explained.

"Hm. I'll have something for tomorrow, then," Ryouma said, with a wicked smile. "Wouldn't do to let everyone down."

Kachirou lost the fight with his laughter, shaking his head.

Figuring out whether Momo had noticed proved more difficult than Ryouma had expected. Not because Momo was particularly difficult to read, but because Ryouma kept getting distracted. When Momo leaned against him, or sat behind him, or wrapped an arm around his shoulders, Ryouma kept forgetting to watch Momo because, now that he was noticing it, he was noticing how nice it felt.

And it did feel very nice. Having someone close to him, someone he could relax with because he knew for a fact Momo didn't mean him any harm, felt... warm.

In fact, he was starting to have to resist the urge to press closer, to invite Momo to hold him tighter.

At last, after a particularly unproductive day of staring at his History homework while his thoughts tripped over each other trying to observe Momo watching him, Ryouma decided, quite firmly and rationally he thought, that enough was enough. Logic was great, but Ryouma had known for a long time that instinct and action often had the edge. He clapped his book shut and tossed it off to one side.

Beside him, Momo looked up. "Homework that frustrating?" he asked with a grin.

"Actually, no," Ryouma declared. "Something else is, though."

And, as Momo was opening his mouth, probably to ask what, Ryouma turned and slung a leg over Momo's, settling comfortably astride his lap. Momo's mouth stayed open.

"Ah, Ryouma?" he managed, after a moment.

Ryouma spread his hands against Momo's chest, and felt his sudden intake of breath, watched his eyes widen. Momo's hands didn't seem to share the surprise, though, and closed firmly at Ryouma's waist. Mmm, yes; that was nice. Ryouma smiled. He was now prepared to bet that Momo, or at least the part of him in control of his hands, had been perfectly aware of how their touching had changed. Which raised yet another question.

"So, what's been taking you so long?" he asked.

Momo opened his mouth, closed it again, and growled. When he saw Ryouma's grin, he, too, seemed to decide that action was the best course, because he slid his hands up Ryouma's back, and pulled Ryouma against him, and caught Ryouma's mouth with his. Ryouma didn't make it easy for him; he was laughing. Momo persisted, though, tracing the curve of Ryouma's lips with his tongue, kissing the corner of his smile. And Ryouma finally sighed, and leaned against him, and kissed back.

The feeling of Momo's arms this tight around him, and Momo's tongue playing tag with his, was a lot more than just warm.

Momo drew back a bit. "Are you sure you haven't done this before?" he murmured against Ryouma's mouth.

"Very sure," Ryouma told him, repressively, and rocked forward to kiss him again.

Oh.

A lot more.

If the groan that tangled with his in the middle of their kiss hadn't been enough to tell him, he could feel, now, that Momo was enjoying this as much as he was. Experimentally, Ryouma shifted, rocking their hips together again. Heat tingled through him, and he heard a soft, wordless sound in his own throat. Momo leaned his head back against the bed behind him, but if he meant to catch his breath it backfired. Ryouma took the opportunity to taste the skin under Momo's jaw, and they both gasped as their bodies pressed flush together.

Ryouma's hands moved down Momo's body, almost involuntarily, because he wanted more. More contact. And clothes were very much in the way, though not for long. Momo bit back a moan as Ryouma's fingers brushed against his skin, curled around his cock. Ryouma rather liked that sound. He liked it more when he felt Momo's fingers shaking just a little as he loosened Ryouma's pants and slid a hand inside.

And then Ryouma kissed Momo again, hard, to muffle his own harsh moan. Shivers coursed through him, trembling out from Momo's touch. Their fingers tangled together as Ryouma pressed closer, feeling Momo's other hand smoothing up and down his back, and he wound his own free arm around Momo's shoulders to brace himself against the flickering, shuddering heat.

"Ryouma," Momo whispered, and Ryouma buried his head against Momo's shoulder, pressing his lips against the skin of Momo's neck, biting down with the first surge of pleasure that wrung his entire body. He shuddered, hearing Momo's sharp gasp, riding the fire that twisted through him again and again. It was too much, in the end, and he heard his breath sob through his chest as the fire threw him loose, falling...

But he was leaning against Momo, and Momo was holding him. He couldn't be falling. The hot pleasure let him back down into warmth that curled around him, gently. Both of them stayed where they were, and Ryouma listened to Momo's breath calm against his ear. Their fingers were still tangled together, and, while messy, there was something oddly comforting about the feeling.

At last, Momo stirred, shifting to fish in his pocket and produce a packet of tissues. Ryouma stifled a laugh at the practicality, and didn't look up as they cleaned themselves off.

Momo's fingers brushed over his hair. "You all right?" he asked, quietly.

"Of course," Ryouma told him, raising his head to look Momo in the eye.

Those eyes were just a little soft, and lit with a smile at Ryouma's answer. Ryouma bent his head back down to Momo's shoulder to hide what he was fairly sure was a blush (of all things!), and locked his arms around Momo.

"Of course I'm all right," he said, again, though a smile.

Momo's fingers rubbed up and down his neck. "Good."

It was possible, not likely but possible, that Ryouma was being paranoid. He was nearly positive, however, that Inui-senpai had been spending more time than usual watching him at unofficial practice, today. It was starting to make him a bit twitchy. He edged around the other side of Momo on the pretext of getting his water bottle, and leaned briefly against Momo's shoulder for reassurance.

A quick glance showed Inui-senpai scribbling furiously.

"Momo-senpai, has Inui-senpai had a new project going or something?" Ryouma asked, cautiously.

"Not that he's mentioned," Momo answered, a bit uneasily.

The soft laugh behind them was not reassuring, despite its warmth, and Ryouma turned to give Fuji-senpai a wary look. While Fuji was an excellent source of protection from everything from too-loud teammates to malicious opponents, and one Ryouma was perfectly willing to take advantage of, the flip side was that Fuji tended to regard protectees as his personal source of amusement.

He certainly seemed amused by something, today.

"It's just Inui's way of wishing you well," Fuji-senpai told him. "Come play a set with me, Echizen."

Ryouma hefted his racquet and headed back to the court. He wasn't going to ask. It just wasn't worth the trouble, and answers usually presented themselves sooner or later if he just let it ride. Sometimes his subconscious just needed time to decide what Fuji-senpai was talking about. They were, in fact, in the fifth game before Ryouma's backbrain piped up with a suggestion of what Fuji-senpai's rather cryptic remark might have implied. His swing went wild, and he nearly tripped over his own foot before slamming to a halt and staring across the net at his senpai's blandly inquiring look.

It showed? And Inui-senpai was recording this in one of his damned notebooks?

Ryouma shot a blistering glare at Inui-senpai, who smiled cheerfully back. He growled very quietly, and directed an even more searing look back at Fuji. Fuji-senpai wasn't even attempting to look innocent, any more, and his eyes were laughing.

Before Ryouma could attempt bodily harm against his grinning seniors, however, Tezuka-buchou turned from coaching Momo through a speed exercise and narrowed his eyes at them.

"Fuji. Inui." An admonition to knock it off and get back to work hung, unspoken, after their names, and, with a last chuckle, Inui tucked away his notebook and Fuji backed off to receive Ryouma's next serve. "Echizen, mind your concentration," Tezuka-buchou added.

Ryouma ground out an acknowledgement, and stalked back to serve. He was going to kill them both, he really was. Later, because Tezuka-buchou had a point; nothing interrupted the game, not even senpai who were getting far too much amusement out of Ryouma's... relationship with Momo. At least, he grumbled to himself, there was still a handful of months to go before they would be on the same campus again. He could hope they wouldn't be smirking quite so hard by then.

When practice ended, though, and Fuji-senpai's hand fell on his shoulder, Ryouma's mistrustful glance met an unusually soft smile. Ryouma looked aside, stepping firmly on the urge to squirm, and Fuji-senpai squeezed his shoulder, companionably, and let him go. None of them were smirking as Momo draped an arm over his shoulders.

"Come on, Ryouma, let's get something to eat; I'm starved!"

"You're always starved, Momo-senpai," Ryouma pointed out, going along easily.

The looks that followed them, as they left, might even have had an edge of affection.

All right, maybe he wouldn't actually kill them.

End

Backstage - Part One

Tezuka and Atobe meet while out fishing, in the Spring of their third year of high school. Conversation, verbal jousting, poetry, philosophy, angst, dramatics and humor ensue. Drama with Budding Romance, I-3

Well, wasn't this just a fine thing?

When Atobe Keigo wanted to get away from the duties and expectations of his game, his team, his opponents, he had a particular place to go. An isolated little bite out of the lakeshore where none of those things would follow. And now he saw all of them reflected at him in Tezuka Kunimitsu's eyes. If the fishing paraphernalia spread out comfortably around this slightly overgrown grove was any indication, his best rival already had the place staked out for a long day. He had excellent taste, if execrable timing. Keigo took a few deep breaths; he would not, he told himself strenuously, scream with frustration. No matter how cathartic it might be just now. He had an image to maintain, even if Tezuka didn't usually believe it.

Tezuka's startled gaze fell on Keigo's equipment and sharpened. He tipped his head to one side.

"Do you come here to fish, too?"

Keigo raised a brow. Too? Come to think of it, he had seen plenty of signs that someone else liked to fish at this place. He hadn't thought much about it, except to be pleased that their schedules never seemed to overlap. He certainly hadn't imagined that his unofficial timeshare partner might be Tezuka.

"Yes," he answered at last, gathering himself to go look for another spot as graciously as possible. It took a fair degree of gathering, and Tezuka beat him to the punch.

"There's room for both of us, if you don't mind," he offered, quietly.

Keigo accepted, stifling his surprise. It occurred to him, as Tezuka gathered his things to one side, that he'd definitely been out-gracious-ed, but he let it slide in the interest of peaceful fishing. Tezuka didn't seem like the sort to practice competitive graciousness, in any case.

In fact, the edge of competition was completely lacking in Tezuka's manner today. The absence was a bit jarring, Keigo mused as he laid out his things. He and Tezuka rarely encountered each other except on the court, and their personal competition was everything, there. Keigo loved it. Tennis was almost always entertaining, of course, but with Tezuka... Tezuka's intensity washed away all the extraneous bits that usually occupied Keigo's attention. The crowd, the future, the presentation, they all faded, and nothing mattered but the moment and the ball drawing lines in the air between them.

They'd learned, over the last few years, to bring seconds along, even for their unofficial matches. Once they were absorbed in the game only exceptional intervention, such as, say, a car crashing into the court, would induce either one to back down before the final score was decided. It wasn't uncommon for them to leave so exhausted neither of them could walk a straight line without help.

This present still calm was , ironically, not helping his peace of mind, Keigo reflected as he cast his line out.

And how was Tezuka taking it? A sidelong glance showed him focused on the water as if it were a meditation garden. Keigo decided to take the opportunity to indulge his curiosity, and looked closer.

Tezuka's stillness was nothing new. The quality of stillness wrapped around him even in the middle of a hard game; it was one of the things that often intimidated his opponents. It was a good tactic, and Keigo smirked every time he saw it used on someone else. There was something, though. Something in the line of his shoulders, and the set of his hands.

After a long moment it finally came to Keigo. Tezuka was relaxed.

Not the waiting whipsnap that fatally deceived so many on the court, but really relaxed. Keigo was not much given to introspection, at least not when he could help it, but one particular conclusion hit him hard enough to knock his breath out.

Keigo came here to find a little stability, a restful, solid time when he didn't have to worry about balancing the needs and quirks of his team against the ruthless demands of their coach. Here, he didn't have to deal with the annoyance of some uppity little hotshot after his position. He didn't have to listen to his father casually mentioning the statistics on how many youthful tennis stars completely failed as professionals, and thank God for Grandfather, that was all Keigo had to say. He didn't have to be arrogant enough to prop up the egos of two hundred odd mediocre players. He could be quiet. He could be lackadaisical. He could be abrasive or not, as he pleased. He could, in short, relax.

Tezuka clearly came here for pretty much all the reasons that Keigo himself did. It was an insight he really felt he could have done without. Not least because it immediately presented the question of whether the flash of understanding was mutual.

"There's no audience here, Atobe, you don't have to stay in character just to play to me." Tezuka's voice held a hint of impatience, as he glanced over, and Keigo realized abruptly how much he'd focused on Tezuka for the past few minutes. Of course he'd noticed.

And, Keigo supposed, that answered that question. He turned his attention to his line. He wasn't sure today would be a relaxed day for him, but at least he was distracted from his regular problems.

Five minutes later he was studying Tezuka again. Fish were less demanding, but they weren't as interesting.

He had known already that Tezuka used his reserve to conceal his intensity. It now appeared that he also concealed a certain... softness? tolerance? Keigo sighed to himself, because now his curiosity was engaged. And, after his pride, curiosity was probably his second strongest driving force. Well, if he was going to indulge it, he might was well do so with flair. What would be a good approach to stir up some revelations? Hm...

"Do you ever wish you had chosen a different front?" he asked. Tezuka eyed him, and he decided to prod a little harder. "Not that it isn't an effective one, the stone silence does emphasize your command presence nicely, but don't you ever get tired of it? Face get stiff?"

One of these days, Keigo told himself as Tezuka's brows rose, it would probably be a good idea to restrain his sense of humor. It had gotten him in trouble before. In fact, it was the source of most of his bad reputation, including the part that held he couldn't possibly have a sense of humor because one person couldn't fit that and his ego too.

Tezuka was not, however, looking offended. He looked, insofar as Keigo could decipher his typically minimalist expression, thoughtful.

"Do you?" he bounced the question back. Keigo read a certain censure in the sharpness of his voice, and snorted.

"If you had as many people to deal with as I do, you would have chosen a front that afforded you some amusement into the bargain, too," he declared.

"It amuses you to annoy people?" Tezuka inferred.

Keigo smiled. "Infinitely."

"It amuses you to toy with people?"

"Provided they're worth toying with," Keigo specified, leaning back on his elbows. Tezuka reeled his line back in.

"If you want an honest answer to your question, Atobe, give me an honest answer to mine."

"That was honest, Tezuka. I enjoy frustrating people who don't realize that I am toying with them. If that fact itself also amuses me, that doesn't make it any less true." He tipped his head back to look up through the leaves. "You must know what it's like. To be the best without a regular challenge. What's worthwhile then?" Tezuka was silent for a minute before he spoke, in a meditative tone.

"There are times you remind me of Fuji."

Keigo sat up rather quickly at that.

"I beg your pardon! I remind you of that little blond sociopath of yours? I have never been that unstable!" He glared at his companion.

"Indeed," Tezuka noted, a bit too neutrally for Keigo's taste, as he made a new cast.

Keigo slouched back and made a mental note that a relaxed Tezuka, while not significantly more emotive, was a good deal more outspoken.

"I am content with my own choice," Tezuka stated after a few minutes of silence. It took Keigo a moment to remember the question that this was an answer to. But, then, it was only what he would expect out of Tezuka's particular inflexible integrity, that he would keep his end of even a forgotten agreement.

"Always?" Keigo wanted to know. Contemplative silence reigned again for a while before Tezuka replied.

"Like your choice, mine has results that please me. Those I don't wish to deal with don't bother me. My team obeys me." Keigo smirked over that last, while Tezuka paused again. "Like you, I don't like the pressures that originally made me learn these habits. But, like you, I chose something that would let me stand against those pressures. Those expectations. Those denials."

Keigo had to fight a sudden urge to back away, quickly, from that deep, even voice saying such unexpected, personal, accurate things. A corner of his mind observed that it was no wonder his opponents on the court looked so alarmed when he did this kind of thing himself.

"I don't recall saying any of that," he observed in his best languid drawl. The look Tezuka turned on him was not at all relaxed; it reminded him, with unpleasant abruptness, of how Tezuka looked when he played.

"Why do you come here, Atobe?" Tezuka asked. The change in direction gave Keigo a moment of mental whiplash, but he understood what Tezuka was asking. And he was ruefully aware that he'd been asking for this when he decided to prod Tezuka. The real question, now, was whether he wanted to afford his rival, of all people, the kind of frankness that he had previously reserved for such undemanding recipients as the fish.

On the other hand, hadn't he done that already? What else were their matches, if not utterly brutal honesty written out in every movement? Brutality, in fact, had been their point of contact from the beginning. It was pleasant to have a couple constants in one's life. And, reputation to the contrary, Keigo had never been one to hand out anything he couldn't take.

"I come here to trap slippery creatures, reel them in, and then decide whether I want to kill them or not," he said, making another cast.

A sharp glint of appreciation lit Tezuka's eye for a moment.

"And you," Keigo suggested, "come here because the fish understand your sense of humor better than your friends."

Tezuka picked up one of the sharp, barbed hooks from his tackle box and held it up so that it glinted in the sun.

"Perhaps."

Several casts later, Keigo remembered something he'd been wanting to ask since he got here. "Why are you here today, Tezuka? You've never come on Thursdays before."

"That's how my schedule worked out, this spring," Tezuka shrugged slightly and tilted a brow. "Yours?"

"Likewise." They both contemplated this fact in silence. "Ah, well. It will add a touch of interest to the conclusion of high school."

"To say the least," Tezuka murmured, and set his hook in a hapless fish with a flick of his wrist.

TBC

A/N: I do know that fly-fishing, which is what Tezuka's hobby, at least, is listed as, is not a sitting still on the shore sort of affair. Since I wanted to boys to talk, though, I took a bit of artistic license.

Backstage - Part Two

Tezuka and Atobe meet while out fishing, in the Spring of their third year of high school. Conversation, verbal jousting, poetry, philosophy, angst, dramatics and humor ensue. Drama with Budding Romance, I-3

Kunimitsu had started approaching his favorite fishing spot a little warily since his schedule and Atobe's had fallen into synch this spring. Today, however, his caution appeared unnecessary. Atobe was not waiting, with his usual edgy words and mocking smile only slightly blunted by the peace of water and silence.

Instead, he was sprawled out with one arm thrown over his eyes, looking rather rumpled. He hadn't even set his line yet.

At the rustle of Kunimitsu setting up, he raised his arm for a moment and muttered something that might have been a greeting. Kunimitsu considered his companion as he sorted through his hooks. Atobe was a showman, even when he was relaxing. If he was showing exhaustion, he probably wanted to be asked about it.

"Are the fish particularly tiring today?"

"The fish are the very souls of courtesy," Atobe informed him. "They're waiting for me to recover before taking up negotiations."

"Ah." Kunimitsu waited, curious to see whether Atobe's obvious desire to talk about it would win over his habit of misdirection.

"I think some of my team may fail to graduate this year," Atobe mused. "I'm going to kill them first. Mukahi decided today was the perfect day to provoke Shishido, and told him it was a good thing he was so persistent, as it almost made up for his lack of talent. To which, predictably, Shishido replied that that was better than having a useless talent and no staying power, and becoming a drag on his partner. Which, of course, made Mukahi angry enough to resort to fists over words. You've never seen such a catfight." Atobe ran a hand through his hair. "And that got their partners into it, and thank God both Oshitari and Ohtori have level heads and managed to pull those two apart. Except I'm reconsidering whether Oshitari can really be said to have a level head any more, because he decided the best way to shut Mukahi up would be to kiss him. Not that those two are anything but an open secret, but there's such a thing as style, not to mention discretion, and I'm just thankful Hiyoshi had the good sense to chase off most of their audience before that." Atobe sat up at last and reached for his water.

Kunimitsu found himself having to stifle a chuckle at the indignant tirade. The expressive flex and swoop of Atobe's voice, when he was in full swing, was as good as anyone else's extravagant gesticulation.

"Did you ever consider theatre as a hobby?" he inquired. Atobe shot him a sidelong look for the apparent non sequitur.

"Not really."

"You would have been quite good at it, I think," Kunimitsu told him, blandly. "Aristophanes would suit you. The Thesmophoriazusae, perhaps."

Atobe choked, and snorted water out his nose.

If Kunimitsu were honest about it he would have to admit that Atobe wasn't the only one who liked provoking people now and then. It was merely that Kunimitsu restrained himself, while Atobe made an art of flamboyant unrestraint. This place was where they relaxed, though, and perhaps they met in the middle, Atobe less artful and Kunimitsu less restrained.

"Your timing is as good as your humor is terrible," Atobe rasped, recovering. Kunimitsu let a faint smile show. He didn't think he had to say out loud that Atobe had no room to complain.

"Your team has stayed remarkably cohesive over the years," he observed instead. Atobe waved a dismissive hand.

"It's the doubles pairs that have been stable. Neither of them could be pried apart with a crowbar. Shishido wasn't a Regular again until Ohtori caught up. Though I doubt Oshitari and Mukahi will continue with tennis after this year. They're the second rank doubles team, again, and I doubt they can improve much more. At least," he added, lip curling, "not unless Mukahi gets it though his head that contempt for his opponents won't automatically let him win."

"A very bad habit," Kunimitsu agreed.

Atobe glared at him. He was very easily provoked today, Kunimitsu noted. And, apparently, more out of sorts than was immediately evident, because he declined to rise to the bait.

"In any case, I could say the same of your team. You have that mouthy little brat of yours back again, don't you?"

"Of course." And Arai had been deeply irate to be ousted from the Regulars by Echizen's arrival, despite, or possibly because of, everyone else's sure knowledge that it would happen. Tezuka shook his head. "Though you could say he never really left. He's been practicing with us right along."

Atobe slanted a look at him. "Ah? I wouldn't have thought you'd bend the rules like that. Some favoritism creeping in, Tezuka?"

"It was in everyone's free time," Kunimitsu returned, serenely. Atobe really was off his stride today.

It wasn't until Atobe jerked his line too hard and lost a fish that Kunimitsu thought it might be something serious. Lack of control was not normally one of Atobe's problems, even when he was angry. Now, though, he saw a very fine trembling in Atobe's hands, the kind that might translate into a series of bruising smashes if he had held a racquet instead of a fishing pole. He waited, patiently, for whatever was wrong to emerge.

"What are you planning to do when you graduate?" Atobe asked, at last.

"To play professionally." Caution made Kunimitsu's voice expressionless. Where was this going?

"Ah. Has anyone ever told you the odds of good junior players succeeding professionally?" Atobe's voice was almost as even as his own, but the expression that accompanied it was a subtle snarl.

"No," Kunimitsu answered quietly. The snarl was becoming less subtle, and Kunimitsu found himself a little concerned what might happen if Atobe gave his rage free rein outside of the court. He considered the problem.

He had observed Atobe interacting with his coach a few times. It was clear they respected each other, and he had thought at the time that Atobe must not be very familiar with support if he responded so warmly to such a cold trainer. He had an increasingly firm idea that someone in Atobe's family was the source of the frustration and anger that seemed to drive Atobe's game.

So...

"There's supposed to be something more important. Something of higher worth," he stated, cool and certain. Atobe stilled. "But it isn't the same, and it isn't enough."

"Business," Atobe nearly spit the word.

"Kendo," Kunimitsu offered in return.

"They don't understand what it's like," Atobe said, low and soft, staring over the water.

Kunimitsu thought about his brat , as Atobe named Echizen. He remembered the morning Momoshiro had come to practice, after finally prying the initial source of Echizen's tennis obsession out of the boy, and proceeded to hit balls through the fence until Ryuuzaki-sensei had yelled at him.

"That may be for the best, in the end," he pointed out. Atobe looked at him as if Kunimitsu had suggested he dye his hair orange, and he couldn't decide which scathing retort he wanted to use first. That was more normal, and Kunimitsu relaxed again.

"That's better," he said, turning back to his line. Atobe arched a brow at him.

"What's better?"

"Your temper. Not that it's anything to boast of at the best of times, of course."

Atobe scowled at him before turning away to fiddle with his line. At length he muttered a thank you almost as indecipherable as his earlier greeting had been. Kunimitsu smiled, amused.

"Really, you're the highest maintenance rival I've ever had," he told Atobe, deadpan.

After one blank moment Atobe laughed low in his throat and lounged back by his rod.

"As it should be," he declaimed.

TBC

A/N: The Thesmophoriazusae is a play by the Greek comedic playwright Aristophanes; it's full of low humor and crossdressing and sexual innuendo.

Backstage - Part Three

Tezuka and Atobe meet while out fishing, in the Spring of their third year of high school. Conversation, verbal jousting, poetry, philosophy, angst, dramatics and humor ensue. Drama with Budding Romance, I-3

Spring was starting to warm into summer, and the fish were getting smarter.

Or, at any rate, pickier about what they'd bite. Thursday afternoons had acquired a slower pace. Keigo basked in the mild sun, storing up pleasure in anticipation of the crushing heat to come later in the year. Practices would become downright grueling, then, he knew.

"A little hard to believe this is the last year we'll be training with our teams," he murmured, eyes closed.

"Mm."

Keigo opened his eyes. He was becoming increasingly fluent in Tezuka-speak, which was a very tonal language. That particular tone was more terse than he would have thought the comment warranted. He examined Tezuka's hands on his pole. He was definitely thinking of something besides the fish. It looked like today would be another challenge to get something out of his companion; that was always good for an entertaining hour or two.

"Too bad the competition will be so poor for the Nationals this year," he suggested. "With Rikkai still in such disarray after losing a doubles pair and Sanada, both, the only real challenge, besides you, is Fudoumine."

Tezuka's mouth tightened for a moment. Ah, getting warmer, then. Something about one of the other teams, perhaps?

"I never expected Sanada to drop out of tennis unless Yukimura did." Keigo drew a breath to continue, and then let it out silently as Tezuka's eyebrows dove down. He smiled with great smugness. Got it in one. Now, then, something about Sanada himself, or about his captain?

Of course, judging by the edge to Tezuka's expression, if Keigo pushed this he might just start returning, and that could get... uncomfortable. Tezuka saw him far more clearly than Keigo was used to. But that had never stopped him before.

"I hear Sanada's studying the sword, instead," he mentioned casually.

"Yes. I've been told." Tezuka's voice was hard and cold, and Keigo sat up to look at him. There were harmonics in that statement that he would have recognized at five hundred meters. The frustration, especially.

Pieces fell together.

"You're related to that Tezuka family, then?" he asked.

"Through my grandfather," Tezuka answered flatly. He didn't mention his father, Keigo noticed, as though his father didn't enter into the matter. Maybe he didn't. Too bad they couldn't trade, he thought, a bit sourly. He might pay money to watch his own father blunt his bluff attitude on Tezuka.

He didn't suggest that there must be other cousins and such to take up the tradition; in cases of family tradition, especially as famous a tradition as the Tezuka school of kendo, that didn't usually make a difference. Tezuka stirred.

"I doubt my team will suffer such confusion when the seniors leave," he said. "Yours, on the other hand..."

Keigo chuckled, accepting the change of topic. Entertainment was one thing, but if he did press Tezuka further on this subject the return was likely to go beyond painful and into deadly. He didn't want to push Tezuka that far. Not here.

"Unlike your merry band, Hyoutei is used to reforming dramatically each year. Hiyoshi has the experience to hold the new players together." Keigo pursed his lips thoughtfully. "He might even follow on professionally."

"I doubt any from my years except Echizen will become professionals," Tezuka noted, unusually forthcoming with what Keigo rather thought was relief.

"Not even that bouncy power-player of yours?" he asked, a little surprised. "What was his name... Momoshiro. An annoying loudmouth, but he has the talent." Tezuka gave him a distinct People who live in glass houses sort of look before replying. Keigo smiled.

"For a few years, perhaps, but I doubt he wants to bother with something that cutthroat in the long term. Momoshiro is invested in his team. I won't be surprised if he becomes the Seigaku coach when Ryuuzaki-sensei retires."

"What about your socially maladjusted data specialist?" Keigo prodded. "Hiyoshi has been quietly enamored of his determination for years; surely you aren't telling me he lacks the focus."

Usually Keigo's insulting epithets for Tezuka's team garnered at least a sharp look, promising retribution, but this time Tezuka's face was a bit distant as he watched the water.

"There was a time I thought he would," Tezuka spoke at length, tone as distant as his expression. "But I'm not so sure any longer." He seemed to return to himself and finished, more briskly. "He may choose to become a trainer; he certainly has a knack for it."

"Hm. I suppose Jirou might take that path, too," Keigo mused, reeling in his line for another cast. Tezuka quirked a brow, and Keigo was in an good enough mood not to make him ask out loud.

"Shishido and Ohtori will probably go on, too, as doubles specialists," he speculated. "Oshitari and Mukahi will probably go settle down somewhere and be scandalous." He shuddered, delicately. He would never admit it, but he envied Tezuka his star doubles pair. They seemed so... calm and undramatic. Hyoutei only needed one dramatic personality, and that was him. "I don't think I'm going to miss it that much," he concluded.

Tezuka was still for a moment. "You won't miss the attention? Being the center of that circus?" he asked, mildly. A crack of black laughter escaped Keigo.

"What a good comparison. Not really, no." He had become a little... attached to this particular team, but that was no ones business but his. And, perforce, Sakaki-sensei's. "Being the focus of two hundred little minds with less talent? Being their talisman, so they'll all focus on one goal?" He bared his teeth. "The annoyance value of acting like an idol is pleasant, but it would have limited utility, professionally. I think I'll choose something else after this year. Hell, I'll act like anything that's called for, including humble, if the sponsors can just break me loose from..." He bit off the end of the sentence. Damn Tezuka's silence, that invited him to talk without thinking. Relaxation or no, he'd gotten too careless here.

"From your family?" Tezuka finished for him, and Keigo quashed a wince. Wasn't he supposed to be the one with the marvelous insight? Not, he supposed, that it was such a large leap from some of the other things they'd said in this place.

He thought about that for a minute.

"You... were planning in that direction, too?" he hazarded, not looking at Tezuka. If Tezuka felt trapped by the question he'd never answer it.

"Somewhat." The deep voice was barely audible, and when Keigo glanced over Tezuka was looking down at his own hands folded on his knees. It looked like a harder thought for Tezuka than it was for him.

On impulse, Keigo leaned over and laid his fingers on Tezuka's wrist. Tezuka's head turned toward him, sharply.

"Great minds think alike," Keigo offered, in English, with a lazy smile.

A corner of Tezuka's mouth actually twitched, and the bittersweet-brown eyes lightened.

"Ah. In that case I shall look forward to Tachibana's company as I go about choosing a sponsor," he said, smoothly.

Keigo gave in at last, and fell back, laughing freely.

TBC

A/N: The idea of Momo becoming the Seigaku coach came from Familiarity by Monnie. It stuck in my head and wouldn't leave.

I ran across an actual Tezuka school of kendo while out browsing the web. The coincidence of names was too good to pass up, despite the fact that, canonically, Tezuka's grandfather teaches Judo.

Backstage - Part Four

Tezuka and Atobe meet while out fishing, in the Spring of their third year of high school. Conversation, verbal jousting, poetry, philosophy, angst, dramatics and humor ensue. Drama with Budding Romance, I-3

Atobe seemed to have something on his mind this week. He kept glancing over at Kunimitsu and then away. After the fourth time he did it, Kunimitsu sighed.

"You might as well say whatever it is."

Atobe really must have been distracted, because he immediately recoiled to his default response of mockery.

"What," he drawled, "you think you can figure it out if I don't? Let us witness your great deductive abilities, then."

Kunimitsu eyed him. Atobe didn't often fall back on that sort of thing any more. He shrugged one shoulder. "I think that if I wait quietly you'll say in any case. You might was well say it now as later." Atobe blinked, and slouched back, grumbling under his breath.

"Just because I know how to use my tongue..."

Kunimitsu smiled. It was too perfect. He couldn't resist.

"Do you, now?" he murmured.

Atobe's eyes widened, and he stared at Kunimitsu for several beats before he burst out laughing. There, that was better. Atobe's mocking humor was a serrated thing, both sleek and ugly, subtle and vicious. Kunimitsu preferred it when Atobe relaxed enough to laugh, instead.

"Innuendo from Tezuka Kunimitsu," Atobe managed at last, "be still my heart! The world must be ending." He sighed and looked out over the lake. "I was wondering why you invited me to stay. That first day we were both here."

The question surprised Kunimitsu. Most of the understanding between he and Atobe was unspoken. He had not expected Atobe to want to change that. Well, how to explain, then?

"The things you say here," he began, at length, "could you say them anywhere else?" Atobe's eyes flickered. Kunimitsu turned one hand palm up. "Neither could I. But you aren't a member of my team, that I have to maintain my authority with. You aren't a classmate I have to get along with. I have no family duty to you. And there are things you understand."

Atobe considered this for a while.

"You were so sure of all that at the time?" he asked, finally, not quite mocking but clearly on edge. Kunimitsu's mouth tightened; he wasn't sure Atobe would accept the answer, but he had asked for it. And while Atobe might not have noticed it, yet, Kunimitsu told him the things he asked directly. Always.

"We've been playing each other for years, now," he pointed out. "You are very honest when you play full out. And given that key, you aren't difficult to read at other times, either."

Tension threaded through Atobe.

"Besides," Kunimitsu added, after a moment, returning to the original question, "sometimes you quote German poets with a very bad accent. It's an amusing way to pass the afternoon." The tension leaked away as Atobe drew himself up.

"A bad accent?" he repeated, in a deeply offended tone. The gleam in his eye undercut his supposed indignation.

"Horrible," Kunimitsu confirmed, evenly. "You mangle the gutturals." Atobe snorted.

"Well, if it's a good accent you want..." He tilted his head, consideringly, and started to recite in what Kunimitsu recognized, after a few sentences, as Greek. He thought the language suited Atobe. The sound of it was sharp, but it had a rolling rhythm, like an avalanche of broken stone seen from far enough away to make it fluid. When Atobe finished, Kunimitsu quirked a brow at him. Atobe's smile was a bit distant as he translated.

"Imagine the condition of men living in a sort of cavernous chamber underground. Here they have been from childhood, chained by the leg and also by the neck, so that they cannot move and can only see what is in front of them. At some distance higher up is the light of a fire burning behind them." He paused. "The prisoners so confined would have seen nothing of themselves or of one another, except the shadows thrown by the firelight on the wall of the Cave facing them, would they?"

"Plato," Kunimitsu identified it. Atobe nodded. It had to be from The Republic, as that was the only thing by Plato that Kunimitsu had ever read. He remembered being irked by the man's complacence, while appreciating the idea of ability being allowed to lead. On reflection he wasn't at all surprised that Atobe knew it well enough to quote.

Though what he had chosen to quote today indicated that he focused more on the bleak picture of human understanding than on the bright, brittle vision of a perfected society. That didn't entirely surprise Kunimitsu either.

"I think I prefer the German poets," he said quietly. A particular passage from one of his favorites came to mind, and he quoted it in turn. "You know how much more remarkable I always find the people walking about in front of paintings than the paintings themselves. It's no different here, except for the CÃ©zanne room. Here, all of reality is on his side: in this dense quilted blue of his, in his red and his shadowless green and the reddish black of his wine bottles. And the humbleness of his objects: the apples are all cooking apples and the wine bottles belong in the roundly bulging pockets of an old coat."

Atobe looked at him inquiringly. "That's not poetry."

"It's a poet's letter about a painter's work," Kunimitsu explained. "Rilke writing about CÃ©zanne."

"You like Rilke enough to memorize his letters?" Atobe asked on a chuckle.

"The philosophy of artists appeals to me," Kunimitsu told him softly. Atobe was silent, with the rare depth in his eyes that only showed when he was thinking seriously about a challenging idea. Kunimitsu kept his gaze as light as he could. Atobe was... compelling like this. But he didn't think it would be wise to let his companion know that.

It wasn't as though his ego needed the assistance.

"Cooking apples, hm?" Atobe murmured. "That's certainly different from the ideal Form of Apple-ness."

"Quite," Kunimitsu agreed, dryly. Atobe leaned toward him.

"But isn't perfection what we're looking for? Especially on the court?"

"Yes," Kunimitsu allowed, "but perfection differs from one player to another. There wouldn't be a game if it didn't."

"You don't think the final winner would be the one who found the real perfection?" Atobe challenged, dark eyes almost glowing.

"If that were true you and I should be converging toward a similar style." Kunimitsu noted. "We're not." Atobe leaned back with a delighted smile.

"Good point." Then he gave Kunimitsu a narrow look. "Why haven't you ever argued philosophy with me before, Tezuka? You've been holding back on me."

Kunimitsu couldn't hold back a quiet laugh. It was so like Atobe to be irate over something like that. He was just a bit surprised that Atobe also seemed to feel that they had passed from rivals good enough to talk to friends good enough to argue. But perhaps Atobe hadn't thought it out quite that far. Kunimitsu had rarely observed him applying his quite incisive intelligence to his own feelings.

"I won't any longer, if you like," he offered.

"I should hope not," Atobe admonished him. "So, are you familiar with Theses on the Philosophy of History?"

Neither of them really seemed to mind that they didn't catch any fish at all that day.

End

A/N: The passages of Plato and Rilke in this story are quoted, with a few artistic inaccuracies, from The Republic of Plato, Oxford Press edition, translated by Francis Cornford and Letters on CÃ©zanne, North Point Press edition, translated by Joel Agee.

For those who may be curious, Theses on the Philosophy of History is a thoroughly cracked-out essay by the German philosopher Walter Benjamin. I highly recommend it. That it appears as subject matter in one of Laurie Anderson's songs should tell you something about how wonderfully bizarre it is.

Undertow

Hiyoshi's perspective on a "chance" encounter between Hyoutei and Seigaku, and especially their captains. Drama with Flirting, I-3

Wakashi thought, later, that it started innocently enough, with Mukahi complaining. That was nothing unusual. Nor did it surprise anyone that Mukahi was annoyed that he hadn't gotten a chance to play against Kikumaru and his partner at Prefecturals this year, and, in the Doubles Two slot, was unlikely to have the chance at Regionals either, even supposing Seigaku and Hyoutei came up across from each other again. Wakashi ignored him, as he usually did. It was nobody else's problem that Mukahi and Oshitari hadn't been able to secure a position as the first doubles team.

So it escaped his notice, until long after the fact, that Atobe's smile had taken on an extra edge, or that their captain had dispatched one of the lesser club members on an unspecified errand. The first anyone really knew of something going on was at the end of practice a few days later when Atobe answered his cell phone and suddenly had the gleam in his eye that meant someone was going to regret his existence very soon.

"Mukahi, you were saying you wanted a chance to play Seigaku's Golden Pair?" Atobe asked, with a shark's smile.

"Yes," Mukahi answered, a bit warily.

"Well, here's your chance. You remember the courts down by the park?" Everyone nodded. "It seems some of the Seigaku team have gathered there today. Interested?"

Mukahi's eyes lit almost as brightly as Atobe's, and he looked over at his partner. Oshitari nodded agreement.

"Definitely interested," Oshitari replied for them.

"Who all is there?" Ohtori asked, looking a bit thoughtful. Atobe's smile widened enough to make Wakashi wonder just what he had in mind.

"Kikumaru and Oishi. Echizen. Momoshiro. And Inui." His glance flicked toward Wakashi on the last name, and Wakashi suppressed a snarl. Atobe's sense of humor had not been a welcome addition to his ongoing study of Inui Sadaharu's techniques and play style.

"Echizen, hm?" Ohtori mused. Wakashi had no idea what value Ohtori could see in being steamrollered by Seigaku's most annoying member, but he must see some. His steel was showing as he glanced at Shishido. His partner grinned back at him.

"I get the bouncy spiky-haired one, then," Shishido said.

From the expressions Wakashi saw, the entire team was thinking the same thing about pots and kettles.

In the end everyone agreed to go except Akutagawa, who wanted a nap, and Taki, who tended to distance himself as much as possible from Atobe's little projects. Wakashi wasn't sure why he went, since he had no intention of challenging any of Seigaku tonight. Certainly not Inui, and definitely not Echizen. Echizen was on his list of people to defeat later. After he caught up to Atobe. And he would.

Maybe it was just his curiosity about what Atobe was doing, he reflected as they made their way to the park. Because he had to be doing something. Atobe didn't go to trouble without a reason.

Of course, he could just be getting a kick out of putting Seigaku off balance. His expression was pleased enough when the other team stared in surprise at Hyoutei's arrival. Predictably enough, Echizen recovered his tongue first.

"Slumming?" he asked, eying Atobe.

"Gakuto missed Kikumaru so much we had to come visit," Oshitari purred. Kikumaru's eyes narrowed just a bit. He never had liked Mukahi. There were days when Wakashi sympathized a great deal.

"Oishi." It was just short of an order, and Oishi shot his partner a look both resigned and affectionate.

"One set," he specified, moving onto the court.

Every time he watched doubles pairs interact Wakashi became more grateful that he was a dedicated singles player.

As he watched the game get going, Wakashi wondered again just why Atobe had arranged this. It should be clear to anyone that, unless Oshitari had something phenomenal up his sleeve, he and Mukahi were going to lose. And then Mukahi would be absolutely unlivable for weeks. He would sulk. He would snap if anyone mentioned the game. And he would drive his teammates insane by focusing obsessively on whatever Oshitari came up with to address... the weakness...

Wakashi chewed on his lip and thought. At last he went and stood behind Atobe's shoulder. "You brought them here to lose," he stated. "To lose badly. They won against Inui and Kaidoh, even it it was just barely. You want them to lose badly enough to spur them on."

"You're learning," his captain murmured, without turning his head. There was that about Atobe, Wakashi reflected. He was not what anyone could call nurturing. He didn't lift a finger or say a word to teach Wakashi how to lead a Hyoutei team. But when Wakashi figured something out, Atobe did let him know whether or not he was right.

It was both annoying and useful. Because, while Wakashi didn't know whether he could exceed Atobe as a team captain, he was damn well going to keep trying. Anything less was unthinkable.

Sure enough, Oshitari and Mukahi lost. At least Oshitari managed to soothe his partner down from throwing an outright fit. Wakashi had to admit, Kikumaru's feline grin of triumph probably didn't help any. Ohtori's match with Echizen was about as uneven as Wakashi had expected, but Ohtori seemed satisfied. Inui also looked pleased, presumably for different reasons. By Wakashi's count he'd filled six pages with notes, during the match. Perhaps, he thought, as Shishido and Momoshiro swaggered onto the court, grinning and boasting at each other, Ohtori was using Echizen the same way Wakashi used Inui. As a gauge of his own progress.

With the example and tacit permission of Atobe's frequent matches with Tezuka, Wakashi had sought out a match with Inui every now and then. If Wakashi had progressed significantly since the last time Inui had a chance to take his measure, then they had a close game. Wakashi had even managed to win one or two. If he hadn't made enough progress to be a bit unpredictable, then he lost quickly and humiliatingly. It was effective. He couldn't imagine that it would do much good to play Echizen for such a purpose, but, then, Ohtori had some of the same spark that Echizen did. None of the bravura flare, but the same fine edge and knack for reaching beyond what was reasonable.

Shishido's game with Momoshiro was closer than Wakashi had thought it would be. Momoshiro's strength and sharp eye won in the end, but Shishido's speed and finesse drove through his guard often enough to make it tight. Echizen tossed his friend a water bottle as they returned, and told him he was slowing down in his old age. Ohtori gave his partner the smile he reserved for Shishido, brighter and gentler than the one he kept for everyday politeness.

And that seemed to conclude the evening. Wakashi was quietly relieved that Seigaku's captain hadn't shown up. No telling what kind of fireworks might follow if Atobe and Tezuka got into a match with most of their teams... looking... on...

Oh, hell. So much for leaving in time for dinner.

Echizen had noticed, too, and nudged Momoshiro, nodding toward where Tezuka stood just beyond the court, leaning on a lamp-post.

"Buchou!" Momoshiro exclaimed, and then everyone turned as Tezuka approached. Atobe gave no evidence of surprise, and Wakashi was positive he'd known the second Tezuka arrived.

"Tezuka," Atobe greeted him. "You're late." Tezuka didn't dignify that with a reply, merely nodded to Inui.

"Fuji passed on your message," he said. Why that should make all the third-year Seigaku smile, Wakashi couldn't imagine. Inside joke, he supposed.

And then Tezuka and Atobe came face to face. Wakashi had a sudden image of a piece of paper, drifting between them, ignited by the force of those locked stares.

"So?" Atobe asked, softly. Tezuka merely nodded, and dropped his bags, pulling out his racquet. Wakashi's gaze crossed Oishi's, the same touch of resignation in both. If their captains planned to go all out...

Sure enough, as Atobe and Tezuka set themselves on the court, a familiar feeling swept out from them like an ocean wave.

Wakashi was never quite sure why Atobe had chosen to ask him along as combination back-up and gofer at his unofficial matches with Tezuka. Most probably because he was the one most likely to keep his mouth shut, and not mention Atobe's obsession to their coach, who thought Atobe had better things to be concentrating on. Wakashi had as little to do with Sakaki-kantoku as he could reasonably manage, and wouldn't say anything in any case. They both knew he owed Atobe. They both knew that it was Atobe's influence that kept Wakashi a regular despite defeat, in the past. Not so much this year, perhaps; even Kantoku didn't really expect him to win against Seigaku's Singles Two player. He had kept three games, and, despite his own infuriating surety that Fuji Shuusuke had been taking it easy, that seemed to be enough for everyone who remembered what Seigaku's wild card was capable of.

But that didn't erase the first time. Not in Wakashi's mind, and certainly not in their coach's. Atobe's backing had saved him that year, much as it had Shishido. But Shishido and Atobe had been friends for a long time; it was easier for him to accept the help. Wakashi despised being indebted to Atobe. The only thing that made it tolerable was that Atobe clearly didn't expect it to stop Wakashi from trying to overthrow him.

And he was going to do it. Even watching these games hadn't dissuaded him, though he realized now that it was unlikely to happen unless he followed Atobe into the professional circuit. Chased him, the way he had realized, years ago, Inui chased Tezuka.

One of the reasons he wasn't dissuaded was that he wanted to find this intensity, this absolute focus and commitment that resonated between Atobe and Tezuka and covered the court like deep water. He leaned into it as they slashed across the court, returns singing through the air. In fact, everyone was leaning forward, entranced by the passion and precision of the players. The momentum never relented; this game was shaping up fast and hard, with few twists.

Or so Wakashi thought until Tezuka feinted a smash and delivered a drop shot instead. Regarding the ball that rested demurely just his side of the net, Atobe's mouth curled up and he directed a smoking look at his opponent.

"It isn't polite to leave your partner hanging, Tezuka," he admonished. Tezuka raised a brow at him.

"Do you doubt my endurance, Atobe?" he asked, with perfect composure. Atobe threw his head back and laughed, returning Tezuka's serve with a vicious slice.

The jaw of every single watcher dropped.

"Impossible... they're flirting!" Mukahi sputtered.

"They are," Kikumaru seconded, apparently too stunned to notice who he was agreeing with.

"At the very least," Oshitari murmured, sounding as floored as his partner.

Wakashi exchanged a long, wide-eyed look with Oishi, his fellow witness to matches between these two. This was certainly a new development.

That look caught Shishido's attention, and he leaned over Wakashi's shoulder.

"So, Hiyoshi," he said, conversationally, "how long has this been going on?" Every eye focused on Wakashi, and his spine stiffened in response.

"Ask Atobe-buchou yourself, if you want to know," he snapped. Shishido took on the look of a man calculating his chances of surviving a jump from a fifth floor window.

"Maybe," he muttered, dubiously.

"I don't think I really want to know," Momoshiro put in, sounding just a bit ill.

Wakashi ignored them all in favor of the game. He was not, actually, all that shocked, though that kind of banter seemed more in Atobe's line than in Tezuka's. He'd have thought Seigaku's captain would have had more decorum, even in the heat of a match. But it really fit well enough with the way these two played each other. The purity of the effort they exerted against each other, the complete, wordless rapport between them, the unspoken agreement that they could and would drive each other to the limit and beyond, it was the kind of thing that easily bled over into other kinds of passion. They were both breathing hard, now, dripping with sweat in the setting sun, and concentrated on each other like the twin mirrors of a laser.

Wakashi had occasionally been disturbed, watching them play, by a random thought wondering what it would be like to go to bed with one or the other of them. Since he would never, under normal circumstances, even consider the possibility, he had stamped out the thought quite violently the first few times it occurred. After a while, though, he realized that it was only the spill-over of the games. Even separated by the length of a court, Atobe and Tezuka were in constant contact while they played, just as much as if they had been running their hands over each other.

They reached a six game tie not long after the street lights came on.

"We'll be here until midnight if we don't stop them now," Oishi said quietly. Wakashi nodded agreement, and Oishi crossed the court to Tezuka, quickly, before he could serve again. Wakashi hopped over the low wall and leaned against it, waiting to see whether he would have to add his voice to Oishi's. Tezuka tilted his head, considering whatever Oishi was saying to him. He nodded, thoughtfully, and looked over to quirk a brow at Atobe. Atobe looked displeased, and waved a dismissive racquet. Abruptly, Tezuka's eyes narrowed, and he shook his head. Atobe's mouth tightened, but after a moment he nodded and turned toward the seats. Wakashi was relieved. Talking to Atobe right after a match with Tezuka always made him feel like he was transparent. Atobe's focus was slow to widen again, enough to include anyone but Tezuka.

The teams broke up, chattering in the released tension, most of them dissecting the game. Shishido had a one sided smile that suggested he planned to tease Atobe about flirting as soon as some private opportunity presented itself. The gleam in Echizen's eye indicated he had similar plans, despite his current silence. They drifted off in ones and twos.

Atobe and Tezuka were looking at each other again.

Wakashi sighed. Why him? A quiet word to Ohtori let him hustle both his yearmate and Shishido off, leaving Atobe and Tezuka in peace.

Or as close to peace as the two of them probably ever got.

At this rate, his captain was going to start owing him.

Epilogue

"Atobe."

Keigo slung his bag over his shoulder and turned an inquiring look on Tezuka. Tezuka didn't answer aloud, instead taking Keigo's right hand in his own. He turned it palm up and pressed gently along the lines of the tendons. Keigo knew he would feel the tremors in the muscles. When Tezuka looked up, eyes demanding an explanation, Keigo shrugged his unburdened shoulder.

"I was working with Ohtori on his singles technique today. He's starting to be able to volley at strength, if someone can return his shots for long enough."

"And you baited me for a match today, anyway?" Tezuka asked, anger in the lowering of his voice. His fingers moved down Keigo's wrist and forearm, testing. "And you would have kept going if I hadn't noticed it."

"It was a match of opportunity, and don't try to tell me you wouldn't have done exactly the same thing," Keigo said, firmly. Tezuka ran a thumb down the long tendon of his arm, and he sighed faintly. It felt very pleasant. That seminar in sports medicine Tezuka said he had taken last winter definitely had some dividends.

"Perhaps." The corners of Tezuka's mouth twitched up. "But considering this I don't want to hear any more comments on my endurance."

Keigo's smile showed his teeth, and he looked Tezuka up and down, slowly.

"We'll have to see, won't we?" he purred. Tezuka chuckled softly, and let his hand go.

"See you Thursday?"

"Of course."

End

A/N: I am indebted, for a good deal of my conception of Hiyoshi, to Ruebert. Particularly the idea that he would be drawn to Inui's attitude and methods. *tips hat* Doumo.

Already Are

Atobe watches Tezuka, and reflects. Drama, I-3

Keigo folded his arms on the edge of his couch and rested his chin on them to regard the occupant. Kunimitsu seemed to be well and truly asleep, one hand holding his half-folded glasses against his chest, Keigo's copy of Faust falling out of the other. His eyes were relaxed, though his mouth wasn't, particularly.

Keigo didn't have a great many examples to work from, yet, but he had come to the conclusion that Tezuka Kunimitsu never relaxed completely, even in sleep.

There were reasons, of course. Tezuka had at least as many responsibilities as Keigo, and was quite serious and dedicated about fulfilling them. In addition to the general run of Student Leader Responsibilities, such as keeping the photography club from getting into fist fights with the chemistry club over who got to use the well-plumbed and windowless lab room, there was the stress of keeping the tennis club in line and the team in trim. Keigo entirely sympathized, though it had been a bit hard to convince Kunimitsu of that the time he burst out laughing over Kunimitsu's description of the taste of an accidental slug of Inui Juice. Keigo knew that Kunimitsu identified far more strongly with his individual team members than Keigo allowed himself to do, and that their advances, or lack of the same, just added to the strain.

But surely, he mused, sleep was the one place none of that could follow. Or should be.

Not, he had to admit, that Kunimitsu hadn't woken Keigo from a nightmare once or twice when his waking troubles had followed him down to dreams. He had refused to say what it was about, last time, and Tezuka hadn't pressed him. The memory of walking across a frozen lake, and looking down to see his team, trapped under the clear ice, of reaching down, only to find that he was reaching up, that he was trapped, too... He shuddered and pushed it away. It wasn't even the images, really, it was the remembered feeling of panic and then helplessness that made his stomach twist. It had happened the evening after they played Seigaku at Prefecturals.

Keigo sighed to himself. All right, so perhaps he was more bound up with his team than it was entirely a good idea for him to be. He was even fairly sure when it had started.

It almost had to have been the day Tezuka had taken his world and tilted it up on one corner, proven to him that he had missed something about an opponent, that he hadn't seen everything.

Keigo knew his coach was still dubious about the resulting change in Keigo's approach to his team. A loss was a loss, in Kantoku's eyes. Keigo insisted, though, that he never defended any player whose failure had not driven him to such improvement that it would not happen again. He had never been wrong about that, and so Sakaki permitted Keigo's judgment to prevail. He had no doubts about what would happen if he ever were wrong. The rule of Hyoutei still held, albeit modified. The weight of it now rested on Keigo, should he chose to absolve one of his players of a loss.

How, after all, could he still believe that a loss was a loss after that first game? He had won... but he hadn't. Tezuka had lost, and yet...

And that was what had brought Keigo to take such foolish personal risks on behalf of his team members. Looking at it objectively, he could only shake his head at himself. But it was also undeniable that his team had responded more willingly to his hand, after. Shishido even called him Buchou without it sounding like an insult, every now and then. He smiled, a bit wryly, at the man sleeping under his gaze, and recited, quietly, in German.

"My eyes already touch the sunny hill,
Going far ahead of the road I have begun.
So we are grasped by what we cannot grasp;
It has its inner light, even from a distance â€“

And changes us, even if we do not reach it,
Into something else, which, hardly sensing it,
we already are."

Keigo raised his head and lifted one hand to brush Kunimitsu's hair back. "One match, Kunimitsu," he murmured. "Maybe some day I'll ask you if you knew what you were doing." And then he chuckled to himself. "Quoting poetry over my sleeping lover, yet. One of these days I'll lose my mind completely and actually write poetry for you, I have no doubt."

He leaned down and kissed Kunimitsu, softly. Drawing back, he was pleased to see that Kunimitsu's mouth had finally relaxed.

End

A/N: The poem is most of "A Walk" by Rilke, trns. Robert Bly.

Challenge - Chapter One

Niou enters junior high and encounters a wonderful new game. Drama, I-3

Niou Masaharu liked seeing people disconcerted. The expression itself amused him, and the knowledge that he had been the one to put it on somebody's face gave him a nice, warm glow of accomplishment. And, while he liked playing with people who appreciated his art and style, in order to get the full effect it was best to target the straightlaced and serious.

Thus, after spending a month or so observing his fellow first years it was as natural as sunrise that he should choose Yagyuu Hiroshi as his first major target.

Yagyuu was prim and proper, respectful and reserved. His appearance and his work were uniformly precise and neat. He spoke to everyone, from the teachers to his study partners to the girls who made eyes at him, in exactly the right fashion and degree for a good student with little interest in entanglements, either friendly or romantic.

He was ideal.

Masaharu had indulged in a little petty theft with every expectation of a handsome return on his effort. The contrast would be especially piquant, when that still face broke into an expression of shock, and possibly even turned red. It was a shame he couldn't get rid of the glasses, in order to get the full effect of the eyes widening, but perfection was rare. Masaharu accepted this, while taking pleasure in coming as close as possible. This one should be fairly close, albeit on a small scale.

He was, therefore, very surprised when Yagyuu, upon discovering what had been substituted for one of his books, merely flipped through a few pages of extremely explicit erotic postcards before tucking them back into his bag without so much as a raised brow. Masaharu was still trying to assimilate this when Yagyuu paced over to his desk.

"Niou-kun, if it isn't too much trouble, might I ask for the return of my dictionary?" Yagyuu asked, quite calmly.

When Masaharu actually processed the request, and the fact that Yagyuu seemed to have no intention of returning the postcards, he broke into a grin of utter delight. He produced the dictionary with a slight flourish.

"Why, of course, Yagyuu. You only had to ask." How wonderful. He did love a good challenge.

Yagyuu's resigned sigh as he accepted the book made Masaharu wonder for a second whether he had said that last out loud. But no. If Yagyuu had figured out who was responsible for the little trick so quickly, he likely knew just by Masaharu's expression what he'd let himself in for.

Masaharu whistled through the halls for the rest of the day.

Yagyuu surprised him again by inviting Masaharu to play a set with him after the tennis club's afternoon practice was done. He was not particularly surprised when Yagyuu won handily. Masaharu had already tagged Yagyuu as one of the strongest players in their year, short of The Miraculous Three. In another year, Yagyuu's speed ball would probably be unbelievable.

So Masaharu wondered, as they packed up, what the point of this game had been. Did Yagyuu not have his measure already? Given his obviously sharp observational skills that seemed unlikely. On the other hand, Masaharu knew that plenty of people were taken in by his rough and casual attitude. But this one was obviously no stranger to deceptive fronts, himself, if the go-round with the pictures was any indication. It was a puzzle.

Masaharu liked puzzles, too.

As they started off their respective ways, Yagyuu looked at him, glasses flashing and concealing whatever expression might be behind them.

"It pays to attend to the important things, Niou-kun," he said, in the tone of someone quoting an aphorism in Literature class. And then he was gone.

Masaharu's eyes narrowed as he looked after his classmate. So. If he wasn't mistaken, the point of the game had actually been to suggest that, not only was Yagyuu a better player, but that he was better because he did not indulge in unimportant things. Like, say, tricks and provocations.

Well then. Masaharu felt his lips curving in the smile that made even his friends nervous. Perhaps he wasn't the only one who liked a challenge?

Very brief experiment confirmed that Masaharu was unlikely to catch Yagyuu up on the tennis court. Not, at any rate, by conventional means. Yagyuu just had that extra edge of technique. So Masaharu settled down to observe and analyze, looking for other means. And if no one else knew what to make of the brilliant grins he occasionally couldn't help bestowing on Yagyuu, that was fine with him. This one would last him for months, possibly even years.

That was the part that no one seemed to understand. Yes, Masaharu loved his tricks just for the waves they caused. But the deception or manipulation itself was only the tail end of the thing. The real heart of it was understanding; the trick was simply the proof that he had understood correctly. And, of course, stirring people up made for even more opportunities to observe and understand. It was Masaharu's own awareness of how central understanding was that allowed him to turn it around—to conceal himself while indulging his taste for unsettling people. Most of the time it was lamentably easy.

Yagyuu Hiroshi was not easy to understand. Nor was he easy to unsettle.

Masaharu thought he just might be in love.

So, he checked off on his mental list, sex didn't so much as make Yagyuu blush. Encouraging his admirers, which Masaharu spent a week doing to great effect, didn't discommode him in the least. He was unfailingly polite to the most shrilly besotted girls. Masaharu added "inhuman patience" to his list of Yagyuu's defenses.

After some consideration, and some more covert practice to pull it off, he played a set against Yagyuu while imitating his style and moves. That disturbed just about anyone, at least for a while. Yagyuu merely increased the power of his shots until his last speed ball blew the racquet out of Masaharu's hands. Irritated, perhaps, but not disturbed. Oh well. The exercise wasn't without a productive aspect; Yagyuu's moves were a nice addition to Masaharu's repertoire.

Indeed, he had occasion to use it within the week. Toshiyuki had it coming. Really, Masaharu considered it his duty to the club to keep that kind from getting too far above themselves. So, after spending the match hammering him with one drive after another, just as Toshiyuki was starting to get his stance right to return them, Masaharu gave him a curving slice instead. Wavering, attempting to shift his balance fast enough to return it, Toshiyuki stepped right on the stray ball Masaharu had spent half a game maneuvering him in front of.

Such a shame that the first years were so much laxer about collecting balls for each other than they were for the second and third years.

Toshiyuki went down hard and lay, wheezing. Masaharu sauntered to the net and propped himself on one of the posts.

"Are you all right?" he inquired, light and mocking.

Toshiyuki wheezed some more, and Masaharu watched with great satisfaction as he tottered over to the benches. Now, maybe, he'd shut up about what a great all around player he was going to be.

"Such an extreme measure was unnecessary, Niou-kun," Yagyuu's level voice said behind him. Masaharu tossed a look over his shoulder, and noted that Yagyuu's mouth was actually a little tight. Interesting.

"I only do things like that to people who really annoy me," he returned with a thin, lazy smile. Yagyuu's brow arched.

"Really?" he asked, all polite skepticism.

"Some people annoy me just by breathing," Masaharu admitted. He stretched, vastly pleased. Not only had the matter with Toshiyuki worked out precisely, but for some reason it had bothered Yagyuu.

Now, the question was, why?

Because Masaharu had used one of Yagyuu's moves to do it? It seemed unlikely, since it hadn't bothered Yagyuu when Masaharu had used them against him. But perhaps he didn't want anyone thinking that he had actually shown that move to Masaharu, that he had participated in any way in a trick like this.

Perhaps because it was a teammate? But Yagyuu had watched him pull things just as vicious on classmates and never blinked. Masaharu spent a happy moment recalling the rather lurid love confession to the teacher that he had inserted into the English homework Hidenori was called upon to read aloud. It would never have worked if Hidenori had been good enough in English to actually think about the content of what he was reading, but knowing that he wasn't was, after all, exactly why Masaharu had chosen that tactic. Did Yagyuu feel more protective of the tennis club than general schoolmates? Was that, perhaps, the reason he was so courteously distant toward them all, because otherwise he would care too much?

Masaharu was positive that Yagyuu's smooth front hid some kind of passion behind it. No one played tennis the way he did without passion.

When Masaharu knew what kind, then he would have the key to unsettle The Unflappable One.

They were all playing doubles, and Masaharu was getting bored. It was all Yukimura's fault. He had mentioned to the captain that, while the Regulars were well supplied with excellent singles players, their best doubles pair would be retiring soon, and wouldn't it be a good idea to find out who could be promoted to fill that space? And, before you could blink, here they all were, with a rotation drawn up to see who might play well with whom. Because when Yukimura spoke like that, all quiet and reasonable and commanding, everyone did what he said, including the captain, who, Masaharu couldn't help noticing, seemed a little afraid of Yukimura.

Masaharu spared a sneer, before hitting a surprise drive to set his current partner up with a nice, smashable lob. Surely, even Akashi couldn't miss that one.

Most of his partners were incompetent, and the others were boring. The only one Masaharu had enjoyed his game with was Jackal, because, after a very brief shake-down, he had settled at the baseline and prevented the other side from scoring and let Masaharu toy with their opponents to his heart's content. But he'd only gotten to play with Jackal twice so far.

It was times like this that he wished Yukimura wasn't so damn easy-going most of the time. Any trick that didn't involve tennis would roll right off that sunny charm he used to wind the club around his finger, and any trick that did involve tennis was right out of the question. If he tried it, Yukimura would probably have the nerve to give him instructions for improvement, after he finished mopping the court with Masaharu.

Never even mind that, if he did attempt to put something over on Yukimura, Sanada, who had no sense of humor Masaharu could detect, would skin him. Possibly for the purpose of making Yukimura a new pair of house slippers. Sanada was that kind of bloody minded, iron bastard, and anyone with eyes could see that he had a mother-hen complex over Yukimura. It went strangely with his hot temper, not to mention Yukimura's greater skill, but Masaharu figured that was probably half the point—Yukimura could harness Sanada's temper.

No, he decided, there was no hope for it. They were all stuck doing whatever Yukimura wanted. He aimed his last shot at his opponent's toe, which at least elicited a nice yowl, and sulked.

Well, at least he was in good time to watch Yagyuu play his next match.

Yagyuu playing doubles was a curious thing, to Masaharu's eye. After a couple weeks of doubles work, Yagyuu was getting a reputation as a frightening observer and analyst, because he tended to call aloud advice and directions to his partners regarding how to respond to the other pair. He wasn't up to Yanagi's level, but Masaharu would admit he did keep an impressive eye on his opponents.

The strange part was that he never seemed to so much as glance at his partner. Even if he was at the net, he seemed to know, without looking, where his partner was and what he was doing. He never said anything about that, which might explain why no one else had noticed yet; he just acted on the knowledge. Masaharu was fascinated.

Yagyuu's matches tended to go pretty quickly, since it was still first-years playing first-years.

The second-year keeping an eye on them apparently agreed, since he looked at his roster, shrugged, and flipped to the next day's page.

"Next!" he called. "Yagami-Ishida pair against Yagyuu-Niou pair!"

Masaharu blinked, and then smiled like a fox. His birthday present was here seven whole months early.

Yagyuu turned to look him up and down before shrugging minimally. "Perhaps you would be best suited to a forward position, Niou-kun?" he offered.

"Ever the gentleman," Masaharu laughed, moving up.

As the focus of the match descended on them, though, he stopped laughing. His eyes widened and his teeth set. It had nothing to do with his opponents, though they weren't too shabby a pair, and everything to do with what was standing behind him. Facing Yagyuu across the net he had noticed the intensity of Yagyuu's game, the flare of focus and passion pressed under the smooth glass of Yagyuu's manners and restraint. Playing on the same side as him was like standing next to a lightning strike. A charged, ringing atmosphere enfolded him. He could feel Yagyuu's presence in it, like a weight. When he slid aside, before Yagyuu even called it, to let a drive sizzle past, ending the first game, Masaharu shot a pleased look over his shoulder and got an edged smile in return. Whatever Yagyuu did to keep track of his partners, it made him less careful of his distant front.

Masaharu was absolutely exhilarated. He knew he was showing himself more clearly than usual, too, and couldn't quite bring himself to care.

They swept away the other pair in a whirlwind, and the second-year watching goggled a little until Masaharu gave him a sharp grin. Then he twitched.

"Winners, Yagyuu-Niou pair, 6-0," he announced a bit blankly.

Masaharu was laughing again, under his breath, as he and Yagyuu walked off the court. He was positive, now, that he was playing with fire by seeking to unsettle Yagyuu.

So much the better.

"See you later, Yagyuu," he murmured as they packed up. "Maybe we can play together again, some time."

TBC

Challenge - Chapter Two

Niou and Yagyuu become a doubles pair, and the game continues. Drama, I-3

True to Masaharu's prediction, or perhaps it had been a threat, he and Yagyuu played together more and more frequently over the next weeks. They, and the other two Masaharu had noticed as the best among the first years, always excepting the Glorious Three, worked their way through the ranks of the second years' various doubles pairs undefeated. Masaharu was finally enjoying himself, even if their opponent pairs still weren't much of a challenge. Only the remaining Regular pair could even take them two out of three.

The fourth of their little party, Marui, preened amusingly about that.

They learned fairly quickly that it was best to keep the styles mixed. Yagyuu with Jackal had excellent communication, and immense power, but a vital spark was missing. Masaharu added this to his list of Yagyuu-notes, that Yagyuu's aggression on the court didn't show equally with every partner. Masaharu and Marui spent more time in competition with each other than with their opponents. As long as they kept it mixed up, though, they walked right over just about everyone.

They didn't get really slaughtered until the Munificent Three decided to get in on the action. Masaharu wasn't the only one who was surprised that they could sweep the court in doubles almost as thoroughly as they did in singles.

Since winning was clearly out of the question, Masaharu concentrated on losing by a reasonable margin, and took the opportunity to observe their various combinations.

Sanada played baseline for Yukimura; no surprises there. In something of the same fashion, Yanagi played cautious to Sanada's aggressive, making no effort to contain Sanada but clearly understanding him well enough to pick up any openings. The combination that really dazzled Masaharu, though, was Yanagi and Yukimura, because the speed and flexibility of their play was astonishing. By now everyone was getting used to the supernatural accuracy of Yanagi's data, and it applied well to doubles. But this was the first time Masaharu had seen Yukimura play doubles, and it was clear he had that same instinct for his partners that Yagyuu did. He never looked; he always knew.

Masaharu couldn't help but grin, even though that match left him flat on his back. Maybe, if he could find the key, if he could really understand Yagyuu, the two of them could play like that.

After an exceedingly brief consultation with the new captain, Yukimura called their little gang of four over.

"We have one seasoned doubles pair who will be playing as Regulars for the upcoming year," he told them. "It would be difficult to choose a single pair from the four of you to take the second doubles slot, and since you work smoothly as a unit, we aren't going to. I would like to select the pair best suited to a given school, as we play next year, shifting as necessary. Will that be acceptable to all of you?"

Masaharu opened his mouth to ask a pointed question about why it was Yukimura making all these decisions and announcing them, and not the captain standing, silent and uncomfortable, behind the Trinity. He closed it again, with a smooth look, at Sanada's burning glare.

"Quite acceptable, Yukimura-kun," Yagyuu answered, coolly. Jackal nodded. Marui eyed Masaharu.

"It is extremely unlikely that the Niou-Marui pair will be called for," Yanagi murmured. Masaharu wondered if he was the only one who heard the sardonic edge. Marui merely blew a bubble of gum and shrugged.

"Sounds fine to me," he said, though Masaharu was fairly sure he was a bit annoyed not to be playing singles. Well, Marui could play singles with him, and that would keep their self-proclaimed genius busy. For himself, Masaharu waved a hand toward Yagyuu.

"What he said."

Yukimura looked at him, head tipped to one side, for a long moment before he nodded. Masaharu had the unnerving, and unusual, sensation that Yukimura knew about the competition of wills and ingenuity between Masaharu and Yagyuu. And had chosen to permit it.

Honestly, he was starting to wonder why they hadn't just made Yukimura captain this year and had done with it.

Their faculty advisor was the only stumbling block to the plan.

"This is... irregular, Yukimura-kun," the man said, disapproval dripping from his voice. All four of the doubles crew looked back at him with equal disfavor.

Yukimura smiled.

"Perhaps," he allowed, "but it will ensure the best possible performance of the Rikkai team."

"I am not as sure of that."

Masaharu stopped paying attention to the blowhard and started paying attention to Yagyuu. He was standing close enough for Masaharu to feel the tension slowly winding up that straight, poised frame. It was noticeable enough for Masaharu to wonder whether it was all because of the insult to their abilities, or if there was some other element.

"There is a proper way of doing things, Yukimura-kun, and this is not the way our team does things," the advisor concluded.

Afterward, Masaharu always remembered that as the moment they all found out what it meant to have Yukimura as their captain, even if he didn't have the title yet.

Yukimura's eyes narrowed and glinted, the smile fading as his mouth hardened.

"You may continue to think that, if you wish to be remembered as the one responsible for Rikkai's loss at Nationals this coming year," he stated, and the husky voice was chill and precise as a surgical scalpel. "I do not think you wish that, though. You will understand, therefore, that I will lead this team to victory. And you will not interfere."

Masaharu felt his jaw dropping, and noticed, distantly, that he wasn't alone. Even he didn't talk to the teachers like that. Yukimura's forms were perfectly courteous... except that he was definitely giving orders. And whatever resistance the advisor might have been able to muster in face of that cold, diamond sharp surety folded when Sanada stepped to Yukimura's shoulder and added his own, much less subtle, glare to Yukimura's.

As the advisor hemmed and hawed and retreated, Yagyuu let out a breath that caught Masaharu's attention again. All the febrile tension had drained out of him, and he was looking at Yukimura. For the nth time, Masaharu damned the glasses that concealed half the nuances of Yagyuu's expression, but the line of his mouth was suddenly uncertain, almost trembling.

Yukimura turned back to them.

"Please don't be concerned. The reservations of outsiders will not affect you, and after a few wins I expect even those will fade." His voice was gentle again, to match the warmth of the look he always gave the team.

Yagyuu bowed slightly. "We will not fail, Yukimura-san," he stated, quiet but definite.

It was only by a great effort of will that Masaharu kept from gaping again. Yagyuu was always proper, of course, but proper was not the same as respectful. What he had just heard, for the first time, Masaharu realized, was respect. Yukimura was, of course, adept at bending people to his hand; Masaharu had watched him do it all season. But he'd never expected Yagyuu to succumb. Not the reserved, self-sufficient, distant Yagyuu Hiroshi.

So why now?

He chewed over the question as they returned to practice, and every interaction between Yagyuu and Yukimura added to his bemusement. Yagyuu wasn't fawning, the way a lot of the less talented players did; he wasn't treating Yukimura like some kind of avatar. He was simply attentive and respectful and...

...at ease.

Masaharu was so boggled he missed a swing and Marui snapped at him. Masaharu swiped the bubble out of Marui's mouth with the next ball and went back to pondering.

At ease, as if some defensive tightness had loosened. Masaharu considered that thought. Defensive? Certainly, Yukimura had defended them, and quite sharply, too. Was Yagyuu reacting to that? But why would he feel he needed defense against a teacher, for crying out loud? All the teachers thought he was perfect.

Of course, the thought came to him, the opinion was not mutual. Now that he had something to compare it to, he could see the pattern of contempt in the way Yagyuu dealt with the teachers. Hostility, even, albeit muffled under those perfectly correct manners. A grin spread over Masaharu's face as he contemplated it.

Yagyuu, the Perfect Gentleman, the apple of the administrative eye, had a problem with authority.

Masaharu chuckled out loud, earning a wary look from Marui. He loved irony almost as much as he loved a challenge, and this one was magnificent. He wondered what had happened to set Yagyuu so against order-giving adults, and to cause him to conceal his dislike so strenuously. No surprise that Yukimura had captured his allegiance, after defending them from one of the enemy so vigorously.

Now, now Masaharu thought he had the key.

TBC

Challenge - Chapter Three

Stress in school gives Niou the break in the game he's been looking for. Drama, I-4

Masaharu was glad he waited for the right moment to turn his new key, though, because very shortly the entire school was enveloped in upset. If he hadn't been inconvenienced by it, he would have basked in it. As was, there were a few annoyances countervailing his amusement and he considered the whole thing a break-even proposition.

Marui took exception more vigorously.

"Curriculum review!" he snarled, hitting his ball to balance on the net and then kicking the net to dislodge it. "One stupid administrator steps on his dick, and suddenly the entire school has tests piled up past our eyes. Why are the students suffering for this?"

"It's the nature of the beast," Yagyuu pointed out. "The provost embarrassed someone senior to him in the administration of our schools. His senior is, in turn, embarrassing the provost in as all-encompassing a manner as he can manage. We're simply the medium of his revenge. The fitness tests would," he added, less evenly than usual, "be a reasonable and even admirable step, if our preparedness was really in any question."

Noting the teeth behind that statement, Masaharu placed odds with himself that whatever had happened to Yagyuu was the same shape as what was happening now. Had he played the part of the provost? Or just been caught in the wheels that time, too?

"In any case," Jackal put in, "it's probably a good idea to brush up on any weak subjects. We don't want this affecting our team standing."

Masaharu grunted, and cocked an eye at Yagyuu. They were class-mates, after all, and the help closest to hand.

"Social Studies for Science?" he offered.

"Reasonable," Yagyuu approved after a moment. Masaharu did like it, that Yagyuu never backed down from any potential challenge or trap.

"You know, it's a little scary when you two do that," Marui told them. At two sets of raised brows he elaborated. "There's probably a paragraph or two of explanation that you didn't bother with, because you both already knew what you meant. Doubles Syndrome usually takes a little longer to set in, you know? You two are made for it. Lucky break, for you, there was such a push for doubles this year, or you might never have known."

Masaharu threw back his head and laughed; he couldn't help it. "Yes, it would undoubtedly have taken longer, otherwise," he said, with a sly look at Yagyuu. "Fortuitous coincidence, that."

"Fortuitous?" Yagyuu raised a brow at him. "Really?"

Masaharu grinned, pleased. He also liked Yagyuu's subtlety. Their two doubles-mates would probably take it for genteel teasing, suggesting that Masaharu had sought Yagyuu out. Which was true enough. But, to Masaharu, it was another barb of challenge, asking whether he thought he could actually one-up his own doubles partner.

"Fortuitous," he confirmed. "It brought so many important things to light."

He had the distinct impression that Yagyuu's eyes had narrowed. He gave back a limpid look, telling his target that, yes, he had discovered things Yagyuu would consider important that were not tennis. Important things had been the terms of the challenge, after all.

And it only made the challenge brighter, for Yagyuu to know he was coming.

It was a busy winter, while the entire school studied madly for totally superfluous tests. Masaharu supposed the third-years probably didn't notice the difference, but everyone else, including all the teachers, were thrown into a flurry. He observed the tiny, subtle signs of tension under Yagyuu's customary coolness whenever a teacher tipped over the edge of hysteria in class. He experimented with little tricks to focus the fuss on himself rather than on the "good students" the teachers increasingly relied on to keep control of the disgruntled student body and get everyone ready. Little things, like switching the rats for the final behavioral lab and seeing how long it took everyone to notice, so as not to actually trigger a complete breakdown. Well, not in anyone but Hikashi-sensei, who had really had it coming. And, when the focus shifted, he watched the tiny lines at the corners of Yagyuu's mouth, and between his brows, fade to smoothness again, and smiled, and planned.

Mad flurry was not, they all learned, considered sufficient cause to slack off of tennis practice. Not by Yukimura, at any rate, and his steel determination dragged everyone else in his wake. The Regular members became a team of units: the doubles pair, the doubles team, the Mad Three. And the captain, almost an afterthought at times. It was only natural that they should fall into study groups along the same lines.

Masaharu and Yagyuu, as agreed, traded assistance, Masaharu tutoring in Social Studies and Yagyuu in Science.

With three weeks to go before the tests, Masaharu decided the time was right. Yagyuu should be stressed enough to crack, but not quite enough to seriously break Masaharu in turn.

"You know," he remarked, balling up a successfully completed sheet of study questions and batting it into the air, "you should consider teaching as a career, if you don't want to go pro." He watched Yagyuu's shoulders stiffen.

"Really?"

"Well you're sure a lot better at teaching this than Hikashi-sensei," Masaharu said. Then he offered a lazy smile to his study partner. "But being a teacher wouldn't give you enough protection, would it?"

Yagyuu's pencil stilled.

"I have to congratulate you on your camouflage, Yagyuu," Masaharu continued, casually. "I don't think a single one of them has figured out how nervous they make you. Or how much you'd like to rip their hearts out for that." He stood and stretched, body welcoming the movement after over an hour of inactivity. "Gotta say, though, I like my way better. It's more fun to make them nervous."

Yagyuu's head lifted, slowly, to look at him straight on. "Lack of control is your forte, Niou-kun, not mine," he said, dead level.

"True, in a way," Masaharu agreed, softly, "but it could be." He prowled around the end of the low table, and Yagyuu watched him come without so much as a twitch. "How often do you want to just let go, Yagyuu?" he murmured. "How often do you want to let the teeth show and watch them flinch back? How often do you want to hammer all of your opponents into the dirt, not just the ones across a tennis net? How often do you want to laugh after you've done it?"

Yagyuu could hardly be breathing, he was so still. Masaharu knelt over Yagyuu's folded legs, and delicately plucked off those frustrating glasses. Yagyuu's eyes were narrow, ice-colored, glinting with danger. Masaharu smiled, entranced.

"I know how much you want to," he breathed. "I can see it."

That assertion was the last straw, as he'd half expected it would be to someone who put so much effort into such a smooth, grippless front. There was a blurred moment of motion, and then Masaharu's back hit the floor, violently enough to drive the air from his lungs. The hand holding the glasses was pinned, hard, to the floor beside him, and Yagyuu's other hand was on his shoulder, thumb curled rather tightly over his throat.

"Do you really know?" Yagyuu asked, low and harsh. "Do you really want to?"

Rage blazed in Yagyuu's pale eyes, and his expression, for once, was raw and open. Sharp, sweet thrill swept through Masaharu to see that unleashed passion, the thrill for which he had played this game. He had touched this actinic blaze in the calm Yagyuu; he had found the way to call it out. Oh, yes, he wanted to see this more often.

To do that, though, the first step was to keep Yagyuu from doing him serious bodily harm. So Masaharu did the last thing Yagyuu probably expected at this point. He relaxed under Yagyuu's hold, let his head drop back on the floor, baring his throat, lowered his lashes over his eyes.

He had known from the start that Yagyuu liked a challenge as much as he did; the corollary was, often, that Yagyuu would not pursue an opponent who offered no resistance.

His faith in his own ability to understand another person was once again vindicated, as Yagyuu's grip gradually loosened, and his weight left Masaharu. When Masaharu opened his eyes, meeting Yagyuu's gaze was still rather like standing in the way of a laser, so he lay still for another few moments just to be on the safe side. He sat up, slowly, when Yagyuu made no further move, and offered back the glasses with a slight quirk of his mouth. He was pleased, though a bit surprised, when Yagyuu simply held them. Squinting at the lenses to try and tell their strength, Masaharu decided he must be close enough to be in focus.

Yagyuu was eyeing him like a tiger trying to decide whether some sharp-clawed creature would be more trouble than lunch was worth. Masaharu gave him a brilliant, wolverine's smile, and he snorted.

"What," Yagyuu enunciated, precisely, "was that in service of?"

"Why, my partner's sanity and well being, of course," Masaharu said, easily.

The ice-flash glare narrowed again.

"And my own entertainment," Masaharu admitted. "Did you know that you're magnificent when you drop that bland mask of yours?"

Yagyuu blinked.

"Beautiful like lightning," Masaharu murmured, hearing his own voice go just a bit dreamy and not really caring. The exaltation of being amidst or around that kind of powerful, unruly, brilliant violence was something he treasured. He found it so rarely, and the chaos sparked by his little deceptions was really nothing to it. "You should do it more often," he concluded.

Yagyuu made a scoffing noise and turned, abruptly, away.

"What did happen?" Masaharu asked, quietly. Yagyuu's spine straightened with a nearly audible snap. "The better I know what it was," Masaharu pointed out, "the better I can turn it aside from you."

If the wolverine had suddenly asserted it was a butterfly, the tiger might have given it a similar look to the one Yagyuu was now giving Masaharu.

"And the better I can turn it aside," Masaharu continued, reasonably, "the more often you're likely to let go. It works out for everyone. Well," he added, thoughtfully, "perhaps not our opponents, so much. But that's their problem."

Yagyuu had several gradations of socially polite smiles, but this was the first time Masaharu had seen one so clearly rooted in suppressed laughter. Yagyuu toyed with his glasses, for a few moments, looking pensive. Masaharu thought he might be considering the case of Hikashi-sensei, who would not be teaching again for a while after Masaharu had arranged for a good deal of extra caffeine to find its way into the man's morning coffee and then switched the colors on all his notes and tabs. Just the colors. The resulting cognitive dissonance had produced a very nice little breakdown. No matter how wound up the man was getting, Hikashi-sensei should never have tried to make an example of Masaharu's failures of scientific knowledge, especially when Masaharu had already been in a foul temper from losing three sets in a row to Yanagi. Totally aside from Masaharu's personal satisfaction, the incident probably made for good credentials right now.

"It was a science teacher, actually," Yagyuu said at last. Ah, irony struck again. Masaharu congratulated himself on the accuracy of his instincts; perhaps Yagyuu was rubbing off on him. "I showed, a little too clearly, that I was better at the material than he would probably ever be. He took exception."

There was another stretch of silence, which Masaharu refrained from breaking.

"I spent the rest of the year pulling ridiculous punishments for the slightest infraction, and rapidly became a pariah among the students. None of them wanted anything to splash on them. I can't," Yagyuu said, thinly, "quite blame them."

"Thus the Perfect Boy front," Masaharu murmured, chin in one hand. Yagyuu inclined his head. Masaharu considered for a long moment before he decided not to bother asking whether Yagyuu had been one of those students who liked his teachers and was liked by them, previous to this rude awakening. He was fairly sure it was true; only betrayal would drive the fury he'd seen in Yagyuu's eyes. He leaned forward and touched Yagyuu's chin, ever so lightly, with his fingertips, to make his partner look around.

"It won't happen again," he stated. "If you'll let me."

"Let you what is the question," Yagyuu noted, but amusement flickered in those clear, cutting eyes. "It could be interesting, I suppose."

"Eminently," Masaharu agreed, compressing his exhilaration at all the wonderful, new possibilities into a gleaming grin.

TBC

Challenge - Chapter Four

Niou and Yagyuu settle into their partnership. Drama, I-3

It hadn't taken any time at all to figure out that the months between when the third-years retired and when the school year ended were a time when the clubs could reorder themselves. A time to establish the new pecking order before another crop of first-years arrived, and everyone pecked on them. The tradition was a bit disrupted, this year, but, with the tests past and winter thawing, Masaharu started keeping an eye out. It had occurred to him that some of the very most and very least perceptive among the newly senior second-years might try something with either Jackal or Yagyuu, hoping to establish themselves as superior before the tournaments started and the doubles team's win record made them untouchable. The mannerly ones were the obvious targets.

Masaharu didn't know whether he was pleased or disappointed that it only took one incident to warn all like-minded sorts off of Yagyuu.

He had been waiting for it, and was in good time to turn a sharp eye on his partner when Nishio accosted him.

"Just because you're a quarter of a Regular, don't think you can give yourself too many airs," the older student told Yagyuu, with a not very concealed sneer. "There are balls all over D court; clear them off so we can get more practice games going."

Now that Masaharu knew what he was looking at, it was easy to see the tension in Yagyuu's straight shoulders, the moment of hesitation and calculation over how much he would uncover himself by resisting. While the calculation was lovely, the hesitation wasn't at all what Masaharu wanted to see in Yagyuu. No, it just wouldn't do.

"You want a game, hm?" he asked, strolling past Yagyuu's shoulder. "That's good. It means you're free to play one with me. Aren't you? Senpai." He had called people bastards in a warmer tone of voice, and Nishio gaped a bit to hear just how contemptuously Masaharu was addressing him. Masaharu scooped up a couple extra balls and sauntered onto a free court. He only had to wait long enough for Nishio to realize just how many people had heard the exchange. Ah, pride. It was such a wonderful motivator. It backed people into such tiny, little corners.

He served fairly gently, but his first return sang past Nishio's ear, missing by mere centimeters.

"Damn," Masaharu commented, mildly, "I guess Yanagi was right when he said I needed to work more on pinpointing. My precision is definitely a little shaky. Glad you were around to help me with this. It's good to see senpai who take their positions in the club so seriously." He smiled, slow and cold, as Nishio's eyes widened.

It was an excellent game, altogether, Masaharu thought. And good practice, too. Yanagi really was right; he clipped Nishio several times when he hadn't intended to. Though, on reflection, toward the end that might have been because Nishio himself was shaking so hard. Still. He should be able to allow for that kind of thing.

Masaharu moseyed back to Yagyuu, and ran a critical eye over him. Good; the tension was gone. And, while Yagyuu shook his head at Masaharu, there was a tiny quirk to his mouth. Maybe next time Masaharu would be able to convince him to participate.

"You do realize," Masaharu murmured, "that you can be polite while still smashing them into jelly."

"I'll take that under consideration, Niou-kun," Yagyuu said, coolly.

Masaharu grinned, and saluted his partner with his racquet, before going in search of something inanimate he could use for practice. Moving targets could wait a little, perhaps.

"Niou."

Slightly to his surprise, Masaharu found himself stopping as if his feet had stuck to the ground. He'd heard Yukimura use his there-is-no-possibility-I-will-not-be-obeyed voice on other people; this was the first time it had been used on him. That absolute surety really did have a remarkable effect, he reflected, turning. Something about the harmonics went straight to the spine.

Yukimura was looking at him measuringly. Masaharu raised his brows.

"Was that entirely necessary?" Yukimura asked. Since he sounded like he wanted a serious answer, Masaharu gave him one.

"Yes."

A corner of Yukimura's mouth curled up.

"Succinct," he noted, before he sighed and laid a hand on Masaharu's shoulder. "Defend your partner; it's an admirable motive. And small lessons in caution will be good for everyone. But I will not have members of my club harmed."

Masaharu thought about the way Yukimura had phrased himself. There were some interesting possibilities embedded.

"And if it takes more than a little lesson to get the point across?" he asked, testing. Yukimura's eyes narrowed and darkened.

"Then tell me. Our team will win; any member of this club who cannot support that goal wholeheartedly does not belong here."

Masaharu was lost, for a moment, in admiration of Yukimura's subtlety. Their vice-captain would not, of course, condone injury to those under his command. Of course, once someone left the club, that prohibition would no longer apply. And then Masaharu could do whatever he felt was called for. And everyone would toe the line when word of that got around. He'd been right earlier in the year; Yukimura did understand him. In fact, he chose, knowingly, to use Masaharu's games, like Sanada's temper, to his own ends. Masaharu appreciated that kind of playing with fire.

"Whatever you say," Masaharu agreed, easily. Yukimura's expression turned dry as he let Masaharu go.

"Come on," he directed, "I'll serve to you for your target practice— make it difficult enough to be worthwhile."

For several reasons, Masaharu was happy to note that not all the new first-years were inclined to roll over for the older students. Still, he had to wonder about the extent some of them took it to.

"What's up?" Marui asked, as he and Jackal arrived to find just about the entire club gathered around a single court.

"One of the first-years challenged Yanagi, Sanada and Yukimura, right in a row," Masaharu told them. "Have to admit, the kid has guts. Not too many brains, maybe, but plenty of guts."

"He's still standing?" Jackal asked, sounding intrigued. To date he was one of the few who could manage that feat; Masaharu swore he had extra lungs tucked away somewhere.

"Yes. He's actually very good," Yagyuu noted. Yukimura's return flashed past his challenger's foot. "Not good enough to win," Yagyuu added, "but quite skilled."

"Yanagi drove him absolutely frothing mad," Masaharu put in, "but the kid actually got one game off Sanada. The iron face unbent enough to look a bit impressed."

The first-year didn't quite manage to finish the game standing, instead sprawling full length on the court in a futile effort to return Yukimura's last serve. That did not seem to stymie him, though, and he raised burning eyes to the victors and spat that he would be the best.

"I think Niou was right about the guts to brains ratio," Marui commented, punctuating his judgment with a bubble.

"He will be an impressive player, though," Jackal pointed out.

Masaharu grunted in response, distracted by the flash of red in the first-year's eyes. That was different. An anger reaction?

"He will be joining us," Yagyuu predicted, quietly. When the other three turned to him in surprise he nodded toward the court. "Look at Yukimura-san."

Sure enough, while Yanagi looked contemplative, and Sanada looked saturnine, just as usual, Yukimura had the gleam in his eyes and the faint curve to his mouth that meant he had found something interesting. He stepped over the net, took the newcomer's wrist and pulled him to his feet.

"Try, then," he answered the boy's assertion. "I'll look forward to it."

The first-year seemed a bit taken aback by this approval. Or, Masaharu thought, perhaps by becoming the focus of Yukimura's full attention.

"I believe Yagyuu is right," Jackal said, thoughtfully. "I only hope Yukimura can keep such a wild player in hand."

"That," Masaharu predicted in turn, "will not be a problem."

Later in the day's practice, he tracked down Yanagi.

"So, O Master of All Data, who's the kid?" he asked, slouching against the fence next to their data wizard. Yanagi looked amused.

"I take it Yagyuu noticed Seiichi's interest?" At Masaharu's sidelong look he added, "The chance is about eighty-five percent that he will correctly gauge what Seiichi is thinking at any given moment."

"One of these days," Masaharu sighed, "I'm going to get used to you doing that."

"Our challenger is Kirihara Akaya," Yanagi told him. "He has some impressive experience already. His greatest weakness at present is his temper, as I expect you noticed." Now it was Yanagi's turn to shoot Masaharu a sideways look; Masaharu grinned into the distance. "He will be a good addition to the team, if he can gain some control and refine his skills. I estimate the latter will take six months."

Masaharu made a note of the fact that Yanagi did not hazard a guess how long the former might take.

This year's round of tournaments had finally started. And Masaharu was bored again.

"Yagyuu-Niou pair, 6-0!"

"When are we going to get a decent challenge?" Masaharu grumbled as they fished out water and ignored their totally unnecessary towels.

"These are only the district preliminaries, Niou-kun," Yagyuu pointed out. "I doubt there will be much, here. Are you in such a rush to court the possibility of defeat?"

"What?" Masaharu tipped back his head to grin at Yagyuu. "I want to see my partner shine. Where's the crime in that?"

"Most codes of law would likely consider it to lie in your definition of 'shine'," Yagyuu noted, but his tone was light.

"Do I want to know what you two are talking about?" Marui asked, as they watched Sanada tearing through his opponent like a tall, dark bandsaw.

"See? Marui wants to see too," Masaharu blithely reinterpreted, ignoring the sudden choke that had Marui scraping bubblegum off his nose. "And we do have one more team to play today..." He trailed off, suggestively.

"Hmm." Yagyuu looked down at him, and Masaharu would have laid odds that his eyes were glinting behind those glasses. "I suppose they are our opponents, after all. Perhaps, a little."

Marui eyed them both for a long moment before declaring, "I want to be very clear that whatever is about to happen is not my fault in any way."

Masaharu smiled at him broadly enough to make him edge toward Jackal. "Of course not."

Masaharu was aware that the bounce in his step as they moved to their next match was drawing attention. He didn't care in the least. Though he did have a bad moment when Yukimura drew them aside just before they went out. He wasn't going to stop them, was he?

"Niou, I think it would be a good idea if you let Yagyuu set the pace of this match," Yukimura suggested. Masaharu gave him a patient look. It was abundantly obvious that their vice-captain was, tactfully, saying he didn't want them to draw this match out the way Masaharu had been doing in an effort to entertain himself.

"You know, you could just say you don't want me to play with my food," he pointed out.

Yukimura laughed. "I'll remember that," he promised.

"Is there a particular reason we should take this one quickly, Yukimura-san?" Yagyuu asked.

"This is one of the stronger teams here," Yukimura told them. "It would be a good thing, both for Rikkai as a whole, and for the doubles team in particular, if you were to make an impression, here."

Masaharu and Yagyuu looked at each other. Masaharu chuckled. Yagyuu adjusted his glasses.

"Of course," he murmured.

"Enjoy yourselves," Yukimura told them, with the sharp smile he wore when he played.

Masaharu could barely hide his glee as he observed the subtle relaxation in his partner, shoulders looser, breath deeper, head higher. The bright, furious sense of Yagyuu's presence pooled around him, charged the space between them, snapped across the net to lick at their victims. Masaharu shivered, delighting in it.

When Yagyuu let go, the smoothness of his front turned fluid and hot as molten glass, and, even if it burned to touch, Masaharu loved to immerse himself in it.

They took the set, 6-0, in a glorious sweep of speed. And Masaharu almost laughed out loud when Yagyuu congratulated their opponents, quite straight-faced, on a good game.

"What did I tell you?" he asked, as they strolled back to the benches. "Jelly."

Yagyuu laughed, low in his throat, danger and fury satiated for the moment, leaving him languid until he regathered himself.

"As you say, Niou-kun."

It was probably a good thing, Masaharu reflected, that Yagyuu had clued the doubles team in about Yukimura's fascination with Kirihara. Otherwise they might have wondered what on earth their leader was doing spending so much time on a non-Regular now that the tournament season was in full swing. As it was, they quietly made space for him among them. Masaharu, in particular, liked to watch him practicing, especially with The Exalted Three. Admittedly, Kirihara didn't have Yagyuu's brilliant purity, when he let go. For Kirihara it was something more shadowed. But Masaharu enjoyed watching it all the same.

He toyed, for a while, with the idea that the kid genuinely was possessed. Whatever it was that happened, when his eyes went red, it both freed his reserves and seemed to detach his brain. Masaharu certainly couldn't come up with any other explanation for the way Kirihara played such a deliberately dirty game when he was like that, even against Yukimura.

Yukimura, of course, took it all in stride, though he'd had to have a word with Sanada to keep him from pounding Kirihara into a pulp the first time he'd seen it happen. Masaharu sniffed at the memory. As if Yukimura couldn't do it perfectly well himself, if he thought it needed doing. Though, he glanced at Yagyuu, standing at the fence beside him, he supposed there could be reasons for defending someone stronger.

This afternoon looked like a quicker match than usual. Yukimura was getting used to that sudden change in Kirihara's level, probably. In fact... Masaharu eyed the return shots Yukimura was making.

"Yagyuu," he said, on an inquiring note.

"Yes," his partner agreed, "Yukimura-san is reflecting Kirihara-kun's body shots, though he returns them just shy of actually striking. He's provoking him."

Masaharu whistled. If he'd ever doubted Yukimura had a cold streak, this would have disabused him of the idea. The last ball skipped between Kirihara's feet, and he stumbled to his knees and stayed there, panting and shaking, probably with anger. Yukimura came around the net, but this time he did not pull Kirihara back up. He knelt down in front of him, grabbed his chin, and forced his head up to meet Yukimura's eyes.

"You will never defeat me," Yukimura told him, low and sharp, "unless you can control that strength instead of merely letting it loose. Do you hear me?"

"I..." Kirihara swallowed with some difficulty, green gaze wide and clear, "I hear you, Yukimura-fukubuchou."

Yukimura nodded, and released him, dropping the towel he had picked up on his way past the benches over Kirihara's head.

"Remember it."

As he walked away, Masaharu and Yagyuu shared a look and moved toward the motionless Kirihara.

"You really managed to put your foot in it today, kiddo," Masaharu observed, mussing Kirihara's hair through the towel. Kirihara swatted at his hand and emerged with a petulant look. Masaharu shook his head. Half the time, being around Kirihara was like sitting next to a ticking bomb, and the other half it was like having a bratty but cute little brother. Possession really seemed as reasonable an explanation as any other. He hauled Kirihara over to a bench to clear the court.

"Will you listen to what Yukimura-san says?" Yagyuu asked, gently, passing over a water bottle. Kirihara blinked up at him, caught in the middle of drinking.

"Of course," he said, a little blankly, as if wondering what other course of action there could be. Yagyuu smiled, satisfied, and Masaharu chuckled.

"He's something else, isn't he?" he remarked, only a touch ruefully.

The three of them shared slightly sheepish grins before the captain called all the Regulars to gather around.

TBC

Challenge - Chapter Five

Niou coaxes Yagyuu into more intimacy; or perhaps it's the other way around. Drama with Porn, I-3

There were times when Masaharu seriously thought Marui Bunta was going to grow up to be a gossip columnist. He had an apparently insatiable curiosity about other people's personal lives.

"So, what do you guys think?" Marui asked one day, while the doubles team was cooling down, nodding at The Magnificent Three over by the fence. "Are they hooked up, or what?"

"Marui," Jackal said, disapprovingly. Masaharu laughed. The usual doubles pairs really had come down to one casual sort and one straightlaced sort each...

"Possibly," Yagyuu answered, adjusting his glasses.

Jackal's brows rose, and Masaharu frankly goggled at his partner.

"If so, however, I suspect all three must be involved," Yagyuu continued, serenely. "Together the three of them have a stability that no two do alone."

"Kinky," Marui said, with a bubble for emphasis.

"And here I thought you were completely indifferent," Masaharu marveled, a bit sardonically. "You never give any of your fanclub the time of day."

"As opposed to your attempts to corrupt yours into delinquency?" Yagyuu inquired, with a tiny smile. "The shrillness is a bit off-putting. That does not make me blind, nor does it mean I have no appreciation for beauty of body or of heart."

Masaharu blinked. Marui snickered, and nudged Masaharu in the ribs.

"I told you you shouldn't have switched the labels on the water and acetone before Yonomi-sensei's dry-ice demonstration. He's just getting you back for messing up his favorite class."

"Yonomi-sensei deserved it," Masaharu defended himself. He shared a speaking look with his partner. Yes, Masaharu would be more careful not to interrupt experiments that interested Yagyuu. No, Yagyuu wasn't actually angry. He'd known that already, really. If Yagyuu had gotten angry with him he certainly wouldn't have shown it by adopting methods so close to Masaharu's own. Masaharu grinned.

The corruption proceeded apace.

Masaharu and Yagyuu had kept up their winter habit of studying together. It was comfortable and familiar, and it gave Masaharu a chance to keep working on Yagyuu's self-restraint. His goal was to get Yagyuu to cut off a teacher at the knees. He felt it would be a healthy step forward in his partner's personal development.

And it would be fun as hell to watch.

He did his best to be a good example, and he was reasonably sure that Yagyuu liked watching him stir things up, but it was still good to have it confirmed. Even if the form of that confirmation was slightly disconcerting.

They were working through a section on the Edo period, and Masaharu was giving his interpretation of Toyotomi Hideyoshi's foundational policies, which was rather more colorful than the official one.

"Really a brilliant social engineer, and an utterly cold-hearted bastard. Think about the strictures on who can do what. I mean, it looks worst for the peasants, but consider what he did to the samurai with the same move. Effectively, you can have weapons or you can have food, but you can't have both. Stabilized the economy and contained the warriors with one fell swoop." Masaharu stretched out a little more comfortably on the floor beside the low table Yagyuu sat at so straight and upright. "Absolutely brilliant bastard; you've got to admire a mind like that."

Yagyuu paused in his note-taking, and tapped the end of his pen against the table. Masaharu tilted a brow; that was what Yagyuu did when he was evaluating some thought or person.

"Niou-kun, you asked me once what had happened to me," Yagyuu said, thoughtfully. "What was it that happened to you? Not that the results aren't entertaining to watch, when you rake people over trying to find bits of gold in the gravel. But what gave you such a taste for people of extremes?"

Masaharu blinked, never having heard his proclivities framed quite that way, before. Then he shrugged.

"It's always been like that. Some people are fascinated by fire; the brilliance, and destructiveness, and beauty. It's the same for me, only it's people. Fire is mindless; people have intention and direction. And I can come closer to the burning."

Yagyuu slowly removed his glasses, and polished them, pale eyes resting on Masaharu.

"Are you saying," Yagyuu asked, after a long, contemplative pause, "that you're a metaphorical pyromaniac?" He looked amused.

"Good description," Masaharu agreed, folding his arms behind his head. Yagyuu regarded him, eyes sharp and curious.

"You know, I've wondered, if it was passion you wanted to call out of me, why you never tried seduction."

Masaharu blinked some more. He'd thought the answer to that was self-evident.

"Because sex didn't work," he said. "It was the first thing I tried, and it didn't unsettle you at all. Could have knocked me over with a feather, at the time," he admitted, just a bit disgruntled at the memory. Thinking it over, he had to add, "If I thought I could get you to let go all the way, I would in a second."

"Would you really?" Yagyuu wondered, softly. His gaze was somehow both piercing and distant, and Masaharu heard questions behind the question. Would you really want to and Could you really handle it, among others.

"Oh, yes," he answered all of them, mouth curling.

"Hm." Yagyuu replaced his glasses. "So. Do you have an opinion of Tokugawa Ieyasu to add for this section?"

As Masaharu held forth on genealogical slight of hand, he also tucked away some intriguing new ideas for later examination.

The tournament matches started to heat up a little, as they entered Regionals. To keep everyone on their toes, Yukimura colluded with Yanagi to put together a training schedule to make a slave-driver blanch. The only open times were provided solely to include Kirihara.

By now the entire club had a pretty good idea of what next year's team would look like.

For once Kirihara seemed to be struggling. He appeared to have taken Yukimura's edict about control to heart, but it was clear that holding back his own rage was both alien to him and draining. Masaharu, personally, considered most of that control a waste of time, but then it wasn't the dearest desire of his heart to defeat Yukimura at tennis. To each his own.

Sanada approved, though. Masaharu noticed him taking Kirihara aside, while Yanagi and Yukimura were busy playing he and Jackal, to help Kirihara with his footwork. That was the day Masaharu decided Sanada had a soft spot for ambition and drive. Kirihara definitely had those, in spades. It did explain, perhaps, why Sanada accepted Yukimura's superiority so easily, when he was so taken up with achieving victory over absolutely everyone else.

Draped over a bench, after a grueling marathon of singles matches within the team, Masaharu watched Kirihara and Sanada going at it hammer and tongs, still. They were both nuts. Masaharu loved tennis, and he loved winning, and he deeply loved playing with Yagyuu, but some people just took the whole thing beyond any degree of sanity. Even Jackal was looking worn out after today.

Marui was still standing, but only because he was so pleased with his new shot that it acted on him like a sugar high. Masaharu expected him to crash any second. The day he'd perfected that startling ball that rolled along the net, he'd been bouncing off the walls for the rest of practice.

"Pure genius, that's what it is!" he'd proclaimed, grinning too hard to even blow bubbles. Jackal had smiled, tolerantly, on his partner's antics. Kirihara, on the other hand, had snorted.

"Pure showing off," he'd corrected, only to be jumped on and pummeled by Marui. Masaharu had watched with a smirk; he'd only kept his mouth shut because he knew Kirihara could be counted on to say it first.

Now Marui came to the rest of them after a mere dozen runs through his new move.

"Looks like the little spitfire's improving," he said, flopping down and stealing Yagyuu's towel. Jackal plucked it out of his hand, replacing it with Marui's own, without a word. Yagyuu accepted his back with a nod.

"Seventeen percent improvement over the last month," Yanagi specified from where he was fishing his water bottle out of the cooler. "Though I'm not sure he believes it."

Masaharu had to admit, for someone who was so sure he would make it to the top, the kid did seem prone to crises of confidence. Indeed, when the game finally ended, Kirihara slumped on his bench looking quite glum, head hanging almost to his knees as he caught his breath. The doubles team were having a quick conference of looks to decide who should speak to him first, when Yukimura made the issue moot by going to Kirihara himself.

"You're doing well," he said, gently. Kirihara's look up was a bit wry.

"It doesn't feel like it," he admitted. Yukimura smiled down at him and touched his shoulder.

"It's hard to tell from inside the game, sometimes. So trust my judgment from outside of it. You are making good progress, Akaya."

Kirihara's eyes widened before he ducked his head. The doubles team exchanged amused looks. For all that Yukimura was Kirihara's prime target, or possibly because of it, he seemed especially susceptible to the warmth that Yukimura lavished on his team to go along with his ruthless demands. It was really kind of cute.

Masaharu caught a similar look passing among The Glorious Three. He was particularly interested to note the hint of affection in Sanada's eyes, and the faint softening of his mouth as he regarded Kirihara and Yukimura.

Well, well. Here he'd thought Sanada would be the jealous sort. He did so love how unpredictable his teammates could be.

Some things about Yagyuu were unpredictable, and then some things weren't. After turning over the intriguing thoughts one of their study sessions had left him with, Masaharu had decided that he had better choose the setting carefully, to act on his conclusions. Otherwise, Yagyuu's entirely predictable personal privacy would likely deep six the entire thing.

Long consideration led him to decide on Yagyuu's room. It was handy, being where more than half their study sessions took place anyway, and he'd observed that Yagyuu tended to be a little less tense inside those walls, as if they took the place of his outermost layer. That should help, too.

Then it was just a matter of waiting for the right opportunity.

He chose two days after they played Seigaku. After Yanagi's report on Seigaku's impressive second-year singles player, their captain had taken the Singles Three slot and been soundly trounced by one Tezuka Kunimitsu. Tezuka had apparently caught Sanada's interest, as he had spent all the next practices working against the team's strongest singles players to polish his techniques, hoping that they would come up against Seigaku again at Nationals. This, of course, included Yagyuu. Masaharu had noted months ago that Yagyuu relaxed in a very particular way after playing Sanada, possibly because he used more raw strength against Sanada than any other player.

"I take it," Yagyuu commented, as they dumped their bags by the table, "that it isn't a review of spectography you have on your mind today, Niou-kun?"

Yagyuu's intuition was a match for anyone else's analysis, Masaharu reflected.

"Not in the least," he admitted, approaching his partner. Yagyuu smiled, and watched him come.

Face to face, Yagyuu was a bit taller; though, Masaharu supposed, if he ever stood like he had a poker where his spine should be, they would likely be the same height. He reached out and, delicately, removed Yagyuu's glasses. A signal, a symbol, a talisman, but more than anything else an intense desire to see Yagyuu Hiroshi's eyes.

Those eyes were gleaming like ice in the sun, and Masaharu felt the frisson that came when they played.

"Would you let go all the way, Yagyuu?" he whispered. "If I asked you to?"

One of Yagyuu's hands wove into Masaharu's hair, tipped his head back a little.

"Yes, I think so," his partner answered, softly. He bent his head, and his lips moved over Masaharu's neck, warm, seeking. Masaharu shivered, leaning against Yagyuu. The touch of his lips moved up, found Masaharu's mouth, changed.

Yagyuu's arm locked around Masaharu, pulling his body hard against his partner's, and Yagyuu's mouth covered his, pressing, parting, demanding. Masaharu breathed in the weight of Yagyuu's desire and gave it back as a low moan that Yagyuu wrapped his tongue around. He gave himself over to the crushing strength of Yagyuu's hold and was held so tightly he barely noticed when Yagyuu lowered him to the bed.

The complete lack of hesitation in his partner's hands, as they undid clothing washed a wave of clear, brilliant heat through Masaharu. This was what he wanted: to see Yagyuu throw away the restraints he fastened around himself. He stretched, under Yagyuu's hands, reached up to touch, felt himself pressed down to the bed by the flash of Yagyuu's eyes.

Yagyuu's gaze held him in place, and he panted for breath under it, as Yagyuu's hand closed around his cock, and Masaharu shuddered violently at the gentle stroke of powerful fingers. His partner's skin slid against his like water against the shore, but he felt as if it was Yagyuu who was solid, and he who was fluid, melted, surging with the pull of his partner's gravity. Masaharu let himself fall into the hot, flickering pleasure of Yagyuu's hand on him, and Yagyuu's kiss set the pace of it, tasting of slow, wet slides. Masaharu's entire body flexed into it, quickly lost in the sharpness of Yagyuu's movement, rushing, speeding heat crashing through his veins, wringing him over and over, until it slowed, collapsed into Yagyuu's hand on him and Yagyuu's body leaning over his, Yagyuu's breath drowning his. Lassitude folded around him, warm with the strength of Yagyuu's touch.

Masaharu smiled, surprised, in a somewhat lightheaded way, that Yagyuu's passion could emerge without the danger that was its stamp at other times. A little surprised, as well, that it could thrill and please him so deeply without that edge.

Yagyuu stirred against him, and pale eyes, edge softened with satisfaction, examined him. "So?" his partner asked, pleasure and humor in his tone. Masaharu chuckled, a bit hoarsely.

"Any time you want," he murmured.

"Danger addict," Yagyuu accused. Masaharu blinked.

"But you're not," he objected. As Yagyuu's brow tilted, he shook his head. "I know when you're dangerous, Yagyuu. You weren't dangerous to me just now."

Yagyuu considered this assertion for a few breaths, and then leaned down to kiss Masaharu long and deep, pressing him down, hard, to the bed, as if to hold him still long enough to breathe him in. Masaharu took the point perfectly well.

"Are you sure?" Yagyuu asked, against Masaharu's lips.

"What if I want you to consume me, though?" Masaharu shot back. "Like a fire."

"Danger addict," Yagyuu said, much more definitely this time.

"You worry too much," Masaharu grinned. "I won't ever lose myself in you, Yagyuu."

TBC

A/N: Check here for one of the most comprehensive accounts of Hideyoshi I've found online; very evenhanded.

Challenge - Chapter Six

Niou has an idea for a trick. Drama with Peculiar Romance, I-3

Sanada was being a bear.

And a bear with a sore paw, at that. Masaharu was seriously considering doing something to loosen him up a bit. The only thing holding him back was trying to plan how to remain alive afterwards.

Rather to everyone's surprise, except, possibly, Yanagi's, and he had warned Sanada, Sanada had lost a game to Hyoutei's new ace, Atobe Keigo. Sanada was now bound and determined to even the score. If they didn't come up against Hyoutei at Nationals, Masaharu suspected Sanada would ask for an unofficial match just for his personal satisfaction.

His suggestion that Sanada now had two excellent opponents to play against, and wasn't that nice, had been met with such a glare he'd sworn he smelled singed hair in its wake.

Yukimura, standing behind Sanada, had raised a hand to cover his grin.

Those two were currently playing, and to Masaharu's eye it was now Sanada who could use a little extra control. He wasn't pacing himself well at all. Sure enough, he dropped the last game faster than usual, and Yagyuu, standing next to Masaharu, shook his head.

"That, Niou-kun, is why I will not let you draw me out as often as you would like," he commented. "One of us must keep a relatively cool head or we will lose in exactly that manner." Masaharu raised his brows at his partner.

"You think I couldn't?" he asked, slightly offended. It wasn't as if he were out of control. Well, not seriously. He caught the glint of a sidelong look from behind Yagyuu's glasses, and his partner's mouth curved subtly.

"Could you stay cool while you watched me let go?" he asked, softly.

Well, all right, Masaharu admitted, as a pleasant shiver tracked down his spine, that was a point. Still.

"If I really had to," he answered, seriously.

Yagyuu tipped his head to the side. "I'll remember that, then," he said. Masaharu smiled; that sounded... promising.

Sanada tossed his racquet onto the bench in front of them, and his empty hands clenched, convulsively.

"Sanada," Yukimura said, setting a hand on his arm. His voice was low, close to commanding but also soothing in its very evenness. Masaharu watched Sanada's fists loosen, and was impressed once again by Yukimura's fine touch with his team.

"Yukimura," Sanada started, an apologetic edge to the deep voice. Yukimura's hand tightened, stopping him.

"You will win," he said with certainty. Sanada looked down at him, expression lightening, and dipped his head slightly. Yukimura raised his voice again. "Yagyuu, you and Sanada are up next."

Yagyuu moved forward, fingers trailing ever so lightly over Masaharu's wrist in passing. Masaharu suppressed his reaction, sternly, but couldn't hold back a grin. Who would have thought that Yagyuu would be an incorrigible tease? Yukimura came to stand next to Masaharu, and eyed him closely as the next match started. A breath of laughter escaped him.

"So, he finally caught you, did he?" he asked, eyes sparkling.

Masaharu, caught flatfooted, had to grope for an answer for several moments. "I would have said it the other way around," he managed, at last.

"He's been after you since late spring," Yukimura told him, conversationally.

Masaharu blinked. He had? Thinking back over it, though... he had instigated things, yes, but Yagyuu had incited him to do so. Yukimura tugged on the slim tail of hair that Masaharu kept expressly to annoy the daylights out of the uniform sticklers at school.

"Has the Trickster been tricked?" he asked, with a warm smile to take the sting out of the question. "There was a reason Yagyuu accepted you as his primary partner, Niou. You make a good pair. But your partnership won't last if you underestimate his penchant for misdirection."

"Mmm," Masaharu agreed, fighting down a flush.

"Ah, now I've embarrassed you," Yukimura said, sounding penitent. "But the two of you work well together, Niou. I don't want you to fail; either on the court or off it."

"We'll try not to," Masaharu assured him, relaxing a little as he reminded himself to respect his partner's depth of sneakiness from now on.

The Perfect Gentleman, he supposed, would, after all, be indirect about getting things he wanted. What mattered was that he wanted Masaharu, and, by extension, the things Masaharu led him on to do. A grin resurfaced.

Knowing that Yagyuu wanted unrestraint would definitely help in future plans.

Masaharu lazed in a pool of autumn sunlight feeling remarkably at peace with the world.

Rikkai had taken Nationals, as per expectation, and Sanada had gotten his chance to even the score with Atobe. Which only meant that now they both had a reason to stalk each other, but that was Sanada's concern, and he seemed pleased enough.

The third years had retired, and Yukimura Seiichi was finally captain in name as well as fact. As Akaya had brashly, if accurately, put it, "It's about time!" Relaxed from the tension of the tournament season, the team was consolidating.

And best of all, at least right at this moment, Yagyuu had just taken a great deal of pleasure in running his tongue over every especially sensetive area of Masaharu's skin. Quite slowly. The net result being that Masaharu was lying in the sun, in a tangle of white cotton sheets, with no desire to move any time in the near future. How Yagyuu mustered the motivation to get up, even for a shower, was really beyond him.

His partner returned, toweling off his hair. Masaharu chuckled to see it so unaccustomedly ruffled, and spiky with moisture.

"What's amusing you now?" Yagyuu asked.

"Your hair looks better messy," Masaharu told him.

"You, of course, would think so."

Some thought was tapping Masaharu's shoulder. Something having to do with Yagyuu. He found himself recalling past observations or occasions.

...practicing Yagyuu's particular shots...

...understanding his revulsion of authority...

...accepting that his underhandedness equaled Masaharu's own...

...noting that their height difference was due to posture...

...drowning in sharp, ice colored eyes, the same color as Masaharu's...

Masaharu's grin widened, notch by notch, as the outline of a superb game blossomed in his mind's eye.

"Niou-kun?" his partner asked, sounding a bit wary. Masaharu looked at him with glowing delight.

"Yagyuu, I have the best idea," he declared.

The only real sticking point was hair color. Light to dark was easy enough, but the other way around wasn't, and Yagyuu flatly refused to bleach a single strand. In the end, Masaharu found a yearmate whose brother's best friend worked with someone who knew something that would do it. Masaharu considered the expense worth it, and swore his fellow student to secrecy on pain of Masaharu's ingenuity.

"You're sure this won't be permanent?" Yagyuu pressed.

"The guy promised the enzyme base, on it's own, won't do a thing," Masaharu explained, patiently. "It requires the reactant, and once the neutralizer is applied, that's that, nothing else happens."

Thus it was, a few days later, that Masaharu packed up an exceedingly well-pressed uniform and the non-prescription glasses with reflective coating. Apparently that was a somewhat unusual combination to request, since the optometrist's assistant had given him a slightly odd look. He and Yagyuu left their houses early and met at the house of the yearmate who had put them in touch with the obliging makeup artist. When they emerged, half an hour later, their grinning fellow waved them on ahead. He had sworn up and down not to come near them all day, lest he give the deception away, in return for which he was permitted, tomorrow, to brag about having been in the know.

Masaharu drew himself up very straight, which made the walk come on its own. He glanced at the figure slouching insouciantly along beside him and compressed a grin into Yagyuu's faint smile. Yes, he thought this would work. 'He' might be a bit tamer than usual, today, but the glint in those narrow eyes would definitely pass for the genuine article. As they walked he dusted off the manners that one teacher after another had tried, with ultimate futility, to get him to use, greeting the occasional classmate with cool courtesy.

The best part would be seeing all their faces, when the switch was revealed.

Classes started without incident, Masaharu opened the day's first book, and nearly strained himself suppressing hysterical laughter. Tucked in between the pages they had been assigned to read was a postcard.

An extremely explicit postcard featuring two naked individuals in the middle of an extremely personal act.

A postcard which, unless he was greatly mistaken, came from the book he had slipped into Yagyuu's bag early last year, hoping to disconcert him. He never had returned it, had he? He glanced over to see his partner leaning back in his chair, hands tucked in his pockets, and a downright evil grin on his face. Schooling his own expression carefully, Masaharu tucked the card into his bag.

Yes, this was definitely going to work.

He went through the day feeling like a hunter behind a blind, the blind of Yagyuu's impenetrable manners. From that vantage he finally had the inexpressible delight of seeing his partner point out to their literature teacher, shriveled old prune of a martinet that he was, that the love poems of the Man'yoshu centered on distrust, not faith, and that he should really stop trying to convince them of such romantic drivel. For one glorious moment, Masaharu thought Sugawara-sensei would have heart failure on the spot. After a long look at the razor sharp smile 'Niou' was sporting, the teacher chose to ignore the insolence and move right along.

Ah, the benefits of a reputation, he thought, looking on Yagyuu with fondness concealed by the glasses he wore.

It wasn't until one of the most loud-mouthed of the second-year tennis club members discovered that the new roll of grip tape he was bragging about over lunch had been replaced with an equally long roll of super sour bubble gum that Masaharu had to excuse himself to the bathroom where he could indulge his laughing fit unnoticed. When he returned, he passed his partner's desk.

"Are you finished for the day, Niou-kun?" he inquired, mildly. Yagyuu stretched like a cat, mouth quirking.

"For now, I suppose," he allowed.

Masaharu made sure to incline his head in reassurance to the grateful looks he was collecting from their classmates.

Then came tennis practice. They had both wondered whether it would be possible to fool their teammates. Masaharu now thought it would be, and when Yagyuu raised a brow at him he nodded in return.

Well, it was possible to fool some of their teammates. Marui, Jackal and Sanada clearly didn't suspect a thing. After the first hour, though Yanagi and Yukimura were giving them curious looks. Akaya joined in not long after. Masaharu had expected Yanagi, at least. When it came down to it, he simply wasn't as strong in Yagyuu's shots as Yagyuu was, and there was no real way to hide Yagyuu's bone-deep awareness of where his partner was on the court, which was not characteristic of Masaharu.

It was a fascinating exercise, all the same. Yagyuu was often their game-maker, and standing back in the way his partner normally did suddenly gave Masaharu a new perspective on their teammates. Marui, for instance, was clearly the game-maker for his pair, something Masaharu had never quite noticed while playing in close to him, up at the net. Now he thought he understood why Yagyuu kept such a close eye on their volatile "genius". Masaharu found himself slipping, almost unawares, into Yagyuu's pattern of play, watching and waiting for the crushing chance, rather than pressing in and harrying their opponents. As, in fact, Yagyuu, in his position as 'Niou', was doing at this moment. Quite enthusiastically.

When Yanagi moved over to Yukimura and leaned down to say something in his ear, Masaharu thought the game was up, but Yukimura smiled, slowly, and looked over at them. He shook his head and replied to Yanagi, without looking away. Yanagi shrugged. Neither of them said anything, and for once Akaya seemed reluctant to stick his neck out.

Masaharu had always known Yukimura had a fine sense of humor.

The next day, Masaharu felt, strongly deserved a gold star on his calendar. Their accommodating yearmate had spread the word as fast as gossip could travel, and Masaharu strolled the halls, savoring the utterly pole-axed expressions on at least half their denizens. It took a little while before anyone got up the nerve to ask if it was true.

"Why, whatever do you mean?" Masaharu returned, smiling innocently.

Rumor galloped on twice as fast after that.

Yukimura was chuckling when they got to practice, and clapped a hand on each of their shoulders.

"You do have a talent for creating disruption," he noted. Sanada rolled his eyes, exasperated, and Akaya just about pounced on them.

"It was! I was right!"

"Enough games, though," Yukimura ordered. "We have work to do. Everyone on the courts!"

"I was right, too, you know," Masaharu murmured to Yagyuu as they dispersed.

"About what?" his partner inquired, cool as ever behind his precision and glasses.

"You are magnificent when you let go."

"Narcissist," Yagyuu accused him, lightly, fingertips brushing Masaharu's hand.

TBC

Challenge - Chapter Seven

Disaster strikes for the whole team. Drama with Angst, I-4

After such a golden autumn, no one expected what happened in the heart of winter. Yukimura himself said afterwards that he had thought the tingling was merely pinched nerves, and had made an appointment with his doctor. At the time, all Masaharu knew was that he heard his captain's voice falter, saw his partner's head snap up, heard Sanada's sharp exclamation, found himself running, with the rest of the team, to where Yukimura had crumpled to the ground.

"He's still breathing, but his pulse is uneven," Yanagi reported, tense, as Jackal sprinted for the cell phone in his bag and called an ambulance. "I didn't see him hit anything when he fell."

"He didn't," Yagyuu seconded.

"Then what's wrong?" Sanada asked, voice ragged. Yanagi closed a hand, bruisingly tight, on his shoulder.

"I don't know, but you have to keep the club calm until the ambulance gets here," he told their vice-captain.

Sanada's head bent, and Masaharu was close enough to see the muscles of his jaw standing out as he clenched his teeth. He drew in a quick breath and nodded.

"The rest of you, get changed. We're following him to the hospital," he said, tightly, before turning away and calling the club to order, dismissing them for the day.

Masaharu remembered the rest of the day as an appalling blur in which random moments of panic stood out: a paramedic calling urgently for oxygen; Akaya shivering against him as they sat in a waiting room; the date on a sports magazine, three months old; the chill of Yagyuu's hands when Masaharu folded them around a can of coffee.

When a doctor finally emerged, though, it was Yagyuu who took one look at Sanada's hunched form and went to meet him; Yagyuu who explained that Yukimura's parents had been called, but they, his team, were the only ones there for him at the moment; Yagyuu who wormed the diagnosis out of the doctor and carried it back.

Relief made Masaharu lightheaded, as he listened to Yagyuu's account of the information he had extracted. Guillain-Barre, very unlikely to be fatal, Yukimura had already regained consciousness though he was still very weak. Then the bombshell. Up to a year for recovery in severe cases. This was a severe case.

The team stared at each other, stunned. Their captain would be away from them? Most likely the entire year? The sight of Yukimura being wheeled past, pale and still, wiped away any lingering fantasies of a quick return, though.

It was too much for Sanada, who called after him with a promise that the team would wait for its captain, would remain undefeated for him. A promise like a charm for Yukimura's recovery; if they kept faith for him, surely he would return. Masaharu could see the tremors running through Sanada's body, see the terrible tension in his bowed head and tight fists. Yanagi stepped to his side, clasped his shoulder, and, when Sanada looked up, nodded firmly, giving himself to the promise as well. Akaya, the baby of the team, who would now be playing in every match when the new year began, stepped forward, and nodded, just a touch tremulously. The doubles players, with barely a glance at each other, stepped forward as one.

The tension drained out of Sanada, and he closed his eyes, swaying slightly against Yanagi's supporting hand.

"Thank you," he whispered.

The team slowly regathered themselves, leaning on each other more heavily, now that the one who had lifted them all up was gone. The winter was a nightmare, as one month, and then two crawled by, and Yukimura remained hospitalized, largely paralyzed, often on respirators. The mood of the team darkened, and Masaharu began to wish for the new year to start so that they would have outsiders to take out their accumulated stress on. Even when Yukimura began to regain some strength, and the worst fear lifted, the prognosis remained poor. He would be a long time recovering.

In March, Sanada and Yanagi drew up a tentative training schedule, which included, to everyone's initial dismay, weight training. Wrist weights, to be precise, worn all the time. The vast complaints of Masaharu's shoulders indicated that it was a good idea, in a sadistic kind of way.

"We'll work up from lighter weights to heavier ones," Yanagi explained, as he handed the pocketed bands out. "Thanks to our location, we have always had to face most of our strongest competition twice: once at Regionals and again at Nationals. The schedule aims for peak performance starting toward the end of Regionals."

The mood was somewhat lightened by the gathering to move Yukimura back home, during Spring Break. He was coherent, and smiling, and pleased with them. He was also far weaker and clumsier than any of them had ever seen him before.

"It isn't as bad as that," he finally told them, probably exasperated by the dour expressions surrounding him. "Just watch. I'll be back with you for Nationals. I promise." He then proceeded to regale them with descriptions of his physical therapist, who was apparently psychic. She had listened to his goals, taken a long look at him, and utterly forbidden him to go anywhere near a tennis court without her presence.

Masaharu had to snicker at that. "She's got your number," he told his captain, who actually blushed, faintly.

The team started the new school year in a strange mix of hope and fear, confidence and screaming tension, brilliance and darkness. Masaharu couldn't help thinking there would be trouble sooner or later.

The first time Sanada lost his temper, they all knew there would be trouble.

One of the third years, a player who was in the pool of alternates, should any of the Regulars be... absent, made the mistake of trying to excuse his loss to a second year and collected an abrupt and vicious backhand. Silence fell over the court like an iron bar.

"There can be no losses. Not for us. Not this year," Sanada said, cold and hard.

And then Yanagi was there, with a hand on his shoulder, drawing him away, speaking quietly. The doubles players, just switching after a match, drew closer to each other. Masaharu had seen Marui's start of shock, felt Yagyuu, beside him, freezing with a tension he had largely shed over the past year.

"He's totally snapped," Marui murmured.

"Not totally," Jackal objected. "But Sanada has always been a harsher leader than Yukimura; and now he leads alone."

"Indeed," Yagyuu agreed, tone distant and chill.

Jackal and Masaharu exchanged a glance. They would have to shield their more tightly strung partners when possible, and in Yagyuu's case, at least, that would mean keeping him away from Sanada as much as possible when either was on edge.

If they agreed to this.

That knowledge passed among all four of them. They had to choose, and they had to choose now, whether or not to break ranks over this. Either they could seek to restrain Sanada, probably by appealing to Yukimura, or they could accept his ruthlessness in the name of their common goal and give themselves over to his command without question.

Any other options involved breaking from the team, and that was unthinkable.

Yagyuu was the first to voice a decision.

"We will await Yukimura-san's return undefeated," he said, evenly, repeating the promise Sanada had given their captain.

Masaharu nodded. If Yagyuu could handle it, he could certainly handle it.

"This will change who we are," Marui noted. After a long moment of silence, though, he shrugged and blew a bubble. "No losses, hm? I can deal with that."

Jackal nodded without speaking.

"All right, then," Masaharu sighed, and looked around to catch Yanagi's eye. He made a quick gesture to the four of them and nodded. Yanagi smiled with uncommon relief and nodded back, before he returned to soothing Sanada. Akaya, standing beside the bench Sanada had been steered to, arrested Masaharu's gaze before he turned back to his partner.

The pattern hit him with the force of a premonition, as analysis lying latent until triggered sometimes did. This was where there would be a problem. With their youngest, most volatile member, the one who did not have a close supporter within the team.

The one whose restraining voice was now gone, and whose second mentor was sliding headlong into a dangerous frame of mind, and whose other teammates had just agreed to ride along for the trip to hell.

And if there was a damn thing that could be done about it, Masaharu didn't see what it was.

TBC

Water

Takes place during Chapter Seven. Sanada finds an opponent who can help him improve his game, and, perhaps, offer some much needed distraction from his captain's illness. Yanagi notes, in this, the possible start of a dangerous trend. Drama With Romance and Porn I-4

Sanada Genichirou had promised his friend and captain that their team would not be defeated while Yukimura was gone. After a very little consultation with Yanagi about the teams opposing them in the coming year, Genichirou had decided that, in order to keep that promise, some extra effort was in order. After all, while he knew he could take Atobe, he hadn't played Tezuka in a competitive match in years. The withdrawal of Seigaku's top player from this year's round of inter-school seminars and camps had rumors flying, but there was no solid information on just how disabled or not Tezuka might be, and Genichirou didn't believe in counting on luck.

No matter what that annoying little red-head from Yamabuki might say.

The problem, of course, lay in finding an actual challenge he could advance against. In theory, the high school division welcomed juniors who wanted to improve their skills, whenever time was available; in practice Genichirou was already better than most of them and it would be bad for morale to flaunt the fact. The street courts were useless. Genichirou, personally, thought most of the "professional trainers" were even more so. And it was frowned upon, to track down players from other schools and challenge them outside of competition.

That left the tennis schools, where he might hope to find another talented player or two looking for the same thing he was. And, in fact, luck did appear to be with him, there, as his current match demonstrated.

Sasaki Kouji was definitely a worthwhile opponent. The fact that he was also the current captain of Rikkai's high school team gave Genichirou the pleasant feeling that Rikkai's standards were being held up by someone besides his own team. Sasaki's play was fast and sharp, precise in a way Genichirou rarely saw, and powerful enough to overcome even his strength, so far. It was exactly what he needed.

Sasaki, too, seemed to appreciate a challenging opponent. He treated Genichirou almost as a team member, offering pointers when Genichirou seemed stuck over some particular move, and goading him when he flagged. Genichirou thought well of his dedication, which clearly extended beyond Sasaki's own team to encompass a player who would never be his to direct.

In a way, the absolute effort that Sasaki demanded whenever they played was a break for Genichirou. It left no room for worrying about anything else, pushed down even his fear for Yukimura under the simple focus on the ball, the court, the person across the net.

And if Genichirou felt just a touch guilty, afterwards, for letting himself forget, he needed those brief interludes of peace too desperately to stop. So he just pushed himself harder, gave himself even more totally to the focus of the game, strove that much harder to match Sasaki.

He was getting there. He could see it in Sasaki's own game. He recognized the way Sasaki's eyes brightened, the closer he came, recognized the smile he saw today on his opponent's face, the sudden lightness of Sasaki's movements, calling him, daring him. He recognized his own willing response, his answering speed, recognized the passion that reached over the net to touch his opponent's game.

He recognized it... from playing Yukimura.

The thought snagged in his mind, and the shock of it caught at his feet. The last ball whizzed past a good fifteen centimeters from his racquet.

It didn't help at all when Sasaki pushed back dark, feathery hair with an impatient hand, and gave him exactly the same look Yukimura did when he thought Genichirou was behaving foolishly in some way.

"What was that about, Sanada-kun?" he asked, in the voice of a captain demanding an explanation of his best player.

"Excuse me, Sasaki-san," Genichirou said, as evenly as he could. "Perhaps I'm more tired today than I had thought. Would you mind if we ended here?"

Sasaki gave him a skeptical look, but nodded, letting him keep his silence on whatever the problem really was. That perception and forbearance just twisted Genichirou's heart more sharply, and he withdrew as quickly as he could, leaving Sasaki gazing after him in obvious speculation.

Seiichi...

Normally, at least of late, the visits Genichirou and Renji made to Seiichi were a time when nothing outside the three of them intruded. Today, though, Genichirou found himself rather distracted, despite the fine almost-spring afternoon and despite Seiichi's returning strength, and it had probably been too much to hope for, that Seiichi wouldn't notice it. His observation was sharpening again, as he regained control of his body.

"What are you thinking about?"

Definitely too much to hope for.

"Just a match I played recently," Genichirou answered, trying to stay casual. Which only went to show that he wasn't thinking particularly clearly just then, because Yukimura always wanted to know about interesting matches.

"Who were you playing?" he asked.

"Sasaki Kouji," Genichirou told him, taking an interest in the view out the window.

"The captain of Rikkai's high school team," Renji noted. "How did you arrange a match with him? I thought you decided to stay away from the high school practices."

Genichirou sighed. "You remember the tennis school I started dropping by last month, to see if I could find some stronger players? He plays there too, sometimes."

"Have you won yet?" Yukimura asked, a bit of sparkle lighting his eyes. The implicit assumption that Genichirou would win, sooner or later, made him smile back at his captain for a moment. Then the memory of the match returned to nag at him, and he turned his gaze out the window again.

"Not yet."

"Genichirou." Seiichi was watching him more narrowly, now. "What happened?"

Genichirou never could decide whether he preferred Seiichi's manner, who invariably drew whatever Genichirou was thinking out of him, or Renji's, who rarely asked since he could usually be assumed to know already.

"It..." he sighed. "When we played, he was... I just..."

Light fingers brushed over his lips, and Genichirou paused and looked up, startled, to see Seiichi laughing, quietly.

"Genichirou, you're sputtering," he said. "And while there's a certain rarity value to that, it doesn't tell me what happened."

Genichirou looked down at his hands. "When we played, he reminded me of you," he said, voice low.

Seiichi's brows rose. "My style?"

"No. Nothing that simple." Genichirou felt a sardonic twist curl his mouth. "His... brightness was like yours."

Seiichi was silent for a long moment. "And did it draw you, the way mine does?" he asked at last, softly.

Genichirou flinched. "Seiichi..."

"I can't think of any other reason it would trouble you, since I know you've been fascinated by other players' talent before," Seiichi continued, thoughtfully. "Or is it just that I'm not there right now?"

That was exactly what Genichirou had hoped to get away without saying. What could be more contemptible than seeking a replacement for a friend and lover when he was ill? Self-disgust twisted his stomach.

"Genichirou, you can think yourself into such ridiculous corners, sometimes," Seiichi sighed. "That wasn't what I meant."

Genichirou stared at him, disoriented by such a calm response. Seiichi shook his head, and leaned forward. His hand touched Genichirou's face, coaxing him down to a soft, lingering kiss, and Genichirou's arms found their way around Seiichi, with the helpless protectiveness Seiichi always roused in him. The sweetness of Seiichi's lips moving so gently against his almost made him shudder with how much he had missed his friend's presence and touch.

Seiichi finally drew back and ran his fingers though Genichirou's hair, looking serious. "Does Sasaki make you feel like this?" he whispered.

"No," Genichirou answered, without a shade of doubt or hesitation, and water-gray eyes smiled at him.

"Then I don't see anything to worry about. Have a little faith in yourself, Genichirou," Seiichi admonished. "It's no injury to me, if you want me there enough to see my likeness in other people."

Genichirou blinked at the astonishing common sense of that statement. Renji was laughing, softly, from the other side of Seiichi's bed.

"Seiichi, you have the gift of taking the single action that's more convincing than hours of reasoned debate could ever be," he said. Seiichi, still in the curve of Genichirou's arm, gave Renji a pleased look before continuing.

"As for the rest of it," he said, "you've always been taken up with other strong players, as I shouldn't have to remind you, after last year." Renji chuckled and Genichirou threw him a half glare. "If you want to go to bed with this one, as long as he doesn't presume, where's the problem?"

"I'm sure it would be good stress relief," Renji put in, absolutely straight faced.

That rated a full fledged glare. "Renji," Genichirou growled.

The hand Seiichi pressed over his mouth totally failed to muffle his laugh. That, alone, was enough to reconcile Genichirou to the teasing. He remembered far too clearly the day, not long after Seiichi had come off the respirators for the last time, that some doctor had said, a little too cheerily, that there was only a thirty percent chance of a relapse. He had held Seiichi for over an hour, while his friend shuddered with silent terror against his shoulder. The sight of Seiichi so broken had terrified him in turn, and he'd spent that night curled up in a knot while Renji stroked his hair until he finally fell asleep. Seiichi's smile was still far more fragile than he liked, much of the time, and if his spirit was recovering enough to laugh, Genichirou was content to be the object of fun for him.

"Is this what you've been so tense over?" Renji asked.

Genichirou shrugged agreement. Renji's hand settled on his shoulder.

"Perhaps next time I'll ask sooner," he said.

Which was as close as Yanagi Renji was ever likely to come to admitting that he had miscalculated the cause of Genichirou's reaction. A corner of Genichirou's mouth quirked up.

"That presumes you can get me to answer you," he observed, getting another chuckle from Seiichi.

Renji, though, only turned his hand up to brush the backs of his fingers across Genichirou's cheek. "You'll tell me, if I ask, Genichirou," he said, deep voice both soft and sure.

Genichirou wound his fingers through Renji's and closed his eyes, savoring the closeness of these two who were most important to him. Seiichi was right. Nothing could replace this.

And, now that he wasn't avoiding the thought, he could see perfectly well the glint of appreciation in Sasaki's eyes.

"A much better game today, Sanada-kun," Sasaki told him, clasping his hand over the net. "At this rate you might just overtake me by summer."

"That's certainly my hope, Sasaki-san," Genichirou answered, seriously.

"Hm. Don't work yourself so hard you forget to enjoy this." Sasaki smiled to take away any sting from the admonition.

"I doubt there's any chance of that." Genichirou didn't change expression at all, but Sasaki gave him a considering look anyway and he thought Sasaki had probably heard what hadn't been said.

"Really? When was the last time you played at one of the street courts, just for fun?" Sasaki challenged.

"A long time ago," Genichirou had to admit, as they packed up.

"There's a rather nice one down by my house," Sasaki said, lightly. "You might come check it out."

Genichirou almost laughed, less at the invitation than at the humor that lit Sasaki's pale gray eyes as he made it. The dance of euphemism and innuendo clearly amused him, and for a moment, Sasaki reminded Genichirou far more of Renji than of Seiichi. Genichirou shouldered his bag and gave Sasaki a direct look.

"I would like that."

"I hope you will, Sanada-kun," Sasaki said, voice suddenly much lower, and Genichirou's breath caught. Anticipation feathered through his stomach, as they left. He knew what the offer he had accepted was, knew what he was heading into, but the knowledge had not grown out of anything he had shared with Sasaki. Since they had staked their places together in their first year, he and Renji and Seiichi had traded pieces of themselves back and forth like good books, reading each other's histories and fantasies and footnotes, and pleasure had simply been another added chapter. By comparison he barely had a nodding acquaintance with the man walking beside him. This felt... reckless. Impulsive.

He found, however, as he let Sasaki escort him through a quiet house to a bedroom painted in rather fanciful swirls of green, that he didn't care.

When Sasaki slid a hand around Genichirou's waist, and stroked his hair back with light fingers, Genichirou also found that there were some lines he had to draw for his own peace of mind. He caught Sasaki's hand in his, stilling it as it slipped down his neck.

"Sasaki-san," he said, trying to keep his voice steady, "I don't... I don't think I can take this if you're gentle."

Sasaki's brows rose, and he studied Genichirou for a long moment. He freed his hand and lifted Genichirou's chin the little bit necessary to put them eye to eye. Genichirou returned his gaze, unflinching.

"Who is it?" Sasaki asked, at last. "The one who's gentle with you?"

Now Genichirou closed his eyes, briefly. "Seiichi. Renji."

After a blank moment, Sasaki blinked. "Yukimura and Yanagi?" he asked, and chuckled when Genichirou nodded. "Well, I suppose I owe Nishiki an apology, not that I intend to tell him so. I thought he must have been hallucinating when he said the three of you were together that way." Then his thumb brushed against Genichirou's jaw. "I remember hearing that Yukimura was ill this winter."

"It's getting better," Genichirou said, with no expression. "He can breathe on his own again."

Sasaki inhaled sharply, eyes widening. "That bad?" he asked, softly. When Genichirou nodded again, silent, Sasaki's mouth tightened. And then he pulled Genichirou against him, paying no mind to his stiffness, and, abruptly, Genichirou was too tired to bother with reserve. After a moment's hesitation he let his head drop to Sasaki's shoulder.

"Sanada," Sasaki said, eventually. "Why are you here with me, instead of with them?"

All the reasons tangled together in Genichirou's throat. He laughed a little as he decided on the simplest answer.

"It was your game. Yukimura calls it my strongest weakness, that I get so focused on other strong players, sometimes so focused it hurts my own playing. And you... you're so bright when you play. I touch that through the game, and I want to reach out to it outside of the game too."

"But not gently?" Sasaki asked, a smile in his voice.

Genichirou lifted his head. "Not gently," he agreed.

Sasaki's gaze turned more serious. "I don't like the idea of hurting you, Sanada."

"Good," Genichirou said, one corner of his mouth quirking.

Sasaki threw his head back and laughed. "So," he said at last, tone turning speculative, "rough and slow, then?"

Genichirou felt heat wash over his entire body, and tried not to think about the fact that his face probably showed it. He nodded, and Sasaki's lips curved. His arm tightened, sharply, around Genichirou, and Genichirou shivered a little at the unaccustomed sensation of a larger body pressing against the length of his. Sasaki wasn't, he supposed distantly, really that much taller or significantly more heavily built, but the difference was noticeable like this. And it sent a jolt down his spine when Sasaki's hand tipped his head back before kissing him. The hard demand in it called out a longer shudder, and Genichirou's hands closed tight on Sasaki's back as he answered, opening his mouth under Sasaki's.

He gasped when Sasaki's teeth closed, sharp and stinging, just under his ear, and groaned, sagging against Sasaki, when he sucked there. This was the intensity Genichirou wanted just now, and he threw himself into it and let it close over him, pressing into Sasaki's touch.

Sasaki slipped around behind him, one hand moving between Genichirou's legs, kneading roughly. Genichirou's knees weakened at the sudden rush of sensation, and his hips bucked into Sasaki's hand.

"Or, maybe, not so slow," Sasaki laughed in his ear, undoing Genichirou's pants and sliding a hand inside to touch skin. Genichirou could only moan in answer, leaning against Sasaki as his fingers closed tight and stroked Genichirou hard.

There was barely enough left of his thought process to raise his arms, when Sasaki tugged his shirt off, and those calloused hands skimming over his hips to push down the rest of his clothing drowned that last bit. When Sasaki turned him to face the wall, Genichirou simply leaned on his forearms, trying to recover his breath and listening to the faint rustling behind him.

His breath left him again when he felt the heat of Sasaki's body against his back, and Sasaki's hand, slick, rubbing against his entrance. True to his word, Sasaki was slow, not seeking to press further yet, but his hand was not gentle. He worked his fingers hard against Genichirou's muscles until Genichirou was almost clutching at the wall, moaning at the tingling burn as he opened under that demanding touch. He arched his back, pressing his hips against Sasaki, inviting, and Sasaki accepted. Thumbs spread Genichirou apart as Sasaki pushed into him, slow but unstopping, a long, hard thrust that pressed him full and left Genichirou panting.

"Good?" Sasaki murmured.

"Yes," Genichirou gasped. "Sasaki..."

He lost whatever he had meant to say when Sasaki's still slick hand wrapped around his cock and pumped. His involuntary jerk moved Sasaki a little out of him, and then Sasaki surged forward, chest pressed into Genichirou's back. Not slow any longer, he drove into Genichirou, pounding him against the wall, only Sasaki's own hand, stroking him so roughly, pulling him back again. Genichirou lost himself in the harsh rhythm, hearing his own voice without knowing what he was saying, feeling only the heat and pressure of Sasaki's movement, the swelling rush of pleasure that surged up like a wave and threw him down so hard he almost lost awareness completely.

Leaning about equally on the wall and Sasaki's arms, Genichirou waited for his breath to calm and his pulse to settle just a little before he tried to stand on his own. He could feel a roughness in his throat that told him it was probably a good thing no one else seemed to be home. He heard the same roughness in Sasaki's voice, when he spoke, though his tone was contemplative.

"If I were the only one you were with, I would be more concerned about what you want from me. But I have to admit," he said, running a hand over Genichirou's shoulders, "there's an attraction in someone as strong as you asking for something like this. Was that what you were looking for?"

"Yes," Genichirou murmured.

"Good." Sasaki nipped at the back of his neck, tugging a low noise out of Genichirou. "Let me know the next time you need to be distracted from the world, then."

Genichirou turned, slowly, to look at Sasaki. He was sure he hadn't actually said that that was why he was here, when Sasaki had asked. How did he manage to draw, and be drawn to, such overly-perceptive people? On the other hand, he could hardly deny the truth. So he nodded.

"Thank you."

Genichirou expected Renji to tease him, and, indeed, there were a few comments on the statistics of "early maturation" delivered perfectly deadpan. He did his best not to react, silently blessing his previous practice. It took a while for any other side effects to catch up to him, but they did so with a vengeance the day Renji touched his arm as they were heading out to afternoon practice.

"Genichirou, did you do something to your shoulder?"

"No, why?" Genichirou asked, paying more attention to the start of a match between Akaya and Yagyuu.

"Because it looked like you had a bruise," Renji told him.

Genichirou frowned, sifting back through the last few days for anything that might have caused...

Oh.

He had no idea what expression might be on his face, but both Renji's brows were lifted.

"Genichirou?"

"I'll tell you later. Not here," Genichirou said. After a long moment of scrutiny, Renji accepted that, and moved off.

Genichirou managed to get through practice and all the way home before Renji's patience ran out.

"All right," Renji said, rather clipped, as he closed the bedroom door behind them. "First of all, show me."

Genichirou suppressed a sigh, pulling off his shirt and turning to let Renji take a look at his back. For all the other two might say he was the most overprotective of them, he thought that Renji won hands down once he made a decision to interfere. It just didn't happen very often. Light fingers brushed his skin.

"It seems to be along the bone of the shoulder," Renji reported. "It doesn't hurt?"

"I didn't even know it was there until you told me," Genichirou assured him.

"It probably helps that it's your off hand side. Now. You obviously know where it came from."

Renji, Genichirou reflected, had a talent for demanding information without asking a single question. "It's probably from yesterday, when Sasaki took me up against a tile wall," he said, evenly.

The silence behind him turned resounding.

"Renji..." he started, only to break off as Renji's arms came around his waist. The body at his back was shaking with silent laughter. The strain of suppressing it showed in Renji's voice, too.

"I suppose it's a good thing no one else noticed, while we were changing, then. Can you imagine their expressions...?" Renji broke off, burying his head in Genichirou's shoulder and laughing out loud.

Genichirou growled, wordlessly, and Renji managed to get himself back under control.

"Just be careful, all right?" he said, more seriously.

Genichirou looked back and raised a brow at him.

"I know you can take care of yourself, Genichirou. I mean more than that. Your penchant for violence; it's stronger, lately. Be careful how you handle it." Renji's arms tightened around him.

Genichirou turned in those arms to take Renji's shoulders. "Renji. You can't think I would let it spill onto us."

Deep, hazel eyes looked at him quietly. "I know you wouldn't, normally. I just worry about how much pressure you can take."

Genichirou drew Renji close against him. Yes, Renji was definitely the more overprotective one. "You worry too much," he said, softly, in Renji's ear. "Let me show you?"

"You and Seiichi, and your language of actions," Renji murmured, the laugh back in his voice. "How did I wind up with two such terribly direct people?"

"If I'm so direct and unreflective, you can hardly expect me to have an answer for that," Genichirou pointed out, and closed his mouth on Renji's earlobe.

"Very direct," Renji sighed, leaning into him. "I suppose it has its merits."

It was Genichirou's turn to laugh.

Renji let Genichirou undress him, smiling tolerantly at the care he took. Genichirou had to admit, he didn't often go this slowly, but today he found himself wanting to keep things... tranquil. He knew he wasn't the only one who had been under pressure, nor the only one who still was. He wanted to relax and reassure his friend, to see him stop worrying for a little while. Renji seemed almost bemused, as he lay back on the bed, that Genichirou was spending so long just stroking him, as if to memorize his skin or map the body he already knew.

Renji closed his eyes with a low sigh as Genichirou licked, slowly, at the inside of his wrist. Genichirou knew it was one of Renji's more sensitive spots, and lingered over it. And over the space just under Renji's lowest rib. And the arch of his foot. When he tongued the delicate skin behind Renji's knee, it drew out a soft moan, and Genichirou smiled.

"Enjoying yourself, Genichirou?" Renji asked, archly. The effect was, perhaps, a bit spoiled by the fact that he was spread out, naked, in bed, but not by much. Genichirou was impressed all over again by Renji's poise. He stretched out beside Renji and kissed him until his mouth relaxed from its sardonic curl.

"Enjoying watching your body calm because of me?" he murmured. "Yes, I am."

"Such a taste you have for getting your own way," Renji teased, smiling more gently.

"Now there's a case of the pot and the kettle," Genichirou commented, nibbling on Renji's ear again. "You're every bit as headstrong as I am, Renji, for all you prefer manipulation to force."

"Mmmmmm. It's hard to argue when you're doing that," Renji breathed.

"Then don't. The subject will keep for later." Genichirou kissed him again, slow and deep. "Turn over?"

Renji obliged, stretching out on his stomach, and purred as Genichirou trailed fingers down his spine. The sound he made when Genichirou nipped at his rear was considerably sharper. That was one of the sensitive points his partners didn't get around to as often.

When Genichirou spread him open and ran a soft tongue around his entrance, Renji's hips flexed into Genichirou's hands and he muffled a rough moan against the sheets. Genichirou coaxed Renji with his tongue, teased and soothed him by turns, until Renji was panting, hips raised and legs parted in a wordless invitation. Genichirou reached forward to close a hand around Renji's cock and stroke him slowly. The feeling of that lean, powerful body tightening under his touch, the sound of that cool voice heated and hoarse on the syllables of Genichirou's name, was deeply satisfying, and Genichirou nipped, gently, one last time so that he could watch Renji come undone in his hands.

When the last tension wrung out of Renji's body, Genichirou let him down and curled up against his back, pleased.

"You know," Renji murmured, drowsily, "I can tell without even looking that you have a smug expression on your face, Genichirou."

"Perhaps," Genichirou allowed.

"I'm afraid you'll just have to deal with my worrying, though."

Hadn't he been thinking something about overly-perceptive people, just a while ago, Genichirou mused. "Renji," he said, seriously, leaning up on an elbow and tugging his friend over to look at him, "tell me you don't honestly believe that I would deliberately hurt you or Seiichi."

Renji laid a hand along the side of Genichirou's face. "Never deliberately."

Genichirou relaxed again, and dropped back down to rest against Renji's side.

"Just be careful, Genichirou. Please," Renji said, quietly, against his shoulder.

Genichirou considered this. Obviously, Renji saw some danger, and considered it fairly likely, if he was willing to press Genichirou like this. And he had spent two solid years trusting Renji's calculations of these things. He ran his fingers through Renji's straight, heavy hair and nodded when his friend looked up.

"I promise."

End

Challenge - Chapter Eight

The team starts to recover, and Niou and Yagyuu find another kind of comfort. Drama with Porn, I-4

As the tournament season drew on, the team drew together around the axis Sanada had defined: no losses. And, as they didn't lose, it became more acceptable to them; Sanada's brutal ruthlessness became simply a matter of fact, and they all picked up a tinge of it.

Except Kirihara Akaya. He took on considerably more than a tinge. And by the first time the team watched him destroy an opponent with blinding, methodical speed, it didn't occur to any of them to suggest that Yukimura might not have approved. Their captain was their cause, their beacon, but they were Sanada's team for this season. And he accepted Akaya's rage and destruction without a blink.

The one time Masaharu mentioned it to Yagyuu, his partner had looked at him, one brow lifted over unwinking lenses.

"Perhaps Akaya gives to Sanada some of what I give to you," he suggested. Masaharu sniffed.

"Sanada doesn't deserve the precision of your destruction, and Akaya is too wild to give it to him."

"Perhaps wildness is what he needs." Yagyuu trailed his fingers over Masaharu's collar bone. "I can sympathize. Somewhat."

Masaharu smiled engagingly for his partner, and, the next day, convinced the Japanese teacher that it was really next week and they had already completed Chapter Ten. He rather thought Yagyuu appreciated this contribution to undermining authority.

They visited Yukimura in ones and twos, and found him annoyed that he was not permitted to return to school, and nearly climbing the walls because he was not permitted to return to tennis. Masaharu told him expansive stories of his latest tricks, and Yagyuu brought him class notes. Once Masaharu dropped by to find Yanagi asleep on the couch, and Yukimura, eyes soft, pressing a finger to his lips for quiet. Another time he observed, to his vast amusement, Akaya hauling a glaring Sanada down the walk to Yukimura's house, shoving him inside, closing the door firmly and settling down on the front stoop. He saluted the kid lazily and didn't try to stop in. Sanada could not, he knew, have been resisting that much or the slight Akaya would never have budged him.

Everyone was deeply relieved when Yukimura's physical therapist cleared him to resume light (the word was underlined three times, on his exercise sheet) tennis practice, provided he had a spotter. The team promptly drew up a rota of who could come by after practice, each day.

The stress, and Yagyuu's basic distrust of Sanada's temper, were starting to tell on Masaharu's partner. He found himself, more than once, putting their study sessions on hold to sit behind Yagyuu and press a little of the tension out of his shoulders.

"This isn't good for you," he scolded, mildly. "And," he added, aggrieved, "it isn't good for me, having to play mother hen; that isn't supposed to be my job."

"It doesn't suit you," Yagyuu agreed, blandly.

Masaharu growled at the jab. Though, actually, he was pleased to see Yagyuu's dry humor intact. He didn't like the way this year was wrapping old layers of defense back around his partner's scintillating, luring edges. Today was, apparently, one of the days when Yagyuu could read his mind, because his partner huffed out a faint laugh.

"I know you don't much like my public face, Niou-kun, but it does allow me to keep control of myself and my integrity. I believe you know that has been more than usually necessary, this year."

Well, yes, Masaharu did know that. Just because Yagyuu had agreed to lend himself to Sanada's agenda didn't mean that this, the most self-contained member of their team, had any liking for the way Sanada's obsession dragged them all in its wake, like so many bits of metal after a magnet. So, too, knowing that Sanada's high-handed approach grew out of the frantic worry for their captain that the idiot seemed to be allergic to admitting didn't do a thing to make Yagyuu's reaction any less reflexively hostile. While Masaharu tried to avoid saying so, he had realized long since that Yagyuu's surface compliance allowed him considerable independence of action. He just didn't want to encourage his partner by seeming to approve.

"I know," he agreed, without specifying which part he was agreeing with. Yagyuu's laugh was fuller this time.

Well, there was something Masaharu had been thinking about, that might, in part, answer both Yagyuu's need and his own desire.

Masaharu stepped back from himself a bit, and took a long look at what he was considering doing. He had researched the topic more scrupulously than he usually did anything but history and mathmatics. He was now well acquainted with the theory, and, theoretically, knew what he would be getting himself into. He thought that it would probably be agreeable to Yagyuu's inclinations, and, for himself, the idea fanned subtle waves of sparks down his spine. It was really the last of those thoughts that led him to disregard his lingering trepidation and bend his head until his lips brushed Yagyuu's neck.

"You like being able to control the pace," he observed. Yagyuu's soft breath might have been agreement. "I would let you," Masaharu said, obliquely, "if you want to try."

"Try?" Yagyuu repeated, smoothly. "I do believe I've always succeeded, with you, Niou-kun." His fingers brushed through Masaharu's hair.

"We haven't," Masaharu noted, "tried everything, yet."

His partner froze, and Masaharu smiled against Yagyuu's skin. If he had ever wanted revenge for having been maneuvered into it, that first time, he rather thought he had it now. Yagyuu turned, lifting a hand to Masaharu's face.

"You want that?" he asked, after a long moment of scrutiny.

"Yes," Masaharu answered, simply.

"I don't want to cause you pain," Yagyuu said, unaccustomed hesitance slowing his words. "The lack of restraint you want from me would make it... very likely."

So he hadn't been the only one doing research. "I'm definitely not into pain," Masaharu told his partner, wryly. "But you didn't listen to what I offered. Your pace," he clarified, at Yagyuu's raised brows, "whatever that is."

Yagyuu flicked his glasses off and laid them aside, leaned forward and kissed Masaharu, outlining his lips with a soft tongue.

"I accept," Yagyuu murmured against his mouth.

Masaharu let Yagyuu lay him back on the bed, and sighed under his slow, gentle kisses. His partner's hands were quicker, undoing buttons with the dexterity of significant practice. Masaharu ran his own hands through Yagyuu's hair, taking a certain pleasure in mussing it. Yagyuu was perfectly well aware of this, and paused to give him a put-upon look.

Masaharu didn't buy it for a second.

He did, however, shift, obligingly, so Yagyuu could tug off his clothing. And then he gasped a little at the coolness of Yagyuu's fingers, as they pressed across his skin.

Slowly.

He knew it was entirely deliberate when he looked up into Yagyuu's eyes and saw the teasing light in them, and the grin hovering at the corners of that controlled mouth. He reached up and tapped his partner on the nose, admonishing, but he had, after all, promised to let Yagyuu set the pace. So he let his hand drop back to the sheets and simply breathed, waiting.

At that, the pale eyes widened a little, and Yagyuu's hand brushed over Masaharu's lips, teasing them apart, before Yagyuu's mouth covered his, hard, his other hand slipping behind Masaharu's back to pull them tight together. That was familiar, the sharp, tingling thrill, like licking a battery. To Masaharu, Yagyuu's open presence tasted of lightning.

And he was open, now, as open as his palm sliding over Masaharu's stomach, over his hip, over his rear and up the back of his thigh. Masaharu answered with his own openness, spreading his legs to let Yagyuu lie between them. Yagyuu rocked against him, taking Masaharu's moan into his mouth and trading his own for it.

"Dare I hope you had the foresight to bring along the appropriate accoutrements?" he murmured in Masaharu's ear, the light words undercut by the breathless tone.

"Schoolbag," Masaharu directed.

When Yagyuu's fingers, still cool and now slick, pressed against him, sliding across skin no one else had touched before, Masaharu tossed his head back and snatched in a deep breath. It was so... close. Such an intimate thing, to allow Yagyuu to touch him like this. And then his partner's finger pressed into him, and Masaharu had a new definition of intimacy.

His research had been quite accurate, he thought hazily. It did feel strange. Yagyuu's eyes were sharp on him, watching his face. It was typical of them that he did not ask if Masaharu was all right. What he said, instead, was, "If you need me to stop, tell me."

Masaharu's offer to let him control the pace had, after all, been made in better knowledge of what his partner was like when he cast off his mask than anyone else had. With, a corner of Masaharu's mind had to add, the possible exception of Yukimura, who was obviously omniscient. Yagyuu had told him to break this off, if he had to; if he didn't, Yagyuu would take him at his word, trusting Masaharu's judgment. Curiously enough, that knowledge made Masaharu relax.

And when he relaxed, the sensation of Yagyuu's touch inside of him became less strange and more enticing. Masaharu released a trembling breath, feeling the sleek glide of Yagyuu's fingertip over unaccustomed nerves. Yagyuu moved slowly, very slowly, and his eyes bore down on Masaharu more heavily then his hand. Masaharu thought that, too, was deliberate, because Yagyuu was, by now, well aware that his direct gaze sent sparks dancing through Masaharu's blood at times like this.

Yagyuu's other hand trailed down the inside of Masaharu's thigh, teased lightly between his legs, swept up his chest and back down, and Masaharu was distracted from the idea of what Yagyuu was doing, left only with the feeling. That feeling became heated, as Yagyuu's fingers caressed him, stroked deep into him, until even the ice of Yagyuu's eyes before his seemed to gleam with fire.

And his partner could only be drawing this out from a desire to see Masaharu completely abandoned to his touch, because he was already arching into those fingers, inviting the tingling, electric touch deeper, breathing in soft, pleading sighs as strange, tense pleasure wrapped around the base of his spine like a climbing vine. Masaharu released a choked half laugh when Yagyuu finally bent down to him and kissed a delicate line up the tendon of his neck, drawing his hand back. So precise, his partner, so deliberate, even in release. It was Masaharu who was the wild one, but so rarely. So rarely did he give over his own control this completely. Yagyuu's mouth on his spoke of understanding that gift, and that, even more than Yagyuu's hands on him, washed shivers through Masaharu, melted him back against the sheets, opened him to the pressure of Yagyuu pushing into him.

It stretched him to the edge of pain, but never quite over. It was, perfectly, everything he desired of his partner, every reason he pressed Yagyuu to let himself go, the extremity of sensation that could have been destruction but, to him, was not. Masaharu cried out, voice strained, as his partner began to move, sinking himself under the shock of this heat, barely aware of his hands closed hard on Yagyuu's arms. The soft, heavy pleasure of Yagyuu's hand stroking him slipped around the edges of sensation, twined itself into the harsher heat, and Masaharu clung to the constant of his partner's eyes on him as his body tensed, tensed, and released, waves wrenching muscle and nerve, and fire sweeping him, dropping him down, dazed, panting.

When Yagyuu came to rest beside him, they simply breathed together for a time.

Yagyuu stirred first, pressed a kiss to his forehead. "Thank you," he murmured.

"Entirely my pleasure," Masaharu assured him, voice husky. He lifted a heavy hand to brush back Yagyuu's wonderfully mussed hair.

Heavy...

His eyes focused on what he was actually seeing, and Masaharu abruptly collapsed on Yagyuu's shoulder, howling with laughter. His partner held him, obliging if a bit bemused.

"I understand that it's usual to have some reaction to one's first experience of this sort," he commented, "but I hadn't heard that hysterical mirth was one of the common choices."

"We didn't..." Masaharu gasped, "we didn't take off... the wrist weights...!" He dissolved into cackles again.

Yagyuu's rare, open laugh joined his.

TBC

Challenge - Chapter Nine

For Regionals, the team pulls out all the stops. Drama, I-3

As they started into Regionals, the rumor trickled down from Sanada to the rest of the team. Yukimura was considering surgery.

"Surgery?" Yagyuu asked, sharply. "For Guillain-Barre?"

"It is still fairly experimental," Yanagi admitted, slowly. "But his physical therapist recommended it, as an alternative, she said, to Seiichi hurting himself by pressing his rehabilitation too quickly."

Masaharu didn't know about the others, but he'd had to catch Yukimura from falling more than once, while spotting for his "light" practices, and had to carry him back inside twice. He'd watched the frustration his captain could keep out of his voice but couldn't keep out of his eyes, and shuddered to think what it must be like. For someone who had been in superb control of his body all his life, to suddenly find it unresponsive... well, it made Masaharu a bit more understanding with Sanada's temper and brooding moods.

That therapist definitely had Yukimura's number, he thought.

"If it succeeds, this would bypass much of the necessity for rehabilitation therapy, as much as ninety percent" Yanagi concluded.

"Is it dangerous?" Marui wanted to know.

Yanagi was silent for an ominous moment, before he sighed.

"No surgery is one hundred percent safe. In this case, though, the primary danger is not from the procedure itself. The problem is that the fact of the surgery, the new insult to the body, and the spike in immune reaction that follows, can trigger a relapse."

Double or nothing. Masaharu held that thought against the memory of Yukimura's eyes.

"He'll do it," Yagyuu voiced Masaharu's thought.

"It's still undecided," Yanagi cautioned, but there was little force behind it. He had seen it, too, Masaharu knew; the two who were closest to Yukimura could hardly help but see it.

When Fudoumine took Yamabuki in the second round, Yanagi and Sanada were sure enough of what it would mean to set the final lineups.

"Seigaku is the true threat," Yanagi told them, "they've put together a very strong team this year, and most of our preparation will be geared toward meeting them. I have little doubt we will; Midoriyama won't stand against them, and, while Rokkaku will likely give them a fight, I judge Seigaku the stronger. That does not mean that Fudoumine is negligible. Tachibana Kippei is a very strong player, and their team discipline appears to be extremely tight."

"They also," Sanada put in, "have a habit of front-loading their line-up when they have a strong opponent. Tachibana himself will almost certainly be in Singles Three; that was how they pulled the rug out from under Hyoutei. I will take Singles Three, to meet him for this match."

"Let me."

Everyone looked around to see Akaya sprawled on a bench, looking fixedly at Sanada.

"You got the last two fun ones, Sanada-fukubuchou," he said, with a crooked smile, "let me have this one."

"Will you listen to the mouth on him," Masaharu snorted, swatting Akaya lightly. Akaya pouted at him, and Masaharu shook his head. While Akaya still acted a lot like a totally mannerless kitten with the team, his series of effortless wins this season had given him an extremely contemptuous attitude toward any other players.

"Actually," Yanagi mused, "there could be some benefits to that."

Sanada cocked an eyebrow at him.

"For one, a real challenge will be good for Akaya," Yanagi pointed out, adding a quelling look as Akaya grinned. "For another, it would leave you and I free to take one of the doubles slots. I expect them to field Ibu and Kamio as a pair against us, and while I have little doubt any of our doubles combinations could take them, it would be well to be sure."

"And who, against their other doubles pair?"

"Jackal and Yagyuu, I think."

Masaharu wasn't the only one blinking at that suggestion. The other pair must be power players. Sanada nodded.

"Very well. We'll return to our usual line-up against Seigaku, so don't get too distracted."

Masaharu thought Yanagi worried too much. Or, perhaps, worried about the wrong things. Fudoumine was really fairly easy. The only true challenge was Tachibana himself, who had managed to trigger Akaya's rage, and became the proxy target for all the anger and uncertainty and fear Akaya had to deal with this year. Masaharu was actually quite impressed with the man; he'd managed to keep Akaya from injuring him too critically. Fudoumine would be back around for Nationals.

The one Masaharu was increasingly worried about was Sanada.

This had not been a good year for anyone, and Yukimura's illness, his long recovery, and his dangerous choice had driven down on their vice-captain harder than anyone else. It had compressed and darkened him, as if coal were being squeezed into iron instead of diamond. Masaharu didn't think he would snap, that wasn't in Sanada's nature; but that didn't make his stress and pain any the less. When they found out that Yukimura's surgeon could only schedule him in the same day that his team would play Seigaku in the final round of Regionals, it was really just the icing on the cake. And when their headstrong little Akaya managed to get himself into a match with Seigaku's Echizen Ryouma and lost, Sanada was finally infuriated enough to strike members of his team.

Masaharu admitted to a certain desire to throttle Akaya, himself. Just a little bit.

They all spent the last few days before Finals regrouping, planning. He and Yagyuu expected to come up against Seigaku's "Golden Pair", which might easily turn into a competition of coordination. They needed tactics to set those two off their stride.

The idea that wended its way into Masaharu's thoughts made him smile, probably not very pleasantly. If they pulled it off, and there was no real reason they shouldn't, it would do what they needed it to. And even better, from Masaharu's point of view, it would allow his partner to blow off some of the stress he had been accumulating. He didn't show it the way Sanada did, but that didn't make it any less dangerous.

"Yagyuu," he murmured, as they packed up, "do you remember that trick the two of us pulled last year?"

Yagyuu's hands paused. "Yes."

"It could be... useful, here," Masaharu suggested.

"Mmm," Yagyuu tipped his head to regard his partner. "The shock, and then the increase in power. Yes, that could be effective."

They shared a thin smile.

Yanagi had been right, Masaharu decided, adjusting the glasses he wore. Seigaku could be dangerous. Not enough to beat them, in all likelihood, but enough that he wasn't surprised by Sanada's order to play without the wrist weights. Yagyuu, of course, disregarded that, the better to hold his profile to Masaharu's. Just their luck that Sanada noticed.

When 'Niou' snarled at him, startled suspicion flared in their vice-captain's eyes. Masaharu didn't worry much about that; their team knew enough to keep their mouths shut. He'd been more worried that Yagyuu, released by wearing his partner's persona, would do more than snarl.

As the set got going, and Masaharu sank himself into his partner's place, observing, tallying, he spared a moment to be pleased he had always played such an unpredictable game. It meant there was little chance anyone not of their own team would realize that the way 'Niou' was manipulating Kikumaru depended on an absolute awareness of his partner's position and moves that was characteristic of Yagyuu. Not that it all went one way, of course. He heard what his partner was, silently, asking him to do, and shrugged to himself. If that was what Yagyuu's heart desired, well, it was certainly one way to end the set quickly. He returned hard and fast, watched Yagyuu place Kikumaru in the ball's path, watched their opponent fall.

The taunting repetition of Kikumaru's tag line was more vicious than Yagyuu usually let himself be, even when he let himself go. Masaharu was pleased that his partner had gotten this chance to express himself; who knew what might have happened if he'd bottled it up much longer.

Nevertheless, he was also pleased when Kikumaru recovered. Masaharu found it boring when targets just rolled over and died right away. Since he was being 'Yagyuu', he allowed himself to speak his complimentary thought aloud. The Seigaku pair got their second wind, and started pressing back, and Masaharu decided it was time to play their trump card.

Time to call his partner back.

The injunction to "play seriously", to play as himself, was met with a glare, but Yagyuu finally gave over and pulled out his specialty shot at full strength. It was clear to Masaharu that his partner didn't particularly want to take up his own, more circumscribed, identity again; he was distinctly grumpy about it. Masaharu sighed to himself. Clearly, they needed to have another conversation about the lack of conflict between politeness and grinding opponents to jelly.

The expressions on the faces of the Seigaku pair were everything he might have hoped for, though.

And, as planned, they never did quite recover their rhythm. It wasn't an effortless match, but it was a good, solid win, and Masaharu was happy with all aspects of it. All the moreso when he and Yagyuu returned to the benches, and he felt, brushing against his partner's shoulder, that a good deal of his tension had drained off.

Doubles handed off to singles, and Masaharu sat back to enjoy the last game.

Only it wasn't.

He had to admit to being deeply impressed with Inui Sadaharu. To give the appearance of wildness, always a lesser threat to a player like Yanagi, in order to set such a magnificent psychological trap definitely earned Masaharu's respect. For all that Inui looked like the perfect straight-man, Masaharu decided that here was another who deserved the title of Trickster.

That did not make the delay any easier to handle.

Nor did it make Yanagi's gesture of allegiance to Sanada's brutal focus, offering himself to the violence Sanada had increasingly used to drive his club and his team, any less painful to watch. Masaharu, for one, was relieved when Akaya intervened. Relieved, if not surprised, because anyone with eyes could see the way Akaya softened whenever he watched The Great Three.

Akaya could be very predictable in some ways.

Masaharu watched him driving Fuji to hit Akaya's trigger, releasing him. Watched, impressed, as Fuji pressed on despite what would normally be a completely incapacitating injury. Watched, with a bright shock of excitement, as Akaya's eyes cleared.

Watched Sanada's involvement with the match. Watched him smile, in spite of Akaya's loss, when he collected Akaya's unconscious form from Fuji and brought him back to his team. Yep, Sanada definitely had a soft spot for insane drive and ambition.

Masaharu thought they were all just a little on edge, watching Sanada play an unknown quantity. He knew for a fact that they were all stunned, watching Sanada lose, especially considering the come-back Wonder Boy had had to make. Masaharu briefly considered the possibility that the kid wasn't human.

The team looked at each other, a little bewildered. It was the first time this team of theirs had lost. The first time in sixteen years that Rikkai had failed to be first at Regionals. What now? Even the lax set of his partner's shoulders, the serenity in Akaya's eyes and, curiously enough, in Sanada's as well, didn't quite manage to distract Masaharu from the question he was positive was echoing through everyone's heads.

How were they supposed to tell their captain about this?

TBC

A/N: *mildly disgusted* The surgery mentioned in here has no basis in medical reality. While some of the therapies used to treat the critical stages of Guillain-Barre involve big needles, none of them that I have been able to discover involve invasive surgery. Most certainly none of them hold out any promise of repairing the damaged nerve-sheathes, which would be necessary for such a dramatic recovery of strength as Yukimura had. Canon, however, dictates a surgical procedure, so I did the best I could. My apologies for any egregiously bad science.

Challenge - Chapter Ten

The team brings the results to their captain. Drama, I-3

"I will go in first, and explain," Sanada said, firmly.

Waiting through Yukimura's surgery and post-operative evaluation had squelched all fears and uncertainties save the ones that related directly to their captain's health. The news that he was well, and even expected to be strong again, soon, while joyful and welcome, had allowed smaller concerns to resurface. Sanada, in particular, was almost back to his usual, dour, stubborn, pig-headed self.

"It wasn't just your loss," Akaya said, softly, head bowed. Masaharu thought his double loss had shaken him pretty badly. Yagyuu thought it was more his strange awakening during his tournament match. Whatever it was, it snapped Sanada, at least temporarily, out of his self-flagellation. He took Akaya by the shoulder and shook him a little.

"Enough, Akaya," he said, more gently. "You drove yourself well past your limits, all the way to collapse. There was no more you could have done. And if this had never come to you," he paused, seeming to search for words, "your game would never have become real. Honorable losses are simply an invitation to win next time."

Masaharu straightened from his slouch against the wall, and exchanged a surprised look with Yagyuu. He had heard Sanada say broadly similar things before, but never quite so bluntly, and certainly not any time this year. Apparently, Akaya wasn't the only one who had gotten his attitude realigned by shock.

Akaya looked up, gaze solemn. "Yours, too, then. Sanada-fukubuchou," he stated.

Sanada blinked, opened his mouth, and closed it again. A slightly unwilling smile took over his face, and he ruffled Akaya's hair. "You'll be a good captain, next year," he said, a touch ruefully. Akaya's ears turned rather red, and he lowered his eyes. Chuckles ran among them all.

"We are a team," Yagyuu pointed out. "We win or lose as a team. It's only right that we all be present."

Sanada finally capitulated with a wordless grunt and turned to lead them down the hall to their captain's room. They all filed in and arranged themselves around the bed Yukimura reclined in, looking a bit wan, but brighter of eye than he had for some time. Sanada stepped forward, and Masaharu could see his shoulders brace.

"Yukimura," he started, low, "I have to ask your forgiveness."

Yukimura tilted his head with a small smile. "What, for running late? I didn't say so, but I thought you probably would."

Masaharu winced, and caught Marui with a similar expression out of the corner of his eye.

"No," Sanada said, struggling a little, now. "Yukimura," he took a deep breath, "we lost. My... our promise to you is broken. Forgive me." He looked aside, unable to hold their captain's eye.

Yukimura looked at him for a long moment, and swept his gaze over the rest of the team as well. They shifted under it, none of them able to lift their eyes. Masaharu nibbled on his lower lip. Yukimura didn't hold Masaharu's soul in his hand, the way he did Yagyuu's or Kirihara's. Or, for that matter, Sanada's and Yanagi's. But Masaharu, who respected very little, respected his captain's strength and insight. Having failed his trust made Masaharu squirm. If he felt like this, he was half surprised that Sanada wasn't bowed to the floor.

"Did you play your best?" Yukimura asked, at last.

"Yes," Sanada answered, sure of that, though Masaharu also heard an edge of helplessness in it, as if he wasn't sure how both things could be true. Yukimura raised a hand to close over Sanada's.

"Then there is no shame in losing. You gave everything to this match, even when I was not there to make sure of it. I'm proud of you. All of you." His eyes moved over his team again, before coming back to rest on Sanada, and the absolution of his acceptance felt like a weight lifted. Everyone breathed again, and Masaharu observed spines straightening all over the room. Except for Sanada, who couldn't have gotten his any straighter without the help of a rack; he was slumping to a more normal, human posture.

Yukimura tugged on Sanada. "Steal some chairs, and sit down and tell me about it."

Masaharu slipped out with a grin, only to hear Yukimura's laughing voice send Yagyuu after him. Yagyuu, the spoil-sport, smiled politely at a passing nurse and extracted extra chairs with ease. Masaharu mock-sulked at his captain when they returned, only be be laughed at again.

"Everyone tells me that the both of you have already had your fun, Niou. Surely you can skip terrorizing the hospital just for today."

"Just for you," Masaharu agreed, trying not to grin like an idiot.

They took turns, telling each other's stories, and Yukimura soothed his singles players when those accounts brought up fresh anxieties.

"...actually made Jackal-senpai sweat, until Marui-senpai decided to show off again." Thwap! "Ow!"

"Yagyuu was in a fine taking; exactly like Niou in a really foul mood, except he ignores Sanada when he's pissed off..."

"...really nailed the other player. That was vicious, Yagyuu-senpai."

"Do you really think you have room to talk, Akaya-kun?"

"...and don't turn your back on that data specialist of theirs; he's sneaky."

"And considering the source..."

"It was interesting that Inui himself thought the result of the match came down to chance."

"Do you wish to play him again, Renji?" Yukimura interjected. Yanagi looked down at his hands, obscuring the tilted smile on his face.

"I think so, yes," he said, at length. Yukimura touched his wrist, and nodded firmly when he looked up. Yanagi's smile un-tilted, and he nodded back. Masaharu decided, as the chatter picked up again, that Yukimura was pleased that Yanagi refused to back away from this challenge.

"...Akaya went completely around the bend," Marui concluded his tale of Singles Two.

"Fine for you to say," Akaya grumbled, "I barely remember a thing about it. Just... it was just..." he trailed off, uncertainly.

Yukimura held his eyes. "You can tell me later," he offered, gently. Akaya nodded, biting his lip.

"And that kid...!"

"He paid for it pretty hard, though."

"Still..."

"He was," Sanada paused, looking grim, "unexpected."

"Someone like that is difficult to calculate or account for," Yagyuu noted.

"That doesn't make losing to him any more acceptable," Sanada insisted. Yukimura sighed.

"Sanada," he rapped out, the bite of command that none of them had heard in too long back in his voice, "you know there's more to it than that. Have you completely forgotten what I said on this subject last time?"

Sanada, Masaharu was intrigued to note, glanced sidelong at Akaya. A slight flush surfaced along his cheekbones. Was that where that little bit of advice in the hall had come from?

"I remember," he murmured.

"Good," Yukimura stated, definitely.

Finally, a nurse came to chase them out, saying that it was time for Yukimura-kun to rest.

"I should be released in a few days," he told them, happiness coloring his face, "I'll be back soon."

"We'll be waiting for you," Sanada answered. "It will be good to have you back again."

The team bounced or strolled or stalked their way home, according to personality, breaking off toward their houses once they got back to their own neighborhood. As Masaharu and Yagyuu reached their turn-offs, Yagyuu paused, turning very slightly toward Masaharu.

He was getting better, since Yukimura pointed it out, at reading these little incitements for what they were. Masaharu gave his partner a half smile, and asked, "Mind some company for a while?"

"It would be welcome," Yagyuu answered, cool as if he hadn't just silently asked for some. Masaharu ran a hand through his hair, laughing to himself at the two of them.

While he'd really had something a little more vigorous in mind, and suspected his partner had as well, when he nudged Yagyuu onto his bed and followed him down they somehow stopped there. Lying, wrapped around each other, almost fully clothed, they simply held on and breathed together, watching the sunlight from the window creep off the bed and onto the floor.

"Is it over, do you think?" Yagyuu asked, at last, barely whispering in the silence. He didn't protest when Masaharu twined a hand into his hair, drawing his head down to Masaharu's shoulder.

"This part is, yes," Masaharu answered, looking up at the ceiling. "I think Sanada will calm down again, some. And Akaya, too, long enough for Yukimura to take him back in hand. And you?"

Yagyuu shivered, and his arms tightened around Masaharu. Masaharu didn't normally ask such things so bluntly, but, then, normally he didn't have to. He honestly wasn't sure how stressed or relieved or, possibly, over the edge his partner was right now.

"He's coming back." Yagyuu's whisper was harsher, choked. "That's enough."

Masaharu tightened his hold in return. "You know, it's a good thing I'm not the jealous type," he said, against his partner's temple. Yagyuu laughed, at that.

"Of course you are," he contradicted, firmly. "Our teammates are the only people you're willing to share me with. The last time anyone else so much as touched my arm, if I recall correctly, you made everyone think he was challenging Sanada one on one; he could barely pick up his racquet the next day."

"He had it coming," Masaharu growled. Yagyuu raised his head and looked down at him.

"Case in point," he noted rather dryly.

"Mutual monopoly," Masaharu shrugged. "It's only fair." Yagyuu's eyes sharpened.

"Do I have a monopoly on you?" he asked, softly.

"I thought that was obvious," Masaharu told him, raising his brows. "It isn't as if I play tricks for anyone's benefit but my own and yours."

"Only you," Yagyuu chuckled, "would measure it by such a standard, Niou."

Masaharu made a pleased sound, to hear his bare name in his partner's mouth, and an even more pleased one when Yagyuu leaned down and kissed him, long and close.

The day Yukimura returned, he was almost mobbed by his delighted club until Sanada barked for everyone to get back to work and the ingrained habit of dangerous months sent them all scattering out of Sanada's path. Yukimura's brows lifted a bit, at that, and, when Sanada avoided his gaze, his eyes narrowed. But he seemed willing to set it aside for the time being.

Masaharu reflected, a touch smugly, that he would not wish to be Sanada at any time in the near future. Not, of course, that he ever had wished to be someone so utterly humorless. Casting an eye over the team, he catalogued Jackal as relieved and Marui as gleeful. Not much surprise on that second; Yukimura was generally indulgent of Marui's histrionics as long as they didn't interfere with his playing. Sanada was apprehensive, in his own iron-faced way, while Yanagi seemed... exasperated? Now that was unusual. Akaya, predictably, was floating somewhere around cloud nine, and Yagyuu was quietly, subtly glowing. Masaharu grinned.

"Hey," he nudged his partner, "want to ask Yukimura and Yanagi for a match?"

"If Yukimura-san has no specific plans for the team, today," Yagyuu agreed, smiling faintly.

Feeling his partner's glittering, charged presence reach out to fold around him, as they fought to counter the other pair's combination, Masaharu could barely keep from laughing out loud. Yukimura was back. They were all back, released from their fear and agitation and distraction, back to the place they belonged. Now they could face Seigaku's challenge properly.

When they took their first game from Yukimura and Yanagi, Masaharu and his partner shared an identical, gleaming smile.

Yes. Everyone was back where they belonged.

End

Earth Over Thunder

During Chapter Ten Yanagi deals with Sanada guilting. Drama, I-3

They were almost at the turn for Renji's house when he noticed that he and Genichirou were walking in step. It was a peripheral observation, and not really surprising since they tended to fall into step when they walked any distance together. They were of a height, it was quite natural. Today, though, it suddenly seemed significant.

Not that Renji entirely trusted his perceptions just at the moment. The release of tension from the matches this afternoon, plus Seiichi's surgery, had left him rather lightheaded.

Still, it struck him as a good symbol of everything that had been right and wrong during this year.

"Renji."

His name called him back from his musing, to notice that they had reached his turn, and that Genichirou was standing with his head down, turned a little away.

"I'm... sorry."

"For what?" Renji asked, quietly, touching his friend's shoulder. He shook his head at the look Genichirou turned on him. "I knew what I was doing, Genichirou. I'm not blaming you."

Not least, he reflected, as Genichirou's eyes darkened, because Genichirou could be counted upon to blame himself.

It had been a split-second decision, almost an impulse, really, except for the calculation behind it. Renji had never expected to lose. Nor, he suspected, had Genichirou ever expected him to lose. When he had, and when he had seen the tightness of Genichirou's mouth, the question had presented itself: How would Genichirou react to this breaking of the unbreakable rule he had set for their team this year? Renji knew perfectly well that, if it had been anyone but him, Genichirou would not have hesitated to strike, to drive home the unacceptable nature of losing. But it was him. And everyone in the club was aware that he and Genichirou were close friends, as well as teammates. Which led, inescapably, to the conclusion that, in order to keep the respect of the club, Genichirou must not react differently just because it was Renji.

So he had said so.

He had known it was a risk, to deliberately provoke Genichirou when he was that tense and angry. Knew that putting Genichirou squarely between his responsibility to the club and his care for Renji might finally break him. But he hadn't seen any other way. Nor, to judge by the glint of helpless fury he'd seen in Genichirou's eyes, as his hand drew back, had Genichirou.

At least, he smiled to himself, they hadn't seen another way until Akaya interfered, blithe and brash as ever. Genichirou had been right, earlier today; Akaya's protectiveness of his own, every bit as fierce as his will to win, would serve him well next year, when he became captain.

"Not just today, Renji," Genichirou shook his head. "This whole year. You warned me, and I didn't listen."

"You chose the path that you felt you could walk on," Renji noted. "And I chose to follow you down it."

"It was the wrong choice," Genichirou said, looking away.

"Was there a right one?" Renji countered.

Genichirou's hand flashed up to touch the side of Renji's face, softly. "Yes," he answered, low and sharp, "one that didn't involve losing control."

Renji stifled a sigh. He knew quite well what the chances were of convincing Genichirou to let go of some blame he had decided to take on. And he couldn't argue that the path Genichirou had chosen hadn't been a dangerous one, especially once their personal bond had fallen crosswise of it. Still, there were times he wished that Genichirou's ruthlessness were accompanied more often by detachment, rather than passion.

Of course, he supposed that was his part. So he made one more try.

"Was there a right choice we could have reached, this year?" he asked, gently. He read the stubborn There should have been in Genichirou's tight lips, and couldn't help a laugh. He laid his hand over Genichirou's and turned his head to place a kiss in the palm.

"Genichirou," he said, firmly, "stop this. If there's anything that needs to be forgiven, I forgive you. It's over now. Seiichi is coming back to us. We're going to be all right."

Genichirou's eyes were a little brighter, now. "Have I ever won an argument with you?" he asked, with a small, rueful laugh of his own.

"There have been three occasions, to date," Renji told him, serenely. "I made note of them."

Genichirou smiled. "Well, since this doesn't seem like it will be the fourth, I'll stop. I'll see you tomorrow, Renji. Good night."

"Good night, Genichirou."

Renji walked the rest of the way home with a lighter mind and heart, reassured that things were returning to where they should be.

End

Water Over Fire

Immediately after Chapter Ten, Sanada (and, to a lesser extent, Yanagi) explains himself to Yukimura. Drama With Romance, I-4

The first day Yukimura returned from recovery to the Rikkai tennis club, and his team, was a day of great relief and rejoicing. It was also, at least for one vice-captain Sanada Genichirou, a rather uncomfortable day.

"You won't be able to avoid telling him forever, you know," Renji murmured in his ear. "In fact, I would say your chances of dodging his questions much beyond this evening only stand at twelve percent. By the end of practice, I expect them to drop to three."

No one else, Genichirou reflected, understood just how evil Renji could be when the mood was on him. Except Yukimura, who found it amusing.

"Do you want me to explain to him?"

It was, of course, balanced by his kindness at other times, but that was no less depressing when Genichirou knew quite well that he didn't deserve it. Not from Renji; not now.

"No," Genichirou said, quietly. "I'll tell him."

At this remove he found it hard to believe that he had nearly struck one of his two best friends; would have, if Akaya hadn't interfered. And while Renji was forgiving enough to accept a plea of temporary insanity, he doubted Yukimura would. His friend, Seiichi, was gentle, understanding, even sweet at times. His captain, Yukimura, was unyielding in his demands and his standards.

"You take too much on your own shoulders so often," Renji sighed. "That was exactly what got you into this situation in the first place."

Genichirou suppressed a wince. Did Yanagi have to be so damn... accurate?

It was, in fact, just as practice ended that Yukimura closed a hand on each of their arms.

"Why don't you two join me this evening to discuss the team's progress?" he suggested, only a hint of steel in his voice indicating that this was not a request.

"I stand corrected," Renji observed. "Zero percent."

"Thank you for that update," Genichirou said, between his teeth. At Yukimura's questioning look, he glanced aside and answered, "We'll come."

The way to either of the other two's houses was as familiar as the way to his own, so the walk left plenty of Genichirou's attention free to reflect on his own failures of control. After the first few conversational nudges, Renji left him to it and engaged Yukimura in a discussion of how much reconditioning he could fit in before Nationals. Genichirou was grateful for that.

Yukimura's parents were out still, not unusual, so the three of them settled in the living room, Yukimura on the couch, Renji in the older and softer of the two chairs. Genichirou took one of the floor cushions, and folded his hands rather tightly on the table. Yukimura eyed his choice with a thoughtful expression.

"It's been obvious that there were things you weren't telling me about the club, this year," he said, at last, quite calm. "I thought there was probably nothing I could do about whatever it was, so I didn't ask. But I'm asking now, Sanada."

Genichirou gazed down at his hands.

"In the spring," he began, "my temper started to... fray. To the point of striking out sometimes. Mostly it was directed at the club, the pool of alternates, but eventually the team was included." He breathed in and out, slowly, evenly, controlled. And wasn't that irony for you? Say the rest of it, he ordered himself inflexibly. "Anger was easier than fear. And it kept the club under control."

"Fear," Yukimura repeated. "For me?"

Genichirou nodded, silent. Yukimura rose abruptly from the couch, came and knelt beside him, took his shoulders and pulled Genichirou around to face him. His eyes were blazing.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he demanded. Genichirou gauged Yukimura's agitation by the tightness of his grip. He didn't want to add to the upset, though he welcomed the bruising strength of Yukimura's hands, proof of his wholeness once again. But Genichirou had always been honest with these two.

"When?" he asked, barely audible. "While you were already driving yourself to injury, trying to regain strength enough to return to us? While you were torn between risking a relapse and taking a long chance?"

Yukimura closed his eyes and took in a sharp breath. Genichirou felt a rake of pain at having reminded his friend of his own pain, so recently past. But that was the truth of why he hadn't spoken, and much of the reason he had felt so much helpless fury in the first place. And he knew his captain heard that truth. When Yukimura opened his eyes again, he looked over at Renji.

"I take it you agreed with that?" he asked, evenly.

"I did not consider it likely that you would be able to recall Genichirou's control while you were still recovering," Renji specified. "Perhaps my judgment was also impaired by my concern for you. But, Seiichi," he leaned forward, earnest, "our team is made up of violent and dangerous parts far more than serene ones. You collected them, because you love their brilliance and their edge. Does it truly surprise you that, without you to hold them steady, the danger ran over?"

"I had hoped that your strength would steady them as well," Yukimura said, softly, glancing between Genichirou and Renji. Genichirou flinched under his hands. The failure had been his own; he knew that.

"If you had only taken a vacation to Australia, instead of the Intensive Care ward, maybe it would have," Renji answered, with some asperity.

Yukimura blinked a few times before his mouth curled up, and his eyes began to sparkle. After a few moments' struggle, he gave way and let his forehead thump down on Genichirou's shoulder while he laughed. The bright sound released Genichirou's tension, and he finally lifted his hands to Seiichi's shoulders in return.

"I'm sorry," he whispered against Seiichi's hair.

"Aah," Seiichi sighed, straightening. "It's all right," he said, laying a hand against Genichirou's face. "I suppose we've all found out we're only human." His smile warmed Genichirou, smoothing away his hesitance, and he pulled his friend close, burying his face in the curve of Seiichi's neck for a long moment as he held Seiichi, taking reassurance in the returning solidness of his body. When they drew back, Seiichi reached out to Renji, who came to join them, taking up the hand Seiichi held out and pressing it to his lips.

There were times when Genichirou envied Renji his less restrained manner.

"So that was what set Akaya off, too?" Yukimura asked, with a slightly rueful twist to his mouth. "If I had known, when I spoke to him, I might have been gentler."

"That particular dynamic flowed in more than one direction," Renji noted. "Genichirou's violence gave Akaya permission, but the satisfaction of Akaya's destruction was what kept Genichirou focused in that direction."

That particular bit of accuracy cut like a knife, not least because that wild darkness still tempted, still tugged at his control.

"Stop that," Seiichi said, firmly, to Genichirou, as he began to stiffen again. He cast a critical eye over the other two, and nodded. "I think," he declared, "that a bath would be just the thing. What do you think?"

Genichirou saw Renji's expression soften, and knew his own had as well. It might be a strange reaction, to anyone outside the three of them, he reflected, but that was all right. No one else really needed to understand this.

It was something close to ritual, for them, the silence as they undressed, the fact that Renji always adjusted the temperature of the spray, the fact that Seiichi always took the soap first. Genichirou had missed this, desperately. He and Renji had comforted and supported each other in other ways, while Seiichi had been ill and weakened, but it had never seemed right to have this time without him.

There had been times, when someone was in a playful mood, that "a bath" had turned into a water-and-sponge war. Today, though, it was a handful of quiet moments, Genichirou trading shampoo for a sponge with Renji, scrubbing it gently over Seiichi's back; Renji leaning against him for balance as he washed a foot; Seiichi sweeping Genichirou's wet hair back as he finished rinsing it. He felt peace settle over him, over all three of them, as if the drops of water carried it.

Genichirou sighed as they slid into the bath proper. Seiichi nudged him into a corner so that both Seiichi and Renji could lean on him. It was thoroughly nonsensical that it was Genichirou who should feel supported by that, but he did. He slipped a hand around Seiichi's waist, and the other, more hesitantly, over Renji's back, asking if it was all right. Renji turned and leaned into him more firmly, hazel eyes laughing at him, silently. He had already forgiven Genichirou his descent into obsession, that look said, so why was his friend being so foolish? Genichirou rested his head against Renji's, and held him more surely.

If it had been anywhere else he would have offered a kiss, but that was the one thing this time had never been about. This was comfort and cleansing. Healing. It was something that made him understand the little rituals of water at shrines and temples. So they soaked in the heat, and each other's presence, relaxing with the simple closeness as much as the hot water.

"Better?" Seiichi murmured, at last.

"Much," Renji answered, and Genichirou made a quiet sound of agreement.

They were all quiet as they emerged and dried each other off, exchanging smiles with the towels. In unspoken accord, Genichirou drew Seiichi back against him and Renji came to wind his arms around them both, closing Seiichi between them. Seiichi leaned against Genichirou and clasped his hands behind Renji laughing softly.

"It's all right," he reassured them. "I'm right here."

"You don't mind if we hold you a little longer, anyway?" Renji asked, both teasing and serious as he so often was.

Seiichi's eyes reflected brighter for a moment, before he blinked. "Of course not," he said, voice catching.

They stood together for a long time.

End

Earth Over Heaven

Yukimura is finally convinced that he is fully recovered, and is beyond pleased over it. Drama With Romance and Porn, I-4

Genichirou was deeply relieved when Yukimura started to hit his stride again, at practices. Renji had assured him it would happen, but that hadn't stopped him from worrying—not least because he could tell Yukimura himself was worried. Worried that after all the pain, and all the risk, he wouldn't be able to regain that last, vital edge. Genichirou had seen it, shadowing his eyes like mist, as Yukimura stood, after practice when he thought no one was watching, flexing his hand open and closed.

So, when that last, gleaming, precision, that whipsnap of muscle and speed, returned and burned away the fog of doubt, Genichirou was deeply thankful.

Even if it meant that Yukimura, finally convinced of his own recovery, had spent the entire practice running the team absolutely ragged in an attempt to keep up with his burst of delighted activity. He had declared it a day for singles practice, and proceeded to cycle through the entire team twice, leaving one after another panting in the dust. It reminded Genichirou of the first time he had played Yukimura, shocked by a brilliance that had defeated him without humbling his pride, fascinated by a charisma that offered genuine respect whether he chose to follow it or oppose it, stunned by a passion that promised to match his own.

Today, it was Akaya, in their second game, who gave in to that passion, and came closer to matching his captain than anyone on the team but Genichirou ever had. Yukimura met him at the net, when they ended, thrilled to laughing, catching Akaya's face in his hands to tell him how superb he had been. Akaya seemed barely able to take it in. Genichirou smiled, remembering the first time it had happened to him, and guided Akaya to a bench afterwards, detailing Jackal to keep an eye on the dazed boy and turning to his own second game before Yukimura's momentum dropped.

He was wearily amused that, by the end of practice, having driven everyone else into the ground and left his team draped over the benches like so many towels, Yukimura was still light on his feet, almost dancing, almost restless.

"Hold still for a moment, Seiichi," Renji admonished, running his hand over Yukimura's forearm as the rest of the team dispersed. Niou and Akaya were leaning on each other, staggering and laughing in a slightly punch-drunk manner, while Marui, not in much better shape, upbraided them for being wimps. Jackal herded them along, shaking his head, but Yagyuu paused to cast a small smile back at the three who remained. Genichirou returned a nod.

"Your muscles are going to seize up tonight, if you're not very careful," Renji informed their bright-eyed captain. "You should let me do something about it, or you won't be able to move tomorrow morning."

Yukimura flexed his limbs carefully, frowning. "It doesn't feel like it," he observed.

"That," Renji told him, "is because you're still riding on adrenaline. You'll feel the strain when it gives out. Although," he admitted, "I'm not entirely sure when it will give out; I would have expected it to happen already."

Yukimura laughed, softly. "I've put you all to a great deal of trouble, today, haven't I?"

Renji's mouth curved in a rare grin. "Good trouble."

Seiichi stepped away, and then spun to face them. "It's all here," he said, and Genichirou's throat closed at the wonder in his voice, "I'm all here, still. Again."

Genichirou laid a hand on his shoulder. "Let Renji take care of you, so you still feel like that tomorrow, then."

They wound up in the converted sunroom Genichirou used to practice sword, as they often did when someone needed a massage. Genichirou had started keeping a futon in the closet, there, and helped the other two pull it out, along with a couple old yukata and a stack of towels, before he left them to it and went to wash up. When he returned, he found Seiichi not behaving with his usual decorum under such circumstances, but stretching like a cat under Renji's hands, and, in fact, purring in low, rough murmurs.

"This would be easier if you lay still, Seiichi," Renji said, with affectionate exasperation. Seiichi took a deep breath, arching with it, and turned over with a lithe twist to look up at Renji.

"I can't stay still," he said, low but distinct. "Not right now."

Genichirou shook his head, and turned to coax the rather recalcitrant old door shut. As he finally slid it into place with a last scrape and clunk, though, a sharp intake of breath behind him caught his ear. He turned back, and was struck still by the image before him in the dim light.

Renji, sitting back on his knees, the yukata he wore to spare his uniform from any oil stains pushed half way down his arms. Seiichi, naked, kneeling over him, hands enclosing Renji's face and lifting it to meet Seiichi's kiss. Renji's hands on Seiichi's hips, closed convulsively. The straight line of Seiichi's body, pressed against Renji's, almost pushing him over backwards, and of Renji's, arched and tense.

Genichirou shook himself out of his paralysis. So, Seiichi was in that kind of mood. Genichirou couldn't exactly call it dominant, though both he and Renji found it hard to do anything but give way to Seiichi when he was like this. Genichirou recognized what it actually was, of course. It was the same thing that came on Seiichi when he played a serious match, the same power and focus, turned to a different end.

It was just as overwhelming here as on the court, however, and when Seiichi lifted his head and held out a hand to Genichirou, he came and knelt behind Renji, supporting him. Seiichi met him with a wild, burning smile and a long kiss. Renji leaned back against him with a sigh that was close to relief. That sigh caught as Seiichi pulled loose the cloth around him, and his mouth traced down Renji's chest and stomach.

Genichirou blinked, and chuckled a little, as Seiichi stretched out on his stomach, propped on his elbows as he licked, delicately, down Renji's length, waving his feet in the air. Perhaps he hadn't ever seen Seiichi in quite this mood, before. His full, raw intensity rarely left room for such casual playfulness. The playfulness, however, was clearly not diminishing the effect of his focus, to judge by Renji's increasingly ragged breaths. Genichirou cradled him, stroking his taut muscles and whispering soothingly in his ear as Seiichi's hand slipped under him. Genichirou could make a good guess at what Seiichi's fingers were doing from the way Renji arched back against him, and up into Seiichi's mouth, eyes blank.

"Seiichi!" Renji gasped, harshly.

"Hmm-mmm?" Seiichi inquired, without releasing him, and Renji cried out, wordless, as that hum seemed to ripple through his entire body.

Genichirou fit his body to Renji's as Seiichi drove him higher, and higher again, eased the curve of Renji's spine, caught him when Seiichi swept him over the edge, and held him close as he fell back. Renji lay in his arms, panting in unaccustomed disarray, yukata hanging loose around his slumped shoulders and spread knees.

"You are demanding today, Seiichi," he murmured, resting his head against Genichirou's shoulder.

Seiichi stretched upright again, and laughed, pulling both the other two down to the futon. The ensuing tussle was very short, since Renji declined to resist in favor of catching his breath, and Seiichi was moving fast and sure enough that Genichirou couldn't prevent being pinned without fighting back seriously. They were both laughing by then, but when Seiichi's hand ghosted over Genichirou's cheek, down his jaw, and Genichirou saw the soft smile on his lips, he stilled.

The three of them knew each other's bodies and moods very well, and very intimately. Even though they had barely started to experiment with, as Renji jokingly called it, grown-up sex when Seiichi had fallen ill, Genichirou recognized the desire in Seiichi's eyes. He reached up to pull Seiichi down against him, and whispered in his ear, "Yes." He wasn't ashamed that his voice was hoarse. It had been so long since he had touched or been touched by that brilliant strength, so long when he was afraid it would never return.

"Yes," Seiichi whispered back, and kissed him. It was gentle, Seiichi was never other than gentle in bed, but it was still very much like being kissed by a tsunami, and Genichirou knew, as if he could feel it already, that when Seiichi slid into him it would be just as gentle and just as wild and just as implacable. Now he understood the helpless edge in the sound Renji had made under Seiichi's kiss; he heard it echo in his own throat, felt himself drifting in the force of Seiichi's mouth on his until Renji leaned against him, anchoring him.

Seiichi's smile was sharper, as he drew back a bit, and fit himself against Genichirou's other side, leaving Renji room. Seiichi's hands, passing across his skin, should have seemed lighter than Renji's fingers as they teased him open, but it was Seiichi's deliberate, fleeting touches that locked his attention and sped his breath.

Finally, Renji drew Genichirou over on his side to face him, coaxing Genichirou's leg up to rest on Renji's hip, and he leaned into Renji's arms. That reassurance was the only thing that kept him from starting when Seiichi's hands stroked over his thighs, between his parted legs, before sliding up his body as Seiichi pressed against his back. Seiichi's hands touched him like ice on a burn, healing and shocking both. But perhaps it was only that he knew what was coming. He heard Renji whispering to him to relax, as Seiichi entered him, knew that he was tense and shivering with the aching heat of Seiichi's presence. He welcomed Renji's touch, firm fingers stroking down Genichirou's length, that kept him from being lost.

The rhythm of Seiichi moving inside him calmed him, even as it fanned tingling warmth through his body. It took feeling Renji's chest brushing his as they breathed together to tell him why. Seiichi pressed into him and drew back in the rhythm of breathing, long and deep as the first breaths of a new morning, so familiar, so necessary, that Genichirou could do nothing but move with it. Pleasure wound through him, the pleasure of breathing after being unable to.

This, too, he recognized, this rhythm, this wholeness, and images flickered through his memory. Seiichi across the court from him, flashing under the sun, brilliant and sharp as a killing sword; Seiichi laughing, the day the three of them broke several municipal laws to play in the large, stone fountain at the park, hands lifted to catch drops of spray; Seiichi standing in the doorway of this room, with a faint smile, calling him back from his solitary training.

Seiichi, leaning over him, hair turned to shadow in the lowering light, the line of his body fierce and fluid.

"Seiichi," he sighed, welcoming that radiant, familiar strength that opened him and called him and roused his body until he wondered how long he could bear it.

"Let go, Genichirou," that soft, unyielding voice said, "we'll catch you. Let go for me."

Genichirou had never been able to resist Seiichi's voice, not from the day he first heard it, and he let it take him now. Let Renji's presence and Seiichi's demand spill through him, fire his blood, snatch him up and hurl him outward, only held by their touch around him, inside him. When the wrenching heat pulsing through him faded, Genichirou was aware that there was wetness on his cheeks. Seiichi touched it, delicately, and tugged him onto his back to kiss it away.

"Genichirou?" he asked.

Genichirou smiled up at him, through the sparkle of his damp lashes. "Isn't it traditional?" he murmured. He watched puzzlement cross Seiichi's face, because they all knew this had not been his first time in any literal sense. But it had been, in every way that actually mattered right now, and he saw understanding soften Seiichi's eyes.

He also felt Renji's mouth curve, against his shoulder, and knew that Renji had known it already. He turned his head to eye Renji.

"Do you ever get tired of being right?" he asked, as conversationally as he could manage at that moment.

Renji's answering chuckle vibrated through both of them. "Do you ever get tired of winning?" he returned. Genichirou pulled a half-hearted glower at him, and it was Seiichi's turn to laugh, the low purr that never failed to make Genichirou shiver.

"A loss here and there keeps the enjoyment fresh," Seiichi noted, stretching luxuriously against the futon.

The glance Genichirou and Renji shared held relief, only slightly tinged with regret, that Seiichi seemed to have calmed from his earlier euphoria. A few moments rearrangement twined them around Seiichi, and he sighed, drawing them closer, and closer again, until the three of them could feel each other's heartbeats. They lay there as full dark fell.

Until Seiichi stirred and said, thoughtfully, "I suppose one can't hang glide after dark, can one?"

Genichirou and Renji both drew back to look, wide-eyed, at Seiichi's perfectly serious expression.

It lasted perhaps five beats before Seiichi broke down laughing.

"You should see your faces," he gasped, waving a hand.

The look that passed between Genichirou and Renji this time was a trenchant one of absolute agreement, before they turned back and pounced on Seiichi, ticking him until he squeaked.

Genichirou knew he was smiling in a way he hadn't for most of a year.

End

Dislocated

Immediately after "The Continuation of War", Yanagi and Inui finally get around to talking about how they parted. Drama With Romance, I-4

As the Rikkai team made their way back to their bus, Renji found himself pausing for one more look back toward Seigaku's courts. He had, perhaps unwisely, let himself be drawn into playing a second doubles match, today, this one against Yagyuu and Niou.

As a pair with Sadaharu.

They had both evolved over the years, of course, but they had also watched each other do so, and, while their particular moves had changed, their coordination was achingly familiar. He had read descriptions of how it felt to have a dislocated joint realigned, and, from what he recalled, it sounded remarkably like what he had felt this afternoon: a sharp pain accompanied by a hard wrench and a sudden feeling of rightness. Despite his distraction by such contradictory feelings, which he suspected Sadaharu shared, they had won.

Actually, Niou's expression of indignation when they did had been rather amusing.

And despite his own knowledge, well borne out, now, that both of them played better in singles than in doubles, he found himself reminded of something he missed. Perhaps, he thought, whimsically, the first doubles partner one really had rapport with was like first love; it always had a special place.

"Renji?"

He started, and looked around to see Seiichi smiling at him, sympathy in his eyes.

"Do you want to stay a little longer?" Seiichi asked, gently.

"I don't..." Renji broke off. For the life of him, he couldn't say whether he wanted to or not.

Seiichi shook his head at Renji, and reached up to take his shoulder and shake him lightly. "You need to settle this, Renji. If nothing else, until you do you'll be vulnerable to the same kind of shock he gave you last time."

Having a solid reason to go along with his ephemeral ones made Renji feel better about the prospect, and he smiled back, bowing his head to the knowledge that lurked in Seiichi's gaze.

"Thank you," he murmured.

"Don't be foolish," Genichirou said from behind him, hand warm on Renji's back. "We'll be waiting for you when you get back."

Renji knew without looking that Genichirou's expression was softer than his tone, and nodded.

After waving his teammates onto the bus, and thinking a little, Renji stationed himself five and a half blocks away from the school, under a handy chestnut tree. It should be far enough that anyone Sadaharu might walk with would have turned off already.

When Sadaharu appeared, and spotted Renji waiting there, his mouth took on a very satisfied quirk, by which Renji deduced that Sadaharu had predicted this turn of events.

"Renji," Sadaharu greeted him, just a touch smug.

"Sadaharu," Renji returned, suppressing a chuckle and falling in beside his old friend. "Do you have your room on separate environmental control yet?"

Sadaharu waved a hand. "I'm waiting until fall for that; my schedule is too irregular in summer to get good results."

One of the things he had missed, Renji reflected, was someone who genuinely took Renji's informedness completely for granted.

"Will that give you results in time for this year's Exposition?"

"The baseline will be a little short, but the lower number of variables will make the entire study much cleaner."

"That must be a pleasant break from the data you deal with all summer," Renji murmured.

Sadaharu shot him a sidelong look. "Data that changes makes an equally pleasant challenge," he countered. Renji smiled.

Sadaharu was a scientist to the core, and had a true scientist's drive to constantly improve and adjust his models. It was a good thing, because otherwise, Renji was convinced, the frustration of attempting to map such stubborn imponderables as human performance in a game like tennis would have driven him mad within six months. The fact remained that Sadaharu was a scientist and looked for patterns that were stable.

When dealing with people, one had to look for patterns that moved, as well.

"And you?" Sadaharu needled. "Still cluttering your mind with the latest novels by Touma Shigure?"

Renji chuckled. "Much of history is written by storytellers," he pointed out. "Comparing a contemporary story to contemporary events allows me to recognize the patterns of reinterpretation when I seem them in historical accounts."

Sadaharu sniffed.

"Oh, come now," Renji sighed. "Don't pretend you don't know the value of including emotional elements in calculations. Not when you demonstrated it so very well at the Regional finals."

"That was different," Sadaharu insisted, as he opened his front door and waved Renji inside.

"How?"

"That was you. It was personal."

Renji paused in toeing off his shoes to cast an exasperated look over his shoulder. For all his finickiness over his data, Sadaharu was as capable as the next person of fuzzy logic when it suited him.

"The most objective observation is always personal for someone, Sadaharu," he admonished. "The observer always has a reason for observing."

Sadaharu, too, paused, in the act of opening the door to his room. He gave Renji a crooked smile.

"You really will make an excellent professor," he said, echoing their childhood nicknames.

"So will you," Renji observed, closing the door behind him. "We'll just be in different departments."

This time Sadaharu stopped dead in the middle of the room, a soft, surprised laugh escaping him. Renji remembered that this was what they used to say to each other when they made plans to work at the same university when they grew up. And to move in together, getting a nice, big apartment in...

"Shiodome," they said, together, and were both still for a moment, looking at each other through a tangle of memory and dreams so dense that Renji felt it like a knot in his chest. He thought about his comparison of first partners with first loves, and reflected that Sadaharu was probably both to him.

It was Sadaharu who broke the moment, turning to his desk to set down his bag. He had always been the one less comfortable with interpersonal nuances. Renji accepted the tacit request to change the subject and went to take a look at the bookcase. The Yukawa and Kaku were expected; the Kurzweil was a bit of a surprise, and he adjusted his assumptions about Sadaharu's English proficiency to reflect it.

He had to stifle a laugh at the two novels by Touma Shigure.

But he did wonder about the couple of notebooks marked Recipes. "Sadaharu?" he asked, brushing his fingers over the spines.

"Ah," Sadaharu said, pulling one out, "a little in the way of biochemistry."

Renji raised his brows. Sadaharu flipped the book open and handed it to him with a faint smile. He read over the lists of ingredients and effects, brows climbing even higher at the recorded effects on other people. When he reached the section titled Penal-Tea he couldn't help himself and burst out laughing until he had to lean against the shelves.

"Sadaharu! You didn't!"

"It operates as a very reliable motivator," Sadaharu said, serenely, only the evil curl to his smile giving him away.

Renji shook his head. "You and your sense of humor," he mock lamented. "Niou was entirely correct about you." He ruffled a hand through Sadaharu's hair, unthinking, and they both froze.

Their old gesture, just as automatic as the old names. Just as easy. Just as hurtful, now.

Sadaharu snatched a deep breath and backed up to sit on his bed, head bent.

"Renji." The low voice was huskier than usual. "Why didn't you tell me you were leaving?"

"I didn't want to think about it," Renji told him.

"And?" Sadaharu prodded, still low but harder now.

"Your tone tells me you already know," Renji hedged. He knew he was avoiding the point, but to speak of it now would make the pain new again, and wasn't once enough?

"Tell me," Sadaharu insisted, roughly.

"And when I did think about," Renji admitted, eventually, "I thought that it would push you away from doubles, and into singles. Where you belong." He could see the muscles along Sadaharu's jaw standing out, and he didn't want to say the next thing, but Sadaharu had asked.

"And I was right," he finished, softly.

Sadaharu's mouth tightened, and he nodded, a little stiffly. "You were always better at people," he said, flat and toneless. "It was a good move, for our games."

Both statements were completely truthful, and made Renji's heart feel like lead. He had known what he was doing, then, but he hadn't understood what it would mean, and he couldn't leave the results to lie where they had fallen. He crossed the room and laid his hands on Sadaharu's straight, tense shoulders.

"I'm sorry," he told his once-best friend. "I should never have done that. Not to a friend."

Sadaharu's head came up quickly, and his mouth was uncertain now. Renji knew he had unbalanced Sadaharu's decision to focus their interactions solely through the lens of the game they both played, had intruded more personal matters back into the issue. But this was one pattern he found he needed to at least try to break.

"Can you forgive me?" he asked, quietly.

Slowly, the tension drained away under his hands, and Sadaharu's expression settled, a little wistful but at ease, and open in a way Renji hadn't seen in years.

"Yes," Sadaharu answered.

"Thank you," Renji whispered.

Sadaharu heaved a sigh, and leaned forward to rest his forehead against Renji's chest, clasping his hands loosely behind Renji's knees. Renji passed his hand through Sadaharu's hair again, tightening his other arm around Sadaharu's shoulders. The stillness this time was comfort, as their memories settled into alignment with their present.

Eventually Renji broke the silence, passing a hand over Sadaharu's shoulder and down his arm. "You really have gotten much stronger," he noted. Sadaharu snorted.

"Chasing after Tezuka, I've had to," he pointed out.

"Is he your goal, still?" Renji asked, curious. Having observed Tezuka's pattern of trying to make his team members aware of the breadth and variety of the world of tennis as a whole, he would be very surprised if Tezuka had not been trying to do something about that.

"One of them," Sadaharu answered, after a pause. Renji smiled down at the dark head leaning against him. Then Sadaharu looked up, an inquiring tilt to his brows. "Is Yukimura one of yours? I've never gotten enough data on the two of you to tell for sure."

"Not exactly," Renji answered, still running his fingers absently through black hair that was becoming more mussed than usual. "I like to match my skills against his, but it isn't from any particular drive to exceed him. It's just that he calls out my best; it's what he does for all of us, really. It's his gift." He paused, and then added, more softly, "He's the one who sent me to you."

Sadaharu tilted his head, mouth quirking in the terribly familiar preface to teasing. Renji braced himself.

"Did he?" Sadaharu asked, tone suspiciously light.

"Yes," Renji answered, warily.

"Well, I suppose I had already gathered that he didn't mind sharing," Sadaharu murmured, as if thoughtfully.

"Sadaharu..." Renji growled, throttling down the urge to blush. His friend's toothy grin didn't help matters any. "Toy with me, will you?"

"Who said I was?"

Renji looked down at Sadaharu, trying to place the expression on his face now. Sharp. Almost challenging. But there was amusement running under it, too, and that wistful edge once again.

"Aren't you?" he asked.

"Merely examining your reaction," Sadaharu defended himself.

Oh, yes, Sadaharu could split hairs with the best. Renji ran his fingers down Sadaharu's jaw, tilting his head up, and leaned in a little.

"And is this the reaction you expected?"

"It was one I considered." The quickening pulse under Renji's fingertips contradicted the steadiness of Sadaharu's voice. "Previously, I had calculated the probability as fairly low, though."

Renji thought back to the knowing look in Seiichi's eyes, to Genichirou's reassurance. If he wanted to do this they would have no problems with it. They knew he would be back.

Did Sadaharu?

Renji raised his hands to Sadaharu's glasses, and Sadaharu let him remove them. Dark eyes gazed back at him with an undeniable edge of desire, but also with an awareness and reserve that told Renji that his friend did understand.

"You really don't mind?" he asked, hesitant for once.

"Anything more would be too much, Renji," Sadaharu told him, gently.

Just because Sadaharu wasn't as good as he was at calculating interpersonal reactions, Renji reminded himself, didn't mean his analytical skills were any less. And he had often applied them to their particular relationship with downright dazzling success. So be it, then.

He set one knee on the bed, and pressed Sadaharu down with a hand on his chest. The other hand braced him as he leaned over his friend, brushing a light kiss against Sadaharu's lips before nipping softly at his throat. Sadaharu's body tensed against his.

"Renji!" he gasped, hands closing on Renji's shoulders.

"You're used to being the one who causes this response, not the one who gives it, aren't you?" Renji murmured against his ear. A shiver answered him. "Do you need that, Sadaharu?"

Long fingers spread against his collar bone, slid down his chest. He lifted his head to see Sadaharu's eyes. They were bright and laughing, the way Renji hadn't seen them for a very long time, as Sadaharu shook his head.

"Not with you," he said, simply.

Renji smiled and leaned back down, tasting Sadaharu's caught breath as they kissed again.

He went slowly, savoring the strength with which Sadaharu answered his kiss, his hands against Sadaharu's skin. Feeling Sadaharu arch under the stroke of Renji's fingers down his chest or thighs, seeing the sleek lines of his muscles tense into sharp definition when Renji pressed his lips to the hollow of Sadaharu's hip, hearing his low moan as Renji parted his legs, these wrapped around Renji tighter than any physical grip could have. Seeing the abandon in Sadaharu's eyes now, he recognized the pretense he had seen on the court for what it was: the shell of this loosed passion. The knowledge that Sadaharu trusted him, again, with so much of himself stopped Renji's own breath. The note of that trust in Sadaharu's voice, when he called Renji's name, even more than the heat and welcome of the body twined with his, drew Renji, helpless, over the edge of pleasure.

It was a long time before he could raise his head from the curve of Sadaharu's shoulder, or relax the trembling tightness of his hold.

"Renji," Sadaharu said, eventually, sounding thoughtful.

"Mm?"

"You said Yukimura isn't you goal; that you don't play like that."

Renji propped his head on one hand so he could see Sadaharu's face. "Yes."

Sadaharu tilted his head on the pillow. "Does that mean you're going to have a problem playing all out against me?"

Renji stroked his fingers down Sadaharu's cheek, silently acknowledging the similarities Sadaharu had seen. "No," he said, softly. "I won't. Seiichi sent me back to you today, and he'll send me back to you this weekend, too."

An appreciative smile curved Sadaharu's mouth. "You have a good captain."

"Yes," Renji agreed, shoving back the shudder that tried to walk up his spine at the memories of Seiichi's absence.

Sadaharu seemed to feel it anyway, and pulled Renji back down to him. "It's all right," he murmured. "He's back."

Renji sighed, and nodded. Sadaharu's arms tightened, and an edge of teasing crept into his voice.

"Can you stay a while longer before I send you back to him?"

Renji laughed, quietly. He'd forgotten how easily Sadaharu could make him laugh. He twined their fingers together and settled closer.

"Of course."

End

Fortune

Atobe encounters Yukimura at the museum, they fall to chatting, and events take a rather sharp left turn. Drama With Romance and Porn, I-4, continuity uncertain—possibly hybrid

Atobe Keigo liked to have privacy when he sketched. Which was to say, he didn't like to have anyone around who would recognize him. Squealing admirers were a distraction, and sneering detractors didn't need the ammunition.

It wasn't that Keigo sketched badly, because he was actually fairly good at it. His preliminary work, in fact, was excellent. It was the details that always seemed to go astray. The problem was that he did not sketch superbly. If he'd known, years ago, that he would be expected to affect an attitude everywhere about everything, and defend it the same way he did on the court...

Well, it might not have changed anything, but at least he'd have had some forewarning.

Thus, when a pleasant voice that he recognized immediately spoke over his shoulder, thoroughly invalidating every precaution of stowing his sketchbook in his tennis bag and coming to the museum early in the morning and sitting in the Impressionist gallery, where most people his age tended to breeze through with barely a glance, he was not terribly pleased.

Besides, he was in the middle of trying to capture the shadows of a Cassat, and that was never easy.

"Mmm," he answered, and kept working.

Fortunately, Yukimura had the grace to let him do so.

After another few minutes, Keigo decided this effort was as done as it was going to get, and held it out, critically, to compare with the painting in front of him. The likeness was unimpressive, and a faint growl of frustration escaped.

"It looks like a reasonable start."

If Yukimura's tone had been in any way encouraging, Keigo would have snapped at him. Since his unwelcome company merely sounded matter of fact, he limited himself to a curled lip. The implicit understanding, in that voice, of how deeply annoying shortcomings of any kind were, however, also led him to offer some explanation of his disdain.

"Reasonable for an exercise, I suppose. It works better when I'm drawing a three dimensional subject. This simply isn't up to standard."

Yukimura tipped his head and looked down at him, thoughtfully. "My art teachers have always said that copying a masterwork was the best way to learn the techniques the artist used to achieve a given effect," he noted.

Keigo sniffed. Still, there was honest curiosity in Yukimura's observation, and a delicacy behind his lack of actual questioning that soothed Keigo's brief temper. So he stopped and thought about it.

"It's never really worked that way, for me," he said, slowly. "When I observe something," he waved a hand at the Cassat on the wall, "it... sublimates. It comes out again when I actually sketch a real subject, but just copying has never worked out very well. Live models are much better." He shrugged, dismissing the topic, and stowed away his sketchbook. "Are you here for one of the exhibits in particular?" he asked, standing.

"I didn't have any in mind, especially," Yukimura answered, accepting the shift to polite small-talk. "Are there any you would recommend?"

"Their Renaissance galleries are quite good," Keigo considered, turning toward them absently. "There's also an excellent special exhibit of Edo period textiles this month..."

Which was how he found himself acting as impromptu tour guide to one of his strongest rivals. They were in the middle of the textiles exhibit before he even realized it. On the other hand, Yukimura's conversation was informed and insightful, and there were worse ways to spend a morning than discussing fine art in the serenity of a well-kept museum.

Yukimura laid his hand on the glass of a case. "Gaudy," he said, of the layers on layers of figured cloth inside, "but beautiful. It takes a good deal of dedication to create something this complex."

"Extremely difficult to move in, though," Keigo observed. Yukimura laughed, softly.

"Ah, but these were made for court nobles to show off to each other. When it came to actually avoiding a knife in the back... well, that's what they had retainers for."

"Indeed," Keigo smiled, crookedly. Too bad he didn't have a few of those. Not that he could imagine himself mincing around in the robes in front of them. Yukimura would look well in these creations, though, he reflected, idly. He had the grace of gesture implied by every line of Ukio-e; the trailing style would suit him, for all that the constriction would likely drive him as mad as it would Keigo.

They finally fetched up in the open courtyard of the museum cafe for lunch.

Lingering over coffee, Keigo's mind wandered back to the question of shadows. How, for instance, would he render the shadows that dappled that handsome bit of Greek statuary under the trees?

"How long does it usually take you to sketch something?"

Keigo blinked at his companion. "Ten or fifteen minutes, unless it's a very complex subject," he answered, a bit startled at the non sequitur. Yukimura smiled.

"Well, then, I'll be sure to take my time getting us some more coffee," he said, rising.

Keigo stared after him for a few moments before he decided not to question the gift, and pulled out his sketchbook. Now, the arm thus, and the curve of hip so, and shaded here... When he emerged from the concentration of transfer from solid to paper, he sat back, pleased. It lacked the texture of Cassat, but he was getting there.

"You are much better working from life," Yukimura said, over his shoulder.

Keigo grimly suppressed a start; he hadn't even realized the other was there. "Why thank you," he replied, layering irony over courtesy.

Yukimura chuckled, and set Keigo's coffee down beside him before resuming his seat. "You said live models are best, though?"

"Yes," Keigo agreed, stowing materials away again. "I know some people prefer subjects that don't have to breathe, but that bit of movement always adds something to a scene, for me."

He might have gone on, because Yukimura seemed to have a better understanding of such things than most people he spoke to, but, as he straightened, his eye, still tuned to line and shadow rather than human identity, was arrested by the figure across the table from him. That figure was, momentarily, not one of his rivals, nor a chance companion who discussed artistic philosophy well. Instead, it was a study in contrast: the dark, breaking wave of hair against the pale, stark angles of bone and lean muscle. In that suspended moment, a word drifted through Keigo's mind. Chiaroscuro. Light and shadow. And another after it. Kikkyou. Fortune. Sunshine and shadow.

He shook his head, and his perceptions settled. Wouldn't it be superb, though? Now, how on earth to ask something like that?

"Yukimura..." he trailed off, as the gleam in his companion's eye suddenly registered.

Yukimura rested his chin on one hand, and lifted his brows. He was, Keigo decided, perfectly well aware of what Keigo wanted to ask and was going to sit there with that attentive expression and watch Keigo squirm while he tried to come up with a courteous way to do it.

The hell with that.

So. His coach had taught Keigo that pride was a powerful tool; years of watching his father entertain clients had taught him a much older lesson. Flattery gets you everywhere. Above all else, experience had taught him that the observant ones liked to be amused.

"I'm sure that someone of your elegance has been asked before, often enough for it it be burdensome, whether advantage can be taken of your grace," he said, as unctuously and expansively as possible. The corners of Yukimura's mouth twitched. "Will you forgive me for imposing on you with an additional request?"

"That being?" Yukimura prompted, a strain of suppressed laughter in his voice.

"Would you be willing to sit for a few sketches?"

"Draped or undraped?" Yukimura asked, casually.

Keigo came very close to snorting a mouthful of coffee out his nose. Who would have thought, he wondered, swallowing very carefully, that Rikkai's soft-spoken captain had such a low sense of humor?

"Draped, I think, at least to start with," he managed.

"Certainly, I'd be delighted," Yukimura agreed graciously, eyes sparkling. "Did you have a location in mind?"

"I would prefer somewhere outside, where I can get the shadows from sunlight," Keigo mused, casting his mind over the possibilities.

"What about a garden?" Yukimura suggested.

"That would probably be ideal," Keigo agreed. "Do you know of one that's reasonably quiet?"

A half smile curved Yukimura's lips. "Mine," he said, softly.

Keigo raised a brow.

"It's a hobby of mine. And I would be interested to see what you make of it, as a setting," Yukimura explained.

"By all means, then."

Yukimura's garden was beautiful, Keigo thought. It took up one end of the grounds behind his family's house, a space of low leaves, and tall vines, and subtle flowers, wrapped around a few trees. The shifting light and shadow, over the course of a day, must be charming.

Yukimura fit into that space like a missing part of it, as if one of the plants had unfurled a flower made of steel and let it drop at the feet of the maple. Keigo was normally too practical for such excessive imagery, but the sweeping simplicity of line Yukimura made, leaning on one hand, a length of gray fabric draped carelessly across one shoulder and down, seduced the mind toward fantasy in an attempt to explain it. While Keigo cultivated a considerably more flamboyant image for himself, the clean serenity of this space, folded around this person, appealed mightily to his aesthetic sense. He found more detail than usual appearing on his page, and it was took longer than he had quite expected before he laid down the pad.

"Done."

"Aaaahh. Good." Yukimura shook out his arm and turned over onto his back, stretching from fingertips to toes. Cloth slipped off his shoulder, and Keigo found himself, abruptly, jarred out of appreciation of line and proportion and into appreciation of a magnificent body arched back on a black quilt, less than two meters away.

On an impulse, Keigo rose and came to sit just beside Yukimura. Smoky eyes opened and looked up at him.

"Would you like to see?" Keigo offered the pad.

Yukimura took it and smiled, a slow, pleased smile. "You are good," he commented. He laid it back down by Keigo's knee, extending both arms in another spine-curving stretch.

Keigo swallowed against a suddenly dry throat. "Yukimura..." he murmured.

"Seiichi," Yukimura told him, just as quietly. The gleam from earlier was back in his eyes. "If you're going to kiss me, you might as well call me Seiichi." Those eyes were half-lidded now. "You are going to kiss me, aren't you?"

Far be it from him to disagree, Keigo decided. He leaned down, one hand slipping into dark hair.

"Seiichi," he whispered, against the other's lips.

Those lips parted for him on a soft breath, and their tongues tangled, stroked together. Keigo shifted, slid his hands down Seiichi's sides, pushing loose cloth ahead of them. Seiichi pressed into his touch with something very like a purr, a subtle arch of his hips inviting Keigo further. The swiftness of that invitation, of this whole encounter, kicked Keigo's brain back into motion. He drew back as far as Seiichi would let him, which wasn't very.

"So, when, in the course of the day, did you decide on this?" Keigo inquired. A laugh brushed against his ear.

"Guess."

He propped himself on an elbow, tracing fingertips over Seiichi's sharp cheek bones and down the line of his jaw. Seiichi gave him a tiny smile before turning his head to catch a finger, gently, between his teeth.

"During lunch," Keigo guessed, when he thought he could trust his voice.

Seiichi hmmed and let him go. "Good aim. It was when you were looking at the statue, actually. Your eyes were so intent, so taken up with nothing but that one thing." His expression turned wry and wistful. "And I wanted you to look at me with those eyes."

Snatches of the day's conversation fell together, leaping into intuition, and Keigo was swept by a wave of disbelief, closely followed by something close to outrage. He caught Seiichi up against his body and kissed him fiercely. Seiichi made a small, startled sound before gradually relaxing in Keigo's arms and accepting the kiss.

"Keigo?" he asked, when they drew apart, a bit bemused.

"Would you care to tell me how you," Keigo laid a hand along Seiichi's cheek, "could possibly doubt the attraction of your own grace and strength?"

Seiichi was very still for one moment, and then lifted a hand to thread through Keigo's hair. "Only the perception I might expect from you, I suppose," he remarked. Then he sighed and his eyes turned distant.

"I didn't used to," he said, quietly.

Keigo had played Yukimura Seiichi in competition. He had seen the mantle of brilliance burning around him, seen the wild joy in his eyes, in the fierce curve of his mouth. Yukimura's face was not meant to show uncertainty or doubt.

"Let me convince you?" Keigo murmured in his ear.

A faint laugh escaped Seiichi, and he looked back up at Keigo. "You do think highly of your skills, don't you?" he teased.

"Of course," Keigo replied, complacently. "That is why you seduced me, isn't it?"

The laugh was fuller now, and Seiichi reached out to him. Keigo gathered him up, more gently this time, and laid a path of kisses down his throat and over his chest. Seiichi sighed, arching with Keigo's hand as it stroked the small of his back, and Keigo delighted in the slow softening of the body under his. Before long, though, Seiichi leaned up on an elbow and tugged at Keigo's shirt.

"Off," he said, firmly.

You had to appreciate efficiency like that, Keigo reflected, as he obliged. With one word Seiichi had given notice that he was willing to let Keigo have the initiative in this encounter, and, at the same time, that he had no intention of letting Keigo control the pace completely. Naked, Keigo knelt beside Seiichi and drew away the last folds of cloth covering him. Seiichi really was magnificent, he thought.

Keigo stroked his hands down one long leg, lifted it to lick slowly at the tender skin behind the knee. A faint gasp answered his touch, and he glanced down the length of Seiichi's body to see his eyes closed and his head tipped back. The heat gathering low in Keigo stomach tightened at the sight.

"Seiichi," he murmured, letting his voice drop. "Such strength," he closed his teeth, gently, on the tense muscle of Seiichi's thigh, moved on. "And such elegance," he added against the curve of Seiichi's hip, "smooth as water over stone." His hands slid over Seiichi's ribs, traced a spiral over his chest until Keigo's palm cupped his heartbeat. "And such vitality, fit to cut like the point of a diamond," he whispered against Seiichi's throat.

Seiichi was breathing deep and quick. "Keigo," he husked.

And then his hands were pushing Keigo back, back upright, and he was moving in until he straddled Keigo's folded legs, pressed tight against him. Seiichi's fingers wove into Keigo's hair, cradling his head as Seiichi kissed him again and again. Keigo smoothed his hands up and down Seiichi's back, soothing, and answered those wild, open mouthed kisses with equal passion until Seiichi calmed.

"Mmm. Makes me wonder whether I should write you poetry," Keigo said, against Seiichi's lips.

"That," Seiichi rocked against him, making them both gasp, "depends on how good the poetry is."

"You're right," Keigo mused. "After all, if it was my poetry, I expect your response would be completely overwhelming."

Seiichi leaned against him, laughing. Keigo took the opportunity to bite, lightly, on Seiichi's shoulder until he was sighing, hips moving against Keigo's again.

"Since you did plan on this," he said in Seiichi's ear, "I hope you brought something along to make it easier?" He stroked his fingers against Seiichi's entrance.

"Hmmmm. I did," Seiichi told him. "But start without it." He smiled when Keigo raised both brows at that, and reached down for one of Keigo's hands. "I like to feel as much as possible," he explained, before closing his mouth over Keigo's fingers.

Keigo had to catch his breath at the soft, wet heat of Seiichi's lips and tongue. It escaped him on a quiet aaaahh as that tongue curled around one finger and stroked up the side, and he felt Seiichi's lips tighten in a smile. When Seiichi let go, Keigo pulled him closer with one arm, and slid the other hand down, pressing one finger, just barely slick enough, into him, wanting to know Seiichi was drowning in desire just as hot as his.

Seiichi's parted lips and suddenly heavy, hazy eyes said that he was. When Keigo worked another finger past the uneven tensing of Seiichi's body, Seiichi tossed his head back and a moan spilled from his throat. The sound drove Keigo's fingers deeper and the whole line of Seiichi's body tautened against his, flushed and yearning.

"Seiichi," Keigo breathed, "let me watch you?"

Seiichi gazed down at him, and the color across his cheek bones might have deepened a shade. "If you like," he agreed.

"Can you honestly tell me of anyone who wouldn't?" Keigo asked, laughing low in his throat.

Seiichi didn't answer, but resettled himself with his ankles crossed lightly behind Keigo. Keigo made a pleased sound and shifted to cradle Seiichi's hips more comfortably in crossed legs. It appeared that Seiichi was willing for him to go slowly, which Keigo thought was just about ideal. He wanted to savor the flow of Seiichi's expressions.

He did, however, have to pause to chuckle when Seiichi flipped up the corner of quilt nearest them and dropped a bottle into his hand. There was the forethought and planning of Rikkai's captain. The oil was cool against his skin, almost shockingly so, but he couldn't manage to mind when it made the heat of Seiichi's body so intense by comparison. That heat grasped at him, as he pressed against it, into it, so tightly Keigo had to bite his lip to keep from losing every sense but touch.

Seiichi was leaning back on his hands, breath cut short, eyes closed. He was the single most arousing sight Keigo thought he had ever seen, and when Seiichi arched back further to ease Keigo's entry Keigo's hands on his thighs tightened, probably to the point of bruising. Seiichi relaxed with a gasp when Keigo finally slid all the way into him.

"You feel good," he murmured, opening his eyes.

Before Keigo had quite processed the glint in them, Seiichi leaned in, lacing his hands behind Keigo's neck. Their voices wrapped around each other as the movement drove Keigo deeper. Keigo's hands found Seiichi's back, stroked down, coaxing Seiichi to move with him, and they were rocking together, slowly.

Seiichi's soft moans, each time they came together, the abandon of his body surging against Keigo's, the pleasure that lit his eyes more and more intensely, closed on Keigo, gripping him as tightly as Seiichi's body. Keigo gave up thinking for the present, gave himself to Seiichi, letting the burning heat draw him deeper into this beauty that offered itself so unexpectedly and so willingly.

When pleasure snatched Seiichi over the edge, it was the break in his voice that pulled Keigo after him. When his eyes cleared, it was the lax contentment in Seiichi's face that stole any remaining strength. Keigo let Seiichi down onto the quilt, and subsided next to him. He leaned over and stole a lingering kiss from Seiichi's still parted lips.

"So, now do you believe me?" Keigo asked.

Seiichi touched his cheek and looked at him for a long, considering moment.

"I suppose so, yes," he said, at last.

Keigo widened his eyes in such mock dismay that Seiichi laughed. "I was hoping for something a bit more certain than that," Keigo sighed. He looked sidelong at Seiichi. "Perhaps there will be some opportunity in the future to see if I can't coax somewhat greater assurance out of you."

A small smile curved Seiichi's lips quite enchantingly. "Perhaps," he agreed.

About to seek another kiss, Keigo was assailed by a sudden and somewhat unpleasant thought.

"Is Sanada going to attempt to break valuable parts off me over this?" he asked.

He had one moment to see Seiichi's mouth tighten and his eyes flash, and then the world whirled and his back hit the ground, hard.

"My decisions and choices are my own," Seiichi said, low and dangerous, leaning over him.

"I believe you," Keigo assured him, entranced by the fire that had flared in Seiichi so abruptly. "Does Sanada?"

Seiichi's sharp eyes narrowed, and one of his hands wove into Keigo's hair, tilting his head back, demandingly, as Seiichi bent down. Keigo wondered whether he would ever bother to amend his habit of prodding dangerous things just to see how dangerous they were. Altogether, and considering the way his heart sped as Seiichi pressed him down more firmly, he rather doubted it.

"He does," Seiichi stated, lips hovering just over Keigo's.

Now that, Keigo didn't doubt in the least.

"Tired of everyone assuming you're his lover?" he asked, a bit breathless.

"To say the least," Seiichi murmured, and kissed him deeply.

Keigo was breathing heavily when Seiichi drew back. "I will ask once more," he said. "How can you possibly doubt yourself?"

One blink, and the fine edge left Seiichi's expression, replaced by a moment of startlement and then a shy smile. That smile stunned Keigo more than anything else that had happened all day, and he reached out to gather the gift he had been given closer. Seiichi lay down against his shoulder, and the peace of the garden settled around them.

"So," Seiichi said, after a while, "can I get you to return the favor and model for me?"

Keigo looked over at him, surprised. "You draw too?" he asked, slowly.

"Mm. It's one of my favorite classes," Seiichi confirmed, easily.

Which meant that Seiichi's remarks on Keigo's work had not simply been a means to an end, but serious judgements of his ability that also operated as means to an end, which went beyond multi-tasking all the way to Machiavelli...

Keigo pulled him closer, and buried his face in Seiichi's hair, laughing low and helpless. "I'm never going to have a moment's sure peace again, am I?" he asked, at last.

"Do you want that?" Seiichi asked, raising his brows.

"Not in the least," Keigo decided, and kissed his lover again.

End

Confluence

Mild chaos and vast snarkiness as many paths cross at a music store. Drama With Romance, I-3

Tezuka

Kunimitsu had some misgivings about accompanying Keigo to a music store. Particularly one this large. Music was, after all, one of Keigo's enthusiasms. He could only hope Keigo had entertained the other people in the train car more than he had alarmed them, holding forth as energetically as he had on the antecedents of jazz. He hesitated to think what would happen if they found a knowledgeable clerk inside for Keigo to chat with.

Blackmail was, however, blackmail, and Keigo had threatened to select things for Kunimitsu's collection if he didn't come along to make his own choices.

"So," Keigo said, looking around with a gleam of avarice in his eye, "where shall we start?"

"Your show," Kunimitsu told him, evenly, "at least until it comes to my collection. Wherever you like."

Keigo looked to be in a mischievous mood, to judge by the look of Well, of course that he flashed Kunimitsu before leading the way through the racks. After a brief stopover in Pop they finally fetched up at the border of Jazz and Classical.

"Mm. Akiko Yano, Nunokawa Toshiki, Raphael Lima, Ishmael Reed, now there's one I didn't expect, even at this store. And why," Keigo added in a long-suffering tone, "can't anyone ever catalogue Gershwin properly?"

"Well," came a light voice behind them, "surely not everyone can be blessed with your incisively discerning taste, Atobe."

Kunimitsu turned to see Fuji, Tachibana beside him, smiling with the kind of earnest sincerity that could only be fake. He glanced aside to see how his companion was taking it. Keigo studied the rack in front of him with a thoughtful look for a moment before one side of his mouth twitched up. He wrapped arrogant entitlement around him like a robe and turned as well.

"Of course," he agreed, carelessly, stance suddenly a pose for admiring crowds.

Kunimitsu caught Tachibana's eye, full of amused sympathy, and shrugged an eyebrow. Still, it might be a good idea to redirect the two before innocent bystanders happened along and entered the line of fire.

"Similar taste in music, too?" he mused to no one in particular. Fuji's smile didn't flicker, but Keigo gave him a cool look.

"Don't be ridiculous. You can't seriously be suggesting that Fuji's tastes run to Zig Noda." He had drawn a breath to continue when Fuji's slightly frozen expression stopped him.

"Kose Kikuchi," Fuji admitted, after a moment.

They turned as one to glare daggers at Kunimitsu, who refrained from responding. Tachibana had a hand over his mouth.

"Similar instruments," Keigo declared, "do not equate to similar styles."

"Quite so," Fuji agreed, stepping toward a different rack. "And it was Roy Hargrove that I particularly hoped to find today."

"The latest album?" Keigo asked, sharply, discarding his front in face of a possible threat to his program of acquisition. "I hope there are two copies, then, I'd hate for you to be disappointed, Fuji."

Of course, Kunimitsu reflected, as Keigo strode after Fuji, his genuine behavior didn't always differ that markedly from his public act. Particularly when one of his enthusiasms was involved. Tachibana leaned against the rack beside him, looking after the other two.

"Shuusuke is still annoyed with you over that particular observation," he noted.

"I'm not surprised," Kunimitsu said. "Keigo is, a bit, too." Tachibana gave him an oblique look.

"If you knew it would irritate them, why did you say it?" he asked. Kunimitsu folded his arms.

"Better they be annoyed with me than each other. Imagine the consequences."

Tachibana rubbed his fingers over his forehead, suddenly looking a little pinched. "I'd really rather not."

Kunimitsu looked at him sharply, questioning. After a moment Tachibana shook his head.

"It's more his story than mine," he said, quietly.

"Mm." Still, Kunimitsu had to respect the point. He had entrusted his friend to Tachibana years ago; it was good to know the trust wasn't misplaced.

Atobe

"Metheny is one step away from elevator music," Keigo snorted, as he and Fuji made their way back to their respective partners. "Next you'll be telling me you like Yanni."

"A narrative format keeps music from becoming meaninglessly abstract," Fuji countered. He paused long enough to give Tezuka something Keigo read as a vindicated look. Probably because they were disagreeing. Keigo considered weighing in with a smug smile of his own, but decided it would detract from the point.

"Well. Isn't this quite the congregation?" asked a new voice. Keigo glanced around to see Mizuki Hajime and Fuji's brother, Yuuta, come around the corner from the next aisle. Something in the quality of the silence beside him drew his gaze back to Fuji, and he almost took a step away.

The gleam of more or less good natured mockery in Fuji's eyes was swallowed into a flat, icy blue, slick as the side of a glacier. Any hint of a smile fell away like a dropped piece of paper. It wasn't an expression Keigo had ever seen on Fuji before, not even when he was playing for real. A quick look at Kunimitsu showed enough disturbance in the line of his mouth that Keigo didn't think he was familiar with this either. Tachibana had closed the distance between he and Fuji, and laid an unobtrusive hand on his back.

"Mizuki," Fuji stated, soft and flat.

Yuuta looked edgy, but Mizuki merely clasped his hands behind his back and smiled.

"Shuusuke. You're looking well."

Keigo was, a bit unwillingly, impressed with Mizuki's nerve. Or, possibly, his mental instability. A corner of Fuji's mouth twitched, as though he were suppressing a snarl. Keigo was wildly curious about exactly what Mizuki had really just said; subtext almost dripped from that simple greeting.

Tachibana's presence abruptly became more noticeable. Keigo, familiar with the ways a person could draw the eye, noted with interest that Tachibana did it without even shifting his body language much. He didn't step forward, or loom. He simply straightened, and his presence washed out from him, momentarily overwhelming even the intensity of Fuji's focus, pulling Mizuki's gaze away from his target. Tachibana gave him a hard look. After a moment, Mizuki inclined his head and opened one hand, palm up.

If Keigo had to guess, he would judge that Tachibana knew what was unspoken between Fuji and Mizuki, and had warned Mizuki to back off from the subject. And Mizuki, for whatever reason, had acknowledged Tachibana's right to interfere and accepted the warning.

And for some reason that had caused Yuuta to relax. Fuji too, after a stiff moment.

Keigo stifled a sigh, resigning himself to the hell of ungratified curiosity, because, even if Kunimitsu knew what was going on, Keigo knew he would never get the answer out of him.

"You two have fun, then," Yuuta said, running a hand through his hair, and sounding a bit rueful. "I'll just be over there." He slipped back into the other aisle, leaving both his brother and his lover looking after him, the one bemused and the other affectionate. Though it took Keigo a second look to place the expression on Mizuki's face, before it reverted to a more accustomed smirk as Mizuki turned back to Fuji.

"He doesn't like listening, when it gets to be about him," Mizuki told the elder Fuji. That, at least, made sense to Keigo. Everyone who had any contact with either of them knew that Yuuta was a bone of contention between Fuji and Mizuki.

That cold tension was singing through Fuji again, though not quite as intensely as before.

"So many assumptions, Shuusuke," Mizuki murmured. "Where would be the challenge in that?" Then he practically grinned. "So, what are you here for today?"

Keigo studied Mizuki. Unlike Fuji, Mizuki looked exactly like someone in the middle of a good game: breathing light and fast, eyes wide and brilliant. He'd long suspected that Mizuki liked to do things indirectly, and that his airs and affectations were as much a front as Keigo's own. He'd suspected that it was done for Mizuki's own amusement, and that he snickered up his sleeve at everyone who took the flouncing and strutting seriously. This was the first time he'd really thought that tennis itself might only be a medium for Mizuki, not a goal.

Fuji waved a hand at the racks around them.

"We came for music," he answered, in the tone of someone dealing with an idiot. Mizuki merely smiled.

"Ah. Not the company of friends?" He paused, and Keigo sniffed at the melodrama. "But I suppose not, given the conversation as we arrived. Really, Shuusuke, anyone would think you were jealous." His glance flicked toward Kunimitsu.

Keigo was about to snort, because hadn't he and Fuji been over that already? But the shift in Fuji's weight, the tense and twist of his hands, stopped it. Keigo's eyes widened. There must be some truth in what Mizuki was saying, or Fuji wouldn't be reacting like this. From the way Kunimitsu stiffened beside him, he had caught some of it, too.

And that was enough for Keigo to interfere.

"Jealous?" he drawled. "You should check your facts, Mizuki. Envious, now, that's a bit more likely." It wasn't easy to lounge while standing upright, but that's what talent was for. Tachibana was looking at him with a mix of disbelief and amusement. Kunimitsu was completely poker faced, except for the angle of his brows, which communicated a certain resigned affection to Keigo. Fuji slanted a wry glance at him, appreciating the double edge of Keigo's intervention.

Mizuki looked at him with irritation before narrowing his eyes. When he spoke, it was to Fuji, every nuance of tone and stance saying that Keigo's interruption was insignificant.

"You have my sympathy, of course. It can't be easy to lose such a subtle bond to someone so greedy that he can't stand not to be the center of attention."

Now it was Keigo's turn to suppress a snarl, because he'd be damned before he gave Mizuki the satisfaction. Of course, the delivery annoyed him infinitely more than the accusation, which he'd heard with tiresome frequency. A part of him, however, had to appreciate the precision of the attack. It played perfectly off the manner of intervention he had chosen, and also seemed to touch on a genuine sore point with Fuji. He filed that last observation away for future consideration.

Yes, this was definitely Mizuki's true game.

Keigo's own response rallied though, just as for any other attack. That moment after he had spoken, a flash of surprise had shown in Mizuki's eyes, as if he'd forgotten Keigo's presence. Combined with his choice of counter, Keigo rather thought it indicated something about Mizuki. It was, after all, easiest to recognize a weakness one shared. He wondered whether Fuji had caught it.

Ah, yes, there was the smile. The dangerous one.

"Perhaps," Fuji answered in his most dismissive tone, and turned most of the way away from Mizuki to smile far more softly up at Tachibana. Keigo detected subtext again, since Tachibana didn't really seem the sort to typically touch his lover's cheek in public the way he was right now.

Mizuki certainly seemed to get it, as his expression turned extremely disgruntled for a moment. Keigo rather thought all four of them were waiting for a classic Mizuki temper tantrum. He, at least, was quite surprised when Mizuki merely nodded, eyes sharp, conceding the game if not the match.

"Another day, then, Shuusuke," he murmured, and turned to follow the path Yuuta had taken.

Tachibana looked after him, down at the still glinting eyes of his lover, and finally over at Kunimitsu.

"Tezuka," he said, wearily, "is it one of your requirements for team members, to be pathologically incapable of refusing a challenge?"

Keigo chuckled. "You're just noticing?"

Yuuta

Yuuta slipped around the end of the cd racks, and nearly ran over Tachibana Ann, who was peering through a gap at the confrontation on the other side.

"Oh, not you, too," he groaned. She gave him a stern eye.

"Your boyfriend is crazy," she declared. "What did he do to make Fuji-niisan look like that?"

"None of your business," Yuuta told her. "And Aniki is my brother, in case you've forgotten. You already have one, what do you want with another?"

"Unlike some people, I happen to like big brothers," she shot back. Yuuta sighed, and leaned against the rack opposite.

"Knock it off, Ann, you're not that stupid."

She had the grace to look slightly abashed, as she tucked her hair back. "Well, no," she admitted, in a less aggressive tone, "but there are really times, Yuuta." Yuuta glanced aside. Aniki knew that Yuuta loved him. That was all that mattered. Right?

"Aniki and Mizuki had... a fight. Kind of," he offered. "I think it's over now, though. Mostly." Feeling a little nervous at the number of qualifiers his unspoken pact of honesty with Ann forced him to add, he joined her in peering through the racks.

"Ooo, that was a good one," Ann said, admiringly, of Aniki's finishing move. Yuuta grinned down at her.

"You can be really vicious, you know that?"

"Good thing, too, otherwise how would I ever deal with you?"

They both sighed, and stepped back, as Mizuki let the challenge go.

"He was actually kind of restrained, today," Ann noted, thoughtfully. "I don't suppose he's been ill?"

"Like I said, things are better. Mostly." Yuuta shrugged, concealing his own surprise and relief. Ann looked over as Mizuki rounded the corner to their aisle.

"Ann-chan, how pleasant to see you here," Mizuki greeted her. Not in a terribly good mood, but not fuming either, Yuuta gauged, and relaxed a little more. Ann gave Mizuki a long look before turning to Yuuta.

"He's still a snake," she said, firmly. "But I suppose, sometimes, he's not completely horrible." And, with that, she took herself off toward the Rock section.

"Charming girl," Mizuki murmured. "Did you find everything you wanted?" Yuuta couldn't help smiling at that question, even though it made his boyfriend quirk a brow at him.

"Yes."

"Good," Mizuki said, softly, reaching for Yuuta's hand. Yuuta's breath caught as he raised it and placed a kiss in the palm, just the tip of his tongue flicking against Yuuta's skin.

"Mizuki!" Yuuta gasped, biting his lip and glancing quickly around to make sure no one was near. Mizuki gave him a dark look, from under his lashes, his promise to find out, later, exactly what Yuuta had been smiling over.

"Shall we go, then?"

Shishido

"So, who is this guy you're so excited to find?" Ryou asked, following in his partner's wake as Choutarou paced down the aisle, casting his eye over the racks.

"Chris Norman. He's a classical flautist, primarily, but he does a lot of other really neat ethnic music, and he favors a wooden flute. It has a much softer tone than metal. I've never found a store that carries any of his albums, before. The first time I heard him was actually in concert." Choutarou glanced back at him, with a small, bright smile in his eyes. "You'd like him."

Ryou was wondering just how to take that, when Choutarou stopped short. Only Ryou's quick reflexes kept him from barrelling into his partner.

"Atobe-buchou," Choutarou said, voice startled. Ryou stepped around him to see.

And then he almost stepped back behind Choutarou, because it wasn't just Atobe. It was also Tezuka, and Tachibana, and Fuji. The captain's club, plus head case. Every club seemed to have one of the latter, and he supposed Fuji was better than Ibu, but Ryou would have preferred Jirou. At least he was reasonably harmless.

"Ohtori. Shishido," Atobe replied. Ryou swore his eyes gleamed with amusement at Ryou's discomfort, for an instant, but you could never pin Atobe down about stuff like that. A moment later he was turning back to Choutarou. "Are you here for anything in particular today?" he asked. Choutarou smiled his faint, public smile.

"The store called just this morning to say that they had Chris Norman's first album in."

"Chris Norman." Atobe's eyes went distant for a moment. "He played with the Baltimore Consort, yes?"

The conversation that followed had very little meaning to Ryou; he liked listening to music, but the details never really stuck with him. So he split his attention between pride in his partner and irritation with Atobe. Both pleasant constants in his life. He could always be proud of Choutarou, of the poise that let him keep his countenance in just about any situation, including chatting with his captain under Tezuka's gimlet eye and Fuji's alarming smile, and of a determination to match Ryou's own, even when it was his own partner he was arguing with. Ryou still didn't think fraternization between teams could possibly be healthy, but Choutarou had gotten him to admit that it didn't seem to have affected Atobe and Tezuka's games. Just personally, Ryou thought that was the weirdest thing of all.

He hauled back his wandering thoughts as Atobe... dismissed Choutarou with a gracious nod. There were really times when Ryou wished they were still eight years old and he could get away with punching the smug bastard. Still, in his own annoying way he seemed fond of Choutarou, and that got him a lot of latitude in Ryou's book. He sauntered after his partner, exchanging companionable sneers with Atobe on the way past.

"Such a unique leadership style you have," he heard Fuji remark, genially, behind him. "Do you tell your team members to imagine your face on the tennis ball, or do you trust that it will happen naturally?"

Ryou barely managed not to choke, because he had gotten through more than one practice with exactly that tactic. He'd been right all along. Fuji Shuusuke was creepy.

"Whatever works," Atobe returned in a careless tone. Ryou could hear the smirk in it, and shot a glare over his shoulder.

"Remind me again why I'm friends with a jerk like you," he growled, running an impatient hand through his hair.

"Because I'm the only one who would put up with your dramatics," Atobe answered, promptly and loftily.

"Oh, yeah, sure," Ryou gave him a look rich with disbelief. "Nice talking to you, Mr. Pot, I'll just be getting back to my teacups, why don't I." He didn't bother waiting for an answer before turning his back and stalking off after Choutarou. Maybe he'd send Tezuka a sympathy card when Valentine's rolled around. When he caught up to his partner, Choutarou offered him one of the sample-this-disc headphone sets.

"This is it."

Ryou had to admit, it was pretty music. It almost sounded like a traditional flute, but not quite; and a lot bouncier.

"Now," Choutarou added, "imagine the man playing that, standing in front of a formal orchestra, wearing jeans and a bright red knit shirt and suspenders."

Ryou burst out laughing. "You're kidding!" When Choutarou shook his head, smile flashing, Ryou had to agree, "All right, yeah, I probably would like him."

Choutarou's pleased look nearly made him glow; it was one of the expressions Ryou was especially fond of. He was just considering whether it would injure his partner's reserve if Ryou ran his fingers through the unruly drift of silver hair, when familiar voices interrupted.

"I mean, really, you need a life, Ryouma."

"I have a life."

"Besides tennis. Come on, forget the old man and act like a normal person for just one afternoon!"

"And another after that," Echizen pointed out, inexorably, "and another after that, and..."

"Now you're getting the idea."

Momoshiro, Ryou identified the other speaker. No one else had quite the same congenially full-of-himself tone.

"Momoshiro, Echizen-kun," Choutarou greeted them, turning.

"Hey," Ryou seconded.

"Ohtori, Shishido-san, how's it going?" Momoshiro hailed them, easily. Ryou considered him one of the easier players to get along with off the court. The same couldn't be said for his companion, who just nodded—unusually cordial for Echizen. "Guess this place is attracting tennis players today, hm?" Momoshiro added, grinning.

"You have no idea," Ryou muttered.

"It's Tezuka-buchou and the Monkey King," Echizen observed, peering further down the aisle. "And Tachibana and Fuji-senpai, too."

Momoshiro winced a little. Ryou sympathized completely. Neither team had been prepared for finding out that their captains had hooked up. Even though Choutarou had said they should probably have expected it. Echizen's expression sharpened into an evil, little smile.

"We should say hello."

"Hey, Ryouma, hang on, we... you shouldn't... Ryouma!" Momoshiro's snatch at Echizen's collar missed, as the younger player made a bee-line for the greatest source of trouble available.

Typical.

"It can be troublesome to have a partner who's so impulsive, can't it?" Choutarou asked.

"You can say that again," Momoshiro muttered as he made after Echizen.

It took another minute to catch up with Ryou.

"Choutarou..." he said, drawing it out. His partner made wide eyes at him.

"Yes, Shishido-san?"

Ok, now he was sure, because Choutarou never called him that, anymore, unless he was teasing. He stepped into his partner, backing him against the rack.

"If we weren't in public," he said, softly, watching Choutarou's eyes darken.

"Then, what?" Choutarou murmured. Ryou laughed.

"Grab your stuff, and let's get out of here. And I'll show you."

If the cashier thought it was odd that the customers were grinning silently at each other, he didn't mention it.

Momoshiro

Momo was an easygoing sort of guy. Which was a good thing, considering. It really wasn't often, anymore, that he had the urge to whap Ryouma over the head with a racquet. It was much more effective to tickle him until he couldn't breathe; Ryouma was far too aware of his dignity for his own good.

But whenever Ryouma saw an opportunity to mouth off to their captain he took it, and then it was time for caring friends to restrain him. Possibly with a straitjacket, because he really had to be crazy to tease Tezuka-san like that. The fact that Momo had never once, in three and a half years, succeeded was beside the point. So was the incomprehensible fact that their captain generally let Ryouma get away with it, sort of. If there was any topic that would finally drive Tezuka-san over the edge, it had to be his... relationship with Atobe.

Momo caught up just as Ryouma offered their captain his best insolent smirk.

"Buchou. Out on a date?"

Tezuka-san looked down his nose at his youngest team member with no expression Momo could detect, but Ryouma's eyes gleamed like he'd gotten a rise out of him. Atobe, after one look, leaned against the racks, silently declaring that it was not his team and not his problem. Momo didn't know exactly how he managed to get that across just by leaning back and crossing his arms. That talent was one of the more irritating things about Atobe.

Maybe Ryouma thought so, too, because he turned to Atobe next. "Guess there's no hope for a game today, then. Too bad. Beating you would have been a good way to wrap up the weekend."

"I'm told it's good for people to have dreams," Atobe returned, condescending as ever. "Nice to see you have one that will last you so very long, Echizen."

Momo's cautious look at Tezuka-san showed that he didn't seem upset that Ryouma was ragging on his boyfriend. That was a relief. A sudden thought came to Momo, that Ryouma was challenging Atobe in front of their captain by way of asking permission. Ryouma never directly disobeyed the captain, but he was a master of avoiding being given orders that he didn't want to follow. Giving the captain a chance to object was as good as asking if it was all right.

Which meant, Momo realized, that Ryouma would take Tezuka-san's silence for assent, and keep needling Atobe until he got what he wanted. Ryouma was opening his mouth for the next shot when bright laughter cut across him.

"Ryouma-kun, you're almost as good at ticking people off as you are at playing tennis. And that's saying something."

Tachibana Ann appeared from around the corner, grinning when Ryouma raised a brow at her.

"Ann-chan," Momo exclaimed, relieved. "Are you here with your brother?" She grinned wider.

"Yes, but I thought he'd probably appreciate it if I got lost for a while." She flicked her eyes at her brother and Fuji-senpai, standing together. "I've been exploring on my own; this place has a ton of great stuff!" She waved a handful of plastic cases, and Momo leaned over her shoulder to see.

"Oh, hey, I didn't know Do As Infinity had another one out, what's on it?"

"Momo-senpai." Ryouma's voice was low, but it got Momo's attention. Ryouma didn't sound that sharp very often. When he turned, though, Ryouma just looked at him, sidelong. He seemed irritated. It took Momo a couple beats to figure out why, but when he did he smiled. Ryouma looked away again, not meeting anyone's eyes, now.

Momo came away from Ann, to stand behind Ryouma and lay a casual hand on his shoulder. "Ready to go bargain hunting?" he asked.

"Sure," Ryouma muttered, still not looking back at him.

Ann-chan had a knowing smile on as she turned to her brother. "Did you guys find everything you wanted, Onii-chan?"

Occupied with her questions, the other players returned Momo's goodbyes distractedly.

It wasn't, Momo thought, as they moved on, that Ryouma was possessive, exactly. And he wasn't anyone's definition of clingy. There were just people he didn't like Momo to pay too much attention to, and Tachibana Ann was one of them. The word boyfriend hadn't even been breathed between them, yet, except jokingly, but they didn't often need things spoken out loud.

Momo ruffled Ryouma's hair, and Ryouma swatted at his hand.

"Cut it out," he said, sounding sulky. But he turned his head enough to glance at Momo over his shoulder, eyes momentarily softer and mouth curving up at one corner. Momo smiled back, and let his hand rest, briefly, at the back of Ryouma's neck before falling.

There were easier things than words.

Tezuka

Kunimitsu slung his bag of CDs into a corner, in a rare moment of messiness, and almost collapsed back on his bed. He pressed a hand over his eyes, pushing his glasses up, hoping to alleviate the threatening headache. He'd really never thought a simple trip to the music store would be so harrowing. If he had, he'd have risked whatever musical white elephants Keigo might have chosen for him.

The bed dipped, and he felt a hand pluck his glasses off entirely. "Oh, come along, Kunimitsu, admit it. It was funny," Keigo chuckled.

Kunimitsu lifted his hand, the better to glare at his lover. Though he couldn't quite maintain it when Keigo's cool fingertips pressed across his forehead, driving the tense almost-pain away.

"You're worried about Fuji," Keigo observed. Kunimitsu didn't bother denying it.

"I never expected Mizuki, of all people, to..." he trailed off.

"Lock his interest?" Keigo suggested. "It could be worse."

Kunimitsu made an inquiring noise, closing his eyes as Keigo's thumbs stroked the arch of his brow bone.

"Mizuki himself doesn't seem completely unbalanced about the whole thing," Keigo told him, thoughtfully. "And I imagine Tachibana will keep Fuji from going too far."

Kunimitsu was worn out enough to accept Keigo's judgment over his own fears, though he made a mental note to see if he could get the whole story out of Fuji later. On the other hand, he revised his thought as Keigo's lips brushed across his, perhaps he wasn't as worn out as all that. And he really felt he deserved some consolation after a day like this.

He reached up to pull Keigo down against him.

End

Branch: *looks around, slightly hunted* Ok, so, we'll flip a coin to see which couple gets their smut first, right?

All Muses: *ignore her*

Momo: It'll be us, first, we're cuter.

Shishido: You wish! You give her way too much trouble, with all that non-verbal crap. It'll be us.

Atobe: Speaking of trouble, you have far too much back-story requirement, Shishido. Besides, she loves me best. *preens*

Ryouma: Exactly. You two old guys need a chance to get your breath back.

Branch: *sidles behind Fuji* I'm just glad you don't like me writing smut for you and Tachibana.

Fuji: *slow smile* Actually, I've been considering that.

Branch: *pales, backs away as all muses turn to look at her* Help! Muse Police! I'm being mugged!

Yaru, Part One

During Tezuka's first year of college, and Ryouma's second year of high school, Ryouma tracks Tezuka down again and they edge into a relationship not based on the tennis club. Drama With Romance, I-4

Kunimitsu remembered that it had taken less than a month from the time he started high school to the day Echizen Ryouma had come to find him. He was not, therefore, entirely surprised to see Echizen now, not quite two months into Kunimitsu's university studies. Echizen's expression also bore a remarkable resemblance to the one he had worn on the previous occasion—a flash of uncertainty muffled under sardonic indifference.

What was odd was that Echizen had sought him out in this place.

Kunimitsu favored this particular outcropping because it was a bit off the main walking trails. After a pleasant, if thoroughly untaxing, walk up, it was nice to appreciate the view somewhere apart from the chattering families and shouting children. Someone had to have told Echizen how to find it, and as soon as Kunimitsu found out that it had been Fuji he was going to have some words with his friend. He preferred not to be disturbed, up here.

"Echizen," he said, neither welcoming nor rejecting.

Echizen had gotten fairly adept at reading him, over the years, and Kunimitsu was sure he understood the nuance. After a moment of hesitation, though, Echizen picked his way through the underbrush to the span of smooth, sunny rock where Kunimitsu sat and perched beside him. Kunimitsu contemplated his body language. Echizen was slightly less than arm's length away, arms wrapped around drawn up knees, chin tucked down. He wasn't looking at Kunimitsu at all. Kunimitsu didn't think he'd ever seen Echizen telegraph uncertainty so strongly.

"Do you like the view of the city from up here?" he asked, quietly, fishing for the reason Echizen had come to him here.

Echizen looked out, as if he'd just noticed the panorama in front of them. Eventually he nodded. "It's a lot quieter," he remarked.

Which was certainly true, if not especially informative. Kunimitsu didn't think he'd get any better results if he asked, outright, why Echizen was here, though. He decided to wait, and see if silence would draw an answer out.

As silence settled over them, though, filled with the distant hum of the city, and the low shush of wind through the trees, and the sharper rustle of squirrels chasing each other overhead, he noticed that Echizen's tension seemed to be receding. His arms loosened, and folded on top of his knees. He leaned forward to rest his chin on them with a sigh. His eyes drifted half closed. It was actually very relaxing just to watch.

When Kunimitsu stood, at last, to go, Echizen looked up at him.

"Thanks," he said.

Kunimitsu nodded a silent You're welcome, though he still wasn't at all sure what for. He wondered, as he started back down the trail, whether he would ever find out.

Echizen found him at the same place again the next week, and again the week after that. Clearly, Fuji had also mentioned Kunimitsu's schedule, which was an unusual amount of information from someone who professed not to have the faintest idea what Echizen had wanted it for. Kunimitsu made a note to have another word with Fuji and see if he could drag whatever his friend suspected out of him. Echizen certainly showed no signs of letting on. Each week he arrived a little after Kunimitsu, and came silently to sit beside him, and didn't say a word unless Kunimitsu asked him something. Despite the continuing itch of curiosity, his presence was restful.

Normally that only happened after they had played a particularly hard match against each other.

By the end of the first month, in spite of Fuji's annoyingly steadfast refusal to speculate on why Echizen came to find his erstwhile captain, at the top of a modest cliff overlooking the city, every week, Kunimitsu thought he might have begun to understand. The clue came to him when he realized that he was finding it relaxing to watch Echizen's edginess soften, each visit.

Echizen's tension lessened when he was with Kunimitsu.

Which seemed to indicate that he was under quite a bit of it, Kunimitsu reflected, watching Echizen lean back on his hands to look up at the quarreling sparrows. He had pressed Echizen to do and be many things, over the past four years, but at ease was not one of them. Kunimitsu faced a dilemma, if he wanted any more of the particulars, though. Echizen was nobody's fool, and, if Kunimitsu asked more pointed questions about sources of stress in his life, would understand that Kunimitsu had noticed both the tension and its easing.

And then Kunimitsu would be obligated to either accept Echizen's presence, and his reliance on Kunimitsu, or object to it. To date, he had avoided doing either.

Kunimitsu sighed, silently. When he had been Echizen's captain, reliance had been reasonable. Team members relied on each other, and the captain carried an extra share; that was simply part of the position. Kunimitsu had accepted the responsibility, and, in fact, passed it on to Echizen to good effect. Now, though...

Kunimitsu had chosen to go all the way through college before he entered pro tennis. He had no doubt that Echizen would chose to go professional after high school. He was sure they would meet again, professionally, but their paths had diverged. Was it good for Echizen to still follow him so closely?

Unfortunately, perhaps, Kunimitsu chose that moment in his reflections to look again at Echizen's eyes. They were bright and peaceful, a distinct contrast to their tightness a few weeks ago. Kunimitsu knew that he wasn't going to deny Echizen that peace without a more significant reason. He had never been particularly good at leaving Echizen to his own devices. Ryuuzaki-sensei had teased him about it. On the bright side, he supposed, that did mean that he was free to press Echizen for details. Prime suspects first, since he knew Echizen, while a good student, did not have the kind of effortless time of his classes that Kunimitsu or Fuji did.

"How has your second year been so far?" he asked.

Echizen looked at him sidelong. "School's been fine," he said, eventually.

Kunimitsu gave Echizen his sternest look, the one he had learned from his grandfather. If Echizen knew what Kunimitsu wanted to find out, he wasn't about to play twenty questions with the boy. Mischievous amusement flashed across Echizen's face before it faded away, and he looked down at the ground.

"It's calm, here," he muttered.

Kunimitsu raised a brow. "Just here?" he asked. Meaning, not anywhere else in Echizen's life right now?

Echizen nodded. Kunimitsu sighed out loud, this time. Specific problems were so much easier to deal with. There was nothing to be done about something this general; nothing but wait for Echizen to work it out on his own. Kunimitsu didn't doubt that he would; Echizen wasn't the sort to stand still and be run over. It was one of the things Kunimitsu had always appreciated about him. And if Echizen needed that little extra bit of familiarity and stability, while he worked on it, Kunimitsu supposed it was acceptable for him to provide it.

Echizen was watching Kunimitsu from the corner of his eye.

"It's good to have someplace like that," Kunimitsu allowed. He was hard pressed to suppress a smile when Echizen blew out a quiet breath and relaxed again. He didn't think he had ever known anyone as artlessly expressive as Echizen was once he let his shell drop. It had always amused him that Echizen opened up faster to his opponents than to anyone else, and that the only reason Echizen had been so free within his team was that each of his teammates could also give him a hard time in competition.

Altogether, perhaps he shouldn't be surprised that it was he Echizen had sought out.

Kunimitsu had expected Echizen to become a bit more talkative, now that he knew his presence was accepted. But he was as silent as ever, seeming perfectly content to pass each Tuesday evening without exchanging a single word. In retrospect, Kunimitsu did recall that Echizen had always been fairly reticent, off the courts. It was just that his unbridled insolence and provocations on the court tended to overshadow the fact.

He also found that Echizen was visiting their outcropping even when Kunimitsu wasn't there. While Tuesday was the one day of the week Kunimitsu was assured of having enough time free to take the bus, walk up and still have long enough to just sit for a while, he did try to get out for a decent walk someplace besides the city parks a few times a week. This trail was his favorite, when he thought he'd have time, and Echizen seemed to have taken to it also, to judge from the several occasions Kunimitsu found Echizen there before him on odd days, sprawled on his stomach so that he could look over the drop-off. When that happened, Echizen only looked over his shoulder and smiled before setting his chin back on his crossed arms.

That expanse of weather-smoothed stone became a shared place without Kunimitsu being able to pin down just when it happened. By the middle of summer, though, he knew this to be the case, and so it was simply courtesy that led him to speak.

"I won't be here, next week. I'm leaving a bit early to get to some of the trails further out from the city."

He had rather expected Echizen to make a face, or otherwise indicate his disgruntlement. He did not expect the abrupt and seamless blankness that accompanied Echizen's nod of acknowledgement. Perhaps it was his surprise at an expression so alien to Echizen's manner that prompted him to say what he did next.

"You can come along, if you'd like."

Echizen's eyes lightened, as he blinked at Kunimitsu, and Kunimitsu found himself relaxing to see the opaqueness replaced by faint surprise.

"It would be all right?" Echizen asked.

Kunimitsu reflected that he hadn't realized just how for granted he had come to take Echizen's openness, with him. It would bear some thought, whether he should let himself rest against it to the extent his own reaction indicated he did. For now, though, he had made the invitation, and could hardly withdraw it.

"Yes," he answered.

Echizen nodded. "I'd like to come."

Kunimitsu told him the time the bus would leave, and wondered whether it was deliberate, this talent Echizen had for getting people to act outside their usual parameters.

TBC

Yaru, Part Two

Ryouma comes to terms rather abruptly with the reason he's clinging to Tezuka. Drama with Romance, I-3

Ryouma glanced up at his companion, and then back down at where his feet were going.

At first, it had been a matter of chance, really. Ryouma had missed his captain's presence, which always made it easier to be calm. And, when Fuji-senpai had shown up to watch his brother's match against Ryouma at the district preliminaries, Ryouma had been reminded and asked, in passing, how Tezuka-san was. Fuji-senpai had cocked his head and given Ryouma a long look.

And then he'd told Ryouma to go find out for himself, and given him quite specific directions on how to do so.

When he'd seen Tezuka-san, sitting at the edge of that overlook, Ryouma been startled at the wave of relief he felt. It had reminded him of his first year of junior high, and how he'd felt when his captain had returned to the team. Which was strange, considering that Tezuka-san wasn't his captain anymore and certainly hadn't returned. Quite the contrary.

Dissecting his own reaction had helped distract Ryouma from the reaction itself. Ryouma knew perfectly well that he had always depended on his captain, for a challenge, for an example, for a little peace in all the craziness. He had just thought he'd done a better job convincing himself that he had to stop, now they were on different tracks.

Apparently not.

Apparently, the craziness now consisted mostly of Tezuka-san's absence. Ryouma had never been much for denial, so, having reached this conclusion, he had chosen to keep visiting unless and until Tezuka-san indicated he wasn't welcome. He had been a little surprised that Tezuka-san hadn't done so yet, not even after he seemed to realize why Ryouma was there. Ryouma had been even more surprised when Tezuka-san invited him along on a trip that fell on Visiting Day. Not that his surprise had kept him from accepting.

All of which had led him to here, hiking up the side of a mountain. A fairly gentle mountain, of course, this was no hanging-from-ledges affair. Though, Ryouma reflected, that could be fun, too, at some point. Still, he had to keep his mind on what he was doing if he didn't want to take a spill. Which he had no intention of doing, especially in front of Tezuka-san. Ryouma took some pride in being able to pick up new skills quickly, and had every intention of becoming competent enough to justify being invited along next time, too. So he kept an eye on where Tezuka-san was placing his feet, and how he shifted his weight to keep his balance on the slope.

There was something rather soothing about the activity, actually. Unlike the vast majority of athletics Ryouma had undertaken, there was no real competition, here. He was pretty sure that a huge chunk of rock covered in trees had no interest in defeating him; it was just there. The challenge, here, was... himself.

Maybe that was why Tezuka-san liked it.

This did not, of course, stop him from glaring at Tezuka-san's back, when he crossed a washed out bit of the trail with one long step. Just because Ryouma accepted the fact that he would always be fairly small and compact did not mean he appreciated it when tall people flaunted their extra centimeters. When Tezuka-san paused and looked back, though, as if to offer his shorter companion a hand over if it was needed, Ryouma merely cranked up the glare a few notches and sprang over on his own.

Taking comfort from Tezuka-san's presence was one thing. Accepting help for something like this was completely different.

The lightening of Tezuka-san's eyes said that he probably knew just what Ryouma was thinking. Ryouma raised his chin and smirked back. He was pleased when this won a curl at the corner of Tezuka-san's mouth, before Tezuka-san turned back to the trail.

When they finally came out of the trees, it was almost a shock. Ryouma thought that, if he took another few strides, he might step into the sky. It must be absolutely incredible at night.

He didn't realize that he had said that last out loud until Tezuka-san turned to look at him, brows slightly arched.

"Yes, it is," he confirmed, quietly.

Ryouma turned back to the sweep of blue and air over them, and breathed out a soft sigh. He wondered if he could possibly manage to come up here at night, some time, and see it. He remembered seeing the night sky through thin air, a few times, away from city lights. Personally, he thought Japanese schools won, hands down, when it came to field trips, but he'd been on a few good ones back before they'd moved, too.

Ryouma tipped his head back to follow the path of the sunlight across the sky until he swayed and Tezuka-san touched his shoulder to steady him.

When Fuji-senpai turned up at the next Seigaku match, Ryouma didn't think it was quite as coincidental as the last time. It didn't soothe his suspicion at all when Fuji fell in beside him, as the team was leaving.

"Good game," he complimented Ryouma.

"Thanks," Ryouma told him, a little warily.

"Your play has come back on-center again, I was glad to see. You seemed a little distracted earlier in the year."

Ryouma made a noncommittal noise, and took a sip of water; he knew what Fuji-senpai was talking about. He was also glad that irritating, prickly, talking-to-himself babble inside his head had faded. It wasn't as thought he had ever been able to tell what was wrong.

Fuji-senpai smiled at him, affectionately. "Who would have thought your little crush on Tezuka would last this long, or affect you so much."

Ryouma nearly inhaled a mouthful of water. "My what?" he choked.

Fuji-senpai chuckled at him. "Did you really think no one noticed?" he asked.

"I'm not... it isn't... what..." Ryouma bit back further sputtering, and took a very deep breath. It didn't help all that much. Fuji-senpai was watching him narrowly, and finally made a surprised sound, brows arched.

"You didn't realize it? Well, there's one over on me," he said, cheerfully. "I thought you had."

Ryouma pressed his lips together and stalked on, trying to ignore Fuji's presence beside him. He did not have a crush on his captain. Ex-captain. On Tezuka-san. He respected Tezuka-san, of course; Tezuka-san was his best challenge, and the one who understood best how Ryouma felt about the game. Tezuka-san was the one who had always known where Ryouma was trying to get to, and he'd put his own game on the line, more than once, to help Ryouma get there. And of course Ryouma loved playing against him; it was an incredible thrill to go all out and never be sure who would win, and Tezuka-san's game was beautiful just to watch, never mind actually stand in the middle of and reach out and touch. And, yes, so it made Ryouma feel better to be around Tezuka-san, anyone whose life was as crazy as his would be grateful for a little peace and quiet. And if he just happened, just circumstantially, to have noticed that late-day sun turned Tezuka-san's eyes bronze, that didn't... it didn't...

Ah, hell.

All right, fine, but that still wasn't a crush!

Ryouma glowered at the still smiling Fuji from the corner of his eye, and was suddenly struck by a horrible thought.

"Fuji-senpai," he said, slowly, "you're not..." he nearly choked on the word, "you're not matchmaking are you?"

Fuji-senpai laughed. "Of course not!" He smiled benignly at Ryouma. "I'm just watching to see what happens."

"Has anyone ever told you you have bad hobbies?" Ryouma grumbled.

"At times," Fuji-senpai allowed, serenely.

Ryouma sighed. Yes, that was Fuji-senpai, all right. Not precisely comforting, but a whole lot better than the alternative. "Have you mentioned anything to Tezuka-san?" he asked, crossing his fingers.

"Certainly not," Fuji assured him. "It's none of my business."

Ryouma snorted at the magnitude of this bare-faced lie, but was reassured. If he was sure of any one thing, now that Fuji-senpai had kicked him over the edge of enlightenment, it was that he wasn't saying anything about this to Tezuka-san. Daydreams were probably no longer avoidable, but that didn't call for him to make a voluntary idiot out of himself.

A week later, Tezuka-san asked if he really wanted to see what the end of that trail looked like at night.

TBC

Yaru, Part Three

Tezuka finally loses his battle to stay detached. Romance, I-3

Kunimitsu had come to the conclusion that, if he wanted to know what was going on with Echizen, he would need bait. He no longer had the authority to demand an explanation. Or, at least, if he did, he wasn't sure he wanted to use it, or even know about it. With no institutional roles surrounding them, any authority he still had with Echizen would be personal. This was a time when Echizen should be growing beyond that. If Kunimitsu had done his job properly, Echizen should not think of Kunimitsu as his captain for much longer. He could only hope that this time together, outside of a shared school and team, would help and not hinder the process.

Which brought him back to the question of bait, because seeking an accounting from Echizen without offering in return would definitely not help. This did not mean that Kunimitsu was above choosing a place and time to his own advantage. For example, the side of a mountain after sunset and before moonrise, when it would be dark enough that Echizen, who was very good at deciphering subtle, non-verbal cues, would not get more from Kunimitsu than he intended to give. It also helped that Echizen seemed absolutely entranced by the sky, and might answer him without thinking.

So. "It's good to be doing something that requires an effort," he offered, quietly. "After last year, the Seigaku University tennis club doesn't offer much of a challenge."

Echizen made a considering noise. His shadowy outline leaned back a little further. "I bet," he said, in a judicious tone, "that Fuji-senpai says you should have chosen Rikkai University, instead."

"He does," Kunimitsu acknowledged, dryly, giving information to draw information out. He had not expected that Echizen's sense of humor would make it easier.

"I would say I'm glad I won't have to worry about that," Echizen said, thoughtfully, "only the last time I said that to Dad, he laughed. He wouldn't tell me why, because he likes being annoying, but I bet I know. He thinks he'll be the only real challenge for me." Echizen sniffed. "You'd think he'd never seen the rest of you play."

Kunimitsu held back his smile out of habit, even in the dark. It was good to know that Echizen had taken so much assurance from that very first lesson. It did sound, though, like tennis was not the source of Echizen's apparent agitation, this year.

"You never held back, with me, Tezuka-san," Echizen continued, more softly. "Right from the first."

"Yes," Kunimitsu agreed.

"So why are you holding back now?"

It seemed that Echizen didn't need to see him to gather more than Kunimitsu expected. He switched to bluntness. "If I asked you, directly, why you came looking for me, would you tell me?"

The moon was rising, and he could see Echizen's head turn toward him. "Yes."

"Why would you answer?" Kunimitsu asked. Before he asked anything else, he wanted the answer to that.

"Because you never held back," Echizen replied, matter-of-factly. "You've always been honest with me. Doesn't that mean I should be honest, too?"

Silence filled the space between them, until Kunimitsu spoke again. "We should be going." Before the revelations got out of hand.

Ryouma stood and stretched. "You didn't usually tell everything," he said, "but what you did say was the truth." It was bright enough, now, to guess at the spark in his eyes as he looked at Kunimitsu and smiled.

Kunimitsu visited his mother as often as he had an hour or two free. He felt guilty, every now and then, that he had moved out and could no longer shield her from his father and grandfather's bickering, but she had laughed at his hesitation and shooed him off. She had even helped him pick out an apartment, and given him her largest, most luxuriant spider plant, the most unkillable live housewarming gift possible. When neither of the other men of the family were looking, she had also tucked Requiem et Reminiscence in among the fronds, with a wink. Realistically, he knew quite well that, while he had learned how to wear a stern and reserved face from his grandfather, it had been his mother who taught him the serenity he needed to wear it easily and well. Tezuka Ayana needed no one to shield her.

His mother examined him over the edge of her teacup. "You're looking more cheerful again, Kunimitsu. That's good. Is the tennis club turning out better than you thought?"

"Not particularly," Kunimitsu answered, frankly. It was generally quite useless to even attempt to keep secrets from his mother.

"Ah. Have you met someone who drags you out of your routines and keeps you from boring yourself stiff, then?"

Case in point. Kunimitsu smiled into his own tea. That was actually a reasonable description of Echizen. It was what made him both infuriating and intriguing to deal with.

"I suppose so," he said, and gave in, with a sigh, to his mother's prompting look. "Not someone new. One of my team from last year."

She smiled at him, affectionately. "They did seem to make you happy, both times you've led them. I think you liked helping your team win as much as you enjoyed your own victories. You enjoy being needed, Kunimitsu."

Kunimitsu consulted the depths of his teacup. He knew his mother was right, and yet...

"Kunimitsu?" she asked, gently. "What is it?"

"I don't know if it's good for Echizen to need me, still," he admitted. "I did my best to help him advance, to stand on his own without any shadow over him."

"Do you think you failed?" his mother asked, brows raised.

Kunimitsu opened his mouth, and then closed it again. Did he truly believe he had failed? That his own shadow lay over Echizen, now? He held that thought up against the memory of Echizen grinning and prodding at him; of Echizen's blazing eyes on the other side of a net; of Echizen leaning back on his hands, relaxed, tracing the arc of the Milky Way across the sky.

"I know you don't want to be like your grandfather that way, and overshadow where you only wished to teach," his mother said, softly. "You should trust that you won't; and, perhaps, trust this young friend of yours, too."

Kunimitsu felt tension unwind from his shoulders, and smiled, leaning forward to brush a kiss against her cheek.

"Thank you, Mother."

What still astonished Kunimitsu, sometimes, was the fact that Echizen seemed to trust him. Enough to have fallen asleep, beside him on their sunny rock. And, while Kunimitsu was not normally much troubled by protective impulses where Echizen Ryouma was concerned, the black hair fanned untidily across Echizen's cheek was making Kunimitsu's fingers itch to tuck it back.

It could, of course, just have been his own ingrained neatness. But Kunimitsu somewhat doubted that was all it was.

Ryuuzaki-sensei had asked him, once, why he took such trouble for Echizen. At the time, he had answered simply that he was Echizen's captain. It was true enough. But it wasn't all the truth.

Part of it was, indeed, the desire he felt to see any of his team play at their best, and beyond. Part of it was almost aesthetic; Kunimitsu couldn't think of any other way to describe it, much as he didn't want to have anything in common with such a clearly disturbed individual as Jyousei's Hanamura-sensei. The shape of Ryouma's potential had been stunning, and it would have been a criminal waste not to do everything possible to bring it out.

Part of it was harder to explain.

Perhaps it was the casual courage that pursued its own goals unflinchingly and didn't care what the rest of the world thought. Perhaps it was the exultation in the game itself, that thought nothing of losing beyond "next time, I won't". Perhaps it was the willingness to drive on beyond reason.

Perhaps it was those things that Kunimitsu recognized because he had felt them, too.

Perhaps it was just that Echizen was the only one who could make Kunimitsu work quite so hard to bite back a smile or a sigh when Ryouma glanced up with that troublemaking gleam in his eye.

He glanced at the angle of the sunlight, and then at his watch. Whatever the whole truth was, it was getting late and they should both be going. "Echizen," he called, quietly, "Echizen, wake up."

Echizen stirred, and made a faint grumbling noise. "Echizen," Kunimitsu said, more firmly, leaning toward him.

Echizen's eyes opened a little, still hazy. He blinked at Kunimitsu and reached up a hand to touch his face, as if to see whether he were really there.

Kunimitsu held quite still.

Echizen's fingertips slid down his cheek and across his mouth. It was the last touch that seemed to wake Echizen up all the way, because his eyes abruptly snapped fully open and shock raced through them. He snatched his hand back and started to roll away and onto his feet.

Kunimitsu's hand flashed out and closed on his shoulder, and Echizen froze.

Kunimitsu nearly sighed at himself. That impulsive move had presented him with a nice predicament. If he had let Echizen go, it was quite possible that they would have silently agreed to ignore this little occurrence completely. But, no, he had to give in to his urge toward confrontation and make things more complicated. He really had let his control lapse around Echizen, this year.

Echizen was still frozen, half way up on one elbow, looking back at Kunimitsu from the very corner of his eye. Kunimitsu could feel the tension in him, poised to go either way, waiting. Well, as long as he'd gone this far, he might as well keep going. It was not natural to either of them to stop halfway. What was that European phrase? In for a sheep... He'd been mildly appalled when he had looked up the historical source of that saying, though no more so than he had at some portions of his own country's legal history...

He recognized that he was stalling, and that was not acceptable, no matter how far he'd let his self control go. So, then. He tugged on Echizen's shoulder, and, after a moment, Echizen let himself drop back to the stone under them and look up at Kunimitsu. Still waiting. And Kunimitsu's mouth twitched.

He lifted his hand to Ryouma's face and tucked back the unruly strands of hair that had been distracting him earlier. Ryouma blinked at him.

"I've never known anyone else with such a talent for getting me to act on impulse," Kunimitsu observed. The pleased curl to Echizen's lips at that piece of information pulled a smile out of Kunimitsu in answer, and he let it. He needed to make sure of one more thing, though. "I'm not your captain any more, Echizen."

He didn't know if Ryouma heard the hope or the question under that statement, but Echizen nodded. "No, you're not," he said.

The surety in his voice soothed Kunimitsu's last reservations, and he leaned down and touched his lips to Echizen's. A light brush, another, and then Echizen reached up and wrapped his arms around Kunimitsu's shoulders and pulled.

When Kunimitsu regained his balance, only a hastily thrown out hand was keeping his full weight off Echizen, and one of his legs was between Ryouma's. Ryouma grinned, looking insufferably pleased with himself, and leaned up to steal a third kiss.

"You certainly recover quickly," Kunimitsu told him, and shifted until he could wind an arm around Echizen and pull him tight up against Kunimitsu's body. He took advantage of Ryouma's quick breath to offer a more serious kiss, and Ryouma answered readily, opening his mouth against Kunimitsu's. His arms tightened around Kunimitsu's back, and when Kunimitsu pulled away Echizen made a noise both disappointed and annoyed. Kunimitsu laughed low in his chest.

"Your enthusiasm is gratifying," he said, straight faced, and Ryouma glared at him, "but I have no intention of carrying on outside on a rock, however isolated."

Echizen made another grumpy noise, but his expression agreed. Which was good, because Kunimitsu's knees were becoming quite definite about the 'on a rock' part of the statement. The uncertainty lurking in Ryouma's glance up at him, though, prodded Kunimitsu to an offer he really hadn't intended to make so quickly.

"Would you like to come back to my apartment with me?"

Used as he was to seeing it under other circumstances, the brilliance of the look Echizen returned stole Kunimitsu's breath for a moment. It was the brilliance that made Echizen such an irresistible lure and goad and challenge on the court, and Kunimitsu resigned himself to the knowledge that he had just welcomed all the interest and chaos and trouble and thrill that Echizen trailed after him like a too-long scarf into yet another part of his life.

He couldn't quite bring himself to worry about that.

TBC

Yaru, Part Four

Tezuka and Ryouma achieve some closure. Romance with Porn, I-4

Ryouma was entertained by Tezuka-san's apartment. Most of it was meticulously neat in an absentminded sort of way. He was willing to bet that Tezuka-san put things back in their assigned places without ever really thinking about it. So he had to wonder just who had supplied the huge, untidily sprawling spider plant that hung by the sliding door to the modest balcony, or the equally sprawling jade plant a short stand underneath it.

Actually, he'd bet on Fuji-senpai for the jade plant; Ryouma had seen one like it overrunning Fuji-senpai's windowsill in a twining riot of tendrils. But Fuji didn't use the same jab twice very often, so there must be someone else who thought Tezuka-san's life could do with a bit less order. At least two people, then, who would probably approve of him, Ryouma thought, knowing that the grin taking over his face was likely a dead give-away to his thoughts.

"You look like you're contemplating making my life difficult," Tezuka-san remarked, behind him.

Sure enough. When Ryouma turned, though, he could feel the grin turning into something less certain. He'd spent quite some time, by now, sidestepping his physical attraction to Tezuka-san. Having Tezuka-san standing in front of him, close enough to feel his body heat, was a little... disorienting. It only got moreso as Tezuka-san's expression softened; normally it took a good deal more work on Ryouma's part before that happened.

It was actually better when Tezuka-san gathered him close. Easier to let his body's response rule. Ryouma moved closer still, fitting himself against Tezuka-san, stretching up to press a kiss against his mouth.

The expression of Tezuka's body changed, at that, tautened. So much the better—less time to waste thinking. Ryouma buried one hand in springy, honey brown hair and licked, lightly, at Tezuka-san's lower lip. Tezuka's arms tightened around him, hard enough to drive the breath out of him. Tezuka caught Ryouma's gasp in his mouth, lifting him up and kissing him deeply.

And then Tezuka-san drew in a long breath and started to loosen his grip.

"Don't let go," Ryouma protested, pressing close.

Tezuka-san stilled. "Most people like to breathe," he pointed out.

"Breathing is nice," Ryouma agreed. "But when you hold me that hard I know I've really reached you."

After a moment, Tezuka's arms closed snugly again, and Ryouma looked up with a smile. Tezuka-san was studying him, mouth curved with a faintly rueful quirk at one corner. "I never expected you to make a vocation of that hobby of yours," he said, softly.

"Why not?" Ryouma asked. "Don't you know what you're like, when you open up a little?" Tezuka-san's brows asked the question, and Ryouma chewed on his lip, trying to put it into words. "It's like water," he said, at last. "Underwater, it's everywhere, wrapped all around you, and it seems perfectly calm until a current comes along. And then you can't do anything to keep from moving with it. That's what you're like when we play for real. And then, when you forget to be reserved, it's like the surface of water—choppy or bright or ticklish when you put your hand in the way of the waves." He couldn't say what look there was in Tezuka-san's eyes, now. It wasn't one he'd ever seen before. But it made him think of something else, and he slid both arms over Tezuka-san's shoulders, laughing up at him. "And I don't know what it's like, yet, when you touch someone, but I was hoping to find out."

Tezuka brushed fingers through Ryouma's hair and down the side of his neck. "Are you sure?" he asked, deep voice a little huskier than usual.

Accustomed, from years of listening, to hearing the things Tezuka left unsaid, Ryouma tipped his head and gave him a slightly exasperated look. "I'm not afraid," he said, definitely. "And I like this, and I want to feel you."

Tezuka's arms tightened fiercely around him, again, but his lips against Ryouma's were soft and light, coaxing faint, breathless sounds from him. When one of Tezuka's legs pressed between his, Ryouma moaned, arching up against Tezuka and pulling him down to a more insistent kiss. When Tezuka's tongue still only flirted with his, Ryouma nipped at it, and then made a pleased sound as Tezuka's low laugh vibrated down the whole length of his body.

"Bedroom," Tezuka murmured.

Ryouma growled, but let go long enough for them to cross the apartment without tripping. He would have pounced on Tezuka again, there, but Tezuka closed his hands over Ryouma's shoulders, brushing his thumbs across Ryouma's collar bones. Ryouma caught his breath, and stood, curious. Tezuka stepped back and began undressing, without either haste or hesitation. By the time his shirt slid off his arms, only to be caught and draped, neatly, over the closet door, Ryouma's breath was coming short. Which he couldn't help thinking was a little ridiculous, considering the number of times he'd seen Tezuka one pair of boxers short of naked, but there it was. It wasn't until Tezuka stripped off the last cloth, and stepped back to sit on the edge of his bed, dropping his folded glasses on the bedside table, that Ryouma understood. It was in Tezuka's eyes when he met Ryouma's gaze, in the hand he held out to invite Ryouma close again. Ryouma had said that he wanted to see Tezuka open. Tezuka was telling him that he could.

Ryouma came and took Tezuka's hand in both of his, stroking his fingers over the palm and hearing Tezuka's breath catch in turn. And then he stepped back a little and reached for the hem of his own shirt. He couldn't quite manage to meet Tezuka's eyes, but he felt them on him like a beam of sunlight—something hot and tangible where it touched.

When he stepped back to the bed, Tezuka's hands passing up his back smoothed the awkwardness away, and Ryouma leaned into him with a sigh, relaxing. This feeling, skin sliding over skin, was almost familiar. It felt like those times, when they played, that they both saw each other clearly, the times when they each knew what the other would do, when they... touched. Ryouma eased into the familiarity, straddling Tezuka's legs so that he could press closer. Tezuka's hands swept tiny shivers up his legs, over his ribs, threaded into his hair and drew Ryouma down to a kiss that made him glad he wasn't supporting his own weight.

Tezuka's mouth muffled the sound Ryouma made when those long hands slipped back down and between his legs. Tezuka let Ryouma's sudden surge against him tumble them both back onto the bed, and Ryouma found himself sprawled over Tezuka, looking down at the smile lurking at the corners of Tezuka's mouth. Shifting to twine his legs more comfortably with Tezuka's, Ryouma paused and sighed. He could feel that Tezuka was hard. He rocked against Tezuka, gasping a little, both at the hot wash of sensation and at the soft groan it pulled from Tezuka. Tezuka's fingers kneaded against his rear, spreading him open, stroking him, and Ryouma tensed a little. He saw both heat and deliberate restraint as Tezuka looked up at him.

"Have you ever done this before?" Tezuka asked.

Ryouma shook his head. "Not this."

Tezuka's mouth softened further, and he wrapped his arms around Ryouma and rolled them over, kissing Ryouma gently until he was breathing deeply again, moving with Tezuka. "Tell me if you don't like this, then," Tezuka said, reaching over Ryouma's head. "Some people don't."

Ryouma felt Tezuka's slick fingers nudging against him, and shivered a little, pulling Tezuka down to kiss him again. One finger pressed, circling, and slid into him. It was... odd. Ryouma couldn't decide whether he liked it or not. The fact of it, there, was very strange, and yet the sliding movement might be nice. He frowned.

"More."

He could feel Tezuka's lips curve as they brushed his neck. A second finger pressed in, and Ryouma snatched a breath. Oh... that... yes, that was better. The stretch felt good, and the slide was firmer, now. He liked that. He wound his arms around Tezuka, arching up into him. "Mmmmmh. More," he murmured.

Tezuka kissed him, hard, and Ryouma shivered again at the strained control in it. A third finger slid in between the first two, and the sound in Ryouma's throat was harsher this time. The feeling was more intense, and he spread his legs wider, pushing up into it. Warm. Not rough, but... something like it. He held on more tightly, and returned Tezuka's kisses with abandon.

Tezuka was letting his control go, too. When he knelt back and pulled Ryouma up with him, Ryouma found himself held almost as hard as he had been earlier, and moaned against Tezuka's mouth. Now he could say what it was like when Tezuka touched someone. It was like the pull of a wave going out, drawing your feet out from under you and pulling you into the water. And Ryouma was perfectly willing to go.

"Tezuka," he breathed.

Tezuka slipped around him and drew Ryouma back against his chest, straddling his knees. Ryouma smiled at the arms closed around him.

"You'll be all right like this?" Tezuka asked, softly.

"Mmm. Yeah," Ryouma sighed. It would be nice to watch Tezuka's eyes, because he would bet that they were burning just a little wild. But he wanted more to be held, right now. It kept him from completely losing his breath as Tezuka pressed into him. He did grab for the headboard, though, because this was far more than Tezuka's fingers had been and he was shaking by the time Tezuka's hips met his. Tezuka's hold on him tightened, soothing, mouth brushing the nape of Ryouma's neck. Ryouma relaxed, slowly, panting a little. It felt good, just... intense. When Tezuka drew back and thrust in again, though, it pulled a sharp sound from him. That pressure, stroking inside him, was hotter, now, sharper. A new edge surged through him with each thrust. It shuddered down his nerves like heat waves off the street in summer, and Ryouma found himself moving, rocking back into Tezuka, straining against that hard slide.

Tezuka answered him, moving faster, hands stroking down Ryouma's body, between his thighs, fondling him, lifting him up to meet the driving pace. The deep voice in Ryouma's ear was rough, now, breathless over his name. Ryouma stretched into the tight hold and hard caress, voiceless with the weight of sensation running through him, driven into him, stroked out of him. It rushed down to a hot point and exploded through him, raking down him over and over and over.

Tezuka's movement against him had a dreamlike edge for a minute, before he gasped sharply against Ryouma's neck and caught him closer, stilling. A distant corner of Ryouma's mind decided it was probably oxygen overdose. Most of him was too busy drowning in lax warmth to care. Eventually, Tezuka loosened his hold and drew away, letting Ryouma down to the bed and leaning over him for a slow kiss.

A last, small, shiver passed through Ryouma at the open smile Tezuka wore, and the laughing, rueful, affection in his eyes. He reached up and sighed, pleased, as Tezuka gathered him close again.

Being Tezuka's lover, Ryouma had decided, was not significantly different from being his friend or his opponent. Well, except in the obvious sense, when Tezuka brought Ryouma home and laid him down on the bed, or pressed him up against the wall, or came up behind him at the door to the balcony and slid a hand...

Ryouma realized that he was getting distracted, and probably rather flushed, and refocused on the rack in front of him. The point was, they both still had their own lives, and their lives were still running along pretty separate tracks, and they had a limited number of times and places to meet. And if Ryouma wanted to keep going along on Tezuka's hiking trips, which he did, Tezuka chose places with gorgeous views, Ryouma needed shoes that were not sneakers.

First, though, he might just need to read the manual of hiking boots to figure out what the heck all the alleged benefits listed on various tags meant.

A clerk popped up at his elbow. "Can I help you, sir?"

"Only if you can translate this stuff," Ryouma told him, absently, squinting at phrases like 'external heel' and 'mid cut'.

"That is part of my job," the man said, easily. "Are you just starting out hiking?"

"I am," Ryouma specified, "the person I go with isn't."

Actual interest replaced the professional smile. "Ah. Do I take it that you cover some more demanding trails?"

Ryouma had to stop and think about that. He suspected Tezuka wouldn't think they were demanding at all, and he wasn't having any trouble keeping up. But he certainly didn't see any families on the trails Tezuka seemed to like best. "Yes, some," he said, at last. "Probably more, later," he added.

The clerk looked thoughtful. "Most of my customers who do serious climbing prefer the lower cut shoes, but more ankle support is a good idea when you're still building up to that. If your friend likes rougher trails, the traditional, high cut boots will likely stay just as useful as time goes on."

Ryouma had no intention of inviting injury. "Boots," he agreed. "If he ever breaks out the climbing ropes, I'll come back then."

The clerk grinned. "It sounds like your friend really has you hooked," he commented.

Ryouma choked down a laugh at the image this brought to mind. Though if their excursions ever turned to fishing, he was bringing a pillow. Still...

"Yeah, I guess you could say that," he allowed.

Ryouma rummaged in one and then another cupboard before giving up and standing in the middle of the kitchenette, glaring impartially at all of them.

"Do you reorganize your cabinets instead of biting your nails like a normal person?" he called into the living room.

"Yes," Tezuka answered quite calmly.

Ryouma transferred his glare. Tezuka's sense of humor could be a little abstruse sometimes, but Ryouma could recognize perfectly well when he was being teased. "Good to know that," he returned briskly, "so where did you put the glasses this time?"

"Beside the refrigerator, of course."

Ryouma fished out two, muttering, and brought the filled glasses out to the couch. "Serve you right if I dumped this on you."

"Mm," Tezuka said, agreeably. He was obviously wrapped up in the textbook on the table in front of him, and Ryouma had to stifle two separate impulses. The first was to spill a few drops of ice water down Tezuka's neck to get his attention off the physics reading that he really didn't need to devote such concentration to. The second was to get between Tezuka and the table, and kiss the stern line of his mouth into something softer. The entertainment value of one was about equal to the other.

Ryouma restrained himself for the time being, and set one drink down by the open textbook before taking his own and sprawling on the huge floor cushion that had put in an appearance a few weeks ago.

"Why are you bothering with this?" he asked. "It isn't like you need a college degree to go pro, and if it's professional tennis that you want you're wasting four of your strongest years."

Tezuka gave him a long look. "It's debatable whether they're my strongest years," he said.

Ryouma narrowed his eyes. He was used to Tezuka's roundabout conversational methods, but he wasn't in the mood to be patient today. Tezuka sighed and closed his books.

"I'm planning on a career in pro tennis, yes. But what about after? If I decide I don't want to teach, this," he waved at the books and papers, "will give me more options. That's all."

Ryouma thought about that. It was true, his dad was pretty much useless since he didn't play or teach; well, not anyone but Ryouma. He really couldn't see Tezuka lazing around doing nothing but collecting dirty magazines.

Really, really couldn't see it.

"I've never really wanted to do anything else," he mused. "Not since..." he broke off, not quite prepared to say out loud not since I first played you.

Tezuka's eyes lightened. "I didn't really think you had," he agreed, a laugh running under his voice.

After a moment of hesitation, Ryouma came to kneel between Tezuka's legs and comb his fingers through Tezuka's hair. "You're coming, then?" he asked, quietly. "You'll be there?" He felt a little silly asking Tezuka Kunimitsu, of all people, for that reassurance, but still...

Tezuka's arms wrapped around him, tight enough to make him gasp. "I will," he murmured in Ryouma's ear.

Ryouma relaxed in that grip, content to stay there for as long as Tezuka wanted to hold him.

TBC

Yaru, Epilogue

Tezuka and Echizen settle in with each other. Romance with Drama, I-3

Kunimitsu stood at the back of the humming spectators and observed the various recriminations and celebrations of Rikkai's and Seigaku's teams with some amusement. He had company, as he always did when he came to watch matches between these teams. Both Sanada and Yukimura had come, today.

What amused Kunimitsu most was watching Echizen and Kirihara, engaged in a discussion as vigorous as their just finished match, climbing the stands toward their respective seniors without paying the slightest attention to anyone else. This included several of the scouts who made bids for Kirihara's attention, only to bounce off his impenetrable focus on Echizen.

"...supposed to be two years ahead of me, not two behind!" Ryouma was saying, in an aggrieved tone, as they came into earshot.

"I don't know what you're complaining about," Kirihara told him. "I'm going to be the one bored out of my mind for a year, until you catch up."

Ryouma waved a dismissive hand. "No you won't. Momo-senpai is going straight on. And," in the tone of someone being fair against his every inclination, "Atobe-san is already in the pro circuit."

Kirihara made a face. "This is supposed to be encouraging?"

"He's a good opponent," Ryouma said, "and it's the best we'll get until they graduate. Two years!" he glared impartially at Kunimitsu, Sanada and Yukimura all.

Sanada declined to comment, merely giving Kunimitsu a look that asked him to control his unruly kouhai. Yukimura, though, smiled.

"Well, after all, university is where we'll find the majority of our favorite opponents, isn't it?" he teased, gently.

Ryouma eyed him dourly before giving Kirihara a look remarkably similar to the one Sanada had directed at Kunimitsu. Kirihara snorted and stepped around Ryouma to place himself between Echizen and Kirihara's erstwhile captain. Ryouma's mouth quirked, and he abandoned that front, apparently satisfied, to saunter over and stand inside Kunimitsu's personal space, gazing up from under his cap with a gleam in his eye. Kunimitsu stood his ground and looked back with, he hoped, sufficient coolness to indicate that he had no intention whatsoever of being tempted into a public display and Echizen could just put a leash on his mischief right now. Judging from Ryouma's grin, at least the basic idea got through.

Yukimura had a hand over his mouth.

"Your team is getting ready to leave," Kunimitsu pointed out to Ryouma. "You should join them. I'll see you later."

That promise seemed enough to placate Ryouma. "Sure thing," he agreed, easily, turning back toward the stands. Kunimitsu was under no illusions that Echizen had actually chosen to shelve his mischief; the bright look he tossed over his shoulder was enough to prove otherwise. Kunimitsu couldn't quite keep an eyebrow from twitching up with rueful resignation.

"Okay, now I'm really impressed," Kirihara declared. A glance showed him watching the two of them, wide eyed.

"Akaya!" Sanada rapped out. Kirihara directed an obvious Well, aren't you? expression up at him.

Yukimura appeared to be having a coughing fit, which was almost convincing, but his sparkling eyes gave away his amusement.

Echizen grinned at Kirihara and strolled down to the Seigaku team. Kunimitsu shook his head. It should be an interesting evening. "Sanada. Yukimura," he nodded to them. Sanada nodded back, and Yukimura recovered enough to bid him a goodbye that wasn't too very choked.

As he walked away, Kunimitsu heard Yukimura chiding Kirihara, in his soft "social voice", for the breach of manners.

"Yes, Yukimura-san," Kirihara said, tone repentant. "But, really! I never thought, in a hundred years, Echizen would actually catch him..."

Kunimitsu chuckled to himself. That made two of them.

He remembered the comment, later, though, as he lay on the floor of his unlighted living room, reclining on one of his two floor pillows, and stroked Ryouma's bare shoulder. Ryouma purred and settled closer against his side, tucking his head down against Kunimitsu's chest.

He had been more or less pounced on, as soon as the door was closed, and clothing was strewn haphazardly around the room. In fact, if he wasn't mistaken, that was a sock hanging from the jade plant. Not that Kunimitsu had been at all a reluctant participant. But it reminded him.

"Were you chasing me, all that time, Ryouma?" he asked, ruffling his fingers through the sleek, dark hair under his cheek.

Ryouma shrugged, and twined himself still more closely around Kunimitsu. "Not really," he answered. And then he lifted his head to give Kunimitsu an impish look. "Not any more than you were chasing me," he added.

Kunimitsu chuckled out loud. "Fair enough."

Which meant, he reflected, gathering Ryouma just a bit tighter against him, that they had been heading toward this more or less since they set eyes on each other.

Fair enough.

End

Delta

Atobe is rather tired of Tezuka brooding, and decides it's time for another conversation with Fuji to see if the problem is amenable to a swift kick. Romantic Drama With Occasional Porn, I-4

Watching Tezuka Kunimitsu mope was a novel experience. Keigo couldn't recall ever having seen anything quite like it before. The moodiness wasn't terribly obvious, of course, Kunimitsu generally wasn't obvious about anything. But from close up, Keigo definitely noticed a certain distance in his eyes and a wrinkle of brow that was a bit different than usual.

After two weeks of uninterrupted novelty, though, the brooding was getting old. Keigo was perfectly willing to allow that Kunimitsu had a right to be concerned for his friends. But thinking about other people to the exclusion of Keigo himself, when Kunimitsu was with Keigo, was not something he intended to tolerate. Accordingly, when Keigo decided Kunimitsu had been sitting at his desk and staring at team schedules without blinking for just a little too long, he also decided it was time to take action.

Keigo tossed Kunimitsu's copy of Elective Affinities, which he had been reading in bits and pieces whenever he came over, on the bed and swung to his feet. He stalked across the room and tugged Kunimitsu's chair away from the desk, swinging it around. Kunimitsu refocused and looked up at him, startled.

"Keigo, what... ?"

Keigo leaned over and kissed him.

Kunimitsu was stiff with surprise for a long moment, before Keigo coaxed his lips to soften and part. Keigo went about the kiss in a thorough and leisurely fashion, tangling his tongue with Kunimitsu's, nipping gently at his lower lip, and eventually Kunimitsu sighed and his hands lifted to find Keigo's hips. Keigo smiled against Kunimitsu's mouth as he let Kunimitsu pull him down to straddle the chair.

"That's better," Keigo murmured.

Kunimitsu gave him a dry look. "Feeling neglected?"

"Unforgivably so," Keigo agreed, easily. "You're taking far too long to think about something that's probably very simple."

"And you know that it's simple because...?" Kunimitsu asked, mouth tightening a little.

"That is an assumption on my part," Keigo allowed. "But I'll bet a case of Dunlop Abzorbers that complication is an assumption on your part. Have you said more then five words to Fuji in the last two weeks?"

"Yes," Kunimitsu answered, in a very final tone.

Keigo eyed him. "Let me rephrase that. Have you said more than five words about whatever is actually bothering you?"

Kunimitsu's gaze darted away and then back.

"Thought so," Keigo said, smiling.

Kunimitsu's mouth acquired a very stubborn set. "We're coming into the hardest part of the tournament season. I won't risk an upset in the team right now."

And that was that, Keigo knew. Two things Kunimitsu would never compromise: his game and his team. If he had convinced himself that pressing Fuji would be detrimental to the team, there was vanishingly little chance Keigo, or anyone else, could persuade him otherwise. Clearly, then, this was a case where Keigo would have to get involved directly, if he wanted Kunimitsu's attention back where it belonged.

Wasn't it a pleasant coincidence that this would also give him some chance of satisfying his curiosity over what had happened to Fuji lately?

Satisfied with his nascent plan of action, Keigo pressed closer against his lover. "Whatever you want, Kunimitsu," he agreed, as suggestively as possible, in Kunimitsu's ear.

A soft laugh told him that Kunimitsu consented to the distraction. "Anything?" he asked, a teasing edge in the low voice now.

"Mm. Anything," Keigo purred, leaning down to Kunimitsu's mouth again.

Keigo leaned against the wall of Seigaku's high school campus, tapping his fingers impatiently. Where was Fuji? He was about ready to start pacing when his ear finally caught a familiar voice, light and sardonic.

"...I'm perfectly happy to help, Inui. Provided, of course, that you're drinking this stuff, too. After all, any good experiment needs a control, yes?"

"Certainly, but, you see, you are the control for this one," Inui answered, just a bit hastily, as the two emerged from the school grounds.

"About time," Keigo interrupted, stalking towards them. "Far be it from me to stand in the way of scientific progress, or the possible death of a rival, but we need to talk, Fuji. Come on." When Fuji failed to follow him, Keigo glanced back, annoyed. "If you don't hurry up, he'll be along, too, and then this entire exercise will have been pointless. I don't intend to go out of my way for you more than once."

Inui was looking on with raised brows. They twitched up a bit higher when Fuji, after a long, narrow look at Keigo, turned to him and said, "Will it be a problem if we postpone this particular experiment?"

"Not at all," Inui murmured.

Fuji nodded, and paced forward to join Keigo. "Let's go, then."

"If I recall correctly, there's a halfway decent cafe about ten blocks on," Keigo noted as they walked.

"That will do, yes." Fuji's voice was very even, and Keigo's lips quirked. Wary, was he? Fair enough; Keigo had a good deal more leverage in this encounter than he had the last time they'd spoken of personal matters. Keigo was honest enough with himself to admit that this was one of the reasons he had gone to the trouble of coming here today.

And, of course, far be it from Keigo to disappoint expectations; as soon as they were ensconced at a table with their drinks he opened up with both barrels.

"So, Mizuki thinks you're jealous because my presence interferes with your friendship with Tezuka. Is he right?"

Fuji did not, Keigo noted, twitch; instead he became very still. One breath. Two. "Mizuki is perceptive, but also, you must have observed, rather... warped," Fuji said at last.

"In other words, yes," Keigo translated, sipping his tea. "Didn't we have this conversation once already?"

Fuji looked at him with distinct disfavor. Keigo sighed.

"What on earth do you have to be jealous of?" he asked, exasperated. "You have a lover who, unless I'm vastly mistaken, you're perfectly happy with, you're still at the same school with Tezuka, which, I should point out, I'm not, and I find it extremely difficult to believe that he's paying any less attention to any member of his team, let alone you."

"That's none of your business," Fuji told him, tightly.

"Probably not, but it's troubling Tezuka and he won't ask if he thinks the answer might disrupt your team." Keigo caught a flicker in Fuji's eyes as they turned down to his coffee, and blinked. Had Fuji not realized that was why Kunimitsu kept silent? Keigo would have sworn that Fuji knew Kunimitsu better than that. "What is going on with the two of you?" he asked, puzzled.

"Nothing," Fuji said, quietly.

Keigo rested his chin in his hands. Fuji was fond of double talk, even when it came to body language, let alone words. Nothing was happening; so, maybe something should be? "Are you saying that Tezuka really is paying less attention to you?"

This time Fuji twitched, though Keigo would have missed it if he hadn't been watching closely.

"However much he teases about the two of us being similar, I still have a hard time believing I might be replacing you," he mused. "We're different things to him, Fuji."

He realized, later, that he had misjudged just how much what was happening must have been disturbing Fuji, because the one thing Keigo had never expected was that Fuji might actually snap badly enough to say what he did next.

"You wouldn't think so, of course," Fuji bit out, eyes narrow and cold. "You're going to be staying in his world; there's nothing for him to hold against you."

Keigo stared, stunned, for a long moment before he heaved a sigh and leaned back, pressing a hand over his eyes. He couldn't believe Fuji had misread Kunimitsu that badly. No, wait, he could believe it; after all, it wasn't as though he hadn't known plenty of intelligent, talented individuals who where, nevertheless, gifted with the people skills of dried seaweed. It was just that he expected this kind of thing from Ryou, not from Fuji. And if this was the root of Fuji's skittishness, then what he was really worried by must be... Keigo silently recited his choicest German invective. "And here I'd thought you were supposed to have a good brain to go along with the good reflexes."

"I beg your pardon?" Fuji said, with the mildness of a green and pleasant mountain just before it explodes and rains burning rock all over the landscape. Keigo ignored the hint.

"It happens, all right? It isn't your fault, it isn't his fault, it just happens, and it certainly isn't because he's angry at you, you idiot!" he snapped.

Fuji blinked at him, temper temporarily derailed. "What happens?" he asked.

Keigo held up one hand and ticked points off on his fingers. "You're starting to not have as many things to talk about, yes? And he does not, in fact, treat you any less warmly..." he paused to think about that, and amended, "any more harshly, anyway, he's just not quite there as much, yes? And when you talk about some things, he just doesn't seem to connect the way you expected him to. Is this ringing any bells?"

Fuji nodded, slowly, as if he thought this might be a trick question. Keigo snorted.

"We're growing up, Fuji," he pointed out. "We're going in different directions. He doesn't blame you for not staying with tennis, any more than you blame him for his choice to stay. But talking about things only one of you is deeply involved with is different. That's all." Keigo lifted his cooling tea for a sip to conceal his expression.

Not fast enough, it seemed.

"You're speaking from personal experience?" Fuji asked, gaze sharp.

"None of your business," Keigo answered, brusquely.

It was Fuji's turn to lean back in his chair. "It is if you don't want me to think that entire lecture was a self-serving fiction you pulled out of your ear," he said, coolly.

Keigo glared, and reminded himself never, ever to play poker with Fuji. The man was downright addicted to maneuvering people. "You and Mizuki deserve each other," he growled.

Fuji smiled at him, if a show of that many teeth could be called a smile.

"Fine, fine," Keigo said, wearily. "If you insist on being so mannerlessly uncivil to someone trying to do you a favor," he ignored Fuji's snort, "yes, it has." He swirled the dregs of his tea in the cup. "We're still friends, even if it's not the same as it used to be. I go to as many of Kabaji's poetry readings as I can manage, and he comes to as many of my games as he can fit in. We can still have perfectly good talks. It's just not exactly the same." He cut himself off, a little annoyed at having said so much, and looked up preparing a barb to distract Fuji.

Fuji was staring at him as if Keigo had been speaking in Arabic. Keigo raised a brow.

"Poetry readings," Fuji repeated. "Kabaji? Kabaji Munehiro?"

And it was Keigo's turn for a toothy smile. Fuji was keeping his composure better than most, but disbelief edged his voice and widened his eyes. Ah, it was too bad he didn't have a camera handy; Kabaji would have laughed.

"Oh, yes," Keigo confirmed with an airy wave. "His first collection will be published next year. Really, I'm a little surprised you haven't heard." He sipped delicately. Cold tea was a small price to pay for the perfect gesture to finish this play.

And now it was time to be going, before Fuji recovered himself.

"Well, I'm delighted we could have this chat," he said, rising. "I hope it clears things up, and you stop sulking so Tezuka stops moping. I expect I'll see you at Nationals; until then."

As he made it to the door, he heard Fuji starting to laugh, behind him. Ah, success. It was a sweet thing.

Keigo expected to see some improvement in Kunimitsu's mood in reasonably short order. What he did not expect was that Kunimitsu would arrive, unannounced, at the door of his room, a mere two days later.

"Kunimitsu?" he greeted his lover, a bit surprised he had managed to circumvent the staff.

Kunimitsu crossed to the couch before Keigo could rise and knelt, swiftly, catching Keigo's face between his hands. The kiss that followed muffled any thoughts Keigo might have mustered under the heat of Kunimitsu's lips smoothing over his, tempting and offering and demanding. Kunimitsu's hands stroked down Keigo's chest and around his back, pulling him tighter against Kunimitsu's body, and Keigo slid bonelessly off the couch to the floor. His quiet moan was swallowed in Kunimitsu's mouth. Keigo was just starting to wonder whether the door was locked when Kunimitsu drew back and regarded him with a calm expression and laughing eyes.

"What was that about?" Keigo asked, rather breathless.

"Payback," Kunimitsu informed him, serenely.

"Remind me what for, so I can make a note to do it more often."

Kunimitsu smiled. "For baiting Fuji badly enough that he gave you an honest answer; for annoying him enough that he was too busy shredding your character to be reserved with me."

"And then again, perhaps not," Keigo decided. "He spoke to you about it?"

"Yes." Kunimitsu sighed a little. "I hadn't realized he might think..." He pressed his lips together.

Keigo wove his fingers through Kunimitsu's hair. "For five and some years, now, he's been close enough to you to guess what you're thinking without having to ask," he pointed out. "For all that, though, I'm betting that Fuji's never been so good with people that he would have recognized what's happening now until someone thumped him over the head with it."

Kunimitsu's mouth curled, and his eyes were distant. "He isn't, always, no," he agreed.

"That sounds like the start to a good story," Keigo suggested.

Kunimitsu returned to the present and gave him a reproving look. "No."

"You know, it's very cruel of you to rouse my curiosity like that and then refuse to satisfy it, Kunimitsu," Keigo told him in an injured tone.

A familiar gleam lit Kunimitsu's eyes. "Are you really that disappointed?" he asked, one hand sliding down Keigo's body again.

"That depends," Keigo gasped as that warm hand closed, firmly, between his legs, "on whether you intend to satisfy anything else."

Kunimitsu's tongue traced a slick path up Keigo's neck. "Yes, I think I do," he answered, softly.

A low sound rose in Keigo's throat and he leaned back against the couch as Kunimitsu's hand kneaded against him. Kunimitsu wasn't normally the one who pushed things this quickly. But those were definitely Kunimitsu's fingers undoing Keigo's pants, and Kunimitsu's hands urging him back up to the couch, and spreading his knees apart.

And it was very definitely Kunimitsu's mouth closing on him, hot and wet and slow. Keigo fell back against the cushions, moaning as Kunimitsu sucked, hard, before his mouth gentled again. Kunimitsu's tongue flirted with him, rubbed back and forth across screaming nerves, and Keigo tangled his fingers in Kunimitsu's hair again. The silky spring against his hands somehow felt very much like the the touch of Kunimitsu's mouth sliding down his cock, and Keigo flexed his fingers against that softness to keep himself from thrusting up into the sleek heat of Kunimitsu's mouth too forcefully.

That compunction frayed as Kunimitsu slid Keigo's pants a little further down, and strong fingers reached under him, pressing, massaging. Keigo cried out, sharp and yearning, as that touch pushed into him, almost harsh, almost rough without anything to smooth the way. The contrast with the softness of Kunimitsu's tongue sweeping over him put an edge like a knife on the heavy pleasure building low in Keigo's stomach and tensing his thighs. He bucked up as Kunimitsu's lips stroked him, and Kunimitsu's fingers drove into him again. And again. And again. Keigo spread his legs wider and arched with the tantalizing, electric promise of Kunimitsu's touch.

And, just as the raking burn of Kunimitsu's fingers thrusting into him steadied into a deep, open heat, Kunimitsu's mouth slid down him one more time and hardened, sucking, the stroke of Kunimitsu's tongue almost rasping. Demanding. Keigo's body answered, tensed, shuddered as raw sensation surged through him, wringing him so hard he could barely gasp. Over. And over. And over. Until it dropped him back to the cushions, panting, a little dazed.

Slowly Keigo's senses resumed their normal proportions, and he stared up at the ceiling while a thought formed in the stillness of his mind. Not that Kunimitsu entirely left him in peace to contemplate. Kunimitsu's hands, tugging Keigo back down to his lap, were insistent, and Keigo leaned against him, smiling, while he caught his breath.

"You know, when you've been worrying over something and finally manage to stop, you tend to break out really quite noticeably," he said, at last. "I think, perhaps, you need better stress management techniques."

"Are you complaining?" Kunimitsu asked, against Keigo's shoulder.

"Certainly not. Just mentioning it, in case you want to fine tune things so as to keep that famous composure of yours better."

"That matters less with you," Kunimitsu said, without lifting his head.

Probably just as well, because Keigo was fairly sure his entire expression had turned soft, and it still made him just a touch embarrassed when Kunimitsu actually saw how he affected Keigo sometimes. Keigo rested his cheek against Kunimitsu's hair.

"Are the two of you all right, now?" he asked.

Kunimitsu nodded.

"Good," Keigo declared, and put a hand under Kunimitsu's chin to tip his face up to Keigo's. "Then I think it's my turn," he murmured.

He felt Kunimitsu's lips curve under his, before they parted for him.

End

Touch

How Ren reacts to Yoh touching him. Drama With Fluff, I-2, anime continuity, slight spoilers

Fingers were tracing over his back.

Ren twitched. "Cut it out."

Movement only made the sheet slide further down, and the fingers cheerfully moved on to the skin now bared. They danced across his shoulder blades and skipped down the small of his back.

"Cut it out," Ren ordered, a bit muffled by his pillow.

He really had to stop sleeping on his stomach.

"Why?" Yoh asked.

Ren was silent a moment, and Yoh slid a fingertip down the length of his spine. Ren twitched again. "Because it tickles, damn it," he grumbled.

"It does?" The innocent tone made Ren growl; he was never sure how serious Yoh was. "Sorry." The fingertips retreated.

Just as Ren was settling down to go back to sleep, in the expectation that Yoh would leave him alone now, the touch returned. Palms, instead of fingers, stroking down the planes of his back. Ren buried his face in his pillow, stifling a resigned sigh. He should really know better, by this time.

Warmth settled into him, as Yoh's hands moved up and down his back, sweeping over his skin. Ren sighed again, pleasure overcoming irritation. It was never very difficult for Yoh to smooth his irritation away, a fact which, when he was properly wound up, irritated him in and of itself. But at the moment the gentle hands passing over his back as though clearing something away took up too much of his attention for him to be annoyed.

And then Yoh stopped.

"Anna says that Tamao says dinner will be ready soon."

There was a pause while Ren assimilated this information. "This was all just to wake me up for dinner?" Ren inquired, flatly, half wishing he could find the idea harder to believe. He was going to get Yoh for this, later tonight, even if he had to arm wrestle Anna in order to get possession of him. As long as she didn't insist on poker again...

"You don't want her to send Horo Horo up to wake you, do you?" Yoh asked, laughing.

Ren snorted. But when he stretched and would have turned over, Yoh's hands pressed him down again.

"Just a minute."

Ren was drawing breath to object, strenuously, when he felt Yoh's hair brush his back. His shiver gave Yoh time to press a kiss to the center of his back, and Ren stilled, suddenly flushed.

"Okay." A rustle as Yoh sat back. "Ren?" he added, when Ren didn't move.

"That was the first place you touched me," Ren said, voice low. Not in body, of course; that had probably been during the scuffle to get him into the water at Yoh's house in Tokyo, which Ren still remembered vividly. The place Yoh had just kissed was where Ren's father had touched him to set the family sigil. It was the place he had felt warmth when he cast the sigil off. It was the first place Yoh's spirit had truly touched him.

"I know." He could hear the smile in Yoh's voice, and Yoh's fingers brushed across his back once more. "Come on. Dinner."

Ren waited until the heat in his face subsided. Even if Yoh's grin told him that Yoh knew perfectly well it had been there, it was a matter of principle.

"Hurry up, then," Ren told him, pulling on a robe and sweeping past Yoh to the door. "You're always so laid back about everything. Don't think I'll leave you any food out of pity if you're too slow."

"Of course," Yoh said, agreeably.

Ren stalked down the stairs ahead of him, dignity intact. Even if he did have to bite back a soft breath as Yoh smoothed the cloth over his back one last time.

He was definitely going to get Yoh back for this later tonight.

End

The Mind is its Own Place - Part One

The world is changing for everyone, and everyone has to find some way to deal with it. Drama With Vague Romance, I-3

"The mind is its own place, and in itself, / Can make a Heav'n of Hell, a Hell of Heav'n." Milton, Paradise Lost, Book 1, ll 249-55

Uriel

Uriel sat back in his chair as Doll bounced into the room with the tea tray. Perhaps someday he would discover how she managed that without rattling a single saucer; for the time being he only accepted the cup she poured him with absent thanks, mind still occupied with a different mystery.

"Master?"

"Mm?" Uriel turned his attention back to her.

"It's time to wind me up again," she told him, brightly, removing her key from its place on her necklace and offering it.

"Doll," Uriel told her, a little amused, "you can do that for yourself, now."

Doll nibbled her lip and glanced down, and then back up at him from under her lashes. Uriel stifled a sigh. She really had a remarkable instinct for how to get around him. Her determination on her own way of doing things reminded him strongly of his old second among the Dominions, though their tactics couldn't be more different.

"All right, then." He accepted the key and opened the panel in Doll's stomach as she tucked her blouse up modestly. "There," he said, gently, as he finished. He couldn't help but return the brilliant smile she gave him.

"What are you working on?" she asked, picking up her own tea.

A slightly different blend than his, to be sure; she was still a creature of Yggdrasil, after all.

"Is that," she tipped her head, frowning at the bright lines and curves hovering over the table, "...Heaven?"

Uriel had come more and more to believe that Doll must have been an angel of rank before her death. For her to recognize this schematic view only confirmed it.

"In a way," he agreed. "And also not. You remember that the hells were cut loose and driven into the heavens in this last war?"

She nodded, still frowning at the image.

"This is what's happened since. Some reaction occurred between the two, and the planes have been merging into each other." Uriel paused a moment, contemplating the image himself. "Or, perhaps I should say, they are merging into something else."

"Yes," Doll murmured, one fingertip tracing lines here and there. "This isn't how it used to be."

"It's causing a certain amount of consternation." Uriel tried to keep his expression from being too pleased, but wasn't sure he succeeded judging by the way Doll suddenly grinned at him. He cleared his throat. "The land is... refracting. Structures are appearing that aren't quite like anything ever created in either Heaven or Hell, and they seem remarkably resistant to being changed. I don't know who first started calling the new area Abe, but it's very fitting. The land grows like a living thing." He hesitated. "What I was looking at today," he continued, slowly, "was the connection that seems to be developing between Abe and Yggdrasil."

Doll blinked at him. "They're... touching?" she asked in a startled tone. He couldn't blame her; it was a rather unusual development. The heavens had always refused the touch of the World Tree, before.

"Yes. There seems to be a place where they're growing together. I think it may be the new connection between realms, the way our worlds are stabilizing themselves after the old connections were cut." He smiled at Doll. "It does mean you could come with me, when I go there."

She looked up at him, solemnly. "Do you want to go back, Master?"

"Back to my old place? No." Uriel stared, unseeing, at the table in front of him. "I'll never give either angels or demons the power of my voice again. And the order of Dominions... I have no place with them anymore." Though he did sometimes wonder whether Ara-san had survived or not. He hadn't seen his old second during the recent conflict, but that didn't really mean anything. Though she was the sort to rise to prominence wherever she went. But, perhaps... He shook off the dark reflections as well as he could.

A slight weight settled against him, and he looked down, surprised, to see Doll's head resting on his shoulder.

"It will be nice to be able to stay with you," she offered.

Uriel smiled a little, and stroked her hair. "Yes," he agreed. "It will."

Belial

The windows of Lucifer's growing city occurred in strange places sometimes. Belial liked it. Especially the ones with deep ledges set just above head height, that allowed someone to perch in them unobtrusively and enjoy the view both inside and out. At the moment the view inside was more interesting. Outside offered the architecture characteristic of all Abe's cities, glass and stone, odd trees, towers with doors halfway up, fountains in the middle of stairways.

Inside, Astaroth was waving a knife around his own throat. And, while Belial did make a small hobby of watching the city and attempting to catch new parts coming into being, Astaroth's current performance was moving along at a much more riveting pace.

Belial had heard people say that they would go mad if they had to attend some boring meeting or other for another minute, but had never seen it actually happen before. Astaroth seemed to have been set off by Lucifer's mention that Uriel had begun to receive the souls of demons. It was a bit difficult to tell for sure, of course, given the incoherence with which Astaroth was shouting about oblivion and the destruction of souls.

"You want to follow her?" Lucifer asked, at last, from where he leaned in one of the archways.

Astaroth turned somewhat wild eyes on him.

"Then you might not want to do it that way," their lord continued, nodding at the knife. "Self-destruction was always a touchy issue, you may recall."

Astaroth inhaled, sharply. "You believe His strictures will still bind us?" he asked, voice thin.

Lucifer shrugged one shoulder. "Some parts still seem to hold. Others have crumbled. Who knows?"

"I don't care!" Astaroth proclaimed, voice spiraling up again. "If it isn't broken already, I'll break it!" He raised the knife again.

Lucifer ran a hand through his hair, and Belial smiled, imagining his silent sigh.

"Astaroth."

Belial shivered. That was the voice that none of them could ignore and few of them could defy; Lucifer didn't use it very often. It struck Astaroth silent and still, now.

"Come here," Lucifer said, more quietly, pushing off from the wall and beckoning.

Hope flared in Astaroth's eyes, strange to see there. He laid the knife in Lucifer's hand and sank to the floor at his feet, hands clenched into white-knuckled fists. "Majesty... my Lord..." he whispered.

The ironic quirk of Lucifer's lips told Belial that he was reflecting on the rarity of such heartfelt respect from one of the Satans. "Good luck finding your other self, Astaroth," he murmured. "And better luck next time."

The knife slid into Astaroth without drama or flourish, and he collapsed remarkably quietly for someone, in Belial's opinion, so given to histrionics. Se slid down from the window ledge.

"And so passes the last of us who kept any significant following among the demons of middling power," se noted, sweeping a mocking bow to Beelzebub and Leviathan and rising to face Lucifer. "Which leaves a significant number at loose ends, now. Do you wish them to be contained or killed?"

Lucifer's cool look gave nothing away. "The ones with enough ambition or hatred to make trouble are engaged with the splinters of the Host still concerned with fighting us instead of each other. They're a self-solving problem."

"Problem?" Beelzebub repeated, softly. "Is it no longer your intention to defeat the Host? Majesty."

Lucifer actually laughed out loud. "What Host?" he asked. "Two thirds of everyone is dead, the Orders are in chaos, even the ones that still have their leaders, and the Anima Mundi, the only credible threat, shows no particular interest in us one way or another."

"And Michael?" Leviathan rumbled.

Belial edged discreetly back, so as to be out of the potential line of fire.

"Michael will come to me, if he comes," Lucifer noted. "What are you worried for?"

"I worry for your future plans," Leviathan answered, bluntly. "We have followed you because you hated Heaven more than any of us, enough to lead us back and destroy those who cast us out. Will you turn away from that now, Majesty?"

Lucifer looked deeply amused. "You followed me because you weren't strong enough to replace me, even with my soul gone," he corrected with brutal truth. "And the one who cast us out is destroyed. Further vendetta is a waste of time when we could be enjoying our return already. If you two are so taken with the idea of spitting on our exile, you could always look into taking over your old order. The seraphim are without a leader, after all."

Belial had to bite hir lip at the long look Beelzebub and Leviathan shared, and the way they carefully didn't say anything to each other as they left. Once they were out the door, se indulged in a good laugh.

Lucifer raised a brow at hir.

"One bows to your brilliance, my lord," Belial declaimed, suiting action to word. "One can think of few things more appealing to their grudge than that. And ruling the Order of Seraphim would, of course, require them to deal once again with angels as their own people."

"I suppose it will," Lucifer agreed. "Hopefully they'll also be too busy watching each other to attack me." His look turned serious. "Or you, which is a more likely first step. Watch yourself, butterfly."

"Life would be boring without these little challenges," Belial said, airily.

Exasperation edged into Lucifer's expression, and Belial laughed up at him.

"One is careful, my lord. With such destructive associates, it doesn't do to ever be otherwise."

Raphael

Building material rained down around Raphael in very small pieces, and he smiled. It looked like Michael had finally resumed his hobby of destroying Raphael's offices; he'd been a bit concerned for a while, there. It just wasn't natural for Michael to be as considerate as he had been of late.

"Trying to give me more casualties to take care of, Mika-chan?" he inquired.

"You're a doctor, you're supposed to have casualties," Michael told him, plunking down on top of his desk.

"That isn't quite the way we hope it will work," Raphael murmured.

"Besides," Michael added, ignoring the interruption, "it's only fair for you to do your share. There's a ton of casualties out there," he waved toward the hole in the wall, "that you never see in your cushy little roost here."

Raphael shrugged that off. "This isn't a field hospital."

Michael glared at him. "You know, you're a real bastard when you're trying to act like you don't give a damn."

"Considering how many casualties you've personally contributed, Mika-chan, don't you think that's a little of the pot and kettle?" Raphael prodded.

Michael snorted, indignantly. "I only add to the body count when the idiots get in my way trying to kill each other. And don't call me Mika-chan," he added with another glare.

Raphael smirked.

"Michael-sama, how nice to see you," Barbiel said from the doorway.

"Yo." Michael waved.

Raphael had been a little surprised, when he came out of regeneration, to see how well his second and Michael were getting along. Michael seemed to have rubbed off on her a little; she was far more outspoken than she used to be. Always polite and respectful, but definitely more outspoken. He wondered whether Michael had anything to do with Barbiel's new penchant for wearing her sleek, black combat gear under her lab coat, too. Not that it wasn't becoming.

"These requests need your approval, Raphael-sama," she said, holding up a handful of folders. She paused and looked pointedly at Michael's seat on the desk.

"Yeah, yeah, keep your shirt on," Michael grumbled. Raphael noticed that he did, however, move off the desk promptly enough. Clearly, the influence didn't go all one way.

"I certainly do, in the office at least," Barbiel answered with a bland smile and a glint in her eye.

Definitely more outspoken.

"Too much information!" Michael yelled. "I don't want to know what you do with that pervert!"

"Considering the things you've walked in on in the past," Raphael observed, dryly, "I have to wonder what might be left that you don't know about."

"That's because you're a disgusting lech who thinks anyone who does walk in would be looking," Michael said, righteously.

"The only one who would put up with a brat who has the manners of an untrained puppy," Raphael returned, agreeably.

They grinned at each other.

"Well, I just dropped in to say hi," Michael told him, hopping up onto the ruined outside wall. "So I'll see you around. Later Bar-chan!"

"Have fun Michael-sama," she called after him, smiling. She looked down at Raphael, eyes still laughing. "The requests, Raphael-sama?"

"Hm. What about a kiss, first?" he suggested, taking her hand to draw her closer.

"Work first, please, Raphael-sama," she told him, serenely.

He sighed, but, having extensive experience with her dedication to doing her job properly, let her go and flipped through the folders, signing off on each one. She accepted them back and leaned down to give him a kiss sweet enough to make up for the delay.

"Are you going to be making rounds today?" she asked, as they parted.

"Yes. It's been a while since I checked with our people working in Machonon."

"I'll get your body armor ready, then," she said, one hand going absently to check the gun at her hip. "And," she added, glancing at the hole in the wall, "get the repair crew up here again while we're out."

"Quite," Raphael agreed, smiling at the wreckage.

Noise

"Those towers are new," the queen remarked, pausing on their walk. "Has anyone been inside them, yet?"

"I asked Lil to take a look today," Noise told her. "We don't have enough people, yet, to need the space, but I told her to make sure there weren't any gates to odd places at least."

Kurai-sama snorted. "Like the one in my first bedroom, under the bed, that went through to that ice valley. Can I pick 'em or what? I think it's a sign."

"The new land doesn't seem quite that... intentional, Majesty," Noise answered, torn between amusement and worry. Kurai-sama seemed to notice, and smiled at her.

"Don't worry, Noise, I'm just sulking."

"You don't sulk, Kurai-sama," Noise protested.

"Not so much anymore, I suppose," the queen agreed, easily.

"Have you been thinking a lot, lately, about finding a consort?" Noise asked, after a minute, firmly suppressing the desire to add about time.

Kurai-sama sighed, and leaned against the rail of the colonnade they were walking through. "Some. I'm less worried, these days, about needing a marriage alliance. Our upper border, which is really the one I'm most worried about, is secure. For now," she added, wryly.

"So that really was the Mad Hatter who visited the other day?" Noise asked, as neutrally as she could.

"Yep. It's actually his personal domain that came up against our border. At least we can be sure no one but Lucifer himself will come through there." Kurai-sama frowned, suddenly, and looked at Noise with concerned eyes. "Did you meet him? I asked him to stay away from you."

"He did," Noise assured her, looking down at the courtyard below them. "I just caught sight of him in passing." She shook herself and looked back up at her queen. "Besides, you cleansed his mark from me. I'm fine, now."

Kurai-sama didn't look very convinced, but she let Noise have her way. "It was the dragons who cleansed it," she said, waving a dismissive hand. "I just asked nicely. Anyway, if I don't need an alliance marriage, I do need to find a consort, still. I'm the last of my line. I know it makes you all kind of nervous."

"We want you to be happy, too, Kurai-sama," Noise said, softly.

Kurai-sama threw an arm around her shoulders in a quick hug. "I know," she answered. Then she grinned. "Maybe I'll ask Jade where to find someone."

Noise quailed at the thought of what the acerbic dragons might say to a request like that. The queen was definitely the bravest woman she knew.

Raziel

Raziel listened to his people argue and thought longingly of the bottle of painkillers in the next room.

"Bodiel, we can't possibly include demons in our ranks!" Oriphiel snapped. "It's irresponsible of you to feed Raziel-sama's fancy on this subject."

Strangling Oriphiel might help, too, now he thought about it.

"And now we see exactly why Zaphkiel-sama passed command to Raziel-sama and not to you," Bodiel shot back, her eyes narrow with leashed anger. "He understands Zaphkiel-sama's goals."

"You presume too much on the fact that you were his second," Oriphiel growled.

"You think too much about the fact that he was appointed Great One of our order instead of you," Bodiel returned, coldly.

"Excluding them simply because they were once cast out would be a bit hypocritical for us, wouldn't it?" Jael interjected, soft-voiced.

"And surely not all of them want to kill and eat us on sight," Rampel added, with a smile at Jael for remembering the Forbidden Children who were Rampel's own constituency.

"So you want to go out unarmed to take the risk?" Oriphiel asked.

Raziel slammed his hand down on the table, finally losing patience. "I'm not asking you to serve yourself up with a sprig of parsley! Although," he added, "you're tempting me to reconsider in a few cases."

Even Oriphiel was silent as Raziel's glare swept the table.

"We can't do nothing," he continued, more evenly. "The demons are beginning to spread out more and more. Life will be infinitely easier if they recognize us as, at the least, a neutral force who won't threaten them without cause."

"Raziel-sama, you know I support your decision," Bodiel said into the quiet, "but I am concerned about what we should do if they reject our offer and turn on us."

Raziel saw the echo of Mad Hatter's words, during the Third War, in her eyes. "Well," he sighed, "they haven't attacked us in force or with coordination so far, so I think we don't need to worry too much about the higher ranked demons. Lucifer must not wish to move against us, or things would have been different. For the others, who are settling around the new land... we'll just have to go case by case and keep our weapons handy."

Three of his four subcommanders nodded, and Oriphiel followed after a grudging hesitation.

"Then I think that's all for today," Raziel said, trying to keep the relief out of his voice. He managed to remain in control and at ease until he got past the door. Then he dove for his medicine cabinet.

If Zaphkiel-sama had had to deal with anything like this, he owed his mentor's memory vast apologies for yelling at him so often.

Arariel

Arariel leaned her chair back and examined the ceiling. "How many does this make?" she asked.

"Three," Nisroc answered, despite their both knowing the question had been rhetorical. Arariel knew perfectly well how many demons she had accepted among her people.

"An invasion without troop movements or a single supply truck to be seen anywhere," she stated. "He knows what he's doing."

"Are you sure this is all by Lucifer's intention?" Nisroc asked, cautiously.

"I'm sure," Arariel said, firmly. "Mad Hatter wouldn't follow anyone without a brain, and if he hasn't stopped them all scattering he must approve of the results it will bring." She swung her chair upright again. "Now we just have to decide what to do about that."

"We trust your judgment." Nisroc's voice was quiet.

Arariel stood and clasped his shoulder briefly. "Thank you. You know I'll do my best for all of us." She looked out the window. "No matter what it takes."

TBC

The Mind is its Own Place - Part Two

The world is changing for everyone, and everyone has to find some way to deal with it. Drama With Vague Romance, I-3

Belial liked to perch on top of the arches that bridged the city streets. The view was excellent, and se did like to keep abreast of how the city was running. It was rare that this observation moved hir to intervention, but se was wondering, now, whether it might not be advisable. Se suspected that if the two demons below annoyed Arariel any more the results could be... significant.

Belial sympathized entirely, of course. Se had never had any patience with strutting underlings, either. But it would mean a delay before Belial found out why Arariel had come, and that would be annoying.

"...kind of stringy, maybe we should start with the other one," one of the leering idiots said, eyeing the very tense angel behind Arariel. Armaita, if Belial remembered correctly, not one se had known well.

Arariel's eyes narrowed, and her wings unfurled, pure and brilliant against the stone of the city. Belial decided enough was enough.

"You will not," se stated.

"Yeah, and who..." the demon choked as Belial slipped down from the arch. A cold, amused look sent both demons scuttling away, stumbling over disclaimers and apologies. Belial sniffed, and turned back to hir acquaintances in time to catch Armaita's sigh of relief.

Arariel was wearing a rather crooked smile. "Thanks, Hatter."

"Entirely one's pleasure," Belial assured her with a sweeping bow. "Might one ask what brings you here, though?"

"I got tired of waiting for you," Arariel answered, eyes shuttered.

Belial's brows climbed. "Indeed?" se murmured. "One does apologize for being tardy. You wish to see His Majesty, then?"

Arariel drew in a deep breath, and let it out slowly. "Yes."

"Hm." Belial tipped hir head, watching Arariel for a long moment, but she returned the look without a single twitch or flinch. As expected, really. "Follow me," Belial said, at last.

Se led them down boulevards, up stairs, through a hall, a garden and over the stepping stones of a large pool.

"Are you taking us by the scenic route?" Arariel asked, as they climbed the ramp that spiraled around the outside of a tower to reach the door on the roof.

"Not really," Belial chuckled. "Lucifer-sama has a talent for finding hard to reach places. Fortunately there aren't many with approaches quite this obscure. Ah, here we are."

Lucifer was leaning against the arm of a chair, facing the door when it opened. He examined his guests and looked a question at Belial.

"Arariel and Armaita," Belial introduced them. "I believe Arariel has some business with you."

He smiled. "Business?"

"Just a few questions I wanted to ask you," Arariel put in, quietly, stepping forward.

Amusement gleamed in Lucifer's eyes. "Ask."

"What do you require of your people?"

Belial, fading into the shadows to watch the show, paused in surprise. That was far more formal than Arariel usually bothered to be.

Lucifer's stillness shed the lazy edge it had had lately. "That they obey me," he replied. A thin smile crossed his lips, and he added, "And that they keep the body count from their internal plotting within reason."

Armaita wrapped her arms around herself, shivering a little. Belial wondered why Arariel had brought her, and not someone like the ever-calm Nisroc.

"And do you protect your own?" Arariel asked.

Belial smirked. The last time Lucifer had been among them he probably wouldn't have dignified such a question with an answer. Now, he pushed upright from his chair.

"I do."

Armaita stumbled to the floor.

"Armaita!" Arariel gathered the other angel close and looked sharply at Lucifer.

Armaita shook her head, squeezing Arariel's hand. "It's true," she said, a little shakily, and then laughed on a broken breath. "Very, very true."

Belial started. And then se couldn't resist the urge to applaud. "You brought someone who hears truth to negotiations! Brilliant, Arariel." Se paused, judiciously. "More brilliant if it were less obvious, but still."

"Shut up, Hatter," Arariel told hir, exasperated. "This is too much for you, Armaita. Wait for me outside."

Armaita shook her head, stubbornly. "No, Arariel-san. You need to know. I'll be all right." She cast a rueful glance up at Lucifer. "I never thought the Lord of Hell would speak so truly."

Lucifer, who had watched the flurry silently, folded his arms. "Nanatsusaya left me some of its edge, I think. A double edge, of course."

Armaita nodded, and turned back to Arariel. "I'll be all right."

Arariel sighed, and tightened her arms around Armaita. "All right." She looked back up at Lucifer.

"Ask," he repeated, evenly.

"If I bring my people under you, will you protect them?" she asked. "Even if I'm killed?"

"If they wish to continue to serve me, I will protect them," Lucifer answered.

Armaita nodded. Arariel echoed it.

"Then I only have one more question. Will you lead us, and not abandon us, even for Alexiel when she returns?"

Lucifer looked thoroughly startled for a moment, before his mouth twitched and he raised his eyes to Belial's. Se wound hir arms around hirself and gazed back. It was the one thing se had never asked him—had never dared. He sighed.

"Alexiel draws souls after her," he said to Belial and Arariel both, "and there will be times when I'm gone, no doubt. But I won't abandon you."

A shudder passed through Armaita, and she nodded, vehemently. Arariel relaxed, and Belial was mildly disgusted to realize that se had as well.

"All right," Arariel said, tone decisive, and stood. She hesitated, one hand on Armaita's shoulder when she wavered a bit.

Belial settled beside Armaita and offered an arm. The truth was to be valued. Armaita leaned on hir readily.

"Thank you, Hatter-san," she murmured.

Arariel grinned down at them, eyes sparkling as Belial gave her a cool look. "Seems I really did catch you pretty well," she commented. "Only fair that I'm caught in return, I suppose."

"Are you caught?" Lucifer wanted to know, as Arariel approached him.

She snorted and knelt before him. Snagging his hand, she pressed a kiss to the back of it. "I'm yours," she told him, quietly.

Belial laughed silently. That, now, was more the sort of formality se expected from Arariel. In hir arms, Armaita shivered and looked up at Lucifer. Slowly and deliberately, she nodded. His expression warmed a shade as he returned it, and tugged Arariel back up.

"Groveling bores me," he told her. "Don't bother."

She grinned as he went to stand over Armaita. Belial felt a moment of surprise when he held his hands down to Armaita and she took them without hesitation and let him draw her to her still shaky feet. Se didn't think se had ever seen anyone trust the Lord of Hell so simply. Then se caught sight of Arariel's smug expression, behind Lucifer, and had to hide a smile under the brim of hir hat. Arariel was a sly creature, to offer such bait to one who had been betrayed by his creator and reviled by his people because of it.

"Very clever, Arariel," Lucifer said, without looking around.

"I thought so, yes," she agreed, without even the grace to look abashed.

Lucifer directed his amused smile down at Armaita. "And where did you come from?"

"I don't know," she admitted, softly. "Gabriel-sama took me into her household very young. I never found out whether I was a Forbidden Child, or intended to be like this, or simply an... anomaly. But that was where I met Arariel-san, and when Gabriel-sama was struck down Arariel-san took me with her and escaped."

"That's like Gabriel," Lucifer noted. "And like Arariel, too," he added, glancing over his shoulder at his new subordinate. She met his eyes calmly.

"Your assistant, here, should make it easier to convince your people to accept my rule," he observed. Arariel shrugged one shoulder. "How easily could you convince them to move?" Lucifer pressed.

Arariel arched a brow at him. "Here, I take it? That probably depends on just how much your heart is set on rubbing us in everyone's noses."

Lucifer's eyes were hooded. "I am very dedicated to a stable world for all of us, but I'm doing it out of spite towards the dead. I'm not going to kill you off with unwarranted optimism."

Armaita twitched a little and looked up at him reproachfully.

"Always and only the truth," he told her before turning back to Arariel. "There's a new area of the city no one has moved into yet. I would prefer you didn't have to leave a trail of bodies behind you when you walk down the streets, but I do want you closer."

Belial considered that. It sounded as though se was finally going to have some company in hir attendance on hir lord. Se eyed Arariel, who was eyeing hir back. Lucifer leaned back against his chair, out of the line of measuring looks, and waited.

"If the second war taught me nothing else," Arariel spoke at last, "it taught me what loyalty means."

Another two edged statement, that. But Belial was willing enough to trade away a little of hir freedom to betray in return for one more person who would not betray Lucifer.

"One understands the principle, as well," se answered.

"I think the question is whether you'll apply it," Arariel said, dryly.

Belial returned a nod. "I think the answer is that I will."

Se appreciated Arariel's diplomacy in not checking the statement immediately with Armaita.

Lucifer smiled, faintly. "I'll leave you two to settle the details, then." He laid a hand on Armaita's shoulder. "Come. I'll show you the new quarter while they fence with each other."

Armaita muffled a laugh and ducked her head, following him out.

Belial and Arariel both snorted and exchanged a speaking glance. Arariel joined hir at the window, and Belial obligingly moved over to make room on the ledge. They looked out over the city for a while, in comfortable silence. It was Arariel who eventually broke it.

"Alexiel," Arariel pronounced the name like the answer to a question. "Tell me about her."

End

River - Chapter One

Those who are left forge connections along with their new world. Drama With Occasional Romance, I-4 (Incomplete)

Lucifer leaned on the lip of a fountain and watched with some amusement as Belial and Arariel examined the Second Garden of Yggdrasil, each in her own way. Belial perched on a pillar, and Arariel prowled among the arches and benches. Neither of them seemed hugely pleased with the garden, despite what Lucifer considered a wild sort of charm to the place. Or maybe it was the prospective company that troubled them.

"Remind me again why we're bothering to talk to anyone else about this little project of yours?" Arariel asked as she strode back to him.

He arched a brow at her. "As a group, they have the power to carry it off smoothly."

She gave him a slightly pained look. "Am I or am I not speaking to the single most powerful being now alive in these planes? We don't need them."

Lucifer chuckled, quietly; Arariel's bluntness was refreshing. "Not right at this very moment," he agreed.

"Is he always this sneaky?" Arariel asked Belial, after a long moment.

"More or less." Belial slid down from her perch. "One believes people are starting to arrive for the party."

Indeed, one pair was approaching and a quartet had appeared in the distance. Belial stepped forward.

"Raziel-kun, how delightful to see you again."

Raziel was looking older than Lucifer remembered him. Only a bit taller, but far more worn and a good deal less volatile. The boy nodded, warily, back. "Mad Hatter. Lucifer-san. And...?" He glanced, questioningly, at Arariel.

"Arariel," Lucifer supplied. "She's come to me just recently."

Speculation and calculation flickered across Raziel's face as he took in Arariel's ice blond hair and bright, sea colored eyes—classic angelic coloring and form. "I see."

Arariel tucked her hands in her pockets. "Pleased to meet you, Raziel-san. And...?" She tipped her head at Raziel's companion, standing at his shoulder.

"Bodiel, one of the Anima Mundi's subcommanders," Raziel introduced her, taking a seat on one of the benches circling the fountain.

Lucifer listened to the tense amenities with only half his attention, much more interested in the four people nearing them now. Especially the shortest one.

Michael stalked up to him, stopping just far enough away that he could glare without having to crane his neck up. "All right, we're here. What the hell do you want?" he snapped, radiating suspicion and aggression like heat from a bonfire. Lucifer felt the corner of his mouth quirk up. If he ever wanted to give his brother heart failure from sheer rage he would tell Michael that he was cute when he bristled.

Dangerous, but cute.

"Michael. Raphael." Lucifer nodded to his brother's companion, glance taking in the poised woman behind Raphael and the hulking aide standing a bit back from Michael. Wise man, that one. "I have a proposal."

"Well, spit it out, already," Michael growled. "So I can tell you to go to hell. I don't want to spend any more time around you than I fucking have to."

"Going to Hell could present some problems these days," Lucifer noted, coolly.

Flames snapped around Michael before he got hold of himself, and Raphael gave Lucifer a dry look. Arariel had a hand over her eyes, and Belial was smirking. It was nice that he could always rely on Michael to defuse the tension. Well, aside from the tension between the two of them, of course.

"Besides," Lucifer added, "we're still waiting for one more." Right on cue, the twining branches of Yggdrasil, off beyond the pillars and benches of the garden, rustled and a very tall figure emerged from them.

Arariel stiffened, and Lucifer nodded to himself. He'd been right, then. Uriel stopped at the edge of the pavement, looking unusually perturbed. And not, for once, by Lucifer's presence.

"Ara-san," he murmured.

Only Lucifer was close enough to notice the wavering breath Arariel pulled in before answering. "Uriel-sama." She nodded to Uriel, but made no other acknowledgement and didn't move from Lucifer's side.

"You survived, then...?" Uriel asked, hesitantly, eyes flicking to Lucifer.

Arariel drew herself up. "When you disappeared the Order kept itself running reasonably well," she reported, as if she were standing in front of a supervizor's desk. "But the only one left to counter Sevothtarte was Gabriel-sama. I threw my support behind her. It probably wasn't the smartest thing I could have done." Her mouth twisted. "At least I understood enough of the situation to take who I could and run when Gabriel-sama went down. They never caught me, so I was never branded or formally outcast or stripped of my charge. It was easy enough to lose a few more people in Raquiah."

Uriel's eyes were sad. "Ara-san..."

Lucifer laid a casual hand on Arariel's back, and she started like she'd forgotten anyone else was present.

"No wonder you brought Armaita along to ask your questions; especially that last one," he remarked, and smiled to himself when Arariel relaxed under his hand.

"One never did get around to asking your rank, did one?" Belial mused.

A flicker of Arariel's grin returned. "No, you didn't. But don't think this means I'm going to spar knives with you just because I technically outranked you, once upon a time."

Belial made a disappointed moue, and Arariel looked at her old leader with renewed calm. "I survived, Uriel-sama, and so did the Order. Not," she added, "that the judges are seeing much action these days."

A smile tugged at Uriel's mouth. "I'm glad you did, Ara-san."

"Fascinating," Raphael murmured, leaning against a pillar. "I do have to ask, though, whether we could get on before Mika-chan actually explodes from sheer spleen."

Michael transferred his concentrated glare from his brother to his friend, and Lucifer recalled himself and turned to Uriel.

"Are you aware that Abe's growth has been impeded?" he asked.

Uriel's dark eyes sharpened. "I am. Do you know why?"

Lucifer's mouth twisted. "If I say the blockage is centered in Briah, that should answer the question, shouldn't it?" His gaze swept the lot of them and returned to Uriel. "I want to break that choke point before Abe becomes," he flicked his eyes to Yggdrasil, "twisted and stunted."

"Out of the goodness of your heart, no doubt," Raphael suggested, examining his nails.

Lucifer raised a brow. "Have you not noticed that my people live here, too, Raphael? I hadn't thought you were quite that oblivious."

Raphael coolly declined to answer the jab and settled back, watchful. Michael wasn't nearly as restrained.

"Shit! You really are, aren't you? You're really trying to take over the fucking heavens! What the hell makes you think I'll help, you son of a bitch?"

Lucifer didn't even try to deny his brother's charge; it was more or less right, and explaining the whole plan would take too long. Instead he showed his teeth in a wolfish smile that excluded everyone but the two of them. "Because it will give you a chance to destroy a couple preciously civilized cabals and the supercilious bastards who run them. Raze them to the ground and leave those sneers smoking."

Raw want flared in Michael's face. He leaned into Lucifer's words, fists clenched. "Yes," he hissed. Lucifer didn't think he even realized he'd spoken. They were related all right, he reflected with dark amusement. Though it lightened a bit when Michael's lieutenant, Khamael if he recalled right, examined his leader and heaved a large though silent sigh of resignation. Clearly he understood exactly how Michael would respond to the promise of striking back at the smug bureaucrats who had ostracized him for so long.

Raziel's warm voice, rather sardonic at the moment, broke the fierce focus between Lucifer and Michael. "You've chosen your lures with care, Lucifer-san. So tell me, what inducement do you have lined up to ensure the Anima Mundi's compliance in this plan of yours?"

Lucifer laughed. He'd been sure someone as wily as Zaphkiel wouldn't have chosen a successor without a sharp mind, and was pleased to be right. "None," he told the young angel blithely.

Raziel raised his brows, seeming a bit wary of the edge to Lucifer's smile. "Are you that sure we won't interfere? That sure what you do is in the best interests of us all?"

The boy had an edge of his own, all right. Lucifer eyed him with approval. "I'm very sure you'll agree with me, yes, but that wasn't why I invited you to hear this. I thought you might take some personal interest." He paused, but Raziel didn't bat an eyelash. "One of the choke points we've mapped is the labs."

Fury blazed up in Raziel's green eyes, brighter than even Michael's had, and his face froze in a deadly calm.

"As you do, I see," Lucifer murmured.

Bodiel was chewing on her lip. "Raziel-sama." She laid a hand on his arm, shifting forward more urgently when he made no acknowledgement. "Raziel-sama, please!"

"Peace, Bodiel," he said, at last, very evenly. "I have no intention of abusing my authority by ordering anyone into this affair." She relaxed, slightly. "At the same time," he continued, "I won't deprive those who feel the same way I do of the right to be present for this." He turned his head to look at her, and she flinched back from his hard eyes.

After one more tense moment, Bodiel bowed her head. "Yes, sir. Though I don't want to think about what Oriphiel will say to this," she added, under her breath.

"If Oriphiel has any wisdom left, he won't say anything," Raziel snapped. "Not if he wants to keep his position." His lips curled into an unnerving smile. "We will, after all, need to coordinate this, and an emissary to Michael-san's people would probably be a good idea."

Bodiel winced. "You're getting more like Zaphkiel-sama every day," she sighed.

Given the fey, chill curve to the boy's lips right now, Lucifer could only agree.

"Actually," Arariel put in, "I might have some people who could help you with coordination." Lucifer wondered whether the gleam in her eye meant worse for their temporary allies or for her own subordinates. "I'm sure Tabris would fit in just fine with your people," she said to Michael, "and from the sound of it Maion might be of assistance to you, Raziel-san. And they could both use some external diplomatic experience."

"Really," Raziel murmured, taking in Arariel's steady look. "Very well."

Michael shrugged, irritably. Arariel grinned for just a moment before recovering her composure. Lucifer stifled a chuckle; Tabris in Michael's orbit was a slightly alarming thought, but if it made Arariel happy...

Raziel turned back to him, where he had been leaning on the fountain and enjoying the show. "I can gather some of the codes, from the minds of the guards or scientists, to open the labs for Michael-san and his people, as I assume you had in mind." Lucifer nodded, silently. "But I doubt I can get all of them; there are too many and no one knows more than a handful." His lips were pale and tight, probably with memory.

Belial stirred. "If one goes with you that will not present an insurmountable problem," she said, carelessly.

Raphael jerked upright. "The hell you will," he exclaimed, urbanity breaking down abruptly.

Belial slanted a look at him, mouth unsmiling. "One is no danger to Lucifer-sama's brother." As Raphael's second edged a little closer to him, Belial's lips gained a slight crook. "Nor to you, now, it seems. It took you long enough. One doesn't think anyone else ever reacted so badly to having the blindfold ripped away, and yet lived. One's compliments."

Raphael snarled, and Lucifer intervened before Belial could answer the sharp swirl of icy wind with something sharper. "Enough. Play your games another time, butterfly."

"As you say, my lord," she agreed, demurely.

"The other strong candidate is the High Council Hall," Lucifer continued, turning back to Uriel. "Yggdrasil seems to be trying to break through there."

"I can well imagine the remaining officers and Councilors have been doing their best to hold that off," Uriel growled. "It would be helpful to have someone to keep them off me while I work."

Arariel crossed her arms. "It would be... most efficient... if I joined Uriel-sama there."

Lucifer examined her hunched shoulders while he considered that. "Ah. That would give you both earth and water, wouldn't it?"

Arariel nodded, silently, without looking up.

"Water?" Raziel asked, voice soft again as his eyes rested on the clearly unhappy Arariel.

"I have charge over mortal waters," she answered. "I can only command the waters of these planes when I'm inside the influence of the Angel of Death." She glanced up at Uriel and back down, dodging the concern in his gaze. "It's an effective combination."

Lucifer eyed her for a long moment. "Fine, if you're willing. No one can command you to do this, Arariel."

She blinked at him. Because, of course, they both knew that he very well could command her; that was one of the terms of her allegiance to him. Her eyes cleared as his message penetrated, though. He would not command her, and no one else had the right, now. She belonged only to the Lord of Hell.

Her mouth twitched. "You have a strange way of comforting people, you know that?" she said, for his ears only.

He shrugged one shoulder. "It works."

She chuckled, and he could see her relax. "I'm willing," she said, raising her voice again.

"That's the two major contenders, then," he said, releasing her.

"Should we take it that you don't actually know where the key point of the blockage is?" Raphael asked, sounding rather jaundiced.

"Yes, you should." Lucifer smiled coolly. "With these two out of the way, I expect it to become more obvious. That will be my business."

Everyone stilled for one moment, reminded of Lucifer's power. Michael broke the tension with a snort.

"Yeah, whatever."

"Lucifer-sama," Barbiel interjected, ignoring Michael's look of absolute betrayal at her respectful tone in favor of squinting upward, "did you invite anyone else to meet here?"

"No." Lucifer followed her gaze, picking out what looked like a dragon, spiraling down towards them.

It flapped down to land in the open space beyond the garden's pillars, and two women dismounted. He recognized both of them and had to wonder what Kurai and her guard captain were doing out here. It didn't look like an accidental meeting. Kurai stalked toward them, swept the assembly with glare and planted her hands on her hips.

"I'm going to kill Jade," she declared. "I don't know how it can be done, but I'll find a way!"

Belial was smiling brilliantly. "And what, one wonders, is the Queen of Evils doing here in the garden of Yggdrasil?" she purred.

Kurai's glare got even sharper. "That is absolutely, positively none of your business," she stated, very firmly.

"Hmm." Belial's presence flickered from Lucifer's side to Kurai's back where she could drape her arms around Kurai's shoulders. "Such vehemence from you to one's humble self could only mean..." she paused, artfully. "Husband-hunting again, already, sweet Queen?"

Kurai turned red and made a sincere attempt to bury her elbow in Belial's stomach. "Shut up!" she hissed. Belial slid aside with sparkling eyes.

"You asked the seer dragon something that personal?" Lucifer's brows climbed. "You have even more guts and less sense than I gave you credit for."

Kurai bared her fangs at him. "Yeah, and look what a wild goose chase she sent me on! Taken," she pointed at Lucifer, "hopeless," at Uriel, "obsessed," at Raziel, "taken," at Raphael, "and you've got to be kidding me," with a sneer at Michael.

"Kurai-sama," Noise sighed, rubbing her forehead.

Lucifer could feel a smirk taking over his mouth. Raziel was sputtering and Michael twitching at this cavalier dismissal. Uriel and Raphael, for once, looked equally speechless. Barbiel was looking smug, and Arariel was laughing so hard she had to lean on the fountain to stay standing. "I suppose," he mused, "she might have thought you didn't give your last marriage a fair chance."

Kurai opened her mouth, closed it again, inhaled mightily, and broke off to whirl and yell at Belial instead. "Quit laughing! That was all your fault!"

"Indubitably," Belial agreed, with a sweeping bow.

"Perhaps," Khamael rumbled, tightening his precautionary grip on a fuming Michael, "we should return to the question of Briah."

Noise raised a brow. "At least one person here has his head screwed on straight," she muttered.

"Briah?" Kurai asked, suddenly serious. "What about Briah?"

Lucifer took in her white-knuckled hands and tight lips. "You've felt it, haven't you?"

"The... the blight?" she whispered, and shivered when he nodded. "Yes. It's like Gehenna was, when Assiah's poison covered it."

"Abe's growth has been blocked. We intend to break that."

"As soon," Raphael put in, "as the Lord of Hell, here, figures out where the keystone is."

Kurai looked up at Lucifer solemnly. "I can find it."

"Majesty!" Noise exclaimed. "That's too dangerous!"

Kurai waved her concern off. "I'm the dragonmaster, Noise, I've been one with them before; it won't hurt me now."

"But in such a dangerous place...! I won't be enough to guard you while you're—" she broke off, shooting suspicious looks at the listeners. Particularly at Michael, Lucifer noted.

Khamael seemed to be the one who understood why. "Our people were not involved, Captain. We took no part in that massacre. You have my word. If you wish assistance guarding your queen in Briah, we will give it."

Noise looked at him, expressionlessly, for a long breath. "I accept your offer," she said, at last. "I'll be in touch about that."

Kurai rolled her eyes, started to say something, and paused. She looked from Noise to Khamael and back, and a huge grin slowly took over her face. She clapped her guard captain on the shoulder. "You do that, Noise, I'm sure it will make you feel better," she said, magnanimously

"There, now, you see how much fun it is?" Belial murmured.

Kurai shook a finger at her. "You be quiet! Don't even think of messing this up!"

"One wouldn't dream of it."

"Looks like everyone will be in touch, then," Lucifer observed, dryly. "This should be good for a laugh, if nothing else."

Arariel had finally stopped snickering and caught her breath. "We're done, then? Lovely." She linked an arm through Belial's. "Then you can come have a drink and tell me exactly what you meant when you said I reminded you of Her Majesty."

Belial went along gracefully enough. "To be sure."

"Lucifer." Uriel came just close enough to both speak quietly and loom effectively. Lucifer's mouth twitched; he knew perfectly well what this was about.

"Let me guess," he suggested. "If Arariel comes to harm you'll wind my guts around your scythe handle." Not that he thought Uriel would actually do it. He was too soft hearted.

"More or less," Uriel agreed.

"After you hurt her already?" Lucifer prodded.

Uriel's eyes turned cold. "I know that she was hurt by my abandonment of my place in the heavens. If you, knowing that, hurt her the same way again, I will come for your soul myself. And not to stuff it in a sword, this time."

Lucifer was moderately impressed by the sincerity in Uriel's flat tone. He smiled slightly, looking around the small group as it split up again. "I gave my body and blood to make Hell habitable to those who followed me and were cast down with me. I didn't abandon them willingly. Besides," he shot a sideways glance at Uriel, "you give Arariel too little credit. She gave me her loyalty; she also demanded mine in return. She's nobody's fool. It's why I accepted her."

"Very well," Uriel said, after a long moment.

Lucifer shook his head as he followed his gossiping lieutenants back toward the way home. If his brother believed, after watching this Rube Goldberg alliance in action, that Lucifer truly wanted absolute rule over every faction of Abe, he would think a lot less of Michael's intelligence. However good a life Setsuna was having in Assiah, Lucifer couldn't help wishing Alexiel would hurry up and wake. Intimidation and keeping people guessing worked well enough, but Alexiel's careless compassion worked better.

TBC (eventually, maybe, sometime)

Games Without Frontiers

Yukimura decides how to deal with Belial. Drama, I-3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Surely.

End

Confession

This is an answer to a challenge, the challenge in question being to write a serious story featuring Girly!Sanada and, preferably, Manly!Yukimura. Valentine's and associated pratices seemed to offer a useful occasion for this. See Yukimura get chocolate from an unexpected source; see Sanada fidget and blush. Seriously. Romance, I-2, manga continuity

Sanada Genichirou paced down the sidewalk beside his captain, listening with half an ear to Seiichi's amiable comments on exams and how nice it would be to watch the third years finally graduate and leave the high school to them. Genichirou made listening noises, but his attention was elsewhere. Part of him was still howling in futile disbelief that he had actually done what he had done this morning. Most of him was searching for things to focus on besides his nerves.

A very small voice in the back of his mind was praying fervently to any kami that might listen and feel merciful that Niou never, ever found out about this.

Ostensibly, he was going home with Seiichi today so that they would each have some moral support while they sorted through this year's Valentine's chocolate and wrote thank you notes. It was a yearly tradition for them. For the first time, though, Genichirou found himself with a personal interest in one of those boxes; it was the one he had placed in Seiichi's locker, atop several others even by that early hour, after making very, very sure no one was around to watch.

He had never been so nervous in his entire life. Not for exams. Not when he was called to demonstrate for his grandfather's advanced classes. Certainly not for any match he had ever played! His respect for the courage of the girls who delivered their gifts in person had increased rather abruptly today.

Seiichi's mother was dotingly amused by their little tradition, and waved them both up to his room with the briefest formalities. Genichirou was grateful, since he didn't know how much longer even his self control would allow him to make casual small talk without starting to fidget. Why had he done this to himself?

Well-trained memory recited that Valentine's Day was the proper and traditional day for confessing affection to its object, and that chocolate was the proper and traditional, and appealingly nonverbal, way to go about it. The holiday had been instituted in order to give people who normally didn't have such an opportunity the chance to actually express their love. Genichirou was simply taking advantage of it. High school was the proper time for this. All told, this was about as much buttressing from tradition and propriety as Genichirou could give the desire that had managed to weave itself into the friendship and admiration he'd always felt for his captain. The increasingly strident voice of cynicism, which Genichirou normally and properly muffled and ignored, noted that Genichirou sounded more and more like he was trying to convince himself. What was he going to do next, in this traditional progression, wait to be asked on a date?

Seiichi paused by his desk, as Genichirou tripped over thin air, and looked at him with some concern. "Are you all right? I hadn't thought today's practice would have tired you that much."

Genichirou collected himself and sat on one end of Seiichi's bed. "I'm fine. Just a little distracted." Anxiety, he decided, must be making him lightheaded. He tried to breathe more slowly. This was ridiculous.

It shouldn't last much longer, though, one way or another. Seiichi settled on the other end of the bed and they both spilled out their piles of small boxes and bags over the thick, blue blanket. Genichirou managed to sort through his as briskly as ever, only slightly impeded by having one eye always fixed on Seiichi's pile for the appearance of one particular box. Thankfully Genichirou hadn't received any homemade this year, and only three items were extravagant enough to require a note in return. He set them aside, sweeping the rest back into his bag and wondering how many he could pawn off on his brother and father.

And then he had to shove his heart back down out of his throat and fold his hands together, hard, because Seiichi had picked up a small, dark red box without any logo. Here it was. Either Seiichi was about to charitably suppress laughter, or... or something else.

"Only one homemade this year," Seiichi remarked. "It seems the girls are finally learning."

Genichirou throttled down a flinch.

His captain's long fingers flicked open the attached fold of paper, and Genichirou's nerve broke. He couldn't watch. He fixed his eyes on the blanket instead.

"Genichirou?" Seiichi's voice was quiet.

It was a very nice blanket. The last one had been worn to a rather dull shade of green before Seiichi consented to replace it. How long ago had that been?

Seiichi's hand reached out to touch Genichirou's chin and lifted his head again with uncompromising pressure. Genichirou swallowed. He had really thought he was used to how penetrating Seiichi's gaze was; perhaps not. He could feel his face heating.

"I don't know that I've ever seen you blush before, Genichirou," Seiichi observed. "It really was you who gave me this, wasn't it?"

"Yes," Genichirou managed, just a bit stifled. He did not, however, look away.

Seiichi's eyes focused on him as if they were playing a match. "I'm honored."

Genichirou relaxed slightly; at least kindly restrained amusement didn't seem to be forthcoming, and this was a significant relief. A traditional offer had been made, and accepted in a traditional fashion. This was also reassuring. He stiffened again, though, when Seiichi's thumb brushed the very corner of his mouth and Seiichi smiled.

The last time Genichirou saw that speculative smile it had been directed at Echizen. The time before that, at Kirihara. This was not especially reassuring. It got even less so when Seiichi came up onto his knees, leaning over Genichirou, lifting his chin further still. Was he really going to...

Genichirou's eyes fell shut as Seiichi's mouth covered his. It was a compelling kiss, warm and vibrant, much like Seiichi himself. It wasn't until Seiichi's tongue stroked out, coaxing Genichirou's lips to part, that an uncertain sound found its way up his throat.

Seiichi drew back, not very far, running his fingers through Genichirou's hair. His eyes were considering as he looked down. "Was that your first kiss?" he asked, softly.

Genichirou sternly ordered the flush rising back to his face to go away and nodded.

Seiichi's lips gained an extra curl, sharp and pleased. "Good."

His second kiss was hard enough to press Genichirou down to the bed, hot enough to steal his breath and leave him gasping under the weight of the hands on his shoulders. "Seiichi..."

Seiichi drew back again, rather reluctantly, but he smiled more gently this time. "Too much?"

Genichirou glanced aside. This kind of intimacy was not a casual thing, to him, and while he was reasonably sure it wasn't casual with Seiichi either, he would prefer just a little longer to be more sure. He did not, however, protest when Seiichi kissed him again, light and easy. This was, after all, exactly what he had offered; his captain knew him, knew that. And, really, it wasn't as though he was unused to just how forceful Seiichi could be, after standing across the net from him all these years.

A shiver coiled down Genichirou's spine at the thought of Seiichi kissing him as fiercely as he played when they were serious.

Seiichi slid a searching hand down Genichirou's chest, laughing low in his throat. "I have to say, this is by far the best Valentine's Day I've ever had," he murmured.

All things considered, even with the unaccustomed nerves and the problems of making chocolates in dead secret from his mother, Genichirou had to agree.

Seiichi's eyes glinted. "And now I have a real excuse to give all those girls."

A kiss swallowed both Genichirou's growl and Seiichi's laugh.

End

Promise

Knowing the history of Byakuya's promises, Rukia makes one of her own, and hopes Renji can accept it. Drama with Angst, I-4.

Rukia walked to cool down, through the streets and lower courts, circling until she caught her breath and her muscles stopped burning. When her hands finally agreed to close firmly again she climbed up to the roof of the Thirteenth Division offices to watch the sunset. It was a familiar thing to do. She couldn't decide whether it comforted her or just made her feel more alien now, with everything so changed.

The sunset itself was beautiful, though.

"Ah. I wondered if I would find you up here." Ukitake-taichou settled, soundlessly, beside her.

"Did you need me for something, Taichou?" Rukia unclasped her arms from around her legs and straightened.

"No, no, relax." Ukitake-taichou smiled down at her. "No need to spoil the sunset; you always did like coming up here to watch."

Rukia was worn out enough to take him at his word. They watched the sky until the last hint of teal faded away and the stars were out. Finally, though, Rukia sighed and cupped her hands together, whispering the words for light. She released it over their heads and turned to face her captain. "What is it, Taichou?"

Ukitake-taichou gave her a wry look. "Can't fool you, can I?" He eyed the captured seed of brightness above them. "I forget, sometimes, just how great a volume of kidou you know. Sometimes I wonder if you shouldn't have gone into the Second Division, where you'd use more of it on a regular basis."

Second? Rukia felt a cold grue crawl down her spine. The only division she would less want to be in was the Twelfth! She shook her head. "I'm happy here."

"That's good to hear." Ukitake-taichou leaned back on his hands. "You've been practicing with Abarai so much, lately, I was starting to wonder if you wanted to transfer to your brother's Division."

"No!" Rukia bit her lip as Ukitake-taichou started upright. Less vehemently, but still firmly, she repeated, "No. I'm happy here. And I wouldn't do that to him."

Her captain cocked his head. "Which him?"

Rukia blinked. "... either of them," she answered after a long pause. She tossed her head as if to shake off her thoughts. "I practice with Renji because he's the only one who doesn't treat me like either an avatar or an idiot. Well," she added, "he does still treat me like an idiot, sometimes, but that's just Renji."

"He does seem very fond of you," Ukitake-taichou chuckled.

Rukia flinched.

"It's like that, is it?" her captain asked, softly.

Rukia looked away. "I won't ask Nii-sama to break his promise," she said, trying to keep her voice from shaking. "I won't put him between his promises again." If her adoption was the last rule to be broken in the house of Kuchiki... then so be it. Her knuckles whitened.

Ukitake-taichou sighed and reached out to ruffle her hair. "If that's your choice. Just let me know when you're ready, then. I'll clear a court for the day and grab someone from Fourth, for your poor unsuspecting division-mates."

Rukia stared. Ukitake-taichou laughed out loud. "Oh, come now. It's obvious what you've been training toward." He smiled at her, gently. "I'm glad to see you've finally found the heart to advance seriously." He stood and stretched. "I'll look forward to watching."

"Thank you, Taichou," Rukia whispered to the breeze he left behind him.

Another day, another walk. This one not to cool down, but to compose herself. She focused on one detail after another, as she walked through the halls of her house. Steps measured. Hands steady. Expression calm. Breathing even. At last she stood at the door of her brother's room. One more breath.

She knelt and slid the door aside.

Byakuya-nii-sama didn't move from where he sat looking out into one of the gardens. "You challenged for a higher seat today," he remarked.

Rukia's mouth quirked before she schooled her expression again. News had traveled fast. "Yes," she agreed. "I am now seated third in the Thirteenth Division." A great ways to advance in a single day. A single, very long, day. She ordered her leg muscles not to start shaking again.

"Good," her brother stated. "How soon will you rise to fuku-taichou?"

Rukia lifted her head, proudly. "Within two years," she answered, prompt and firm.

Now, Nii-sama turned his head, brow lifted. Rukia held his gaze, shoulders straight. Perhaps she wasn't the prodigy that her brother was, and perhaps she hadn't driven herself as hard as Renji had. At least, she hadn't used to. But if she had a cause to put her strength toward, she believed she could do it.

A subtle softening passed over her brother's face. Nothing so overt as a smile, but Rukia brightened to see it. I'll make our house proud, she assured him silently. I will. I promise.

"Good," he repeated, voice a shade warmer.

Rukia bowed and withdrew, breaking into a grin as she ran back to her own room.

Rukia was happily off-duty and lying in the grass trying to blow all the fluff off a dandelion when Renji tracked her down.

"So!" he thumped down beside her, cross-legged, sake bottle a smaller thump a second later. "I hear you advanced. About time you got your lazy ass in gear."

"As if you should talk, Mr. Brow-nosing Social Climber," she shot back, lazily.

"Me!" he protested. "Who's the noble house girl, again?"

She grinned at him with a wicked gleam in her eye. "I'm not the one who acts like a noble house-boy."

"You little," he sputtered and swatted at her. She ducked, laughing.

"Yep. Little and fast, not a big, clumsy oaf like some people I could mention."

Renji flopped back in the grass with a groan. "I forgot what a mouth you've got on you, when you're in a good mood." He took a swig from the bottle and held it out to her. "Here. Drink up. You'll be too busy to celebrate soon, I bet." He leaned up on an elbow and eyed her with an evil grin of his own. "You did remember, didn't you, that Third Seat in your division gets to do all a vice-captain's work without any of the advantages?"

Rukia tipped the bottle back for a healthy swallow. "Of course I did." She shrugged. "Ukitake-taichou deserves a break from those two maniacs."

Renji's toothy grin softened. "Always you do it for someone else." He shook his head and snorted. "Well," he added in a more normal tone, "I bet Kuchiki-taichou was pleased. Not that he'd have said so. No, I bet the first thing he said was 'So when are you getting the next level?' Wasn't it?"

Rukia drew herself up and looked down her nose at him. "It was not."

"Oh?" Renji arched a skeptical brow.

"It was the second thing he said," Rukia informed him with dignity. "The first thing he said was 'Good.'"

"Wow," Renji marveled with mock-amazement, "he must be going soft in his old age."

"Maybe he is." Rukia brushed her fingertips over the now-uneven fluff of the dandelion. "I used to think he didn't care. Now," she paused, "now I think he just tries not to." She folded up her knees and wrapped her arms around them, a little of her old forlorn feeling trying to creep back. "Knowing the whole story... I'm amazed he doesn't hate me. Can you imagine? Your wife spends her marriage to you distracted by someone else, and then her dying wish is for you to find that someone and take them in?" She shivered.

"Yeah," Renji agreed, slowly. "That must have hurt."

Rukia hugged her knees tighter, words becoming muffled. "Why does it seem like everyone misses love by looking the wrong way? They ignore it while they have it, or they don't notice it when they find it. Or they find it when it's too late."

Renji frowned. "Rukia..."

"You know," she hurried on, "while I was in the human world... I remembered how much I missed having a friend. Someone I trusted enough to yell at and argue with. A real friend." She looked up, biting her lip. "I missed you."

Renji's face was still. "Yeah, me too," he answered at last, quietly. He leaned back on his hands, staring up at the sky. "You think Kuchiki-taichou trusts anyone?"

He did understand. Rukia gave him a shaky smile of gratitude. "He's starting to." She cleared her throat to dislodge the catch in it. "A little." Her smile steadied. "Hard for even him to deny it after admitting he cares in front of half the captains and vice-captains."

"Ha!" Renji's bark of laughter sounded a little like her throat clearing. "If anyone had the brass balls to deny it, it would be him."

"Yes," Rukia said, softly. "Nii-sama believes very much in propriety." Which did not include another commoner marrying a member of Kuchiki. Even if that member had started as a commoner herself. "Pass that bottle over, Renji. Quit hogging the sake."

"You're an idiot," Renji told her, tossing the bottle to her. "Not as much of an idiot as me, but damn close. You always put everyone but yourself first."

"You can't put everyone first," Rukia whispered. "One person has to come before another." She took a long swallow, letting the burn of alcohol loosen the knot in her chest. "And who says I'm not as much of an idiot as you?" she managed. "You and your competitive streak."

"In some things, I am indubitably superior," Renji enunciated, waving a hand to get the bottle back.

Rukia eyed him measuringly. "I suppose I have to let you have this one," she allowed. "After all, I'm not enough of an idiot to lie with my hand behind my head right next to someone who knows... " she grinned evilly, "all my ticklish spots." She darted a hand between them and tickled his ribs.

Renji squawked and flailed. "Damn it, Rukia! That's cheating! Cut that out!"

Rukia sprang back out of reach, laughing. Renji glared at her, panting for breath. "Not only," he growled, "do you pull a sneak attack, but you keep all the sake! This means war!"

"Hmmmm." She pulled a thoughtful face. "So, if I buy you a bottle of your own, will that mean truce?"

Renji hauled himself to his feet, looking as dignified as he could with grass in his hair and a smile twitching at his mouth. "Always knew you'd be good at diplomacy."

They walked close, as they turned back toward the city, but Rukia noticed Renji was careful not to even brush against her shoulder.

Maybe she'd get another bottle for herself, too.

Nii-sama...

End

Stare at the Sun

Renji catches a glimpse of Rukia dealing with her own new position. Drama with some Angst, I-3

"Are you sure it isn't a problem to do this right now?"

Not, Renji had to admit, that the Thirteenth Division seemed any less motivated because their captain was sitting on the sidelines talking personnel instead of directing. At least not the handful of squads involved in this exercise. The shinigami side chased the Hollow side good and sharp.

Maybe it had something to do with who was standing in for Ukitake-taichou. Renji thought he'd probably jump, too, if Rukia was barking at him like that.

It was good to know she hadn't lost any of the edge off her vocabulary after all those years in a noble house.

His grin lingered as he turned back to Ukitake, who was waving a dismissive hand.

"No problem at all. Might as well get some work done while I'm sidelined." He frowned a bit. "Are you sure you want to let this one transfer, though? With his battle record...?"

"Very," Renji growled before he could stop himself. "I mean... ! I'm sure I'll be able to work around it. That's a captain's job, right?" He didn't think his attempt at a hearty laugh fooled anyone. Ukitake's eyes were twinkling, for pity's sake. Renji sighed, wondering who else he could palm off Sukikase on. He'd already been in and out of all the other Divisions. Back to Eleventh, maybe, and hope Zaraki killed the man, this time?

"Captain!" A booming bass exclamation interrupted them. "I have the medication you left behind today! Please accept this sign of my great respect!"

A screech answered. "Kotsubaki, you cheater! I was going to say that! Give me that bottle, I'll deliver it to the Captain!"

Ukitake sighed, and Renji eyed the approaching scuffle. He really, really hoped Ukitake wasn't as evil-minded as, say, Rukia, for example, was. Because if he were then he'd offer to trade these two for Sukikase.

Rukia's head swiveled to fix the pair with a stare to do a basilisk proud. "Kotsubaki! Kotetsu!" Her voice cracked out like a whip.

Even Ukitake jumped a little, and his two fourth seat officers froze—with Kotsubaki's hand jammed in Kotetsu's face to hold her off while she flailed for the bottle and Kotetsu's foot drawn back to kick him in the shins. They blinked at Rukia.

"You embarrass our division and our captain, acting like this," she rapped out.

They wilted under her stern look, shooting hangdog glances at Ukitake as they shuffled upright, straightening their uniforms.

"Yes, Rukia-san. Sorry."

"My apologies, Rukia-san."

Renji had to stifle a laugh, and a comment of Bossy as ever. Those two looked like little kids called on the carpet for getting their best clothes muddy or something. And then their expressions changed, and he started.

Kotetsu gained a small, shy smile. Kotsubaki looked down at his toes before glancing back up, and Renji could swear he was blushing. He turned to look at Rukia, wondering if she'd cast some spell he'd never heard of on them.

And maybe it was magic, but it wasn't one he didn't know. Rukia was smiling at them, gentle and warm. A fond look that lit up the air around her like the sun had suddenly come out.

"Why don't you two go help the Hollow side?" she suggested, taking the medicine with, he couldn't help noting distantly, a thief's deft snatch. "I think the shinigami side is having too easy a time." She deposited the bottle beside Ukitake and herded Kotsubaki and Kotetsu off to join the exercise.

Renji sat down with a thump.

"Abarai-kun?" Ukitake asked, mid-swig. "You look like you could use some of this stuff yourself. Is something wrong?"

"She used to smile like that." It came out in a whisper as he stared after Rukia, feeling like he couldn't catch his breath. "She used to." Before they became shinigami, before she was Kuchiki, before...

Ukitake cocked his head, hair sliding over his shoulder. "So?" he said, softly. "Now she does again? She's gained things. Family. Friends. That's something to smile about, isn't it?"

Family. A brother; Nii-sama. And friends. Best friends; just friends. The words echoed in his head, and the echos hit him like rocks, and Renji turned a glare on Ukitake only to find Ukitake's eyes dark and serious, not mocking at all. Renji turned away sharply. "Yeah, it is." He cleared his throat, hoping to clear the harshness from his tone. "So about this transfer."

"I'll take him," Ukitake agreed. "As long as Kuchiki is here, Thirteenth can handle all its problem children just fine."

Renji's mouth curled in an unwilling smirk. "Yeah, I'll bet."

She was back, he told himself, sternly, as they scrawled signatures on all the necessary lines. The Rukia he had grown up with was back, here in the middle of the Court of Pure Souls, kicking ass and taking names and besotting everyone around her again, and he had no place being upset about a freaking miracle having taken place.

Even if he wasn't the one who had made it happen.

End

Chocolate and Flowers

Byakyua watches Renji and Rukia, and tries to plan a future. Drama with Maybe Romance, I-3

Byakuya stood in the shadow of a roof peak, watching his sister and her suitor.

Not that she would call him her suitor. Rukia didn't take enough care for her own interests at times. Well, that was his business, as her brother, to look after.

When he could.

He pushed the thought away with an impatient toss of his head and stilled himself to watch again.

It never failed to amuse him how hesitant Renji was with Rukia, sometimes, as if he thought her fragile. On at least one occasion he'd seen Rukia hit him over the head for it.

They played like children.

Well, perhaps not quite like children, he amended, watching with a certain pleasure as Rukia, the chased in their current game of tag, ambushed Renji with a cleverly held binding spell. But they weren't chasing each other for practice, today. When they practiced together they were more serious.

Renji was more serious much of the time, now, which also gave Byakuya some pleasure. For a long time, Renji had walked at his heels, as if tame, always watching but never challenging.

He was no longer tame, and thus became worthy of consideration.

And Rukia wished to consider him; wished, even, to accept him. That much was clear, to Byakuya if not to Renji. But she held herself to the standards of her House.

To her brother's standards. To her brother's side.

And in doing so, she sacrificed this love of hers. Byakuya, as the head of Kuchiki, could only approve of her choice. It was proper and fitting to her place in the House. But when he watched the brightness in her eyes as she sat beside him in the evenings, he knew that was not her reason. She chose for his sake alone—to put his conscience and sense of duty at ease. Watching her laugh, as Renji barely evaded her and left his hair-band in her hands, Byakuya had to swallow guilt that she denied herself exactly the choice he had made for himself.

"Not going to stop them?" a new voice prodded from behind him. "Call her away from the low-life?"

Byakuya rigidly suppressed a twitch. Kyouraku, he reminded himself, liked to get a rise out of anyone who looked imperturbable. Byakuya felt vindicated, once again, in his choice not to have Rukia placed in Kyouraku's division, despite the fact that Ise Nanao would have made a good role model.

"Or are you planning to throw her to him?" Kyouraku continued, when Byakuya didn't answer. "Have you really gotten that much political savvy?"

That got a raised brow. "What?"

"Didn't think so," Kyouraku sighed, bracing an overly familiar elbow on Byakuya's shoulder as he leaned forward to watch Rukia tackle Renji, to very little effect, below them. "I swear, Rukia-chan practices better politics and diplomacy just by breathing than you ever could by making speeches."

Speeches? Byakuya gave his fellow captain a chilly look. What was the man talking about?

"Not that you ever would," Kyouraku allowed, in face of the disdain directed at him. "But the point stands. People gather to Rukia-chan. She can bring together the most unlikely sorts."

Considering how his sister seemed to be handling Kotetsu Kiyone and Kotsubaki Sentarou, Byakuya had to admit that this was undeniably true.

"Which is a good thing, considering how many of our captains come from Rukongai, these days," Kyouraku continued, in a meditative tone. "It'll be interesting to see who all winds up in the Chamber of Forty-six, this time."

Byakuya stiffened.

"Well! It was nice talking at you again, Byakuya-kun." Kyouraku gave him a hearty clap on the shoulder that failed to budge him, and was gone.

Byakuya forced his breathing even, staring blindly down at the two below him. Kyouraku couldn't possibly think that commoners would enter... that the noble houses would have to makes such accommodations...

Surely not.

Others might, though. And Byakuya's gaze downward sharpened. If others thought so... perhaps there was a way. A way to keep his sister and yet give her what she wanted so much.

Renji turned at bay and caught Rukia against him, for a moment, and their play drowned in a long stare before they both broke away and looked elsewhere.

Perhaps.

End

Resolve

Byakuya causes there to be romance, like it or not. Fiat Romance, I-3

The last thing Rukia expected to see, when she was summoned to her brother's rooms on one of her afternoons off, was Renji sitting beside him, stiff as a board, uncomfortable and looking clueless. Having finally learned a little about how to get around her brother, though, she took a seat on the third pillow lying out without asking anything.

In retrospect, it was obvious that she hadn't been the only sibling learning how to handle the other.

"Rukia," her brother said, without preamble, "Abarai Renji, captain of the Fifth Division, wishes to marry you. Given his accomplishments, and the current leadership balance of Soul Society, I judge that this would be a good alliance for our house. Prepare yourself for your betrothal a month from today."

It took Rukia a few moments to process what he had actually said. When she did she turned a blistering glare on Renji. After the hell she'd gone through to reach some peace with her decision... Her hand clawed at her waist for her absent zanpaku-tou.

"It wasn't my idea! I didn't say a thing!" Renji protested, waving his hands in vehement denial, eyes wide.

"Then what," Rukia growled, "gave him such an asinine idea?" She pointed a violent finger at her brother.

He set a hand over it, pressing hers down. "Recall your manners, Rukia," he told her severely, "and your position. You are of Kuchiki, and you have a duty to me as the head of this House. And I," he added with a stern look, "have a duty to the House as a whole."

Rukia stared at him. Wasn't it duty to the House that kept she and Renji apart? "Nii-sama, what... why... what are you thinking?" she finally burst out.

Her brother's face was expressionless. "The influence of the common-born among us begins to approach that of the noble houses. Balance must be maintained. You will marry out of the House, of course. But you will keep the name that is yours, Rukia. Kuchiki Rukia. Keep it and remember the House that you belong to."

Rukia sank back, arrested by the phrase marry out of the house. She remembered the conversation she and her brother had had in the garden one evening, about regrets and stubbornness, and spouses and honor. Her heart couldn't decide whether to stop beating or to race. "Nii-sama..."

Her brother rose. "This is my order, my sister. I am the head of your House. You will do as I say." His only concession to the softness of her voice was the brush of his fingers over her hair as he passed her. He paused in the door, back to them. "Though, it being you, I will not be surprised if you return frequently, in an attempt to continue the argument with me."

The door closed with the barest whisper of sound behind him.

Rukia laughed, small but true, and scrubbed a hand over her eyes, hard.

"Rukia?" Renji asked, cautiously.

"Looks like we're getting betrothed," she told him, casual tone not completely successful. She did manage something close to a grin, though. "Figures a girl would have to be ordered to marry you."

For once, Renji didn't rise to the bait. His eyes were serious as he asked, "What did you to really just say to each other?"

Rukia's smile was turning watery, despite her best efforts. "That he's always my brother," she answered, softly.

Renji looked at her for a long moment. "Well of course he is," he said at last. His tone was gentler than his words, and when he rested a hand on her shoulder she leaned into it.

She did shoot one last dire glare at him, even though the film of tears. "Don't you dare think this means you can coddle me."

"Yeah, yeah, I got it the first time," he murmured, pulling her against his chest. "You and him," he added as she finally let herself cry, worry and happiness and stress and release all wrapped up in saltwater. "You're two of a kind, these days. You used to know how to let yourself feel things, Rukia." A chuckle rumbled through him. "Looks like you taught him how to be something besides an icicle, though, even if he isn't very good at it yet, so I bet you think it's a fair trade."

"It is a fair trade," she insisted into his damp shoulder. She managed an even breath and chuckled with a hint of teasing coming back into it. "Though I guess he did get a bargain. After all, he traded me you."

"Oh, right, make it sound like I'm some kind of second-hand clothing," he protested, indignantly. He was grinning when she looked up, though, eyes brightening as the point of the whole interview finally started to register.

Though the brightness was underrun by a thread of wry exasperation.

"Only he would be so roundabout," Renji muttered, brushing her cheek dry.

Rukia shrugged. "He's like that. But it's his stubbornness that found a way for us, too. I..." she bit her lip. "I didn't believe there was one." In answer to that, Renji's arms tightened around her until she gasped. "Renji, you big oaf, not so tight!"

"You can't expect me to let go now," he said, voice rough, not lifting his face from her hair.

Rukia smiled, leaning against him again. "No. You don't have to let go."

They were still sitting there when the housekeeper came in to light the lamps after sunset.

End

A/N: Based on my best guesses from the sources available, this kind of marriage-arrangement, in which a highly ranked daughter is married off for alliance purposes but retains her home-clan affiliation (her name), would be fairly unusual but not unheard of or 'against the rules'. Especially for the first noble family. This also works on the assumption that the Court of Pure Souls more or less runs on the Sengoku-esque political practice that military rank equals de facto nobility, and the degree of nobility depends on how high a rank is achieved. And how many people the individual can get to agree to his re-written geneology. Admittedly, the first practice is more a Heian sort of thing. Think Fujiwara meets Toyotomi Hideoshi. *evil smile* The results should be kind of similar.

Representatives

Rukia and Renji, and, in fact, most of Soul Society, prepare; plotting continues. Drama with Romance, I-3

Two weeks before the betrothal, Rukia found herself drawing duties that could be done well even with a distracted mind. She couldn't decide whether she was amused or annoyed. Today she was on, she thought, a perfectly innocent walk with her captain, escorting him to see Unohana-taichou.

Or she would have thought it was innocent, except that they kept just happening to pass doors and windows in time to hear gossip about her coming engagement. She was starting to wonder about Ukitake-taichou's apparent taste for eavsdropping. Suspicion, of course, didn't keep her from listening.

Rangiku-san's throaty chuckle caught her ear from the window ahead of them. "I never thought I'd be a mother," she was saying, sounding amused.

"Could be worse," Hitsugaya answered absently. "They could have chosen one of us to stand as his father, too, and it would almost have had to be Zaraki, and that..." The rest of the sentance was lost in Rangiku-san's gales of laughter. "Anyway," he continued, with an edge of irritation that probably meant he was glaring at his vice captain, "the whole thing just drips with politics. I suppose we all could have guessed that Kuchiki would use an adopted sister as a pawn. Probably would have even if she were his blood sister."

Rukia stiffened.

"I don't think that's all it is," Rangiku-san said, slowly, as they passed out of ear-shot.

Rukia fumed over the insult to her brother for another few steps, only to break off in surprise when she caught a glimpse of Ukitake-taichou's expression. Her captain looked extremely smug.

"Taichou?" she asked, eyeing him.

The smugness vanished instantly into complete innocence, which only made her more suspicious than ever.

"I'm just pleased to know that Matsumoto-san, at least, is aware of your genuine feelings. And Renji-kun's," he assured her.

"Of course," Rukia murmured. It was time, she decided, to start keeping an eye out for hidden motives, lest she get caught up unawares in someone else's scheme.

Again.

Scratching at her window brought Rukia's gaze up from the... script her brother had given her to read. A quick glance at the clock told her who it probably was, and, sure enough, as soon as she slid the window open, Renji hopped over the sill.

He immediately started pacing.

"Can you believe this?" he asked with hushed outrage, waving a handful of papers. "Little bitty fake trees? A tortise? Yet more sake?!" He thumped down to sit on the floor, glaring at the innocent paper. "With this much sake moving around, why the hell can't we get more of it to actually drink? I, for one, will need it. Three changes of clothing? I mean... three?" He looked up at her with entreaty. "Are you sure I can't just stay the third morning?"

Rukia leaned against the sill, grinning. "Sure you can." She waited for hope to dawn before going on. "As long as you're the one to go around and tell everyone involved that they've planned all this for nothing. Including Nii-sama, of course. Besides," she added, as he glared, "I have five changes, and all my robes have more layers, so what are you complaining about?"

Renji slumped back, glowering at thin air. "It's embarrassing," he growled, at last.

Since they'd already covered the gifts, the salutes, and the clothes, Rukia decided he probably meant the company. "I know Rangiku-san is standing as your mother," she mused. "Who's chosen to stand as your father?"

Renji slumped down a little further, and muttered, "The Captain-General."

Rukia choked back a burst of laughter at the mental image. "Ah," she managed, voice slightly strained, "well, he is the logical choice to, er, take responsibility for a captain..." Renji growled some more, and she relented, kicking a pillow over beside him to sit down on. "It could be worse," she offered. "They got Shiba Kuukaku to stand as my mother." She contemplated the prospect of Shiba-san and Nii-sama sitting side by side for any length of time and shuddered.

When she glaced at Renji, though, he was frowning, more serious than he had been while he was complaining.

"Maybe Kira has a point about the politics thing," he muttered.

Rukia stilled. If Renji was seeing it, too... "What about it?" she asked, abandoning the scripts and dressing directions.

Renji crossed his legs and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, while he counted off on his fingers. "Kuchiki, head of the first noble family; Shiba, head of the noble family furthest outside, the most rebellious; the Captain-General, the only real authority left to the Court; Rangiku, the most senior commoner officer, if you go by tenure instead of rank." He looked at Rukia, eyes narrow. "And then there's you and me. A commoner Captain, and the adopted noble. This thing sounds like the roll call for some diplomatic meeting."

"Every faction represented," Rukia agreed, slowly. "For a marriage. An... alliance of factions. And you and I the result of it." They looked at each other silently for a long time.

"Rukia," Renji said, at last, quietly, "what is your brother trying to do?"

Nii-sama? No. Rukia smiled, as the question answered itself in her heart. "Nii-sama is finding an excuse for me to be happy. He'd never believe an alliance like that would really be neccessary."

Renji snorted, relaxing. "You have a point, there."

Rukia's voice chilled and hardened. "That doesn't mean someone else might not be using my brother's insistence on tradition and appearances to get what they want."

Renji's eyes measured her, and he nodded. "Who?" His tone had darkened to match hers, and Rukia smiled.

"We'll find out."

"Rukia, are you sure?"

Since Renji didn't hesitate at all, walking beside her, Rukia thought he might be asking for her sake rather than from any doubts. "I'm sure that Ukitake-taichou and Kyouraku-taichou are the ones I've seen looking happiest about the betrothal. Whether they're happy for us or for themselves... is what we're here to find out."

There wasn't time for anything more. Kyouraku-san strolled out of Ukitake-taichou's lake rooms and gave them a lazy smile. "Rukia-chan! Here to see your captain?" He cocked his head. "Why don't Renji-kun and I let you two talk, then?" He sauntered past, heading back toward the shore. "Surely you have time for a cup or two with me, Renji-kun?"

Rukia wavered in face of his friendly, conversational strong-arming, poised between letting Kyouraku dictate this much and seeing where he was headed, and a more familiar urge to refuse. To balk, and force this dance of secrets and implications over on its side so she could see what it was. Renji's hand closed on her shoulder, and she glanced up to see a question in his eyes. He would follow her choice, on this.

His trust steadied her confidence. "If you don't mind, Kyouraku-taichou," she murmured. "I'm sure you and Renji can entertain each other?"

Renji's hand tightened before he let go and sauntered to join Kyouraku-san. "Sure we can."

Rukia nodded and stepped forward into Ukitake-taichou's rooms, only to pause and blink. Ukitake-taichou was flopped back against a cushion, rubbing his forehead.

"Please forgive Kyouraku, Kuchiki," he said, a bit muffled. "He doesn't mean to be infuriating all the time; it's just habit."

"This is more serious than just annoying Ise-san because he thinks she's pretty when she's mad," Rukia pointed out, dryly. "Isn't it?"

Her captain looked up at her, eyes dark but also clear. "Yes," he agreed soberly, "it is."

Rukia chewed on her lip for a moment, watching him, before she came inside and sat down across from him. "Taichou. What are you doing?" she asked quietly.

"We are hoping to see you happy," Ukitake-taichou smiled. There was a faint, crooked edge of sadness to it.

Rukia nodded, and waited.

"And we hope to help you along the path you've chosen to walk." He gave her a slightly rueful look. "I admit it was Kyouraku's idea at first. I'm ashamed to say I didn't see it in you until just recently."

Rukia frowned, puzzled. Didn't see what? "Taichou, what are you talking about?"

He folded his hands over his knee and leaned back. "Tell me, Kuchiki," he said, in a tone that echoed of late-night sake-speculation to her ear, "if you were guaranteed all your wishes would be granted, what would you wish, for Soul Society?"

"Um." Rukia stared at him. "First tell me that there isn't any way to grant all of anyone's wishes?" A person never knew, these days.

Her captain's smile was brilliant. "Good thought. There isn't."

"All right," she said, slowly. "Then... I suppose I would wish... for a little more common sense." Ukitake-taichou made inquiring sounds and she tried to pull her scattered thoughts together. "Everyone seems so distracted by pointless status games, or political manipulation..." she shot a doubtful look at him, and he smiled and bowed his head. "Or things, like the Research Institute, that are just... evil." She shivered. "I'd wish for everyone to remember what our duty really is. And pay attention to it again, and stop wasting their time like that."

"You set a very fine example of that to us all, Kuchiki," he told her, softly, and Rukia couldn't stop a faint blush. "All we want," he continued, "is for your example to be seen as it deserves. Seen by all."

"Do you think I should train toward becoming a Captain?" Though Rukia couldn't imagine that such traditional patronage would require all this sneaking around, and what could it possibly have to do with her betrothal?

"More than that." His smile was sad again. "The Fourty-Six are dead, Kuchiki. Where do you think their replacements will be drawn from?"

Rukia sat frozen for a long moment before she surged to her feet. "No!" She was breathing fast. "Locked away in the innermost Court, making decisions without knowing, never free again... No. I could never live like that." It would be just like being back in that tower with the weight of stone holding down her spirit.

Ukitake-taichou's voice was gentle and implacable. "Who but one of the Fourty-Six could change that? One of the Fourty-Six with the backing of all the noble houses from first to last, who knows the needs of the commoners as well? One with the personal loyalty of many of the Court Gardians?"

Rukia sank to the floor again, shaking her head silently, eyes wide.

"Besides," he added, "they would hardly try to isolate you from your husband, and he can't be taken from his duties. That's the best part."

He was just holding up a hand, probably against the start of a snarl that was curling Rukia's lips, when he paused with his mouth open, staring at the door. Rukia turned to see a slightly dishevelled Renji standing there with a straw hat impaled on his sword.

"What's wrong?" Renji asked, sharply, looking back and forth between them. "You shouted."

"Sorry, Ukitake," Kyouraku-san put in over his shoulder. "But love conquers all. Including senior captains when their sneaky juniors get the drop on them."

Renji glowered at him, sword point lifting.

"They want me to be one of the Fourty-Six," Rukia told him, too stunned to be anything other than blunt.

Renji opened and closed his mouth a few times. He shook the hat off his sword, sheathed it and planted his fists on his hips. "Ok. First, better you than a lot of other people I can think of. Second," he glared at the other two captains, "no one is locking you up where I can't get to you." After another few moments of glaring, though, a wicked smile crept over his face. "Third, if you two want to be the ones to tell Kuchiki-taichou that you want to wreck his plans for his sister and make her unhappy again... it's been a pleasure to have known you."

"No, no, no," Kyouraku-san protested, dusting off his hat. "We'd never want Rukia-chan to be unhappy! Lovely girls being unhappy is a terrible thing."

The other three all rolled their eyes.

"Rukia," Ukitake-taichou said, seriously, "surely you see why we said nothing to you about this. Nothing is sure. Aside, perhaps," he smiled, "from your wedding. We're only holding the door open, in case you choose to go through it."

Rukia rose and bowed to both of them silently. She needed to get out of here and think about this. "I will consider what you have said," she replied, quiet and formal.

Kyouraku-san stood aside from the door with a serene smile of his own, for Rukia to pass. Renji waited until they were on the shore before he cocked his head at her, questioning. She glanced back across the still water of the lake and closed her hand around his, twining their fingers together determinedly.

"Whatever anyone else is making of the circumstances around it," Rukia said, tightly, "our marriage is exactly that. Ours."

She stalked away down the shore, hauling a grinning Renji with her since she wasn't about to let go of him.

Not ever.

End

For the Third Time

Very memorable ceremonies. Drama with Romance, I-3

The whole thing was... memorable. But some moments stood out more than others.

Renji would, of course, treasure to his grave the momentarily flummoxed look on Kuchiki's face when Shiba Kuukaku showed up for the betrothal in her version of dress clothes. Renji hadn't known it was possible to roll up the sleeves of a formal kimono, and that was just for starters. But to be honest most of the highlights clustered around the wedding itself.

Renji tugged loose his hair tie, grinning as he considered the past twenty-four hours.

Renji had thought they might be in the clear. The bonfires hadn't burned any buildings down, Rukia's litter hadn't tipped over, bringing her here, neither of them had tripped on their own clothing and broken their necks. So far, everything had gone remarkably smoothly.

Clearly even thinking that was tempting fate.

Rukia was taking her first sip in the series of pledges to seal their declarations when Yachiru's voice piped up. Yachiru's very carrying voice.

"So getting drunk together makes them married? Ken-chan, how many men is Rangiku married to?"

Renji stopped breathing. If he moved a muscle, he was sure he'd lose it and start laughing, and then Rangiku would try to kill him, and he couldn't run very fast in all these layers. A wave of snorts and muffled whoops swept the hall, along with a thump Renji thought was probably Hisagi's forehead meeting his palm.

Rukia didn't choke, didn't spit sake all over him, didn't even bat an eyelash. She finished the three measured sips and set the cup back down with a perfectly serene smile. Renji had never been more impressed.

And, as he took the next cup, he was very, very careful not to look at the wicked light in her eyes. Rangiku had much too clear a shot at his back if he snickered very loudly.

Rukia set the last sake cup down on its stack with a tiny clink that sounded through the whole hall, and Renji finally exhaled. It was done. It was real. They really were...

Rukia smiled at him and he lost his train of thought.

"You guys done being goopy at each other?"

They both started at Shiba-san's voice, and Renji looked over Rukia's shoulder in time to see Kuchiki-taichou giving his symbolic co-parent a quelling look. It didn't seem to be working. Shiba-san just raised an eyebrow at them, waiting.

"Yes?" Renji hazarded.

Her grin would have suited a shark. "Well, then." She pulled an innocent looking tube out of her belt and yanked the string hanging from it.

"Party time!"

Balls of colored sparks exploded over everyone's heads, raining down on the witnesses, a snickering Rangiku, an amused Captain-General, and a totally unmoved Kuchiki.

Rukia laughed and held up her hands to catch them.

"Yo."

Renji nearly jumped out of his skin, and whipped around to see a slim, dark, wickedly grinning woman lounging behind him, who hadn't been there two seconds ago. "Shihouin-san!" Rukia turned, too, wide-eyed.

She waved a dismissive hand. "Yoruichi is fine. Figured I'd stop by and drop off congratulations and gifts from me and Uruhara and Ichigo, and all." She tucked a handful of bright envelopes in the front of Renji's kimono while he was still blinking.

"How did you..."

She snorted. "Even if any of you puppies could catch me, everyone but a skeleton guard is around here somewhere, celebrating. Or, at least, getting drunk." She frowned out at the crowd spilling out of the courtyard, off tables and occasionally off the roofs. "Except Soi. I should go goose her or something; girl has to loosen up some time."

Rukia raised sparkling eyes from the space where Shihouin had vanished, and Renji could tell she was imagining the intense and straight-laced Soi Fong getting pinched. They grinned at each other, listening for the squawk.

Some time after midnight Renji wondered if it was a bad sign that most of the Eleventh seemed to be calling Shiba-san "Aneki".

Kyouraku seemed very amused by it all, but that could have just been that Ise had drunk enough to fall asleep on his shoulder.

It was late, or maybe early, when they finally retreated inside, and Renji made a fuzzy mental note to get nice thank-you gifts for the men and women of Kuchiki House, and the handful of his own division, who had cleared out the ceremonial trappings from the bottom floor. Navigation was hard enough at the moment, he didn't need to be tripping over strange furniture.

"Hang on a minute, Renji."

He wobbled as Rukia slipped out from under his arm. He might have protested, but it was Kuchiki, standing in the shadows by the door, she was heading for, and he wasn't nearly drunk enough to try to come between them. He doubted it was possible to be that drunk.

He pretended to watch the nearest heap of snoring shinigami.

"I'll see you in three days, Nii-sama."

"Of course."

They were silent for long enough that Renji snuck a glance out of the corner of his eye. They were just standing there, looking at each other.

At least until Rukia made a small, inarticulate sound and stepped forward to wrap her brother in a swift hug.

His hands came up to rest on her shoulders, and only someone as close as Renji was could have seen him press her closer for a moment, before setting her back again.

"Thank you, Nii-sama," she whispered, and the shadow of a smile answered her.

She was blinking a little extra brightness away, as she came back to his side. Renji eyed Kuchiki and found himself being eyed back. Cool and uncaring as always—at least in dim lighting.

It wasn't easy to bow at a respectful angle while keeping one's arm around another person, but Renji thought it was worth the trouble, to see the flash of pleasure in Kuchiki's eyes before he sniffed and turned away. And Rukia's silent laugh, against his side.

But however much of a pain parts of it had been, it all came down to this. To he and Rukia, having escaped from the layers of their formal robes and elaborate hair ornaments, down to a yukata apiece, in a dim bedroom that belonged to them.

Rukia curled up on the futon, by the window, leaning her chin on folded arms to look out. Sitting like that, without their uniforms, she didn't look much older than she had when they'd met, and Renji had to smile.

"There's a better view from over here," he offered, sliding down against the wall at the head of the bed and balling up a pillow behind him. Rukia, looking curious, scooted over next to him, punching the other pillow into place.

"Oh," she murmured.

The two windows almost became one from this angle, and though them they could see a high-peaked roof, alone against the sky. A faintly colored moon hung over it, a slice away from full, turning the lines of the roof sharp and black. Rukia sighed, happily.

It all came down to this. To Rukia leaning easily in the curve of his arm. To showing her a moment of the beauty she loved, instead of just thinking how much she would like to see it. To sitting on a bed that belonged to both of them, in rumpled yukata, hair ruffled by the night breeze.

Rukia smiled at him from the corner of her eye, and tangled her fingers with his, and rested her head on his shoulder.

When Renji could breathe again he lifted her fingers, hesitantly, to his lips.

The moon would wait for them.

End

Break Down the Door

Rukia talks to her brother about career plans. Drama, I-3

Most of the traditions and symbolism surrounding her betrothal and marriage, Rukia had merely tolerated. She and Renji had both found the tokens exchanged at the betrothal, the carved tortoise in particular, a bit ridiculous, and figuring out how to hold the hair ornaments and veil in Rukia's short hair had been a trial.

This one, though, she rather liked.

Renji had grumbled over having to add yet another outfit to her accumulated pile, to say nothing of coming along for an overnight visit to her erstwhile home, but when he'd handed over this kimono she'd had to smile. The pattern of white flowers was smaller, now, only winding up the hem and over her shoulders, but the blue of it, and the red obi, exactly matched her best kimono from when they had last been together.

She smoothed it over her knees as she sat next to her brother, looking out at the stream.

"So, they wish to embroil you again," he mused, eyes cool and distant.

"Is it even possible for someone as young as I am to be chosen for the Forty-Six?" she wanted to know. It still seemed... fantastic to her.

Her brother waved a dismissive hand. "There are ways. It isn't all that unusual for judges to come from among the Court Guardians."

Rukia perked up. Now there was a thought that hadn't occurred to her. A much more plausible one, in her opinion, than trying to hang a sign that said Sage around her neck. "And only two of the six judges have been chosen," she agreed. "That makes more sense."

Nii-sama looked sidelong at her. "A vice-captain would have the rank to qualify, even without great seniority," he observed. "Particularly with a sufficiently influential sponsor."

Rukia laughed softly up at him. "Then I won't need any sponsor but you, will I?" She held back another laugh as he settled, a hint of smugness at the corners of his mouth.

It was true, though. Kuchiki was her House, just as Rukongai was her past. And neither a survivor of Inuzuri nor a daughter of Kuchiki needed anyone holding open doors for her. She'd open her own damn door.

Open it wide.

She had another question, the next morning at breakfast.

"Nii-sama? Was Urahara a good captain?"

Her brother's tea paused for a moment on its way to his mouth. A contemplative silence lay over the table while he sipped slowly. "No," he said, at last. "He was brilliant and powerful. His conscience grew, perhaps, above the average. But he did not suit the position of Captain."

"Hm." Rukia took a thoughtful bite of rice. "Since Yoruichi-san already seems to have him in hand, perhaps we should leave him in her preserve, then." She nibbled her lip for a moment before asking, more quietly, "Did you approve of what he grew to be, Nii-sama?"

"That is not something a Captain should comment on." After a stern look, though, her brother nodded once, silently.

Rukia smiled, relieved. "And I know you liked Yoruichi-san. Good. Then there won't be any problems when I go to overturn the judgments that exiled them."

There was yet another pause in the conversation while Renji choked, and she pounded his back helpfully. When he recovered, it was her brother he directed a look at. "Do those two have the slightest idea just what they're bargaining for, here?" he rasped, pointing at Rukia.

A faint gleam of satisfaction lit the back of Nii-sama's eyes. "It isn't likely."

"Didn't think so." Renji shook his head, grinning at her. "You've gotten bigger goals since we started, that's for sure."

"Have I?" Rukia ran a finger around the rim of her cup. "We have enough to eat, here, all right. But the safe place to sleep... that's still a problem. Isn't it?"

Renji's eyes darkened, and his voice dropped to a growl. "Yes."

"And that's what the noble houses are supposed to make sure of, really." She looked at her brother. "Isn't it?"

"We serve," he said, voice low. "We fight." After a long moment, his chin lowered and he looked at his folded hands. "You may be right."

"Then I will go forward," she said, steadily.

Renji's face lit with a dangerous smile. "Not alone, you won't," he told her, foot nudging hers. "Somebody's got to protect you, after all." She made a horrible face at him, and then blushed as her brother cleared his throat. She hurriedly smoothed her expression and gave him an apologetic look from under her lashes.

"Our library has the texts you will need to study," he noted, straight and composed as ever except for a lifted brow at their antics. "Rest assured that I will not sponsor your advancement until your knowledge is adequate."

That was a Nii-sama sentence if ever she'd heard one, and Rukia smiled wryly. "You never have, Nii-sama," she agreed, softly.

"You know," Renji mused, as they made a leisurely stroll of their walk home, "it's a shame you won't be going on with your training as an officer. I mean, you'll be a great judge. But I bet you could have reached ban kai. Your potential was always higher than mine." A corner of his mouth curved up as he glanced down at her. "Even if you are a shrimp."

Rukia laughed, low in her throat, not rising to the bait. Well, not the way he expected, at least. "What makes you think I'll stop training towards it?" she asked, lightly, and tossed a grin over her shoulder at Renji, who had frozen in mid-step. "I have two captains to work with, don't I? And two more I can tap if I need to. So come on, Renji." She held out a hand.

She'd been wrong to think a shinigami's life would be that different, she decided, watching the flash of teeth as he laughed and caught her hand. They were planning to steal something a lot bigger than water jars, this time, but the way they smiled and dared each other with their eyes was the same. And she had to learn to fight fast and hard, because the adults were bigger, still.

This time, though, she thought, smoothing the blue fabric of her sleeve, this time she was going to keep her family alive.

End

Once More...Dear Friends - Prologue

Roy wakes up in the hospital. Drama, I-3

Roy woke far more slowly than usual, which would have been his first clue that something was wrong, had he needed a clue. The distant ache that dragged him to consciousness had already sent him a full report on wrongness, however, and clues were superfluous.

By the time he pried an eye open he was also fairly sure he was drugged.

Once he blinked the glare away he was presented with a ceiling. It could be a hospital ceiling; it seemed likely. The first question was traditional, though, so he asked. "Where am I?"

Or, at least, he tried to ask. He was surprised to hear it come out as a mumble. The dry mouth might have something to do with that, and he would have preferred not to have noticed because now he really, really wanted a drink.

"Roy?"

The whisper came from his left side, and his left eye seemed to be covered for some reason. He turned his head and winced as the ache in his forehead became much less distant. Now he could see who had said his name, though, and that distracted him. Hawkeye was sitting forward in a chair beside the bed, eyes wide. She looked... different.

Well, she was out of uniform, but he'd seen her out of uniform before. There was something else.

"Taisa?" she asked, voice more urgent this time and less fragile.

That was it! She had sounded... breakable. Something he had never heard her sound before. And she looked the same way. Pale. Taut lines pulled her mouth thin. He'd seen her frown before, seen her worried. But he'd never seen fear in her eyes.

Roy frowned, and then winced again and unfrowned hastily. That really hurt. "Chuui?"

"Yes. Don't move too much, you were shot," she added, quickly, pressing a light hand to his right shoulder.

Shot? Bradley had used his sword, though. "Came out of the cellar," Roy retraced his path out loud. "Had the boy. Made it out the door..." This time the frown was barely a twitch before he caught it and stopped. There had been someone outside the door, yes. "Who?"

"Archer," Hawkeye supplied, voice flat.

Roy groped, in his mind, after what must have happened. But nothing came. "I don't remember."

"I'm amazed you remember the cellar," Hawkeye snapped. "He shot you in the head! The bullet clipped you, probably while you were turning, and shattered the orbit of you left eye; if you'd been any slower, if you'd turned the other way to dodge, you wouldn't be alive and the doctors have been saying you might not ever wake up anyway!"

That did explain why it hurt so much whenever he tried to frown. And also why his left eye was covered, now he thought about it. This would probably alarm him when his thoughts were running more straightly. "I suppose the paperwork will accumulate a great deal before I get back to it, then," he murmured with reflexive sardonicism.

She sagged back in the chair. "You're all right." She pressed a hand tight over her mouth and closed her eyes for a long moment, and Roy blinked.

For the space of two long breaths she was not his professional aide. She was a woman, years younger than he was, her normal steel stripped down to iron by exhaustion.

She was beautiful.

On the third breath she straightened again, First Lieutenant Hawkeye again, and reached for the call button. "You still have a lot of morphine in your system, so pay attention and remember not to say what you were really doing that night, while the doctors are checking you over," she told him briskly.

"Of course," Roy agreed, and lay back, bemused, as medical personnel flooded the room and Hawkeye stood back against the wall.

He'd accomplished his goal, which was good. Now, what was he going to do about this?

TBC

Once More...Dear Friends - One

Roy recovers and Lisa keeps watch. Drama, I-4

It was the smell again.

It was different this time, though, not just the smell of cooked meat, but something else, too. Something that caught in the back of his throat like burning oil.

Blood slid under his fingertip, always thinner and more watery than he thought it should be.

And he choked and reached again for the pattern in his mind. And again. And again.

But it wasn't a skull in his hand, it was a gun; and there were two bodies on the floor in front of him.

Roy started awake with a jerk that set his head throbbing. Someone was cursing vigorously, and he heard the slithery thump of books being kicked aside. Hawkeye trod carefully into the faint lamplight glowing through the window, and looked down at him. "Bad one?" she asked quietly.

Roy shrugged, trying to find some spot on the pillow that would hold his head still enough for the left side to stop throbbing. The doctors swore the bones had reknitted, but Roy had his doubts when he woke up like this.

Hawkeye looked him over, gaze measuring in the half-dark. She plucked a sprig of hyacinth from the vase on one of the shelves and set it casually by his head as she sat down in the chair beside his bed.

Her chair, these days.

The scent of the flowers was sweet and strong and clean, and Roy closed his eye and inhaled deeper.

Hawkeye crossed one slippered foot over her knee and rubbed her toes. "I should have kept you at my apartment longer," she said with some asperity. "At least I could walk across my guest room without tripping over anything."

"I imposed on you for long enough," Roy murmured. He was glad it was spring. The hyacinth had a gentler scent than the potted rose she'd silently deposited next to the guest bed early on during his stay with her.

A soft snort answered him. "There's barely room in this flat for all of your things plus you," she pointed out. "There's a bookshelf in your kitchen, and the only real open space is the floor of your workroom. You should get a house. It isn't as though you've used much of your salary for anything over the years; you can afford it."

The commonplace discussion calmed the tension through Roy's chest and stomach, and his next breath was freer. "I have no idea how to go about finding a house," he observed, just to keep the conversation moving. "I gather one needs to be a bit careful, not to get stuck with anything unsound."

"So take Hughes with you. I'm sure he's had plenty of experience, by now, in what to look for."

Roy imagined asking his best friend to go house-hunting with him. Then he imagined Hughes' glee at the supposed breakdown of Roy's bachelor ways, and the gleam in Hughes' eye as he got out the pictures again to illustrate the joys of married life. And then he shuddered. "I don't suppose you'd be interested in coming along instead?" he asked, trying to stifle the undertone of dread.

Hawkeye became so still he looked over at her. She was staring out the window. "I suppose so. If you like."

The night shifted like a ball rolling a quarter turn; the new resting point was becoming familiar to him. "I would like it. Yes." He wanted to reach over and touch her hand. He wanted to say something leading about how she would be spending so much time there she should have a say in the house. He wanted to address the woman sitting beside him with her light hair hanging loose over the shoulders of her fuzzy cinnamon colored robe, a little tangled from sleeping on his couch as she had been for most of this month.

Every time he did that, though, she got that distant, tolerant, Hawkeye-chuui, look in her eyes and stood up. Or asked him what book he was reading. Or stuffed a chunk of apple in his mouth. So this time, in this quiet dim time, he made himself stop and wait for her.

After a long moment she looked back down at him. "Then I'll come." This time, her smile wasn't distant. Now he let himself smile back.

"Thank you."

It was, Roy felt, completely in keeping with his life that the letter arrived the next day.

TBC

Once More...Dear Friends - Two

What does a career soldier do when he loses his career? And what do his friends do about him? Drama, I-3

Roy's past slid through his fingers into a box: a folded "portrait" of him, product of Elysia's first finger paints; a box with his captain's insigniaâ€”so that's where it had gone; two letter openers, one of them an old knife of Hughes'.

"I can't believe they actually cashiered you," Havoc muttered, leaning against Hawkeye's desk. She shoved him out of the way to get at the last of her drawers, tucking a handful of letters into her own box.

"Oh, I'm not cashiered," Roy said, lightly, feeling around the back of his flat drawer. Something had been rattling back there, he was sure of it. "I'm honorably discharged to enjoy a well-deserved retirement in light of both my service and my injuries. The letter said so in black and white." Havoc's long mouth twisted around his cigarette, and none of the rest of Roy's officers looked any happier.

Roy's erstwhile officers, that was.

His fingers hit something hard and square and Roy fished out a rectangular box. It was a folded chess board. Roy brushed the dust off it gently, and for the first time that day his smile softened. "Stop worrying so much," he told them without looking up as he stowed the chess set carefully where it wouldn't get scratched. "It's the price I expected to pay."

"So... what will you do, now, Sir?" Fury asked, wavering between looking hangdog and a rather unsuccessful attempt at optimism.

Roy wasn't about to admit that he didn't know; that kind of thing was bad for his image. Not to mention their morale. "Back to my alchemical studies, perhaps. There's plenty of reading in the field that I haven't been able to keep up with, all these years," he murmured. He folded his box shut and caught the roll of tape Hawkeye tossed him. The noise of shearing off a long strip made a good excuse not to expand on his alleged plans.

"Hmph." Havoc folded his arms. "Maybe I should go track down Hakuro myself, while he's still in the mood, and see if he'll let me resign my commission, like he did Hawkeye. I could use a less dangerous job."

Roy looked up at that. It would take a finely tuned ear to hear the genuine offer and question buried in Havoc's careless tone, but he'd listened to Jean Havoc for years. "No. Shoui." He straightened. "You're due for promotion, and the army needs good officers."

Havoc blinked, probably at being called a good officer, and looked aside, resettling his shoulders. "If you say so."

"I do say so," Roy agreed easily. "So there you are."

Besides, letting Hawkeye go had been an insult to her from Hakuro, and if Roy had to think about that vindictive gleam behind the bluff smile being directed at any more of his subordinates he was going to forget all the fancy daydreams about setting Hakuro's ribbons on fire and just punch the bastard. He raised an eyebrow at Hawkeye and she nodded, hefting her box. Roy gathered up his own and stepped toward the door.

"Taisa!"

Roy looked back, with a wry smile for how quickly he responded to a rank that was no longer his, even on his retirement papers.

His staff drew themselves up and gave him salutes so sharp he could have shaved with them. After a long moment Roy set down his burden and returned them, just as sharp and clipped. "Carry on, gentlemen," he said, quietly.

They remained at attention as he left.

"Stop staring at that box."

Roy raised his head and managed to smile at Hawkeye with an edge of teasing. "Is there something more interesting I should be staring at?"

"Yes," she told him briskly, and tossed a newspaper sheet over the offending item. "Look at this."

Roy looked. And then he chuckled as he read down the list of properties for sale. Ever organized, Hawkeye had underlined a handful of them in red. And then numbered them. "Shall we go shopping, then?" he suggested, still slightly bemused by the whole idea of shopping for a house the way he usually went shopping for a good cut of beef.

He should have known it wouldn't be quite that simple, of course.

"... and we just replaced the plumbing last year, it won't give you any trouble."

Hawkeye applied a firm toe to one of the shiny steel pipes. Rust sifted out of the socket where it curved, followed by a trickle of water. She gave the owner a cold look, and he smiled weakly.

"Eheh."

"...hasn't been a flood for years, and we cleaned out all the rotted plaster, you can hardly smell it any more except in the summer..."

"The neighbor's dog is a bit loud," the owner admitted, as they walked through the yard and a burly, black and tan dog in the next yard flung itself against its leash barking with rage that it couldn't reach to take off anyone's leg. "But she always keeps him tied up."

Hawkeye turned a stern eye on the dog and walked toward the fence.

"Miss, you might not...!"

"Sit!" she ordered.

The dog paused, one paw in the air, considering. Then it sat down and regarded Hawkeye with ears forward.

"Good dog."

The owner's mouth opened and closed silently, and Roy smirked.

Roy stared. "Chuu... Hawkeye," he murmured. "Is this room, in fact, lime green?"

"I'm afraid so," she returned just as softly.

"Ah. Good. At least it isn't some fresh complication with my vision."

"I don't think even trauma could produce purple carpet to go with it."

"Thank God," he whispered fervently, as the owner shepherded them, cheerily, into the next room.

Roy was both thoroughly distracted, and also starting to have second thoughts about whether more space was worth this kind of trouble, when they found it.

He stood in the middle of the living room and turned in a circle, laughing under his breath. The white plaster walls were half covered with bookshelves running from the wood floor to the high ceiling. Another room on the ground floor and two upstairs had still more shelves. And there was an apple tree in the back yard that had made Hawkeye smile and reach up a hand to touch the first pale blossoms.

"What do you think?" he asked her.

"There's certainly room enough," she observed in an approving tone. "And everything on the list Gracia gave me checks out. The windows are tight and everything stands square."

"Well, yes, but do you like it?"

Uncertainty flickered over her face, an uneasy fit on her clear eyes and firm mouth. "I think it's a very nice house," she said slowly.

Roy found himself momentarily at a loss for how to go on. He'd figured out that Hawkeye didn't like it when he flirted with her, or even complimented her in passing, so teasing wasn't going to work. But if he just came out and asked...

No. Not until he found out why she kept brushing him away.

"I just wondered if you might like to choose a room for yourself, instead of resorting to the couch." He looked out the large front window, hands tucked casually into his pockets. "It only seems fair, since you helped me find this place." His mouth curled up suddenly. "An even trade."

Hawkeye seemed to relax, when he put it in those terms, and Roy dared a little further.

"Actually, a really fair trade would be to offer you a half share of the house." As her eyes widened he added, "Since you shared your house with me all winter."

"I suppose... the room at the back of the second floor is shaded nicely." Her smile was a bit crooked. "If you really want to give up the space right after finding it."

"Company is more interesting than space."

There was something unusual behind the long look she gave him. Something he would have called wariness, if that weren't ridiculous. But her chin lifted again and she nodded.

"All right."

Roy's attempt to pack up his own library was instantly vetoed by Hawkeye on the grounds that that was heavy lifting and he wasn't medically cleared for that, yet. After a few overhead reaches started his shoulder twinging again, he gave in and agreed, but that left him without anything to do while movers boxed up his life around him.

Nothing but try to figure out what he was going to do with his life, now. Watching all the layers be stripped away didn't help. He kept finding things that reminded him of why he had chosen a military career.

Of why he had stayed.

A copy of his letter of application to officer's training, pressed in the first pages of Ruland, earnestly explaining that he wanted to put his alchemical abilities at the army's disposal in the field. His commission, carefully framed, now dusty from having been stuffed into the bottom of a bookshelf for years. A squared off chunk of pale eastern sandstone with glassy streaks through it where his own fire had melted the silicon. A folded, fading piece of notepaper, tucked loosely into his sole cookbook, listing all the living generals from eight years ago and marking how much time it had taken each to reach his rank. A yellow newspaper clipping, slipped between two of his old coded notebooks, attributing the stability of the annexed Northern territory to the State Alchemist who served under the military governor.

Some things were older. His copy of Hollandus, and Vaughn's works, both of which he had inherited from his first teacher in alchemy. His aunt's round, black teapot that she had given him when he moved to Central City, the one whose reflections had fascinated him as a child. Even among those, though, he kept finding echoes of his choice.

When Hawkeye walked in to find him turning his father's Iron Cross over and over in his fingers she called up Hughes. Roy made a personal note that Hawkeye had no reservations about fighting dirty.

"Funny how it all takes up more room in boxes, isn't it?" Hughes commented as he picked his way through the piles of cardboard. He eyed the dust smears all over the couch and took a seat on one of the boxes instead. "Here." He plunked a bag down beside him and pulled out two bottles of beer, tossing one over.

Roy smiled to see that it was their compromise brand, the one that was light enough to make him happy and full enough to satisfy Hughes.

Hughes held up his bottle. "Here's to you, ex-Junsho."

Roy clinked his bottle against it. "And to you, ex-Junsho."

They drank and Hughes sighed. "I really thought he wasn't going to be able to get you, too." Then he snorted and his voice trailed off into a now-familiar mutter. "... dereliction of duty. I return from the dead, and all he can say is 'dereliction of duty'!"

Roy shrugged. "As far as he knows I murdered our commander for personal ambition. Even if he can't quite prove it."

Hughes gave him a sharp look. "He wouldn't have pushed it the way he did unless it was personal."

"Of course not." Roy examined his bottle thoughtfully. "But it's why he actually got me discharged. If it was just personal he'd have demoted me and kept me around to gloat at." If nothing else, the forced introspection of sorting through his things had reminded him that Hakuro actually was a good solider, albeit an idiot in a lot of other ways.

"Mmm." Hughes took a long swallow. "Think you'd have preferred that?"

"It's something that happens when you play the promotion game," Roy said, at length.

"Something that happens to a soldier?" Hughes translated, quietly. He leaned an elbow back on the boxes behind him and stared up at the water stains on the ceiling. "And now we're not."

Roy's mouth tightened and he made himself nod. Now he wasn't.

So what was he?

Hughes narrowed his eyes. "As an alchemist you still have influence," he pointed out. "You can still protect this country." Then he frowned. "Are you still a State Alchemist?"

Roy blinked. "Technically, I suppose I am," he said, slowly. "At least... Hakuro never asked for the watch back, and I didn't think of it." He frowned in turn. "That won't do. There's no real leverage without a commission, too."

Hughes threw his head back and laughed. "Drink up, Roy, you'll be fine." A gleam lit his eye. "Though, if you're giving it back... "

Roy recognized that look, and couldn't help the smirk that spread over his face. "Slingshot?" he suggested.

"Not nearly fancy enough," Hughes protested. "We have reputations to uphold, here, Mustang." He pulled out more bottles. "Now, let's think about this."

"You melted the watch." It was a statement, not a question. "On Hakuro's desk."

"Er. We were drunk?" Hughes offered, with a winning smile.

Hawkeye gave them a cool, unimpressed look. "And you got in without an appointment how?"

"We told them the truth." Roy settled back on his box-chair smugly and crossed his legs. "That I was going to return the watch. They let us right through."

"And now Hakuro has a silver paperweight shaped like a hand? Your hand? Snapping?"

"A very fine piece of work, if I say so myself." Roy and Hughes grinned at each other.

Hawkeye was silent for a long moment before she nodded sharply. "Excuse me. I have to go pack the rest of my things."

Roy blinked after her as she strode out and then frowned at Hughes. "She won't move in because I ask her to, but she will because she's annoyed at me?"

"Women," Hughes said wisely. "Have another beer."

TBC

The Iron Cross is a German military medal.

Counterpoint - Breaking Eggs

Lisa gets some good advice from Gracia. Drama, I-3

It wasn't until she tried to separate out some things specifically to keep at Roy's that Lisa realized just how many of her things had already found their way over. About a third of her dresser seemed to be gone. So were her spare cleaning kit, her favorite boots, the extra bag of dog food, her small frying pan and her cheese grater, of all things.

Actually, she remembered taking over the cheese grater, after one attempt to make a decent omelette with cheese chopped into bits. How she had wound up with her spare toothbrush at home, she was less sure of.

She sat down on the floor of her bedroom, tossing her more ragged slippers into the corner in exasperation, and laughed helplessly as Black Hayate promptly retrieved them for her. "I bet you'd like to move, wouldn't you?" she asked him, rubbing his ears. He panted happily at her. "Yeah, you're just as hopeless as I am."

A knock at the door pulled her away from her attempts to locate all her belongings, which was probably just as well.

"Gracia!"

The sweet-faced woman at her door smiled and leaned against the frame. "Since you had to call Maas in on Roy I thought perhaps I should stop by and see how you're doing, yourself."

Lisa snorted and led the way to the kitchen to light the stove under her teakettle. "It's not like I'm going to be heartbroken over losing my job," she pointed out, waving Gracia to the table. At least her kitchen table and chairs had stayed where they were supposed to be.

Gracia leaned her chin in her hands, smile turning just a touch wicked. "It wasn't you job I expected you to be heartbroken over."

Lisa set down the teacups with a bit more force than necessary. "I'm not heartbroken over anything."

"And that would be why your home looks like Black Hayate just finished chasing something through it?" Gracia took the tea set away from Lisa and measured tea into the pot with a gentler touch. Lisa sat down with a small thump and sighed.

"That's... well, you know about the new house?" Gracia nodded and Lisa folded her hands on the table and looked down at them. "Roy. I think he wants me to move in."

Gracia tipped her head to the side. "You're not happy about this?"

Lisa's eyes narrowed. "Happy that he looks at me like I'm just another one of those fluff-heads who flutter over him because he smiles at them and then ignores them? Not especially."

Gracia blinked. "Does he look at you like he does at them?" she asked, slowly.

"He's been flirting with me! For months!" The kettle began to whistle and Lisa got up to fetch it. "That was one of the reasons I was so ready to let him move back to his place, even though it meant going there to make sure he was doing his exercises and not straining that shoulder or forgetting to eat or anything idiotic like that."

Gracia's chin was in her hand again as she watched Lisa. "And when he does flirt, what do you do?"

"Act like a professional." Lisa brooded over the rising steam. "I've always had his respect as a professional, and I'm not giving that respect up."

"If you keep acting like nothing but his second, he won't look at you the way you want him to," Gracia reminded her softly.

Lisa shrugged and poured the tea with a steady hand. "It doesn't seem that he's ever going to look at me the way I want him to."

Gracia sighed. "The two of you." She blew across her tea and took a sip. "You're probably confusing the life out of the poor man." Her lips crimped. "Which is good for him. But I don't think you should give up, just yet."

Lisa tried not to feel too much hope, but Gracia had known Roy longer than any of the rest of them. Surely she would know? She nibbled on her lip and looked the question at Gracia.

"He isn't very likely to figure it out on his own," Gracia allowed, "but neither of you has really had a chance to give it a decent try. His injury and recovery, and now the discharge... he hasn't been thinking clearly too often, I expect." She gave Lisa a stern look. "And I'll bet you haven't either, as wound up in him as you are."

Lisa studied her teacup with great attention.

Gracia sat back and shook her head. "Let him get back to himself. When he is... you've already seen what will work, haven't you?"

Lisa blinked. "I have?"

"You're missing the obvious. He treats you as whatever you act like." Gracia gave her a bright, mischievous smile. "So act like what you want him to treat you as."

Lisa turned that over in her head. So. If she wanted Roy to not treat her as either another light conquest or as only his second... "When he's back to himself, hm?" Slowly, she smiled back. "Thank you, Gracia."

Gracia patted her hand. "No problem. Now, why don't you tell me about the new house."

Lisa shuddered faintly. "For starters, it is not purple and green..."

TBC

Counterpoint - Deadly Force

Some reflections, while Hawkeye cleans her guns. Drama, I-3

Lisa was cleaning her guns. Cleaning them thoroughly enough that she could store them when she was done.

Oil streaked her hands, and she knew she had a smudge of it on her cheek, where her wrist hadn't been quite clean enough to brush aside her hair without smearing. It didn't bother her. There were things you couldn't clean without getting dirty. Attics. Guns.

Countries.

She held the mainspring of her second pistol up to the light; no, that was just a bit of uneven oil, not scoring. She wiped it down carefully.

She liked her guns. Killing made her reluctant to eat for a day or two, but the guns themselves were clean and precise and definite at all times. They were solid. And if she was fast and accurate, then so were they. She didn't have quite the... relationship with them that a lot of the other sharpshooters did. But, then, she hadn't been there for the same reason most of them had.

Lisa knew she'd been lucky. She could easily have been assigned to some command other than Roy's. As it was, she had been able to fire most of her bullets in direct defense of the handful of people she knew and valued in that army.

She wiped her hands and started reassembling the parts.

She didn't understand the other way; didn't comprehend how anyone could shoot just because they were told to, with no personal reason of their own. It was some strange kind of abstract insanity, as far as she could tell.

She fished out her second screwdriver, the one Winry-chan had re-ground to make the perfect fit more so, and delicately tightened the screw. One last careful pass with the oil cloths and she slid the guns into their holsters. She hesitated when she started to put them in the storage box, though.

Roy understood the other way.

Slowly she put her guns back on the rack in her front closet.

TBC

Housewarming

Havoc watches and worries a bit about his friends, as he moves them in. Drama, I-2

"I thought housewarming was supposed to happen after everything is moved and unpacked."

Jean snorted into his beer at Farman's rueful observation. "Yeah, well. At least they supplied the drinks. Besides, when was the last time we got any kind of normal assignment from Mustang-taisa?" he added with a wry grin.

"A good point." Farman stood up as the last load of boxes from Hawkeye's place pulled up.

Jean followed more slowly, and not just because he wanted to get the last few swallows of his beer. The Colonel and Hawkeye were converging on the car, and the two of them had been worth watching all day.

Of course, they'd always been kind of fun to watch. Anyone with eyes knew Hawkeye'd had a thing for their superior officer since day one. Well, anyone with eyes who wasn't Roy Mustang, but Jean had never been sure that wasn't deliberate ignorance. It was actually a pretty impressive show to watch them dancing around it.

The steps seemed to have changed, today, though.

They were acting like two cats who'd just met. One of them was always watching the other, but only when the other wasn't looking. They didn't quite go so far as to start washing when the target looked around, but Jean had collected quite a list of other elaborately innocent gestures, over the course of the day.

"These three go up to my room, the rest go to the kitchen." Hawkeye tapped the first set of boxes with emphasis. "Open these, and die."

The uniformly male box-carrying contingent voiced vigorous agreement, and Jean snickered. Poor Fury was still traumatized from having opened a box of her underwear and Hughes-san was kindly keeping him occupied unpacking books. He'd never seen Lisa turn quite that shade of red, either.

She gave him a dark look, now. "You can take the plates."

The heaviest box, of course. He was happy enough, though, since it finally gave him a chance to talk to her alone. "Are you really sure about this?" he asked quietly, as they ripped open boxes on the kitchen floor.

"Sure about what?" Her tone was quellingly brisk, and Jean eyed her with exasperation.

"About moving in with him, Lisa. I mean, you're not," he waved a hand, "like that yet, right?"

Her lips thinned and she paused in putting away glasses to direct a paint-stripping glare at him. Jean sighed. "Look, I'm not prying. It's just... are you sure it's a good idea?"

Her hands stilled, resting on the counter. "No, I'm not sure," she said, at last, softly. "But I do know nothing will ever change if I'm not the one to push it. Not the way I want it to."

Jean looked at her for a long moment, and a corner of his mouth curled up. "About time you went after what you want." She blinked at him and he chuckled. "Oh, come on. You're one of us; you know we're all rooting for you, right?"

Her eyes softened. "Jean..."

"Besides," he took a reflective drag on his cigarette, "once you put a leash on him, he'll stop stealing girls from all the rest of us. Win-win situation, I say."

The rest of the box carriers came back downstairs to find Hawkeye leaning on a chair laughing while Jean innocently put away plates.

TBC

Counterpoint - Pick Up Sticks

Lisa chooses a new direction to move in. Drama, I-3

Lisa rolled her favorite pen between her fingers, smoothing her thumb up and down the cool, green enamel. It had been a present, years ago, from her mother, and she had never found another that weighed as well in her hand.

Today it seemed a little heavier than usual.

She rested her chin on her fist and stared down at the blank paper in front of her.

Roy would be in motion again, soon. He probably didn't know it, yet, but she was sure of it. She had watched him recovering from his physical injuries, and the progress of the wound that his discharge had dealt him wasn't all that different. He was still drifting; but he was drifting closer and closer back to the current of pure idealism that had carried his cold and ruthless manipulations along at such an incredible speed.

And when that current took him again, it would take her, too.

Lisa tapped a nail against the pen, each click firm and clear. She'd decided, about a year into her tenure as Roy's second, that her life would be far easier if the reasons she loved him were different from the reasons she followed him. Everything would be simpler if she could separate the two. But the brilliant, wild, arrogant precision that had caught her intellect, and the rage and compassion that had captured her loyalty, were the same things that fascinated her heart. And that was that.

Act like what you want to be to him.

It would be easier to follow Gracia's very good advice if there were fewer things she wanted to be to him.

Act like what you want to be...

Lisa's head came up, and she took a grip on her pen and pulled the paper toward her. What she wanted to be was the kind of person Roy Mustang would be proud to stand beside. Whether he ever noticed it or not was beside the point.

She would be that kind of person because it was what she wanted.

And if her own past could serve that goal, then she would use it.

She lifted the pen her mother had given her and wrote down an address she hadn't visited since she was eighteen.

TBC

Once More...Dear Friends - Three

Roy comes to some realizations and starts to move again. Drama, I-3

Roy looked up, as Lisa scuffed through the kitchen door, and backed into the corner by the sink with an amused smile.

He'd been rather startled, at first, to find that Hawkeye was not, of her own accord, a morning person. She had the talent of waking up quickly when she needed to, but left to her own devices she was never up before sunrise and joined the world of the living gradually. Her eyes were open by the time she got downstairs, but both her four-legged housemate and her new two-legged one knew to stay out of her way while she more or less sleepwalked through her morning routine. Roy felt a certain scientific curiosity, watching her, about what would happen if he moved, say, her tea-strainer from its usual home one morning.

Today it looked like he might find out. She stopped in front of the empty fruit basket and stood for several breaths blinking at it sleepily.

"We're out," Roy pointed out, helpfully.

"Oh." It took another moment, but apparently her response to missing items was to skip that step. She collected her tea and toast and settled at the table. Roy gave her a fond look behind her back and slid the second half of the eggs onto one of her plates before he went back to putting away his own dishes.

Segregated dishes weren't exactly the kind of thing he'd had in mind, when he first mentioned sharing the house with her. Nor had he quite known what to make of the fact the she'd stenciled her name in neat, white paint on the underside of all her furnitureâ€”the kitchen table, for example. But he had to admit, it saved argument over whose turn it was to wash up. And, recalling a few of Hughes' and Gracia's early spats over the definition of a clean dish, perhaps it was just as well.

Not, he thought, a bit disgruntled, that his relationship with Lisa merited any kind of comparison to Hughes and Gracia.

She stretched and leaned back in her chair. "So, fruit. We also need more eggs and milk. The honey is close to out. We'll need more rolls by tomorrow. More meat, too; maybe chicken this time. I was going out today, anyway, I'll pick things up."

Roy checked the level of her teapot. All that before her second cup and without checking the pantry; he was impressed. She'd make any quartermaster green with envy. The thought still twinged a little, and he turned away from it. "It's a beautiful day out," he observed, instead. "We might as well both go; we could take Black Hayate along."

Black Hayate emerged from under the table to perk his ears at them, hopefully, and Lisa smiled. "All right."

Ha. Maybe he really was figuring her out. Casual was the ticket. Roy was whistling as he went to fetch his shoes and cane.

Watching her emerge onto the front step and turn her face up to the sun and draw a deep breath, Roy took a moment for purely aesthetic appreciation. The light jacket and skirt suited her well. He grinned, wondering what would happen if he suggested that a shorter skirt would suit her even better, and whether it would involve him having to duck. But as they walked, and he listened to her cheerful greetings to neighbors and shopkeepers, his thoughts turned more serious.

Lisa had been a sweet, cheerful girl, when he'd met her. But she'd been seventeen at the time. He hadn't been surprised that she'd become more solemn, when she showed up as his new Second Lieutenant two and a half years later. People changed as they grew up. And Hawkeye had still been kind, as well as formidably capable. It was the capability that showed first, by then, and the new seriousness suited it. He'd thought it was natural to her, and thought nothing more of it.

Now...

"Peaches!" She leaned over a bin to inhale lovingly. "They'll be perfect in a few days. Let's get some!" She tossed her hair over her shoulder to look back at him with a laughing smile. Roy could feel his expression softening in return, but his chest twisted.

She was beautiful. Bright and beautiful and... free. No matter how he tried, he couldn't quite evade that word when he saw her like this.

They were on their way back to the house before he made up his mind to speak.

"Hawkeye," he started, quietly, drawing her attention back from Black Hayate's frisking around, "why did you enter the military?"

Abruptly all that brightness looked more like sun shining on steel. "Because what you wanted to do was right," she pronounced, looking straight ahead. "And you needed someone to pay attention and watch your back."

"You weren't happy there at all, though, were you?" he asked, still more quietly. Not that he had noticed until the present contrast hit him over the head with it, and maybe she had a point when she brushed off his small attempts at courtship.

For a few moments he didn't think she would answer, but eventually she stopped rearranging the bunches of lilacs in the top of her bag and looked over at him. "No. I wasn't. But all of us did things we weren't happy doing, to get where we wanted to go."

Roy had to swallow before he could reply. "We did." He hesitated a moment. "Lisa. Thank you."

Her eyes warmed, and this smile almost made him trip over his own feet.

Maybe he owed Hughes an apology for all the ragging he'd given the man over mooning around, when he first started seeing Gracia.

It didn't take long, after Hawkeye left for her appointment, for Roy to return to brooding. Edward Elric might be the most obvious of the lives lost to Roy's plans and ambitions, but clearly it wasn't the only one. And after all that, all he had done was to remove a single betrayer. The keystone, perhaps, but in the doing he'd lost the chance to do more. It wasn't enough to balance the losses. His dark thoughts were only interrupted by Hughes' arrival on his doorstep.

"Well, looks like the two of you have settled in all cozily," Hughes commented, sprawling down on the couch.

Roy glared at him. On second thought, apologies were out of the question. Maas had earned every bit of grief Roy had ever given him, at one time or another. "If you don't have anything useful to say..."

Hughes waved a hand. "Patience, patience. Actually I have a job prospect for you."

Roy's brows rose. So far, he had been completely unable to come up with any job he was well qualified for, outside of the military, besides maybe factory work. He'd sooner hire on with a road crew, except that he still needed the damn cane to compensate for his lost depth perception.

Hughes smiled, and propped his elbows over the back of the couch. "How'd you like to work for the government, Roy?"

Well, that was a possibility he hadn't really considered. Roy sat back and made go-on motions.

"You know there's still no Minister of Defense?" Hughes' voice was casual; his eyes were anything but.

Roy's mouth tightened. There had, in fact, been an article in the paper just this morning about Parliament's increasing pressure on the Chancellor to select a Minister to oversee the military. He nodded silently.

"Did you know the Chancellor is going to be present for Professor Gauss' lecture at the Central University tomorrow night?"

"And the point of this information?" Roy asked, a bit cautiously. "Hughes, you know what Gauss thinks of the State Alchemists. He'd throw me out on my ear if I attended, and what good would that do anyone?"

"He'd certainly speak to you, it's true," Hughes allowed beaming. "Quite vehemently, I imagine. Very difficult to ignore, that."

Roy narrowed his eyes at his friend, mind ticking over. "Are you suggesting that I come out in support of separating the state funded alchemists from the military?" he asked, softly. It was the only thing he could think of that would make the right kind of stir at a gathering like Gauss' lecture.

"The Chancellor seems to approve of the idea," Hughes observed. His own gaze sharpened. "Do you still want to make sure that what you wanted to do gets done?"

Roy took a fast breath. Could he? Could he really make all the sacrifices mean something more? Carry the trust of the lives lost, one way and another, a little further? "Yes," he said, fiercely.

Hughes' answering smile was just as fierce. "There's our Roy Mustang." He pulled a folder from under his jacket and tossed it into Roy's lap. "Here's your hook, then. Everything I could find on Chancellor Ebert. It isn't as much as it would have been a year ago," he added with a sour face, "but there are still people who tell me things if I ask nicely. Up to you to reel him in."

Roy laughed out loud. "I will."

TBC

Once More...Dear Friends - Four

Roy stirs things up and gets a new job. Drama, I-3

Roy lurked by the wall, watching the reception get into swing. The long, windowed hall was bright with lamps and starting to echo with the rise and fall of voices commenting on Professor Gauss' presentation. It was worth comment, Roy thought. Gauss was not known as a good teacher, but he did have the gift of framing his conclusions clearly and completely, and any lecture of his was worth attending.

Of course, Hughes had failed to mention that this presentation would be about the ethics of civilians doing alchemical research for the military. Roy would have to think of a suitable way to thank him for that little surprise.

The small cluster around Gauss moved toward the buffet table, looking like it would cross into the Chancellor's sphere where he leaned against a wall of his own. Time to move.

Roy couldn't help a faint smile when Gauss stiffened at the sight of him; fortunately a bit of smugness would only start things off on the right note. He nodded cordially as he picked up a glass of wine. "Professor Gauss. An excellent presentation, as usual."

"Mustang!" Gauss nostrils pinched. "I hardly expected you to attend. Surely you can't have any interest in the subject of alchemical ethics."

"On the contrary Professor," Roy returned coolly. "I've had a great deal of interest in it for a long time."

Gauss' mouth worked like he wanted to spit. "You! What interest could someone like you, who willingly uses your abilities as an officer of the military, claim to have?"

"Because I was an officer, Professor." Roy let his voice drop, relaxed for once and let some of the passion he rarely allowed in public view to show. "Only those who are willing to give themselves wholly to the service of their country and abide by the restrictions of an officer's training and discipline have any place practicing alchemy for the military. Only those who can make no pretense to themselves or others that they have not chosen to kill with their power." Roy lifted his chin and stood straight, offering no apology for his own choice.

Gauss eyed him with suspicion, but also, perhaps, a hint of grudging respect for that honesty. "That wasn't what your precious military did, though."

Roy's mouth quirked. "No. One of the drawbacks of being an officer, I admit, was the requirement that I obey my superiors. Even when I thought their policy was wrong. All I could do under those circumstances was shield those under my own command. And seek enough seniority to affect policy myself." He shrugged.

Gauss examined him for a long moment. "If I hear right, you won't be affecting much of anything now, will you?" he asked at last, conversationally. Roy stiffened.

"If we are fortunate," he answered, slightly stifled, "our new government will make it less necessary."

"I suppose we can always hope," Gauss snorted.

They exchanged wary nods and Roy took his drink and retreated to a window. He leaned his head against the cool glass and took a slow breath. Speaking, however vaguely, of the events that led to his discharge had spilled a box of memories that he tried to keep closed these days. Bright, clear, cutting moments recalled themselves: his own flame spreading like a live thing over the stones of Ishvar; excusing himself to run and empty his stomach when he met Tucker's first chimera; the Elric brothers and their search, and Hawkeye's voice telling him of Edward's sacrifice and what it had accomplished.

Silently, he apologized to those memories for stopping. Another breath, and he straightened. He was moving again, now.

Hawkeye was sitting at the kitchen table, wrapped in her robe, one leg tucked up under her, when Roy got home. She had the big teapot steaming in front of her, and one of Roy's teacups was set out at his place. "How did it go?" she asked, nodding toward it.

Roy poured out a cup for himself and wrapped his hands around its warmth with a sigh. "Just the way I expected it to. The Chancellor definitely noticed." His mouth twisted. "The entire room noticed, I imagine. Now we'll see if it was enough."

She took a sip from her cup, eyes steady on him over the rim. "Will you really be satisfied with this?" Roy blinked at her and she snorted softly. "Just because I didn't particularly enjoy being a soldier doesn't mean I didn't notice that you did."

The thing that gave him hope, no matter how puzzling Lisa was to him, was that she so obviously cared. That probably wasn't what he should be thinking about right now, though, and Roy made himself consider her question. "If I understand the position correctly, yes. I think it will be quite satisfying," he answered, softly.

She nodded briskly. "Good." She set her tea down with a clink. "Then all we can do now is wait. In the meantime, you can help me prune the apple tree. It looks like it will put out a lot of fruit, this year. If we want any at all next year we should trim it back, according to Renata. "

The new topic was welcome, even if their next door neighbor, Renata, wasn't his very favorite source of advice. Roy wrapped prosaic home-concerns around him like a blanket against the cold of uncertainty. "Do we have heavy enough shears for that?" he asked dubiously, tallying up their accumulated yard implements. There weren't many, so far.

"No," Hawkeye said calmly, "but we do have two spare shovels and an alchemist, which should amount to the same thing. Maybe you can even get a new name out of it—the Household Alchemist."

And then she giggled, probably at his expression.

Four days later Roy ran a slightly paranoid hand through his hair, as he followed a Chancellery Guard, to make absolutely sure there were no apple leaves or twigs still stuck in it. He was fairly sure his appearance wasn't why his guide was giving him dubious looks, but it didn't hurt to be sure.

The dubious looks escalated to a muffled protest when Roy was announced and the Chancellor waved for the Guard to stand outside the door. Ebert sighed.

"Do you want to kill me?" he asked Roy, bluntly.

Roy opened his mouth and closed it again. "No," he managed, finally.

"There, see?" The Chancellor made a shooing motion at the Guard, and turned back into his office.

Roy firmly suppressed his amusement at the exasperated look the Guard directed at Ebert's back and instead gave the man a sympathetic smile on his way in.

"Sit," Ebert directed, taking a seat behind his desk and leaning back, rather wearily to Roy's eye. "So, tell me, did you know I was going to be at Professor Gauss' presentation?"

Clearly, Roy was heading for another superior who could spot him coming and going. This could be good or bad. "I was aware of your presence," he offered.

The Chancellor gave him a wintry smile for that diplomatic prevarication. "You know how to speak the language. Good." He leaned forward, elbows on his desk. "Parliament is right; we need a Minister of Defense. But, aside from the difficulty in finding someone qualified, the job is going to be bad enough that I don't want to appoint anyone who doesn't understand what they're heading into and volunteer for it anyway. You have the knowledge for the job, and seem to have the ambition; that leaves us with disclosure. So listen."

Blunt was definitely the order of the day. Roy composed himself to listen.

"Our neighboring countries are furious over our expansion into their territories, and the fact that there's a new government doesn't stop them from holding us responsible. What it has done, so far, is suggest enough civil unrest and disorder that they've taken the opportunity to counter-attack across our borders. I'm trying to make new treaties without giving away any of our land or emptying our treasury, but it's damn slow going. Drachma, especially, wants both territorial concessions and reparations. So the person who's put in charge of the military will have to convince them to hold firm at the borders without allowing any more ventures across them into our neighbors' land. I'm told that's incredibly stupid, tactically speaking; the Minister will have to enforce it anyway. He will also have to figure out how to keep some kind of stability among our recent conquests without starting any more outright civil wars, because we can't afford more of those. Somehow, we're going to have to wave the threat of military alchemists in our neighbors' faces and at the same time give evidence of reforming our State-sponsored alchemical research to ensure that atrocities like those of the past fifty years don't happen again. The Minister of Defense will be the one doing the lion's share of this work, and he's the one who will have to take the fall if any of it blows up." Ebert sat back. "Still want the job?"

Roy had to take a moment to catch his breath, after that litany of disasters waiting to happen. The immediate thought that this was a life's work and more was both terrifying and oddly comforting. "I didn't imagine it would be an easy job," he answered at last, quietly. "Yes, I do want it."

"Why?"

Roy smiled crookedly back at the Chancellor's narrow gaze. If blunt was Ebert's style, Roy could give him blunt back. "I imagine you pulled my personnel file, Chancellor. It must note that my first deployment in the field was to Ishvar."

Ebert tapped his fingers on one of the folders stacked about his desk and nodded.

"I gave myself to my country as a soldier, Chancellor," Roy said, looking down at his folded hands. "I wasn't unwilling. But what happened there was insanity. I wanted to keep it from happening again." He looked up. "And now you're offering me the leverage to see that it doesn't. You have your volunteer, Sir, if I'm the one you want."

"God help us both, Mustang, I think you probably are." Ebert sighed, and then paused. "Did you really kill Bradley?" he asked in a tone of academic curiosity.

Roy couldn't quite stifle a wince. He'd hoped this wouldn't come up. He was entirely too likely to get himself, not only barred from office, but thrown in a mental hospital if he answered honestly. But Chancellor Ebert was the man in charge of the whole nation, now, and if anyone needed all the information straight, it was him.

He took a deep breath. "If I may tell the whole story from the start?" At Ebert's nod he settled back and tried to order his thoughts. "Human transmutation is forbidden because of what it results in..."

Ebert listened to the whole explanation, of Homunculi, of the Red Stone, of the wars fought only to drive desperate research, with no expression. When Roy finished he was silent for a minute.

"That would sound far more unreasonable if I hadn't spent the past couple months reading over the results of State Alchemists' research and the specific orders Bradley sent to certain officers in charge of the worst incidents," he said, at last. "As it is, I regret to say that I believe you. For everyone else's consumption, I suggest you stick to the story that Bradley was killed by runaway monsters of research, not that he was one himself. It will make a good, acceptable reason to limit future research and oversee it more closely."

Roy nodded, his respect for Ebert's political abilities rising another notch. "Yes, Sir."

Ebert heaved a long breath. "All right, Mustang. I'm going to appoint you. You'll have to appear before Parliament, in case they have any questions while they debate your approval for the post. Be prepared."

"Of course."

They exchanged sharp smiles along with firm handshakes, in parting. This superior's clear perception, Roy decided, was a good thing. What a pleasant change.

TBC

Once More...Dear Friends - Five

Team Mustang dives into politics. Drama, I-3

Roy was glad it took Parliament a handful of days to clear their schedules enough to call him in. It took that long to hammer out a story about the past year that would match all checkable facts and not land any of them in prison for murder or in front of a firing squad for treason.

"Okay, so you hustled my body out of town because you suspected I had been attacked by Gran's remaining faction to stop me telling about some of his Alchemists' work." Hughes scribbled a few more dates on the sheets of scratch paper scattered over the living room floor. "That should work. And Gran's dead so he can't object. Even better."

"I was right," Hawkeye put in from the couch, flipping through a binder that had somehow wandered out of Personnel without being checked out. "None of the guards who heard me tell Bradley you were staging an insurrection survived. And Havoc says that the memories of the surviving soldiers from that northern deployment are very fuzzy about just why there was a need to plan an attack on Central. The idea that it was to rescue Bradley, not depose him, seems to make all of them very relieved."

"That's direct testimony taken care of, then." Roy stretched and yawned. "Thank you for handling that." He paused as a thought struck him. "I don't suppose you'd like a job with the ministry, too?" He slid a casual mask over a certain amount of hopefulness.

Hawkeye sniffed. "It was bad enough, dealing with bureaucratic idiots as an officer," she noted. "I'm not going to deal with them as a secretary."

Roy sighed, but couldn't help a small smirk as he admitted, "I do have a bit of difficulty picturing you as a typical secretary."

"Ministerial aide?" Hughes suggested with a grin.

"That's just a secretary with a better salary," Lisa objected. "Money doesn't help with the idiots."

Roy listened to them, amused. Lisa had always had an edge of exasperation to her when she'd had to deal with Hughes, but it actually seemed to be softening into something like teasing now that she'd left military formality behind.

"So aim higher," Hughes declaimed. "I don't see why you shouldn't expect a good job out of this. I do."

Roy smirked at him. "It'll be nice to see someone else get accused of promotion through favoritism for a change."

Lisa shook her head at both of them and reached for the next binder.

It was not an entirely new experience to hear his merits and flaws debated over his head in his presence. It seemed to be a favorite tactic of generals when they called field officers up on the carpet. But it had a different flavor when politicians were doing it.

"... valiantly risked his life and career to safeguard his country's leader, I'd say that's a good sign!"

It was harder to keep a straight face, for one thing.

"One, haven't we just finished saying that it's a damn good thing Bradley's gone?" inquired one of the more skeptical Members, Rosa Luxemburg if Roy recalled correctly. "And two, if it was all about valor and so on, why did he lose his career?" The compression of her lips as she sniffed reminded Roy irresistibly of his Aunt Helena, as did the sharp gaze she bent on the other end of the gallery. "Since we have Hakuro-taisho here, perhaps we should ask him, hm?"

Roy approved. Hakuro had been practically vibrating in his seat for the past ten minutes; it wouldn't do for him to actually explode. Roy might need him later.

Hakuro surged to his feet at the President's invitation. "You do well to ask, Madam! Mustang was discharged because he was suspected of causing King Bradley's death!"

Startled silence rippled over the Chamber. Perfect. Roy sighed into that silence and lifted a brow at Hakuro as the Parliament turned to look at him.

"Taisho, I realize that we have often been opponents due to our efforts to further our individual careers. But surely you can see that it's no longer necessary. Our careers will run in different paths, now." He let his mouth tighten a bit, and watched the room full of politicians take in the implication that Hakuro was attempting to slander his late competition.

Hakuro, on the other hand, seemed to completely miss it, just as expected. "That's beside the point," he snapped.

Roy sighed again and ran a hand through his hair. "The point, Taisho, is that you didn't have any proof when you came up with a way to be rid of me, and you don't have any now. You accomplished what you thought appropriate; I'm a civilian. Be satisfied."

Anger and triumph mixed in Hakuro's face in answer to this straight line. "Yes, a civilian," he growled. "Just what suits your backstabbing cowardice."

Roy's eyes narrowed. "Taisho," he rapped out coldly, cutting across the several sharp inhalations through the Chamber and crossing his fingers in hopes that Hakuro wouldn't notice them, "you forget who you address."

Hakuro reared back. "What?!"

"Or do you disdain to take orders a civilian?" Roy asked, softly, laying the last piece of bait down with care.

"Who wouldn't?" Hakuro shot back.

The rustle of disturbance in the Chamber became something close to a roar, and Roy sat back, watching it jerk Hakuro back to awareness of where they were and who was listening. He suppressed a grimace. It had almost been easy enough to make him feel guilty, watching Hakuro's sudden confusion.

Almost.

Finally, Roy raised his voice. "Enough!" He looked only at Hakuro, as if he still addressed the General, but the Parliament quieted, too. "We will discuss this later, Taisho," he said, firmly. "If it is Parliament's pleasure."

Hakuro sank back into his chair, unable to do anything else at that point. Luxemburg spoke into the silence that followed.

"All right, Friedrich." She turned an imperious look on the Chancellor. "I see your point. I withdraw my objections."

Roy met her hard green eyes, as murmurs of agreement spread among the other Members. There was no trust there, and his mouth quirked.

"Thank you for your understanding, Madam." He said nothing about her support, which is was clear to him he didn't have.

An unwilling answering amusement tugged at her lips. "Quite."

"... the Chancellery Guards are your guards, too, now. Here's your office." Ebert pushed open a thick, dark wood door to show a large, handsome office and a large, handsome desk stacked with a large pile of folders. "Those are the profiles of available, qualified people in other Ministries that you can draw on to build your staff. I think that's everything." He clapped Roy on the shoulder. "Go to it. Good luck."

Another mountain of personnel folders. Lovely. "Ah, Chancellor," Roy lifted a hand, and Ebert looked over his shoulder on his way out the door. "Can I draw on other sources for staff?"

Ebert grinned. "Have some soldiers in mind? Sure, just pass them with Karr, over in Intelligence." He waved. "We'll see you Friday for the weekly Cabinet meeting."

Roy leaned against his desk and surveyed his new domain for a long moment. A staff would be nice, but first things first. He dug out the phone and called the front desk. Ten minutes later Hakuro was shown in.

Roy rested his shoulders against the cool glass of a window and crossed his arms, considering the man in front of him. Hakuro stood stiffly, jaw set.

"You're a good soldier, Taisho," Roy said, at last, and watched Hakuro blink. "You're a good soldier," he repeated, "but you're not suited to politics. The two don't generally go well together. So what I need to know is whether you can do your job and leave the politics to me." He turned to face the window. "If you can, I'll leave you in charge of the army. If you can't I'll call Werther-chuujo back from East City to replace you."

And if Hakuro tried to keep playing the game by lying to him about his intentions, now, Roy would have to remove him completely, and that would be a loss of experience the army couldn't well afford at the moment.

"What job are you going to do?" Hakuro asked after a moment.

Roy smiled. A question instead of a reply was a good sign; a quick answer would almost certainly have been a lie. "I'm going to do my best to pull us all out of the hole Bradley dumped us in," he replied, candidly, and tapped a finger against the glass. "It will involve some very difficult maneuvers from the Army, and I need someone in charge who can hold them together anyway." He turned to look Hakuro in the eye. "Hold them together and obey my orders."

Hakuro's face was a study in conflicting emotions. Roy picked out pleasure that someone thought Hakuro was capable of this; fury, probably at the idea of taking orders from Roy; and shock, probably at the coldness of Roy's tone. Come to think of it, Hakuro had never heard Roy giving direct orders, had he?

Well, he'd better get used to it, now.

Finally Hakuro drew himself up to something that wasn't quite attention. "Very well," he said, tightly. "Sir."

Ambition won again. One problem down, fifteen thousand and forty three to go. "Good. I'll be in touch, Taisho." Roy nodded a dismissal. Hakuro was barely out the door before he'd pulled the phone out of the paper mountain again.

"Hughes? It all worked out. Get over to Karr and convince him to clear you. We'll figure out what your job title is later..."

TBC

Counterpoint - Home Office

Lisa unveils her own new job. Drama, I-3

Lisa looked up from the paper as Roy trudged down the front hall and into the living room. He looked rumpled and tired, which had been true for weeks now, but also pleased, which had been far more rare.

"Triumph!" He brandished a briefcase in the air.

Lisa laughed. "It's smaller than a suitcase. Does that mean you're caught up at work?"

"Finally. Mostly." He sighed and slumped into his armchair, trying to kick his shoes off without unlacing them first. "Material resources for my area is still a touchy question, but I have a staff and it's operating. Now I get to wait and see who isn't as good as their file said they were." He gave her a sidelong look from under his lashes.

Lisa pretended not to notice. She'd had plenty of practice; he'd mentioned what an outstanding aide she was at least once a week since acquiring his new job. "Congratulations," she said, instead. "Have an apple." She slid the basket across the low table with a stockinged toe.

Roy eyed the small red and green streaked fruit. "Are those from the tree out back? I thought it would be longer..."

"Mmm." Lisa scribbled a note next to the stock report for Kitchener Industry and tapped her pencil against her lips. "These are just the first few that are ripe. But it has been that long, you know." She looked up and smiled at him ruefully. "You've been working so hard I think you lost track of a little time."

"Yes. I suppose so." He sighed quietly and leaned forward to grab an apple. The sharp crunch of his first bite was followed by a sound of pleased surprise.

"They're good, aren't they?" Lisa took another for herself, the third of the day so far. "Gracia says they won't work very well for cooking with but should keep for a long time. I was thinking of cleaning off a shelf in the cellar for them."

"Excellent idea," Roy mumbled around a mouthful. "Maybe I should send a basket to Werner Metals, see if I can sweeten them up a little before the next round of negotiations over Army contracts and federal standards."

"No, you shouldn't," Lisa stated. She pulled a binder off the shelf beside the couch and flipped through it under Roy's startled gaze. "What you should do is negotiate with Cary Munitions instead."

Roy's eyes narrowed. "It's true Werner isn't keeping up with the new certification and accountability as well as I'd like," he said, slowly, "but Cary doesn't have the capacity to manufacture as much as operations demand."

Lisa pulled out a sheaf of papers with neat price and volume figures all laid out, and handed it over. "They do now."

Roy ran an eye down the columns, brows lifting. Finally he looked back at her, question hovering on his quirked lips.

Lisa folded her hands and lifted her chin. "Research advances will be taken care of by another company. Building capacity will be the next issue, for more than the weapons companies; that, too, will be taken care of." Pride lent assurance to her voice, and if she had personal reservations about turning her hand to finance and industry she refused to show it to him. "You will have the resources at the standards you need. Minister."

She really couldn't help a satisfied smile at the stunned realization spreading over Roy's face. To be perfectly honest, she didn't try all that hard.

"I'll find some other aide," he murmured, at last. "I doubt they'll be as good as you. But then," recovering some of his usual poise he smiled crookedly, "I'm beginning to doubt anyone could be."

Lisa felt her cheeks heating and busied herself with another bite of her apple. Under that sincere praise the discomfort of her family's ghostly presence over her shoulder faded a bit. Yes; she could do this.

They could both do this.

TBC

Once More...Dear Friends - Six

Lisa and Roy reach an understanding. Romance, I-4

Roy looked out the back door at Lisa and Black Hayate romping back and forth under gold leaves. Her hair was tangled from the breeze and there were grass stains on her knees. She was laughing as she held up a stout stick for Black Hayate to leap after, and bits of bark had smeared her palms with black and brown.

She was beautiful.

He was reminded of that less frequently, lately, since he spent nearly twelve hours a day in his office. As if to make up for it, when he did have occasion to notice it afresh it hit him all the harder.

In their old jobs, her flawless professionalism had shielded him. Now it was just one more hook, one more aspect of her magnificence. Now he could also see her humor and happiness, her love for each moment of life as it came. Now her competence and relentless focus highlighted the other parts of her.

Steps scuffed up behind his shoulder and he looked around to see Maas shaking his head with an expression of tolerant affection. "You should say something, you know."

Roy didn't bother with denials. "If I could figure out what to say, I would," he sighed.

Hughes clutched his chest in fake shock. "Mustang, at a loss for what to say to a woman? Is the world ending?" He glanced around with exaggerated worry.

Roy scowled at him, wondering which coat he'd left his gloves in. "Oh, shut up."

Maas' mouth twisted. "Seriously, Roy," he said, voice lowering. "You have an advantage, here, but I'm not sure how long it's going to last."

Roy was still searching for a good answer to that when Lisa spotted them lurking inside the door and waved.

"Roy! Your turn! Come on; you won't ever get rid of that cane if you don't exercise."

He abandoned Hughes at once and was halfway across the yard before he wondered why Hughes was suddenly laughing.

Roy decided, later, that it must have been Hughes' fault. Those remarks must have stuck in the back of his head. Because it was a mere two nights later that he was putting away his dishes while Lisa washed hers, and glanced over to see the light sliding over her hair where it was slipping out of its clip and the shimmer of water on her cheekbone as she brushed a strand back with a damp wrist. And his mouth stepped in without consulting his brain.

"I've never met another woman who's so beautiful when she isn't trying," he murmured.

And then he winced as she stiffened, abruptly reminded of why he'd gone so long without speaking up. Well, no way out but through, now that he had.

"Is there any particular reason you don't like to be complimented?" It came out a little more plaintively than Roy intended, but he was really at a loss.

There was genuine anger in Lisa's face as she rounded on him, and he took a startled step back. "Yes, there is. It's because that's exactly how you talk to every other woman in the world, right before you assume that she'll be swooning at your feet and ignore her! You'll pardon me if I prefer that you don't treat me like that!" She swung back around to the the sink and grabbed another of her dishes, spine rigid.

Roy stood with his mouth ajar, while his mind tried to run in three directions at once. If it sounded the same he really should probably stop trying to compliment her. But he didn't want to! And it wasn't the same at all; Lisa was nothing like other women. Honestly, did she think he was stupid enough to expect her to flutter and swoon like the others? Well, obviously, if she was this angry.

...if she was this angry...

Roy put his jaw back where it belonged and took a deep breath. All right, maybe Hughes had a point after all. If he was wrong he was probably about to get a lot worse than a slap. If he was right, it would be worth it. He came into her arm's reach. "Lisa." She looked back at him and he winced at the darkness in her eyes. Another breath. "I don't think of you the way I think of them. Truly."

She turned all the way around, expression challenging. "Then how do you think of me?"

"You... impress me," Roy said, slowly. His mouth quirked. "It would honestly never occur to me that you would be that silly, getting all starry eyed over a couple smooth words."

Lisa's eyes narrowed. "Then why do you say them to me?"

Roy paused, surprised at the force with which the answer came to him. And then he let out his breath and lifted his hand to touch a strand of her hair with hesitant fingers. "Because this time they're true."

She searched his face for a long moment; in fact, that one moment felt longer than the entire past year of puzzling and wondering. What she found seemed to satisfy her at last, though, because her expression softened and she nodded. "All right."

When she set a hand on his chest Roy wondered distantly whether she could feel his heart speed up under her palm. He closed his eyes and lifted her other hand to press to his lips.

"Thank you."

When he opened his eyes she was smiling.

TBC

Research

Ross fields some odd questions from her new boss. Drama and Romance, I-2

Maria snuck a sidelong glance at her superior. The Minister had been pausing to stare off into space more often than usual today, and she was starting to get just a bit worried.

She was also starting to think she should have kept Havoc-chuui pinned to the wall a lot longer while she pressed information on her new position out of him.

When the Minister spoke, without that abstracted expression altering in the slightest, she was so startled she jumped.

"Ross-kun," he murmured, not seeming to notice. "What do women really want?"

Maria stared. "I beg your pardon?"

"No, really." He leaned his chin on a fist. "In the long term."

She told herself sternly to pull it together. It was, after all, just barely possible that this was an inquiry in the line of work. "What anyone wants, for the most part," she essayed cautiously. "A comfortable life; a family and children, usually; fulfilling work; someone to share it all with..." She trailed off, eyes narrowing. Didn't he have someone who fit in with most of this, already? Or almost have her... "Do you really think it's better to ask your assistant about this than your housemate?"

The corners of his mouth curled up at her suddenly suspicious tone. "It seemed wise to have the widest possible information base," he answered with a virtuous air.

She'd thought so. "If you're having problems, Sir, you should talk directly to the woman involved," she told him firmly.

His gaze sharpened again. "Should I?" He gave her a long look. "Well, that answers the question after all, doesn't it?" He straightened in his chair and shoved the random bit of paper he'd been doodling on out of the way. "Anything in the mail bag I should take care of right away?"

Maria smiled with relief. He was back to normal. "Yes, Sir, one item. Hakuro-taisho mentions the garrison closest to New Ishvar would like permission for soldiers to visit the city while off-duty. I would have returned that one with a veto, given your policy, but since it's directly from him..." She shrugged.

The Minister's eyes turned icy. "He wants to change that policy, does he? Very well. They can visit." He leaned back and folded his hands. "No more than three at a time, sidearms only, and I'll hang the first soldier who's involved in an incident of any kind in any way."

Maria swallowed and reached for her pen to note the terms down. "Yes, Sir."

She wished Lisa Hawkeye luck.

TBC

Counterpoint - Previous Experience

Lisa gets tired of waiting and coaxes Roy into bed. Romance with Porn, I-4

Lisa was leaning on her windowsill with her chin in one hand when Roy tapped on her door and came in to say goodnight. She smiled and turned to pull him down beside her on the foot of her bed. She wasn't in the mood to let him get away with a kiss in passing, tonight.

Roy puzzled her lately. She was reasonably sure that she was making it clear he was welcome, but he still moved very slowly with her. She'd have said hesitantly, if it weren't for the way he kissed, in fact. He kissed her like he wanted to taste her heart on his tongue, like the texture of her mouth would answer life's deepest questions.

And then he drew back.

Lisa tightened her arms around him, as she felt his loosen at her waist. She was tired of this. "You don't have to stop, you know," she pointed out, softly.

And there it was again. That flash of uncertainty in his eyes. It made even less sense right at the moment than usual, considering what she'd just said. Unless...

She loosened her own hold a little. "Unless you don't want to, of course." It didn't come out quite as lightly as she'd hoped, but it was probably close enough.

And then again, maybe not. His arms tightened around her, hard enough to pull her a few inches over her blankets and snugly against him.

"That isn'tâ€”" The protest was sharp, and cut off just as sharply. She felt the quick breath Roy took. "It isn't that," he said, more calmly, "it's just that I'm..." Dark eyes turned away from hers and his voice dropped to a mutter. "I... never have. Before."

Lisa's jaw dropped; she couldn't help it. The faint color across Roy's cheekbones as he cleared his throat didn't help. The Conqueror of the Typing Pool, The Thief of Girlfriends, had never... "Really?"

He twitched at the incredulous question, and Lisa found herself torn between hilarity and utter smugness. She managed to stifle the outright laughter, but her mouth curled up in a grin as she leaned back into him. All hers. "Well, that's all right. I have."

Roy's eyes shot back to hers and he opened his mouth. Paused. Closed it again. This time she couldn't hold back the giggle and the look he gave her was rather jaundiced. She leaned her head on his shoulder and slid her fingers through his hair. "It really is all right," she said, more softly. "More than all right."

"Well. Good." His fingers played with the hem of her pajama top.

She was silent for a moment. "Why didn't you?" she asked, at last, running a finger down the worn texture of his undershirt. "I mean, you must have kissed them." Her tone turned wry. "You've clearly had practice."

For once he didn't preen. "It was... too dangerous. To have any of them that close. And the women who were willing to have something completely uninvolved never really appealed to me." He smoothed a strand of her hair. "None of them were anything like you."

Lisa thought she might be blushing, and the way Roy's eyes softened made it all the more likely. On the other hand, now that she knew he wasn't actually reluctant...

She spread a hand against his chest and leaned in to steal a kiss, light and coaxing. Roy answered her slowly, as if he wondered just what she wanted to do now. Fair enough. She slipped her hands under the edge of his shirt and slid her fingers along his lowest ribs; his breath caught short against her mouth and she drew back with a questioning look. After a long moment his lips curved and he lifted his arms to let her tug the shirt off.

She smoothed her palms back down his chest, letting herself take her time and appreciate the texture of his skin. His breath hitched again when she reached his stomach, and his own hands tightened where they'd settled on her waist. One hand lifted, though, and Lisa shivered as his fingertips traced the open neck of her top, settling on the first button.

"Go ahead," she whispered, answering the tilt of his head.

He undid the buttons with studious care, but heat rose under the hesitance in his eyes when she shrugged it off. That heat pleased her; she wanted more of it. Lisa stood to shut the door against inquisitive canines and let her pajama pants drop from her hips before she turned back to him. His head tilted back to see her face, eyes wide in the low light; his hands came up to find her hips as she rested her hands on his shoulders. She took a long, smiling breath. His hands were warm and she could feel their strength, even through this delicate grip.

She slid a knee onto the bed and pushed him back until she could settle over him. They were both breathing a little quickly, now, she could feel his chest rise and fall under her as his hands moved up her back; when she leaned down for another kiss he caught her mouth with fierce intensity in return. Heat tingled through her and a small sound of approval hummed in her throat. Her fingers traced over his chest, marking the hard lines of muscle, gently circling a nipple, dipping over his collarbones, and a soft gasp answered her.

Lisa made herself slow down as his hands smoothed over her ribs and his thumbs stroked the curve of her breasts cautiously. She'd been lucky her first time; Roy should be, too. She leaned up on her elbows to let him explore. The careful brush of his fingers started small shudders low in her stomach, and her eyes half-lidded in appreciation.

"Lisa." The whisper drew her attention from his hands to his face, and her lips parted. Roy was looking at herâ€”at nothing but herâ€”with a focus she'd only ever seen when he faced mortal danger. Except that, where his eyes were cold, then, they were warm now.

"I'm here," she whispered back, the only answer she could find to the depth of that look.

Roy caught her close and buried his face in the tangled fall of her hair. "Yes." His voice was low and husky.

Lisa had to swallow hard. She'd hoped all along that Gracia was right, that Roy did feel something deeper than simple respect or even affection for her; but she hadn't truly expected such naked confirmation. The renewed slide of his hands down her back and legs was welcome; it was a much simpler pleasure.

Her own hands were impatient, now, seeking down his body to strip off the last of his clothes. His gaze on her turned heavy and sultry as she settled back against him, completely skin to skin. Her lips curled wickedly, and she straddled his hips and rocked against him. They gasped together.

"Roy. Now?" She didn't want to push him too fast, but heat was lapping through her again and she wanted very much to feel more of him.

His gaze flickered, uncertainty struggling with straightforward desire in it. "If... yes."

She pressed a quick kiss to his throat. "It's all right." The assurance was a little breathless. She pushed herself upright and reached down to guide him. His hands locked on her thighs and his eyes widened as he started to slide into her. Slowly his head eased past the first tightness and Lisa released a soft moan as the sensation turned smooth. A harsh indrawn breath from Roy answered, and a tiny laugh escaped her.

His eyes, on her, were wide and blind and deep with something like shock as she rocked up and back down, and his hips slowly flexed to meet her. Pleasure shivered up her spine and caught low in her throatâ€”pleasure at the hardness stroking heat through her body and, more, at the fire and darkness and wonder in Roy's face.

"Roy..." She broke off with a moan as he slid deeper, and smiled through parted lips as she felt his hands sliding up her body and over her breasts. "Oh, yes." Her fingers kneaded against his chest and she started to move more strongly.

Full pleasure sang through her each time their hips met, rising in slow waves. It was hot and sleek and good, and Roy's voice ran through it like a velvet ribbon, calling her name, tugging at her. She caught one of his hands and guided it down until his fingers brushed her clitoris. Sharper pleasure shot through her and she arched. "Mmmm, there."

A shadow of the accustomed calculation, the usual smile, crossed Roy's face, and his fingers stroked her softly, testing. She let her hand rest over his and rode the sensation as fire coiled through her, slow and thick. His heartbeat was speeding, under her palm, rapid as her breath, and she let go and let her body lead the way. Pleasure swelled and rose and rose again, and her voice caught in her throat as it surged into something overwhelming and snatched her attention away from anything but the flooding heat as her body tightened.

She felt Roy arch under her, taut; heard him groan. She stretched, over him, and laughed. "Now, Roy," she whispered. "Don't stop." A hard thrust answered her and she gasped approval as it drew a slow aftershock from her body. His movement was faster, now, and she smiled as it turned ragged, and tangled her fingers with his. His hands clutched hers as if she were an anchor.

He dropped back against the bed, and she slid down over him, breath slowing again.

She had a small urge to tease him, to say There, that wasn't so bad, was it? But his expression, still rather amazed, stopped her. Instead she simply wound her arms around him and snuggled against his shoulder, taking enjoyment in the warmth of his skin against hers. His fingers found her hair and combed through it slowly, soothing her to the edge of sleep.

At least until he said, "Do you want to get married?"

Lisa sputtered a bit, pushing herself up on one elbow to stare at him. He returned it with a look of mild inquiry.

"Or children," he continued, sounding perfectly serious. He frowned a little. "I suppose I should have asked that earlier..."

"No, that's... I... take care of that," Lisa assured him, a bit dazed. She stared some more. "You... children?"

"Well." He cleared his throat. "If you want."

She couldn't help smiling at the uneasiness lurking under his tone. "I've always liked children better when they're someone else's, actually," she observed. She leaned against his shoulder again, laughing at the relief on his face.

His fingers traced down her arm. "And marriage? I would ask in a more suitable manner," he added, sounding rather disgruntled, "but you never like that, and this is about as direct as I can manage."

It took a few moments to get ahold of herself again. "I think this is quite suitable," she told him, when she could speak without giggling. And then she really thought about it. "Yes. Something small, maybe," she said, slowly. And, more quietly, "My mother might come."

It was Roy's turn to lean up on an elbow, frowning at her tone. "Lisa?" His hand cupped her cheek.

She pressed her fingers over his lips and shook her head. "I dealt with it a long time ago, Roy. They never approved, that I followed you; I know perfectly well they won't start, now." Despite the firm words she had to swallow a lump in her throat.

He gathered her closer, just a bit awkwardly. "Well. We'll see," he murmured against her hair.

Lisa blinked back the wetness in her eyes and rested against him. In a minute she'd tell him to let go so she could draw up the blanket from the foot of the bed.

In just a minute.

TBC

Another Round

Havoc teases a happy Lisa. Drama and Romance, I-2

Jean waved his mug to catch Lisa's attention as she squinted into the bar's dimness from the open door. "You look cheerful," he noted with a grin as she pulled out a chair.

Faint color painted her cheekbones and she gave him a mild glare. "Don't you start too. Gracia is bad enough, giving me those doting looks every time I turn around."

Jean had to admit, Gracia-san had been looking as if the whole thing had been her idea. Which made him think again about the woman who was, after all, married to Maas Hughes.

"So why don't we talk about how your life has been going, instead," Lisa continued, firmly.

"Because mine is incredibly boring?" Jean snorted glumly and consoled himself with another swallow. "Every morning when I come in and look at those damn stacks of paper I think I should request a field posting. This desk-job stuff is for the birds."

"You'll never get promoted with that attitude," she teased, straight-faced.

"I think you're confusing me with someone else," he drawled and smiled when she laughed. "Seriously," he added, "I'd volunteer for one of the Northern deployments tomorrow, except then I wouldn't be here for—" He remembered his image just in time and bit off the rest of it, burying his nose in his mug.

"For the base Snow Games, this year? Yes, you have a title to uphold, don't you?" Lisa was leaning her chin in her hand and giving him an affectionate and crooked smile. It didn't quite match her innocent tone, but Jean was just grateful that she didn't call him on his little slip in public.

"Right," he agreed, promptly, and paused. "So, um. How is he anyway?"

"Overworking, of course." She shrugged. "About the only things he doesn't ignore are his exercises; food and sleep have to ambush him."

Jean shook his head. That was Mustang, all right. "At least you're around to make sure he gets some."

"Mm." Lisa smiled down into her mug. "He's happy with the work he's doing, though, insane hours and all. And so am I." Her eyes turned a little distant. "Do you know, I haven't taken my guns off their rack in over a month?"

Jean, who had always watched Lisa's face more than her target, on the shooting range, smiled. "I hear your job is really taking off, too."

"It's not doing too badly," she said in a judicious tone that seemed absurd given the amounts of money rumor said she was dealing in these days.

"Next round's on you, then," he declared, leaning back.

She gave him an exasperated look. "The next round was on me, anyway."

Jean took a satisfied drag on his cigarette as she signaled the bar. Everything was on track, and he could relax.

TBC

Once More...Dear Friends - Seven

Their world has changed. Drama with Romance, I-4

The first assassination attempt should probably not have come as a surprise. And, in a way, it didn't. Twelve years of being shot at for one reason and another ingrained some reflexes pretty deeply, and Roy was ducking before the motion of someone aiming to fire registered with his forebrain.

What Roy should not have let himself be surprised by was the fact that, these days, the people around him were far less able to take care of themselves. In the time it took him to pull on a glove behind the overturned buffet table, the shots tracking after him had hit two other people.

He had a lot of time to think about that while he suffered one of the Central Hospital doctors to check him over for any re-injuries and listened to the anxious voices of families out in the hall. Fate seemed to feel this was an insufficient reminder, though; just to make it all more pointed, he found Hawkeye waiting for him in the hospital lobby wearing both her guns.

"Are you all right?" she asked in a businesslike tone, eyes marking each person around them.

"Fine."

Her eyes flickered to him, at the flatness of his voice, and then away again. "Let's go, then."

A car was waiting and she shepherded him briskly into it. That was familiar, but the world stretched in a moment of vertigo when she slid into the back seat beside him. She was always ahead of him, wasn't she? Whenever it felt like the world was blowing away in ashes, she was ahead of him to arrange the details and drive the car. But no, that wasn't what she was any more; nor what he was, any more.

The ride was a silent one.

She didn't speak again until she'd closed and locked the front door behind them. "The doctors checked you over?" she asked quietly. He nodded. "And they're sure there are no new injuries?" Another nod.

She stepped into him and buried her head against his shoulder and held him so tightly his ribs creaked. Roy blinked, and slowly closed his arms around her. "... Lisa." His voice was rusty in his own ears. "It's all right."

"No it isn't!" she said violently, if somewhat muffled. "Didn't you get shot at enough when it was your job?"

He leaned his head against hers and laughed bitterly. "I wasn't the one that got hit. Obviously, it isn't me I need to worry about, now."

She lifted her head to glare at him and shook him once, hard. "Yes it is! Where is everyone else going to be, if you stop worrying about yourself and it gets you killed?" She wound her arms still more tightly around him. "Idiot."

His snort of laughter had a little genuine amusement in it, this time. "You've gotten a lot less polite, out of uniform."

"Yes, now I can say it, instead of just thinking it," she shot back, tartly.

He leaned against her with a long sigh. "I suppose you're right."

"Of course I'm right."

That got another snort, which seemed to satisfy her enough to let go of himâ€”at least until she'd steered him to the couch. He sat looking down at their fingers tangled together, and ran a thumb over the back of her hand, feeling the strong lines of tendon under smooth skin.

"It wasn't a soldier. Or even an ex-soldier," he said, at last, voice low in the still dark living room. "It wasn't even someone from Lior, which would have made sense to me. He was from the North, a village just inside the old border." He brooded for a moment. "What used to be a village."

Lisa pressed closer against his side and her hair brushed his cheek as she nodded, silent and unsurprised. Of course, she knew the aftermath of marches and occupations as well as he did. "I'm going with you to these official functions of yours from now on," was all she said.

Roy was silent for a moment, trying to negotiate between his undeniable relief at the thought of having another person nearby who was competent in danger, and the countersurge of protest that he didn't want Lisa to put herself in danger. He frowned a little, exasperated with himself for such a ridiculous reaction.

"I'm going," Lisa repeated, a note of warning sounding in her voice. "It's obvious you still need someone to watch your back." Her lips curved in the lamplight coming through the window. "Especially if it rains."

Roy drew himself up, dignified. "I have no intention of arguing with that." A corner of his mouth twitched. "Though it would seem rather difficult to hide two guns in an evening dress."

Lisa snuggled comfortably into his shoulder and tugged his arm around her. "That's what thigh holsters were invented for."

Roy took a moment to enjoy the mental image of how some of the more stuffy Ministry officials and Members of Parliament would react to this beautiful woman in their midst calmly pulling out a gun instead of shrieking and fainting. And then he took another moment to savor the idea of taking down the assassins before they could shoot the civilians, and drew a deep, satisfied breath. He pulled Lisa a little closer and murmured against the nape of her neck, "You are a delight."

"Oh, I get it; you just love me for my guns." She poked him with a teasing finger, but he could feel the heat of her blush against his cheek.

"And someday I'll even get you used to taking compliments," he added.

She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. "Maybe."

Roy laughed softly and they leaned against each other in the dim warmth.

End

If I Should Wake Before I Die #1

After the first trip to the Forgotten City, Aerith comes to reassure Tifa and ask a favor. Drama with Romance, I-3

Tifa curled on her side, biting her lip. She didn't want to start crying again; it only wasted time and energy. Oshou-sama had always been after her about wasting energy in extraneous movement. Smoothly, Tifa, she could hear him barking. Stop flourishing and put everything into the strike!

Of course, maybe he was dead, too, now. Just like everyone else she got close to.

She hugged her pillow to her, biting down harder. Sleep. She needed to sleep, now, and in the morning... they'd think of something. Somehow.

Something.

At least the tears had worn her out. She could already feel herself drifting, down into that odd first layer of sleep where her mind still turned over thoughts and plans but her body gave up and stilled into rest. When the darkness behind her eyes lightened she thought, dream.

It was a rather nice one. Warm and soft and a lot brighter than most of her dreams, lately, which tended to have a lot of fire and screaming and blood-dulled silver in them.

"Tifa."

She liked this a lot better; she'd almost swear she could smell grass and flowers, the hot, heavy, green scent they got under a good summer sun.

"Tifa! Come on. One of you has got to listen to me!"

Tifa blinked. Aerith was standing right in front of her, frowning, with her hands on her hips. "Ae... Aerith?" She could feel her lips trembling around the name.

Aerith's frown softened. "Oh, Tifa. It's all right, really. I'm fine. Now, listen..."

Tifa reached out and felt her fingers brush through a soft, wavy wing of hair, and lost it completely. The tears rushed back and hit her in the chest, and her knees buckled, and she found herself curled up again pressing a fistful of Aerith's skirt to her cheek as she cried.

"Tifa," Aerith whispered above her, and then she was stooping down to gather Tifa against her. "Shh. Shh, now, it's all right."

When Tifa could think again, she found herself lying with her head buried in Aerith's lap, catching her breath slowly as Aerith stroked her hair. Finally she said, voice gluey with tears, "How can it be all right?"

Aerith sighed. "Do I look any worse for the wear?"

Tifa lifted her head and looked. "Well. No." She managed a shaky smile and pulled herself upright again. And then she frowned and reached out to tilt Aerith's chin. "You do look kind of tired, actually."

Aerith's smile was wry. "Yeah, well." Her bright eyes shadowed for a moment. "It isn't all that easy to hold myself together, right now."

Tifa's emotions reversed polarity fast enough to make her dizzy, and she put a protective arm around Aerith. "Are you all right? What's wrong?" Then she made a face and muttered, "Besides the obvious."

Aerith broke into giggles and couldn't seem to stop, leaning against Tifa's shoulder. "Ah. Oh, dear." She wiped her eyes. "Well. Yes." She took a long breath and looked at Tifa more seriously. "Listen. When you can, try to tell Cloud it wasn't his fault, all right? He's so wound up over this! He can't even hear me when I'm practically shouting."

"I'll try." Tifa's mouth quirked wryly. "Repeatedly, I expect." Aerith made a face.

"I'll just bet." She sighed, curling up into Tifa's side a little more.

"Aerith," Tifa said, gently. "Really. What's wrong?"

"I just don't know if I'll be able to make it work out." Aerith held her hands out, studying them. "I'll do my very best, of course. I know we all will. But—"

The brightness flickered.

Aerith spat a word that shocked even Tifa, used as she was to Barrett's language. "Sephiroth! Tifa, listen—"

"Aerith!" Tifa caught her hands, eyes wide. She couldn't hear Aerith any more.

Aerith's mouth tilted and her shoulders heaved. Then she squeezed Tifa's hands and smiled and leaned toward her.

"... wake up and let's get going!" Barrett's large hand was shaking her shoulder and Tifa sat up. Barrett frowned. "Hey. You okay?"

"Yes," Tifa said, distracted. "Why?"

"You're rubbing your head. Got a headache?"

A breath of laughter puffed through Tifa's lips and her fingers brushed one more time over her forehead where she could still feel Aerith's lips. "No." She smiled softly.

"I'm all right."

End

If I Should Wake Before I Die #2

After calling up the Lifestream, Aerith recovers and Zack teases. Romance with Drama, I-2

Aerith slumped in Zack's arms, trying to catch her breath, still seeing life-sparks of green dancing in front of her eyes every time she blinked. "How... can I be out of breath... if I haven't got a body!" she panted. "This is so unfair."

"No need to move on my account," Zack murmured.

She managed a laugh. "Oh, I get it. You just want more chances to cuddle."

"While you're too worn out to hit me for wandering hands, yep," he agreed cheerfully.

"Zack!" She did manage to swat his shoulder, though it was a bit shaky as chastisements went.

"Well, come on, what better restorative for the lady who saved the world... ?" She could hear the grin in his voice as his hand slid down to her hip.

The next swat was a lot firmer. "You!" And then Aerith sighed and let herself relax against him again.

"Aerith?" Zack tipped her chin up, looking at her curiously. "Since when do you give in that easy, without at least tickling me until I squeak?"

She could feel her smile tremble around the edges. "It seems like a waste of time, and I don't know how much we'll have."

Now Zack looked alarmed. "What do you mean? It worked, right? Meteor is gone and we're all safe."

"Yes, Zack." Aerith ran her fingers through his hair, smiling more surely, if sadly, at the familiar springy-soft texture. "But I don't know how long you have before the Lifestream draws you away."

Zack blinked at her. "As long as you stay, I'm staying too."

Aerith bit her lip. "How long do you think you can resist the pull, though? I..." she traced the line of his shoulder-guard, watching her fingertip on the cool metal instead of his face, "I think I'm going to stay concentrated for a long time. I'm the last one. And you're not..." A finger on her lips interrupted her.

"Not Cetra? No, I'm not." Zack shrugged. "But my exceedingly great grandparents were, right? Nothing to say I can't figure it out." There was no compromise at all in his expression, despite the lightness of his tone. "I'm staying."

She looked at him for a long moment. "Well, you're certainly the most stubborn person I've ever met," she allowed. "Who knows?" She couldn't quite help hoping that it was true; that it could be true.

"Besides," he added, leaning back, "I need to stick around and make sure Cloud doesn't totally cock up his life. Again. You know he'll try to, even with our girl Tifa looking after him. Though she has grown up well, I have to say." He looked as proud as if he'd had something to do with it and Aerith leaned her head on his shoulder, laughing.

"You have a point." Besides, she was way too worn out right now to argue. She'd try believing in him, instead.

After all, it was only fair to return the favor.

End

If I Should Wake Before I Die #3

A bit after game-end, Cloud broods over Zack's sword and gets a visitor. Romance with Angst, I-3

Dust puffed up as Cloud drove the sword into the ground.

It took him a moment to pull his hand away from the hilt, and then he stood just staring at it. His new sword was an excellent one, but this... this was Zack's sword.

"Which is why you have no right to use it, idiot," Cloud muttered to himself, slumping down to sit beside it. His hand still stole back out to touch the blade.

"You're going to cut yourself, playing around like that. Don't you know better, by now?"

Cloud surged halfway to his feet, only to fall back with a thump, staring. He had to swallow a few times before he found his voice; when he did it was hoarse. "Zack?"

On the other side of the sword, Zack put his hands on his hips and grinned. "In the flesh." After a considering pause he added, "Only not, of course." He looked down the length of his body with a critical expression. "She's right, this really does take it out of you. We should make this quick."

Cloud bowed his head, dozens of childhood whispers dinning in his ears. Something left undone could hold a spirit to the world; and surely someone like Zack had had hundreds of things left undone, and now he couldn't rest, and it was entirely Cloud's fault. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

Zack sounded startled. "What for?"

"If you can't move on... I..." Cloud stared down at the dust. "It's my fault."

There was a sigh and then a small thud, and Zack was sitting beside him. "I realize it may be hard to believe after the past couple months, but, honest, not everything in the world hinges on you personally." Zack sounded patient, now, and Cloud's head sank a little lower.

"I know that," he protested. "But..." He looked up and couldn't get another word out in face of the wry smile Zack wore.

"Let me guess. You think you got me killed."

Cloud might have been out of it at the time, but he remembered enough to be very clear about the fact that he had gotten Zack killed. Since Zack obviously didn't agree, though, he shrugged and looked away. "It isn't just that."

Zack leaned back on his hands. "So what is it?"

Cloud raked a smudged hand through his hair, embarrassed and guilty, and a little annoyed that Zack was going to make him say it out loud. "Damn it, Zack, I was pretending to be you! Claiming to be you!" A glint off the sword caught Cloud's eye and he slumped again, muttering, "Running around, waving your sword, telling everyone I was a SOLDIER First Class, and used to be Sephiroth's friend, and..." The sheer humiliation of it choked him. "You can't possibly tell me you aren't pissed off about that."

"Sure I can." Zack chuckled as Cloud's head whipped up to stare at him. "Cloud, you idiot, you were sicker with transition than anyone else I've ever seen, and by the time you could put two words together in a row all the physical evidence and memories you had pointed to you being me. Why should I be mad at you about that?"

Cloud opened his mouth and closed it again, nonplussed by this attack of logic.

"Besides," Zack crossed his ankles comfortably, "you did a good job of being me. Saved the world and everything." He smiled at Cloud, eyes sparkling behind the glow. "I'm not mad. I'm actually pretty damn proud of you."

Cloud's chest suddenly felt light and shaky, and he swallowed against a hot tightness in his throat. "Zack..."

"I mean, look at how well you turned out. You are First Class, now, my friend." Just as Cloud thought he might have to look away or cry, the sparkle turned into a gleam. "Of course, some things never change."

Cloud yelped as Zack tackled him into the dust and glared up at his captor. "Zack!"

Zack grinned down at him. "Too much seriousness is bad for you."

Cloud's eyes narrowed and he growled. He remembered that line. And, while he might have gotten pummeled like a little kid three or four years ago, things damn well had changed, now. He twisted and heaved, and bared his teeth in a grin of his own when it actually worked and dumped Zack off him. He dove after.

They thrashed back and forth though the rising clouds of yellow until Zack finally got his weight over Cloud's hips and both Cloud's hands in a good grip. By then they were both out of breath and laughing.

"I'm going to win next time," Cloud declared, wriggling his wrists to test Zack's grip.

And it did loosen for a second, but in an odd way. Cloud frowned. He frowned more when Zack muttered, "Aw, hell."

"What? Zack? What is it?"

The smile he got this time was a little more crooked than normal. "Just reality catching up with us again." Before Cloud could ask what he meant, Zack shook him a little. "Listen. It wasn't your fault, Cloud. And I'm still here. Remember." His expression turned considering. "Actually... why don't I make sure of that."

Just as Cloud's brain was starting to catch up to who and where they were and what must be happening, Zack swooped down and kissed him. Cloud's brain hit the pause button again.

Zack's lips were gritty and his mouth tasted of dust. And then it was just warm, and wet, and the soft pressure of Zack's tongue searching his mouth.

And then it was nothing.

Cloud lay, staring up at the sky, quite alone on the bluff except for the sword. "Damn it, Zack," he whispered, hearing his own voice shake. "I demand a rematch."

A short gust of wind ruffled his hair like an affectionate hand.

End

If I Should Wake Before I Die #4

After Advent Children, Tifa visits the church and finds an unexpected Zack. Romance, I-2

A lot of people came to visit the church, now, but somehow never more than a few at a time. Even so, Tifa liked to be alone when she came. So when she saw someone kneeling in the shadows by the pool she bit her lip and took a step back, meaning to sneak out quietly and come back later.

When the soft morning light slid over broad shoulders and a tight, charcoal shirt, she stepped forward again, meaning to get a look at Cloud's face and see whether or not he needed company.

When the man raised his head and she saw the wild black hair she couldn't hold back a gasp. He looked around, smiling. "There you are."

Tifa caught at the cracked stone pillar next to her, feeling dizzy with shock. "You..." she whispered. "You're..."

"Zack," he supplied, obligingly.

"I remember." She closed the last few steps between them, eyes fixed on him. He looked so real, so there, that her hand lifted to touch and make sure. The amusement in his eyes brought her back to herself before she quite groped a stranger (mostly stranger), and she pulled her hand back quickly. "I'm sorry. I'm—"

"Tifa." He nodded. "I remember, too. Though I have to say," his eyes slid down her body, "you've certainly grown up a lot."

Tifa's face heated at that look and she glared at him. Zack held up his hands, contrite. "Ah, I didn't mean it like that!" He paused and ran a hand through his hair. "Well, okay, I did mean it like that, but not like that."

Tifa sniffed. He wasn't leering like the guys in the bar sometimes did, though, so she let it go and settled down on the still-cool boards beside the pool. The company of someone who was dead was close enough to alone. "So, why are you here?" She frowned. "Actually, how are you here?"

Zack folded his legs and sat back down himself. "Hey, Sephiroth isn't the only stubborn bastard around."

She tried not to flinch at that name and he shook his head, sadness dimming his wry, easy smile. "Aerith taught me, when I finally convinced her I wasn't going anywhere," he said quietly.

"Oh." Tifa looked down at the pool, a smile softening her own lips. "If... if you see her, tell her thank you for me?"

"She heard you when you said it yourself."

Tifa raised her head, startled. "She did?"

Zack's expression was fond. "She blushed. The two of you are awfully cute, you know."

Tifa was pretty sure she was blushing herself. Zack waved a hand, pretending not to notice. "It's hard to be here like this," he went on, "but we're not really gone you know. It isn't that hard to keep track of you and Cloud."

"Oh." Cloud and her? Why her?

"Harder for you to keep an eye on us, which is why I'm here, actually." His hand closed around hers, warm and solid. "I wanted to thank you," he told her, eyes serious and level and as warm as his hand. "Thank you for taking such good care of Cloud. Thank you for caring for Aerith, when she was with you." The tilted smile returned. "You've been a fantastic guide, all along." He lifted her hand and her eyes widened as he kissed her palm, soft and slow, earnest gaze fixed on hers.

"I—" She took a breath and tried again, without squeaking this time. "You're... you're welcome, of course."

He grinned at her and stood, tossing her a casual salute. "We'll be seeing you, then."

The rising sun finally spilled down into his corner of the church and he was gone.

Tifa huffed and pressed her closed hand to her chest. "I see what Cloud means, about you," she muttered. The pool rippled merrily in the clear light, and she reached out and touched a fingertip to the surface of the water, smiling. "Yeah. You take care of him, too, then. Okay?"

She lingered beside the pool, enjoying the sunlight that lay over her shoulders like a friendly arm.

End

Hearts and Flowers

Zack and Aerith meet. Romance with Tickling, I-3, pre-game

"Oh, hey, wow. Are those real?"

Aerith looked up into bright eyes. A little too bright, and she tensed for a moment, but the SOLDIER's face was open and smiling with none of the distance that Tseng's had, when he came. "Yes, they are." She lifted one of the bouquets from her basket and offered it.

The man leaned over it, inhaling deeply, and his eyes lidded with pleasure. Actually, he looked a lot like a cat in the middle of a catnip patch, and Aerith had to stifle a giggle.

He let out a dreamy sigh. "Those smell wonderful. How much for the bunch?"

"Five gil, for those."

He pulled out his wallet and paid immediately, and stuck the bunch of flowers under his nose. "Mmmmm."

Aerith couldn't help laughing this time. "People like my flowers, but not usually that much."

He gave her a slightly crooked smile over them. "Yeah, well. Sharp senses are no bed of roses in the middle of the city."

"I hadn't thought of that." Aerith tipped her head, considering. So, other people were also hurt by the death and rot of this place. Immediately hurt, not just in the long term.

"Hey." A light hand touched her arm. "No need to look upset. I knew what I was signing up for." He waved the flowers. "And these will help tons. Brighten up, hm? It's a real shame for a pretty girl like you to look sad."

Aerith snorted. "Oh, honestly." As if she didn't get enough propositions, down here. Well, at least this one seemed cheerful enough to take a playful rejection, and she wouldn't have to act all disgustingly demure, like she did with some. She shoved at him, meaning to connect with his arm, but he turned into it and she lost her balance and wound up grabbing his ribs, instead, to stay on her feet.

"Heek!"

Aerith blinked. The SOLDIER was suddenly standing more than arm's length from her, looking like someone trying to look casual. He cleared his throat. "Um. Sorry about that. Reflexes."

She tipped her head. That couldn't have been what it sounded like. This guy was so obviously a SOLDIER, enhanced strength and reflexes and everything. He couldn't possibly be ticklish enough to squeak. Curious, she took a step toward him and poked experimentally at his ribs. He jumped back with a more muffled squeak this time, but it was definitely a squeak.

Aerith grinned with utter delight.

"Aw shit," he muttered, and sidled around to put a light pole between them. "Look, Miss, I'm really sorry for anything I might have said that offended y—heek! Cut that out!"

"Nope." Aerith dodged around the pole, chasing him. "You're the big, bad SOLDIER. Why don't you stop me? Shouldn't you be faster than this?"

He batted at her hands. "Against a civilian? A civilian girl? Are you kidding?" He squawked at a particularly sharp jab and scrambled back around the post. "I'd never live it down!"

Her eyes narrowed. "Oh, so I'm just a girl, am I?" She dove after him, fingers crooked vengefully.

"Heek! Ack! No, really, cut it—Ah!" Finally he managed to grab one hand. "If you don't stop it, I'll, I'll..." he sucked in his stomach to evade another pass. "I'll kiss you!"

Aerith tossed her ponytail back, and gave him a challenging look. "Oh? Was that supposed to be a threat?"

He paused for a long, blank moment and then smiled, slowly. "It was supposed to be something," he murmured, and stepped toward her.

Aerith let him because that smile did odd things to her stomach.

His kiss was light and respectful, and did more odd things to her knees; she was quietly grateful for the large, warm hand at the small of her back. When he lifted his head she could feel heat in her cheeks.

"Well," she said, softly, determined not to sound breathless, "I suppose that was worth stopping."

"Good." He sounded entirely too smug, and Aerith's sense of mischief perked up again.

"For a little while." She wriggled her fingers in his, now quite close and handy, ribs, and grinned wickedly as he squeaked and grabbed for the attacking hand.

"All right, all right! Look." He raked his free hand through his wild black hair. "If I buy you a drink, will you cut it out?" His expression turned a little pleading. "And not mention this to my buddies? Please?"

She considered this, and considered the humor in his eyes and the careful grip of his hand on hers, not crushing even in this extremity, and made a counter bid. "Buy me dinner, and I won't tell a soul. And I won't tickle you for the rest of the day."

He opened his mouth, relief bright in his face, and then paused and took a longer look at her. That smile spread slowly over his lips again, ending with a charming quirk at one corner. Finally he sighed and declared, "All right, you win. Unconditional surrender, here."

Accordingly she took her hands away from his ribs and clasped them in front of her, grinning up at him. He shook his head and took one hand again, settling it in the crook of his arm.

"I said you won, didn't I?" He chuckled as she blushed again. "So? We have the flowers. Where's a good place for a candle-lit dinner around here?"

End

At First Sight

The young women of the castle sneak a look at the new warriors. Drama with Pre-Romance, I-2

"Oh, oh, over here! Come here, Sakuno, you can see the new warriors from here!"

Sakuno squeaked as her friend grabbed her hand and pulled her toward an open screen. "Tomoka! But... if they see us..."

Tomoka paused to give her an exasperated look. "One of them might be someone we're married to. You know Sumire-gozen is thinking about that for you these days. You want to look, don't you?"

"Well..." Sakuno nibbled her lip.

"Good. So come on!"

Sakuno didn't resist being dragged this time, though she did entertain a very brief and uncharitable thought that Tomoka's kimono were plainer than hers and less likely to be seen through the screening leaves. That was unkind, though, she scolded herself. Tomoka was her friend and would never leave her in trouble.

Even if she did get them both into trouble with her boldness.

They did have a good view of some of the new, young samurai gathered under the trees. They must have just finished some training. They all looked tired and dusty and one was all wet from the well-bucket he'd just turned up over his head.

"I'll be given rank soon," one of them was saying. "Thanks to my two years of battle experience, I have advantages."

Tomoka snorted, inelegantly, beside Sakuno. "I bet his father was a foot soldier."

"Tomoka!" Sakuno hissed, making hushing motions.

And then she was distracted.

One of the samurai who had been standing quietly on the edge of the group took the well bucket and dipped up some water to drink. The calm of his expression and the economy of his gestures fixed her eyes on him. "Oh..."

"Hm?" Tomoka nudged against her shoulder. "What?"

"The dark one," Sakuno murmured. "With the deep eyes."

"The one at the water?" Tomoka made approving sounds. "He looks just about our age! He must be really good to be here at the castle so young."

"Yes..." Sakuno sighed as the one they were watching pushed his hair back. He was so graceful.

"Sakuno-hime! Are you in here?"

Sakuno jumped and squeaked at the voice of one of her kinswoman's ladies in waiting. "They'll find us!"

"Hurry up, then," Tomoka hissed back, jumping to her feet and pulling Sakuno toward an inner room.

Sakuno went along as fast as possible, but she also threw a last look over her shoulder, though the small spring leaves, at the young samurai.

End

Unnoticed

Echizen escorts Sakuno and deals with a little trouble. Other sorts of trouble, he misses completely. Drama, I-3

Sakuno's eyes were sparkling behind the light veils of her travelling hat.

Not only had Sumire-gozen said that she might go visit the local shrine, but Echizen-dono was escorting her. Sakuno suspected Sumire-gozen had had something to do with that. Normally the high-handed manner of her mother's noble cousin alarmed her, but if Sumire-gozen approved of someone then no one else would thwart them.

Even the clan lord didn't often go against his mother's wishes.

And it seemed that Sumire-gozen approved of Echizen-dono and the fact that Sakuno liked him. However much the crowds out on the streets jostled around her, nothing could make Sakuno regret coming out in public today.

Even if there were an awful lot of awfully loud people...

"Don't you know anything? The Tatsumi school holds the saya like that, so you can draw like this!"

Sakuno squeaked, starting back and treading on her own hem so that she wobbled, as a blade swished past her nose, close enough to catch on her long veils. The brightly dressed samurai demonstrating for his friends didn't seem to notice.

"That training journey you took really taught you a lot, Sasabe-sama," one of them exclaimed.

The one with his sword out laughed expansively. He was in the middle of the way, now. Sakuno bit her lip, wondering how she could pass.

Beside her, Echizen-dono looked around and sniffed. "You must not have journeyed very far. That isn't the Tatsumi school's grip."

The gaudy samurai spun around, face red. "What?!" His sword speared out, pointing between Echizen-dono's eyes. "What does a brat like you know about it?"

Echizen tipped his head to the side, so careless of the sharp point a bare thumb's width from his face that Sakuno gasped. "Well, if you need a lesson..." He dropped his hand to his sword. "It's the first finger that holds the guard. Like this." Steel flashed and his sword struck the other aside so hard it spun out of the other samurai's hand. Echizen-dono lifted a brow. "And your grip is too weak."

"E-Echizen-dono..." Sakuno whispered behind her hand. That was... an awfully provoking thing to say... And then she stumbled a little as the fuming samurai pushed past her to retrieve his sword.

"I'll give you a lesson, you little runt!" he yelled, making a lunge toward Echizen-dono.

Echizen-dono slipped back out of the way of a vicious cut. "Is that the fastest you can move?" The other samurai didn't answer, glare fixed and furious, and Echizen-dono shrugged, left foot sliding out, sword dropping low.

"Hah! You think you can defend from below?" The angry samurai bared his teeth and swung down.

Sakuno wasn't sure what happened next. Echizen-dono's sword barely seemed to twitch but the other man's strike went awry and he stumbled forward, eyes wide.

"Too slow," Echizen-dono said, softly. There was another flash and the other man was down in the street, clutching his leg and keening through clenched teeth as blood pooled rapidly under his thigh.

Echizen-dono flicked his sword away from Sakuno with a snap of his wrist and sheathed it, and turned to look Sakuno up and down. "You didn't get dirty. Good. Let's get to the shrine, then."

Sakuno hurried to his side and they walked on, leaving the commotion behind as the wounded samurai's friends clustered around him, shouting.

"Echizen-dono... thank you," Sakuno murmured at last, blushing.

Echizen-dono blinked at her. "For what?"

"Ah... nothing." She tilted the edge of her hat a little lower, wondering whether Echizen-dono was just being modest or whether he really didn't think protecting her needed comment.

Or, she admitted to herself with a silent sigh, maybe he hadn't done it for her at all. He was a samurai, after all; she was young, but she knew how the men of her own class could be about fights and challenges. Sumire-gozen complained about it enough, even though she smiled when she did.

Perhaps she'd ask the kami to tell her which it was, and whether she had any hope of drawing the eye of someone like Echizen-dono.

They walked on with silence drifting between them.

End

Washed Dry

Fuji decides to try his hand against Echizen. It provokes a lot of thought. Drama and Romance, I-3

Tezuka had been in a demanding mood, lately, Shuusuke observed. The results were fairly entertaining, at least for those strong enough to actually keep up with the suddenly increased pace of the garrison's training. He had to wonder, though, who they were going to be taking the field against after the rains were over; it had to be someone with a powerful force, to drive this sort of effort.

Tezuka didn't answer questions like that, of course, not directly. He would only confirm them, silently, if Shuusuke guessed right. So, for now, Shuusuke simply wiped dripping sweat away briskly and looked around for someone still on his feet to practice with.

His eyes lit on Echizen, leaning on a fence catching his breath quietly. Echizen's head had a sardonic tilt as he watched the histrionics of some of the other young samurai, declaring that they were about to die of exhaustion. Shuusuke chuckled to himself; he had to agree, no one who could still complain that loudly was anywhere near death. He collected a pair of wood swords and tapped Echizen on the shoulder with one. "Care for a match?"

Shuusuke saw Tezuka's head come up from the corner of his eye and threw a small, quick smile over his shoulder. It wasn't fair, his glance said, for Tezuka to have all the fun.

The sword left his hand, and when he looked back around Echizen was grinning.

Shuusuke felt a touch of excitement flicker along his nerves as they moved out into the open, feet scuffing up tiny puffs of dust to mark where they set themselves. Echizen was good. Not good enough to make Shuusuke lose, but perhaps...

The thought suspended itself as Echizen drove in and every movement sharpened its edges in Shuusuke's eyes. He turned one blow and slid inside another but Echizen was already gone, turning too, and Shuusuke barely recognized the abruptly tightening angle of his side stroke in time to stop it. Echizen's grin was a notch wider as they drew apart. Shuusuke's own smile sharpened for an instant. Well, if Echizen was so confident he could break through...

Shuusuke gave him a clean opening and was hard put not to laugh when Echizen took it instantly. A smooth shift back drew Echizen in and sent him on past, all the driving power of his thrust no longer directed at Shuusuke. Echizen whipped back around, eyes narrowed, and Shuusuke smiled at him. Echizen's glare lit with answering ferocity and Shuusuke had to take a slow breath for focus and control as Echizen's passion tugged at him. This was what a good fight should be like.

Another opening, and another, and another. Echizen came after every one with fire in his eyes, and Shuusuke was aware of the watchers starting to murmur. They probably thought it was just Echizen's stubbornness, he reflected. But he could feel it—the tiny changes every time their swords met, the constant pressure of Echizen seeking the weakness in Shuusuke's defense. Thrill sang through him, kept him offering those openings just to see the beauty of Echizen's straight, driving lines, just to feel that rare danger.

And finally there was one more tiny shift that didn't seem to call for any alteration in Shuusuke's stance... but Echizen's sword flashed over his own and kissed his ribs. They broke apart, both panting for breath, and satisfaction barely touched Echizen's face before that ferocious, driving focus consumed it again.

"You don't have to give me chances any more, Fuji-dono," he prodded, and Shuusuke chuckled.

"Well, then." They came together again, hard and fast.

It wouldn't happen yet, no matter how much Tezuka had set Echizen on his mettle, but the possibility of losing breathed through every contact of their swords and danced chill down Shuusuke's nerves. So much so that he didn't recognize the real chill air stirring around them until sudden, drenching rain swept down. Shouts and clatters rose around the practice ground as men grabbed up weapons and made for cover.

Shuusuke and Echizen stood, unmoving in the sheeting gray wet, eyes fixed on each other.

A single flash of lightning showed another figure, as unmoving as either of them, standing by the fence with folded arms. Shuusuke smiled as thunder shivered through the rush of rain; Tezuka would not stop them.

Their feet slid in the wet dirt as they closed, this time, but the angles of motion were as tight and brilliant as ever in Shuusuke's sight. It was exhilarating. It was beautiful. It was...

...interrupted by a dripping messenger skidding to a halt at Tezuka's side. "Taishou! Sumire-gozen is asking for Echizen."

Shuusuke thought he might just have caught a flash of calculation in Tezuka's eyes before he nodded. "Echizen! Go dry off and attend on Sumire-gozen."

Echizen lowered his sword and gave Tezuka such a look of betrayal that Shuusuke could barely stifle his laugh. Echizen glared at him for a long, fulminating moment before stumping off through the rain muttering. Tezuka's glance after him narrowed with a moment of satisfaction. Shuusuke shook his head; always the leader, Tezuka was.

His thoughts felt slick. Fast and flashing. Shuusuke watched Tezuka dismissing the messenger and the lingering samurai and waited for the world to slow, the distance to recede and bring him back to everyday.

Before it quite had, he heard Tezuka's footsteps behind him.

"Why did you toy with him like that?" his friend asked, quietly. "Echizen is not a light opponent. Why didn't you fight to win?"

Shuusuke lifted a hand and let the drops of rain patter against open his palm. "It's thrilling to see something so close to perfection; to draw it out fully. That's all I wanted." He cast a rueful smile over his shoulder, suspecting Tezuka wouldn't like that. Still, considering what he was positive had happened between Tezuka and Echizen recently... "Would you have done it differently?" he challenged lightly.

The faintly troubled question in Tezuka's face washed away. "Victory is our duty," he stated inflexibly. "And it should be our only calling." A shadow of weariness touched his eyes. "This is why you're not an officer, Fuji."

Shuusuke bent his head. "I know." He sighed softly. He still thought he was right about why Tezuka was so taken with Echizen, that he was drawn by the same fascination that engaged Shuusuke. But... perhaps there was also more, for Tezuka.

The warmth of Tezuka's hand on his shoulder was shocking, and he realized he'd cooled down too much, standing in the rain. So he didn't protest when Tezuka beckoned him to come along and they passed through a handful of courts and walks to arrive at Tezuka's house. Ayame met them at the entry to welcome her husband home and covered a soft laugh to see how drenched they were. When they emerged from the inner rooms, dry and decently clothed again, she looked up from heating sake with a smile. "Will you eat with us, Shuusuke-dono? It's been too long since you visited."

"I wouldn't want to impose," Shuusuke murmured, an answering smile curving his lips at how Tezuka's hand lingered on Ayame's as he took a cup from her, and the way their eyes warmed as they met.

"It isn't an imposition at all," Ayame declaimed more firmly than mere manners required, turning back to her guest. "Your company would be a favor."

So Shuusuke let himself stay and be enfolded in the serenity of Tezuka's household. The irony of that serenity always appealed to him. He knew perfectly well Ayame controlled the house with an iron hand to match her husband's, for all her gentle charm. The contrast had entertained him for as long as he'd known them. The genuine warmth between husband and wife plucked at him, though, the moreso for how subtle it was; they fit each other so well, and it was in an effort to turn his mind aside from those thoughts that he asked, "Was it like that for you, when you fought Echizen?"

Tezuka's brow quirked. "So you did know about it, then."

"Mm." Shuusuke took another sip. "It was fairly obvious. To me, at least."

Tezuka looked out at the rain that was still falling. "Echizen needs true challenges."

"You seem to have given him one," Shuusuke observed. Echizen had certainly been more focused today than had been usual in the past.

"I gave him a beginning." Tezuka's eyes were distant. "We will see. Even someone who finds his way doesn't always go down it."

When Shuusuke left, this time covered by a straw raincoat at Ayame's insistence, he headed straight down into the town. Only occasional lamps lit a bit of darkness with silvery flickers of rain, but he took a path his feet knew without any direction from his eyes. He smiled gently at the girl who met him at the door.

"Will Yumiko see me?"

He waited in the room she showed him to, gazing silently past the slats of the window. It was sooner than he expected when the door whispered open and closed.

"Shuusuke!"

He looked up and smiled ruefully. Yumiko was dressed for the evening, kimono falling around her like a story told in silk, hair as light as his own folded sleekly up and held by bright combs. "Did I call you away from someone?"

She dropped down beside him in a rustle of fabric, tossing her sleeves back to hold out her hands to him. "It was a large party. Chiharu will look after them, and they won't miss me."

Shuusuke caught her fingers in his. "I don't believe it," he teased. "No one could possibly not miss you."

She tipped her head and gave him a long, clear-eyed look. "Shuusuke. What happened today?"

His smile relaxed into a laugh. "I can't hide anything from you, can I?"

"Not a thing." She tipped her head thoughtfully for a moment and then drew his hands to her and placed them on the elaborate knot of her obi, smile turning playful. "It's only fair."

Sometimes Yumiko knew him better than he knew himself. Shuusuke let his troublesome thoughts fall away for a while, and it was much later, with the softness of her hair lying over his bare shoulder, that he answered the question she had asked.

"I think Tezuka wants me to be an officer," he said quietly, watching the shadows move over the ceiling. "And I would work toward that if—" Her fingers covered his lips.

"Only an officer is likely to receive enough land to afford my contract," she agreed. "And such a highly placed samurai should not have a courtesan who doesn't know who her father might be for a wife."

Shuusuke sighed. He hadn't really thought her answer would change, but... "I will take you out of this place, Yumiko," he said, low and serious.

She leaned up on one arm, looking down at him as gold lamplight slid over her skin and the depth of her eyes, only a shade darker than his but so much more beautiful. "Someday," she said, at last. "Yes. You will."

Shuusuke smiled, small and true, and drew her back down against him and closed his eyes.

End

Abiding

Watanuki's and Doumeki's first kiss—the way you know it would really happen. Romance In Denial, I-3

"You have to kiss."

"WHAT?!"

Yuuko-san smiled so evilly that Kimihiro's heart plummeted; that look could only mean she was serious. "This is a lovers' gate," she explained in a tone of immense reason, patting the right-hand pillar of the arch standing alone on the shop lawn. Her eyes gleamed. "You do want to get the mirrored shoes back, don't you? After all, you were the one who let them escape..."

"How was I supposed to know shoes would run away?!" Kimihiro protested, utterly indignant. A pair of shoes should not jump out of their box, giggling, when one dusted them.

"Mmm, well I suppose I could let them go," Yuuko mused, tapping a finger against her lips. Despite knowing, knowing, that it was a set-up, Kimihiro looked up hopefully. Yuuko-san smiled cheerily, hands clasped. "I'll just put it on your tab! Lots and lots more time of Watanuki's cooking for me!"

Kimihiro slumped as Maru and Moro cheered from the porch. He'd known it.

He mustered up a glare to shoot at the other party involved, though. "Why aren't you saying anything?" he growled.

Doumeki gave him one of those infuriatingly unconcerned looks and raised an eyebrow.

"Oooh, Doumeki-kun isn't as excited by the idea as Watanuki is," Yuuko-san cooed.

"WILL YOU CUT THAT OUT?!" Kimihiro howled. "The whole idea is ridiculous! Absolutely ridiculous! And I don't need you making it any WORSE!" He stood, panting, glaring death at Yuuko-san, who just leaned against the carved arch, watching him with casual interest.

"So, you're going then?"

Kimihiro growled once more at her knowing smile, before he admited defeat and turned to face Doumeki. "All right, fine, let's get on with it, then."

Doumeki stayed right where he'd been since the start of the discussion, looking down at Kimihiro calmly. "Scared?"

Kimihiro vibrated with rage. "OF COURSE I'M NOT SCARED YOU JERK!" He jerked his chin to the side and looked past Doumeki with a disdainful snort. "It's just that anyone who isn't a total idiot would have... reservations about this kind of thing."

He jumped as a hand touched his jaw, and stared, frozen, as Doumeki turned Kimihiro's head back toward him. Was he going to...? Kimihiro's breath tried to sprint out of his lungs on a tiny squeak he would never admit to having made.

But no. Doumeki was just standing there with his hand warming Kimihiro's jaw. Like he was waiting. Disgustingly calm, just like always, just... waiting.

Kimihiro's thoughts jumbled around inside his head, and one that didn't usually get loose made it to the surface. Doumeki always waited, like this.

Waited on Kimihiro's choices.

Which meant he was going to have to...

Kimihiro swallowed, a little light-headed as he felt his throat move against Doumeki's palm. He clenched and unclenched his hands a few times before he finally managed to step forward. If he hadn't been staring fixedly at Doumeki, he'd never have seen the tiny nod before Doumeki's hand firmed on his chin. Kimihiro closed his eyes as Doumeki's head bent down toward him; he could do this, but he didn't think he could watch.

In retrospect, that could have been a mistake.

Without his sight to distract him, all he could concentrate on was the feeling of Doumeki's mouth brushing his, and the fact that his lips were soft and warm.

He also couldn't see Yuuko coming around behind him to shove them both unceremoniously through the archway. He could hear her laughing perfectly well, though, even over his own squawk as he was shoved further into Doumeki's arms.

Doumeki didn't wait for his approval for the second kiss.

In justice, which Kimihiro was, eventually, able to muster, at least in the privacy of his own mind, running with a pack of flying monkeys on one's heels wasn't really the best time to wait for anything. And it was possible that Doumeki wouldn't have done it at all if Kimihiro hadn't wondered, with what little breath he wasn't using to run, whether the gate would let them back through without another kiss. But still.

It was... disconcerting to find himself pulled nearly off his feet, against the length of Doumeki's body, and kissed much more firmly than before, and, in the next instant, to find them both sprawled in the grass of Yuuko-san's lawn where they'd tumbled through the gate.

"Ow," he said, eventually. It was mostly a pro forma protest, since Doumeki was still holding him tightly and had broken his fall. He felt the shoes being removed from his fingers and squinted up at Yuuko-san, wondering why she was blurry. Had he hit his head? Doumeki was perfectly clear, though, when he levered himself up on an elbow and looked down at Kimihiro.

It was less clear why he was running his fingers through Kimihiro's hair, and Kimihiro was opening his mouth to protest, despite the fact that it actually felt rather nice, but he had standards after all, when Doumeki dropped his glasses over his nose and everything came back into focus.

"They came loose," Doumeki informed him. "You should get contacts for doing things like this."

Kimihiro swelled with outrage. "Who says you get to tell me what I should do?" He extracted himself from their tangle of limbs and brushed himself off fastidiously. "Ah!" He straightened as another thought struck him, and pointed accusingly at Doumeki. "Especially after you stole my first kiss!"

"Mm. Second too," Doumeki agreed, straightening his clothing.

"You... you... you...!" Kimihiro couldn't come up with a name bad enough to call him. "DOUMEKI!"

Actually, that one summed it up pretty well.

He spun around to glare at Yuuko-san, who, sure enough, was grinning. As she opened her mouth, he cut across her hastily. "Ah, we're done now, right? So you'll be wanting some sake, right? I'll just go get you some."

Anything to keep her mouth busy with something besides teasing him.

Her laughter and Mokona's enthusiastic approval trailed him into the house and Kimihiro sighed as he fetched down the sake bottle. He decided to bring out four cups, today. If he was really lucky a little sake would take away both the feeling of Doumeki's mouth on his and the memory of calm, unquestioning eyes watching, waiting for his choice.

He didn't think he could get rid of the memory of making the choice that Doumeki abided by, but he could certainly try.

A person had to keep some standards, after all.

End

Luscious

Daisuke thinks Satoshi should get a little more enjoyment out of life. Drama with Maybe Romance, I-2

"Takeshi, I need you to teach me how to cook!"

Takeshi blinked at Daisuke, chopsticks sticking out of his mouth while he looked back and forth between Daisuke's determined face and his well-made and well-filled lunch box. "MmmMm?" he said, finally.

Daisuke wilted a little. "You don't have time, right? You're so busy cooking for you and your dad, I shouldn't ask..."

Takeshi swallowed quickly. "No, no! I just meant... well, your mom's a great cook! Can't she teach you?"

Daisuke opened his mouth and closed it, trying to figure out some way of explaining that his mother would, invariably, want to know who he wanted to cook for, and she'd raise the roof when she found out. "I'd kind of like to surprise her, too," he managed at last.

"Oh." Takeshi shrugged. "Well, sure. Nobody's using the home ec room after school this term, I think. We can take it over." He gave Daisuke a toothy grin. "Of course, this means you'll take over cleaning duty for me for the rest of the year."

"Ah. Oh. Well, yeah, I guess so," Daisuke agreed slowly, not seeing any way out.

Sucker, Dark remarked, tolerantly.

Daisuke sighed with rueful agreement.

"Here."

Satoshi-kun took the small lunch box and opened it. He glanced back up at Daisuke, arching a brow. The gesture conveyed a certain polite disbelief.

"It isn't from my mom," Daisuke muttered, answering the unspoken question. "I, um... " He cleared his throat, cheeks heating. "I made it."

Satoshi-kun was silent for a moment, and Daisuke tried not to squirm under his level gaze. At last Satoshi-kun looked back down at the food and extracted a piece of tamagoyaki to chew, carefully and without any change of expression Daisuke could see. He watched hopefully anyway.

"It's good," Satoshi-kun said.

Daisuke stifled his disappointment and nodded, turning back to his own food.

The next day he brought croquettes.

Tempura, onigiri filled with pickled plums, inarizushi, curry bread (and hadn't that been a chore to hide from his mother!), ohitashi, Daisuke tried one dish after another on Satoshi-kun. Every one was recieved with that moment of blankness and a calm "It's good".

He hadn't expected enthusiasm, not from Satoshi-kun, but he had been hoping for just a little bit of pleasure.

Was it possible that Satoshi-kun really didn't care about food at all? Or was Daisuke just not a good enough cook to find something he would like?

The second thought only made it more depressing the morning Daisuke woke to the sounds of his mother moving around downstairs and realized he'd slept too late to sneak down to the kitchen and make anything for that day. When lunch came, he could only offer Satoshi-kun a slightly embarrassed smile and a bag of apples he'd picked up at the morning market on his way to school. "Sorry, Satoshi-kun, I was up kind of late last night... which... you already know, of course..." he trailed off, abashed. He waited for Dark to comment on feeding people who strung them up by the ankle in whip-snares, of all antiquated things, but his companion-self only rolled his eyes and turned over to go back to sleep.

Satoshi-kun tipped his head to the side, as if he wanted to view Daisuke from a different angle. "Niwa. Why are you doing this?"

Daisuke hemmed and hawwed for a moment, but Satoshi-kun didn't look away and finally he admitted, "Because I wanted to find something you'd enjoy eating."

Satoshi-kun blinked. "... I have."

"Well, you like all of it, sure," Daisuke agreed, earnestly, "but there doesn't seem to be anything you..." he fished for the right word. "That you savor, at all," he finished.

Satoshi-kun looked faintly amused, and Daisuke flushed. "I mean, you should eat, sometimes, because you like it," he said, a bit defensively. "Not because you have to, but just to taste the tastes and enjoy them."

Satoshi-kun considered this for a long moment. "And that's why you've been bringing me food?"

"Well, yes." Daisuke sighed. "When I can get past my mother to use the kitchen."

"Hm." Satoshi-kun looked thoughtful, and reached down to take an apple. He examined it as if it were a painting by some unknown artist before biting into it, slowly. The apple was consumed in thoughtful silence, and Daisuke waited as Satoshi-kun meticulously licked his fingers clean of dripped juice.

Finally a tiny smile curved Satoshi-kun's lips. "It's good," he said, softly.

Poor schmuck, Dark muttered, sleepily, in the back of his head.

Daisuke smiled, too, just a little triumphant. "Tomorrow I'll bring manju."

End

Pollen for Dreams

A quiet moment between Ryuuki and Seiran, balancing between truth and pretending. Drama with Unspoken Romance, I-3

"If you sent me a flower, what would it be?"

"Majesty." Seiran said his brother's title gently, an unspoken scolding, reminding Ryuuki that they shouldn't speak of these things. His heart still turned over when Ryuuki lifted his head from Seiran's knee and looked up at him, eyes pleading.

"Let me play pretend? Just for a little bit?" Ryuuki begged, and Seiran's resistance fell all in a heap.

Really, it was himself he should be scolding, more often than not.

He could, at least, phrase things a little less dangerously, though. "If your brother had grown to rule," he said softly, "when he sent you a flower I think it would be a daisy."

Ryuuki's breath caught and his words were husky. "Yes." He caught up Seiran's hand and his lips brushed Seiran's fingers as he whispered, "If things had gone the way they should. If Seien had become my lord..." One hot tear splashed on the back of Seiran's hand. "I would have been faithful to you all my life."

Seiran looked down at Ryuuki's bowed head and didn't chide him for his slip. He rested his free hand on his brother's shaking shoulders, quietly.

After a few gulps, Ryuuki's voice came out steadier. "It hasn't been time, yet, for the Emperor to send a flower to Seiran of the guards. But if I did... when I do..." He looked up, lips trembling but curved in a tiny smile. "When I do, will you be horribly embarrassed if it's lavender?"

The jumble of Seiran's emotions stopped his voice for a moment: tenderness for the sweet, vulnerable boy his little brother had always been; pleasure that Ryuuki still loved him, and fear for the same reason; shining pride in the mind that retained a ruler's awareness, even while the man's heart tugged in another direction. He lifted a hand to stroke Ryuuki's silky-straight hair back from his damp cheek. "I will always be honored to be held in your heart, my Emperor," he said softly, and leaned down to press a kiss to his brother's forehead. After a moment he added, teasing, "Better that than a sunflower, after all."

Ryuuki burst out laughing, probably at the image of Seiran marching blank-faced through the palace with a large and obtrusive yellow flower proclaiming someone's love and respect for him. He rose on his knees to throw his arms around Seiran and pressed his cheek into Seiran's shoulder. "Aniue," he whispered. And, more softly still, "Seiran."

Seiran rested a hand on his brother's head, smiling, and refrained from protesting this time, either.

If he was honest, he would admit he was very happy to be both.

End

A/N: Flowers referenced: Daisy for faithfulness, Lavender for being held in the giver's heart, Sunflower for admiration and love.

Personal Weapons

Hiruma and Mamori play with guns. Romance, I-2

She knew that she was spending too much time, far too much time, with Hiruma when she found her right hand tensing during extra long committee meetings, index finger curling further back the longer Yomura-kun babbled on. She worried a bit about that, but not too much. The telling point, she felt, was that, however enticing the idea of things that went bang and whoosh and crackle were, she didn't really want to shoot Hiruma himself. If she were being corrupted by his wild, thoughtless attitude she would, wouldn't she? No one annoyed her as much as he did, after all.

What she wanted to do to Hiruma was swat him repeatedly in the face with a wet mop. And only sometimes.

She did find her eyes and then her fingers wandering over the guns he left on the bench beside him, though, tracing over the rough grips, brushing the slides. She had to admit, in the privacy of her own mind, the way people hopped to do what Hiruma said when he had one of these in hand was extremely tempting at times.

"You wanting to burn something else up, fucking manager? You've got the wrong one for that."

Mamori snatched her fingers back, flushing. "Don't be ridiculous!" Warming to the offensive, which was the only way to deal with Hiruma, she added, "And that was your fault for leaving something that dangerous just lying around."

He raised a brow at her and snorted. "Who was it who picked the damn thing up and pulled the trigger without knowing what it was?"

"You should have said," she insisted stubbornly.

He gave her a long look. "Well, that's a .30, and that's an AK-47, and this is an uzi, just for fun, that one's a SAM, and for fuck's sake you don't just poke at them, hold it like you mean it."

Her spine stiffened at that last bit. "Fine, then!" She wrapped her fingers around the smallest one, holding it away from either of them.

Hiruma rolled his eyes. "Not like that!" He pushed up to his feet and came around behind her, hands closing over hers to bring the gun up in front of them. "Even the kick on this little thing will take it out of your hands if you hold it like that. Like this, so the punch goes back into your shoulders."

At first she stiffened a bit, finding him more or less hugging her. Kind of more than less, actually. She blushed at the press of his thigh against hers as he nudged her foot forward.

"Little further apart; there. Now unlock your elbows."

Slowly, she relaxed. His hands moving her arms, shoulders, ribs, were light and impersonal. And she could feel that this was a more solid way to stand.

"Like this?" She lifted the gun in both hands, chest high.

"About. Now, see that blocking sled over there?" A long finger pointed over her shoulder.

"The one Kurita-kun broke today?" she shot back a bit dryly. Honestly, it was a good thing Hiruma did have ways to get more funding out of the principal.

"Yeah, that one." She could hear his grin. "Look hard at it, and pull the trigger slowly."

The crack of the shot made her jump, and even she could see the bullet went wild. She frowned and lined up again before Hiruma could say anything. She wasn't used to not being able to do the things she tried. The next one jarred her back, rocking her on her heels, but a hole darkened the sled's padding. She nodded with satisfaction and lifted her chin, looking over her shoulder at Hiruma. Just let him try to call her ignorant or incompetent again. When their eyes met she had to blink, though.

His sharp grin, gleaming down at her, wasn't impersonal at all.

End

Property Values

Takes place just after the manga ends. Touya and Yukito decide to move in together. Drama with Romance, I-3

Some things didn't change, and Touya found that comforting. Years ran on, but Sakura still overslept, Yuki still loved stuffed breads for lunch, and he and Yuki still did their homework together in the evenings.

Yuki pushed back from the low table and sprawled on the floor with a sigh.

"You done?" Touya chewed on the end of his pen for a moment before filling in the last valence on his worksheet. So far, college Chemistry was mostly review; it was nice to have a bit of a break but he did find himself wondering when they were going to get on with things.

"Not yet. I can't concentrate tonight."

At that Touya looked up. He still twitched that kind of statement from Yuki, even a year after the last big trouble ended. "You all right?"

"Hm? Oh." Yuki laughed. "It's nothing like that, To-ya. Calm down."

Touya settled back. "What is it, then?"

Yuki stared up at the high ceiling, fingers tracing over the tatami under him. "I think... I want to move out of this place," he said softly. He gave Touya a quick smile. "I know it's true, what you said about my memories that are real." He looked back up, eyes shadowed again. "But there are so many that aren't real attached to this place."

Touya dropped his pen and scooted around the table until he could brush light fingers through Yuki's hair. "Do you know where you want to move yet?"

Yuki smiled, small and rueful. "Not really. Just that I want to go." A small laugh escaped him. "Besides, it doesn't feel quite right, anymore, living in one of Eriol-kun's properties on money that he set up for me."

Touya could understand that; sometimes he thought it would have been better if Yuki had never wondered about his grocery bills. Of course, that would probably have taken yet more of Eriol and/or Clow messing with Yuki's head, and then Touya would have really had to kill the man. "Hm." He toyed with a soft lock of Yuki's hair as he thought. "I'd say you should move in with us, except I have this feeling Li is going to be doing that before too long." He growled at the mere thought. "Tou-san won't let the kid live alone once he finds out about that. He had just better make both of them finish high school before they do... anything."

Yuki laughed at him. Touya glowered. The idea of Li living in the same house as his sister did not make him happy, not even with Tou-san as chaperone, not even if though would be nice to have extra hands for chores.

Actually...

Touya's fingers slowed, running through Yuki's hair as he turned his new thought over. It could work. "We could get a place together," he finally said, looking at the pale, feathery fall of Yuki's hair instead of his eyes. "If you want."

"Touya." Yuki's eyes caught him after all; it took Touya a moment to shake himself free from the brightness in them.

"Well. We can look around this weekend, then." Honestly. You'd think he'd just offered a year ticket to an all-you-can-eat buffet. His mouth curled as he looked down at Yuki.

Yuki laughed, sudden mischief gleaming behind his innocent smile. "And Sakura-chan can have Li-kun and Kero-chan for her chore-team, to take care of your father, right?"

"Yep." Having seen the way his sister ordered the bath sponge around, the thought pleased Touya about as much as any thought involving Li could.

"To-ya, you're mean!" Yuki didn't sound like he minded that, though. His hands were gentle as he reached up to bury them in Touya's hair and draw Touya down to him.

"She's my sister," Touya muttered before he lost track of anything but the warmth of Yuki's mouth under his.

Come to that, he could think of other reasons having their own place would be a good thing...

End

Bitter and Salt

Touya finds out a few things about what Yue likes, despite Yue's complete cluelessness. Drama with Pre-Romance, I-3

September

"Kero-chan!!"

Touya never regretted spending his weekends at home; it was nice to see family so often, his first year living away. But it sure got loud sometimes. He shook his head as Keroberos galloped out of the kitchen with Sakura hot on his heels, cheerfully swiping the last bits of frosting off his muzzle.

It was a good thing Tou-san had hidden the second cake well back in the pantry.

There went both his tasters, though. He eyed Yue, still standing by the window, aloof from his counterpart's dessert-stealing tricks. Of course. Normally he'd ask for Yukito back, when it came to food, but Yue hadn't been out much, lately. Besides, Touya had gotten suspicious of why, exactly, Yue never ate or drank, and this seemed like a good chance to test it.

"Yue," he said casually, holding out a spoonful of apple pie filling. "Taste this and tell me if it's good."

Yue blinked at him. "I don't eat," he said, as if he thought Touya might have forgotten.

"I've noticed. There's nothing to stop you from it, if Keroberos is any indication, though. You taste things, right?" Yue's nose wrinkled just slightly and Touya nodded to himself. He'd bet he was right. "So taste this."

Yue stared at him for a long moment before, with manifest unwillingness, taking the spoon. He maneuvered it into his mouth as if trying not to actually touch it and bit down with a stoic expression.

When the expression changed it was mostly in his eyes: a slight widening, a small relaxation of tight brows. Touya made a satisfied little hm.

"It's... good," Yue said, finally.

"You don't like sweets," Touya stated. He started spooning his mostly unsweetened filling into the crust. "I'll remember that."

Yue was back to looking at him with bafflement. "Why?"

Touya rolled his eyes. Sometimes he really wondered about Yue. "So we can have things you'll like, too," he explained with pointed patience.

"Oh." Yue said it so softly that Touya looked over at him and caught the moment of confusion and hesitance on his face. And then it was gone and Yue was cool and withdrawn again.

Touya snorted. Yue was stuck with the family, now; he might as well get used to it.

November

Sakura flopped down on Touya's couch like she was still ten years old. "Why do magic creatures keep coming to me? I have homework!"

"You're not the only one," Touya noted, though he was sneakingly pleased that his sister and her retinue had stopped at his place to rest on her way home instead of just dropping Yue off. He had brotherly duties to keep up with, of course, so he didn't say that; instead he smirked at her. "The monsters all just want to visit their relative, probably."

Sakura revived instantly to scowl at him. Touya smirked wider and set a cup of tea down in front of her, careful to keep his feet out of reach. She sniffed and wrapped her hands around it.

"They're drawn to strong magic," Li said, matter of fact enough that Touya suspected he'd had to deal with this too. He sipped his tea quietly, sitting close by Sakura. Hovering, really.

Touya grudgingly supposed he approved of that.

He pushed the sugar dish toward Keroberos, who had already reverted to small, probably to get the most out of his sweets. Touya snorted and set a cup of black coffee down in front of Yue.

Yue looked up at him inquiringly.

"Coffee. Try it." Touya settled on the floor beside their table, pouring his own tea.

Yue picked up the cup and then paused. Quiet as their exchange had been, it had drawn the wide-eyed attention of the rest of the room. Touya didn't look back at Yue, but he reached out swiftly to rest two fingers under Yue's cup, stopping him from setting it back down.

"Touya..." Yue's voice was barely audible, and he was trying not to look anyone in the eye. A faint flush snuck over his cheeks.

"Try it," Touya repeated calmly, in direct contrast to the dark look he was giving the rest of the room. There was a sudden clatter of spoons and saucers from the other three.

Yue kept his eyes fixed on his cup as he tasted the coffee, delicately. Touya, watching for it from the corner of his eye, caught Yue's slow breath out and the faint relaxation of his shoulders, and smiled.

A momentary flicker of a smile answered him before Yue recalled himself and sobered again.

Yue finished his coffee quietly before wrapping his wings around himself. The brightness parted to show Yukito, who stretched and smiled. "Are we all done?"

"Yes! Thank you, Yukito-san!" Sakura chattered to Yuki, filling him in on the afternoon while Touya poured tea into the extra cup he'd brought out and handed it over.

His sister's boyfriend was watching him thoughtfully.

Two days later a package of books on Chinese medicine and health arrived, full of charts, and lists, and diagrams of elements and tastes and heat versus cold. Touya hated it when That Boy was helpful; it made it a lot harder to stay properly mad at him for stealing Sakura.

He sighed and settled down on the couch to read about the elemental alignment of the Moon, and the food associated with it.

February

Touya tossed a package of salted seaweed snacks into the shopping basket. Yuki's brows rose. "I didn't know you liked those, To-ya."

"I don't, much. But I think Yue will."

"Ah." Yuki nodded, satisfied. After a moment though, he cocked his head at Touya. "How do you figure out what he'll like? We don't seem to like the same things."

Touya's mouth quirked. "Well, at first it was just giving him stuff that wasn't sweet. But those books the Brat sent me..." He frowned, running his finger down the row of noodle packages. "They don't have your favorite brand. Is Shirayuki okay?"

"Sure."

"It seems that Chinese medicine has a lot in common with Chinese magic systems," Touya said quietly. "Yue and that bath sponge both seem to like tastes that match their alignment." He frowned some more. "Which is... Well, maybe it's all right. Maybe magic creatures don't need to be balanced the way humans do." He looked at Yuki, frown softening because Yuki was good at doing that to him, even when he was worried. "But you and Yue are the same; and you like eating all kinds of things, the way a human would. So I think it might be better for him, too."

Yuki chuckled softly, with that inward look that meant he was paying attention to his other self. "I think he's going to tell you to mind your own business, next time he sees you."

Touya snorted. As if that was going to stop him; besides, Yuki's health might be at stake, here, too. You never knew. "Anyway," he tossed a packet of Thai curry powder into their basket, "next time we make curry, we should see if he likes spicy food."

Yuki's hand lingered on Touya's arm for a moment. "Thank you. For worrying about both of us."

Touya took a moment before they came out of the aisle to ruffle Yuki's hair. "Always."

For a moment Yuki had a very odd expression on his face. And then he smiled. "Yes," he agreed softly, definitely. "Always."

Touya declined to comment on that and made for the case of fish and meat instead. He did sometimes wonder whether a day would come when the things Yuki and Yue communicated to each other would become his business. He kind of hoped so.

But not today.

End

Six Examples

Takes place after the Sanada v Atobe match (manga). With some prodding from Yukimura, Sanada loosens his brain up, and finds some new techniques. Also with sex via tennis. Drama with Sub-Romance, I-3, manga continuity

"I would not have lost."

"Yes you would. Perfection is your weakness." Yukimura stowed his racquet away and held out his hand, eyeing its steadiness critically. "That's why you lost last time, too."

Sanada snorted. "That was chance. A chance no sane player would have counted on. It won't happen twice."

Yukimura shook his head and smiled, though his eyes still glinted sharp and cool. "You know your own strength. And, unlike nearly every other player in the middle school or high school circuit, your confidence in it is fully justified. And that," he added, pointedly, "is what slows you down in face of the unexpected."

Sanada frowned, leaning back against the low wall around their courts. He wanted to say he didn't need to develop new responses, because his tennis already had perfected responses to any situation. If that had been true, though, Atobe would not have taken so many points from him this afternoon. "Perhaps."

Yukimura tossed his bag up onto the grass and leaned beside Sanada, sighing. "I hadn't thought it would matter. Until now it's really only been Tezuka we had to think of. You know his strength, too; I knew you wouldn't underestimate him. But this Echizen..."

"Mm." Sanada's mouth tightened. "Our margin of superiority against Seigaku is going to be lower than we had planned for," he admitted.

Yukimura looked over the emptying courts, distant and thoughtful. "Tezuka. Echizen. Perhaps even Fuji." He was quiet for a moment. "We're going to have to push Akaya harder. If we can bring out his true strength by the time we face Seigaku, we'll have the advantage again."

Sanada nodded; he'd actually quite like to see what form Akaya's real game would take, before they had to leave their kouhai to his own devices.

Yukimura thumped him lightly on the shoulder. "And you have to take care of your own problem." He pushed up to his feet and slung his bag over his shoulder. "I don't care how you do it. But we can't afford to have you paralyzed whenever someone besides Tezuka actually manages to push you." He looked back over his shoulder, laughter bright and wicked and cutting in his eyes, the way it hadn't been for too long. "Hurry up, too, or I'll do it for you."

Sanada gave his friend and captain a rather dour look. Yukimura's notions about how to help out teammates who were stuck in their training were... strenuous.

Yukimura laughed.

Sanada spend the evening feeling mildly out of sorts. Restless. He fidgeted through his chores. He couldn't focus on his science homework, and finally set it aside, resolving to get up early and do it in the morning.

At last, he pulled on his hakama and gi and made for his practice room, determined to regain his focus one way or another.

Kata calmed him, as he'd know they would. The rough weave of the tatami mats against the soles of his feet was familiar, soothing. The constant chase after perfection in each breath, each step, eased his tension into something smooth and poised. At the end, he sank down to the mats to rest, eyes closed, feeling his spine loosen and straighten. Slowly, his thoughts took up their spiral again, more controlled this time.

This fierce peace was what he always returned to. It balanced the wild thrill of matches, whether with shinai or racquet.

In the fresh silence of his mind, the thought rang false.

Sanada opened his eyes and frowned. How could this have changed? Against the surprises of competition with opponents, he held the steady striving with himself that kata involved. Today was the perfect example. He had come to this pointed serenity to balance the uncertainty of his match with Atobe.

The uncertainty... that it had taken Yukimura's interference to point out to him.

Sanada sucked in a slow breath, taking a firmer grip on this idea. How long had it been since he'd felt the rush of uncertainty during a tennis match? Had it really been since... Tezuka?

And yet, it had been there in his matches with Echizen and Atobe as well. He'd just discounted it. Had he really let himself think that only Tezuka could bring that thrill to a match? Had he let his mental discipline slip that badly?

Sanada snorted. Pitiful!

He surged to his feet and stalked back to his room. There was one sure way to get a grip on his game again. He fished out his phone and dialed one handed while he changed his clothes.

"Yukimura," the laconic answer came.

"Are you free for a game right now?" Sanada asked without preamble.

After a moment of silence, Yukimura answered. "Sure. Meet you on the little court down by the river?"

"I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

Yukimura rested his racquet over his shoulder, regarding Sanada's expression as they finished warming up. "That was quick. Good."

"I'm not done yet," Sanada said grimly. Indeed, thinking he was done, that any part of his game was completed, was the problem.

"Of course not." Yukimura's smile cooled with the chill of a game. He set his racquet down with precision and spun it. "Which?"

"Rough. You can do this?"

Yukimura's mouth quirked as the spin ended on rough. "Yes."

Sanada nodded and walked back to serve. He spared nothing, and Yukimura sent the ball singing back, slicing through the air like a knife.

It was hard and fast because that was how Sanada needed it to be. He needed the driving, brutal precision of Yukimura's game to take into himself and answer.

The ring of the ball against clay and the harsh panting of their breath drowned out the cicadas. This was the thrill he remembered seeking, the dripping exhaustion he remembered pursuing. The uncertainty that needed the peace of kata to balance it.

Fire vanished without a ripple into Yukimura's return. Sanada had to reach for the steady measured strokes of Forest to break Yukimura's rhythm and keep himself from being caught up in it, and as he did he wondered. When had his balance fallen? When had his game become so stiff, so closed?

Move like the Wind.

Stately as the Forest.

Raid like Fire.

Immoveable as the Mountain.

They were powerful because they could shift and move. Even the stillness of no-self moved!

As the last ball flashed by to strike behind him, the purity of the moment shuddered up his spine. Yukimura's game broke his open, stretched him as far as he could go. That openness called to be filled with the all the force and brilliance both of them could wring from each other.

That was a match.

What he had been playing this year was... kata.

Sanada braced himself against the light pole to catch his breath. He frowned when he saw Yukimura had collapsed on the bench beside the court. "You said you could do this."

Yukimura's teeth glinted in the streetlights. "I won, didn't I?"

There was that, Sanada had to admit.

"You weren't the only one who needed this," Yukimura added, more quietly.

Sanada smiled and held out a hand to pull Yukimura up again. "Let's walk to cool down, then."

The dark river water glimmered with occasional lights up the embankment. The soft lap of it rippling against the shore filled the cooling evening air.

"I don't think you need to actually rework any of your techniques," Yukimura said, finally. "Just wake up some more."

"Mmm." Sanada turned that thought over a few times. It was true enough, but... "There's something. I could tell as we played. There's more I can do."

Yukimura smiled. "There's always more you can do. Especially you."

"That means something, coming from you," Sanada said dryly.

Yukimura laughed, low and bright. "Once you remind me of my courage, yes." He turned and climbed a few steps up the embankment, stretching out in the grass. "It would be hard to integrate anything else into FuuRinKaZan, though, wouldn't it?"

Sanada joined him and leaned back into the cool, green-smelling hill. "The techniques do come as a complete set," he agreed.

And then his breath stopped as a thought seized and shook him.

Not complete.

Wind, Forest, Fire, Mountain, Shadow, Lightning. There were six in the original.

"Invisible as Shadow," he whispered. "Strike like Lightning."

Yukimura watched him, head cocked.

Sanada took a long breath, already testing possibilities in his head. "Yes. Yes, there is something more. It will work." It would work, and he would move forward the way a player should, and crush his opponents the way Rikkai should.

"I never doubted it," Yukimura said quietly, lying back in the dusk.

End

A/N: Sanada's technique names echo those Takeda Shingen took from Sun Tzu's dictates on the movement of armies. Takeda, though, only used four of the original set of six. For Nationals, Sanada seems to be calling on the remaining two.

Polarization - Part One

Watari finally succeeds in becoming a woman, and Tatsumi finally finds out why he wanted to so badly. And why Enma is so upset about it. Drama with Romance and Porn, I-4

Shrieks of joy coming out of Watari Yutaka's lab caused wise Ministry employees to take swift cover. The Shokan Division, though, had no such hope of easy escape and when they heard the sound of glee approaching the office, they simply braced themselves, waiting for fate to descend upon them.

Fate, today, took the form of Watari himself flinging the office door open and standing in it, panting and disheveled, face alight. "I did it! I did it!"

"Ah. What did you do, Watari?" Tsuzuki asked, looking around cautiously for lurking inventions.

Watari burst into delighted laughter, and Tatsumi just stared. Specifically, he stared at the sole remaining button holding closed the front of Watari's lab coat over a chest that was suddenly a distinctly different shape. As far as he could tell, not that he was looking very closely of course, the lab coat was all Watari was wearing. "Everyone be quiet," he commanded, adding, "Watari, try not to breathe."

"Huh?"

"What?"

"Tatsumi-san what are you talking about?"

Fate being what it was around this Division, the button chose that moment to give up its battle with a pop, spilling Watari's breasts into full view.

Tatsumi put a hand over his face. It was only the polite thing to do, and besides he felt a headache coming on. Fast.

"Wow, they're so big and soft! I'm jealous!"

"Now, Yuma, you know he... um, she's going to have to deal with the Bra Problem because of that, try to have some sympathy too."

"But Waka-chan, Yutako's got such good proportions, I mean, look, isn't this nice and firm just the way it should be?"

"Isn't it? It's so wonderful that I got everything right this time!"

"Isn't it?"

A cascade of giggles.

"Now, um, how do you do this again?"

"Well, first you sit down. Now, um... well... just try to relax okay?"

"... oh! Oh wow!"

Tatsumi turned up the water as high as it would go while he washed his hands and resolved to get double insulation installed between the men's and women's restrooms that very afternoon. There were some things that weighed more heavily than money, and his sanity was one of them.

"So... he's a woman?" Terazuma sat and stared while his partner tried to show Watari how to walk in heels and a snug skirt.

"Seems to be," Kurosaki-kun said, signing off on another sheet and adding it to his Out box. "He's awfully happy about it, too."

Tsuzuki, of course, was doing nothing so productive. "Hey, how about this one?" He held up a glossy magazine, showing a full-page spread of a woman with her hair carefully drawn into a loose braid that draped over one bare shoulder.

Wakaba shook her head with the air of a connoisseur. "No, no; it might not look like it, but that would take way too long to do every morning." She frowned. "Um. How many mornings, do you think, Yutako-san?"

Watari leaned against a desk and scratched—Tatsumi adjusted his pronouns—her nose. "Well..." Her eyes lit up. "Oh, I know a test I haven't tried yet!" She tottered across the office and threw her arms enthusiastically around Terazuma.

Terazuma's eyes barely had time to widen before a rush of magic filled the room and a howling, black beast stood on the wreckage of his desk.

"Watari-san!" Wakaba put her hands on her hips and glared.

"Sorry." Watari didn't look very sorry, beaming from the floor where he... she'd been dumped.

Tatsumi was starting to think he'd need something a good deal stronger than aspirin to get through this day.

Watari had finally calmed down enough to do a little of... her paperwork, everyone else had gone home, and Tatsumi was daring to hope the worst was past when the Chief poked his head in, cautiously. "Watari-kun. A memo came for you." He frowned, looking worried. "You're summoned before Enma-daiou tomorrow at noon."

Watari was very still for a moment before she went and took the paper from the Chief's hand. "Okay. Thank you."

Tatsumi didn't think he was supposed to hear the Chief ask, very softly, "Are you going to... be all right?"

Expressions flickered across Watari's face, bleak and then thoughtful and then wry. "I hope so."

Konoe-san patted Watari on the shoulder and left them alone again.

"Is there anything wrong I should know about?" Tatsumi murmured after a few minutes of silence, because he didn't pry into employee's lives, but there was a time for everything. A silent Watari hinted that this might be a time for asking.

Watari's back, slimmer than it had been, straightened. "Yes." She sounded resolute, and the gleam in her eyes as she turned and stalked back to stand in front of Tatsumi was familiarly disturbing. "I need you to take me to bed, Tatsumi-san."

It took a few moments for Tatsumi to get his voice to work. "You what?"

Watari slid her arms around his shoulders and pressed close, and Tatsumi suddenly had no trouble at all recalling that Watari was currently she. "I need you to take me to bed right now, please." Her tone was firm, but that was desperation he heard making the words quick instead of the usual rather manic enthusiasm.

Tatsumi frowned and took Watari's shoulders, setting her a little away. "If you want me to do this, I think you need to tell me why," he said quietly.

Watari opened her mouth and then shut it, and bit her lip. "Look," she said finally, voice low, "some of it I can't tell you, you don't have the clearance, and some of it would put you in a lot more danger to know, but..." Her eyes met his, dark and determined. "I need the experience of being a woman. All of it, or as much as I can get. I need the physical, emotional, spiritual memory, and this is the most immediate way I can think of." She pursed her lips and added, "Short of getting pregnant, and I don't think I could manage that fast enough."

Tatsumi adjusted his glasses. "I am not getting you pregnant, Watari. We're much too short-staffed to be able to afford maternity leave for you."

To his relief, she laughed, some of the ragged edge easing out of her voice.

"Why me?" he asked, more gently.

Watari blinked at him and then smiled. "Because I like you, Tatsumi."

And there really wasn't anything he could say to that. So instead he carefully put an arm around her waist, drawing her close again, and translocated them both to his residence.

TBC

Highlights on Black

Takes place just after Weider ends. Having made his decision, Naoji has some work getting Ludwig to see what it does and doesn't mean. Drama with Romance, I-3

Lui was out of sorts lately.

Naoji knew he'd get a glacial sniff for putting it that way, but it was true nonetheless. Even tea, almost always guaranteed to make Lui sit down and relax, hadn't called him away from contemplating the gray, drizzling view out the window.

Naoji sighed and set down the teapot with a click and went to stand at the long window beside Lui. They were both quiet for a while, watching the trees droop with wetness and the drops of water trickle erratically down the glass.

"I will go back," Naoji said softly. "I don't know exactly when; I only know that I will. But until then," he turned to face Lui. "Until then, I will go with you."

Lui turned at last, mouth quirking faintly. "You can't make two choices at once."

Trust Lui to put everything in the starkest black-or-white terms he could find. Naoji huffed a little, ruefully. Lui was as bad about that as Orphe, really. "Nor can you act on a decision until its time comes," he returned. He lifted a hand and laid it gently against Lui's chest. "Until I go, I will walk beside you and calm your heart."

Lui wouldn't show startlement if the stars fell from the sky, but Naoji felt a slight catch of breath under his hand. Lui's fingers lifted, closed on his chin. "Will you?"

"Yes." Naoji's lips were already open for Lui as Lui swept him closer and kissed him slowly, possessive and thorough. It was enough to turn Naoji's bones to water, but then... Lui always had been.

And then Lui let him go.

Naoji took a moment to recover his breath before he laughed softly. Lui had a talent for making his points; it would undoubtedly serve him well in diplomacy. "So. Now will you come drink your tea?"

Amusement lightened Lui's eyes and he turned away from the window. "Of course."

Naoji smiled.

End

Spiral of Time

Many years after the series ends, Naoji returns to Kuchen. Drama with Romance, I-3

Lui was waiting for him at the station.

"Is this all you brought?" he asked, casting an eye over the trunks Liechtenstein servants were efficiently strapping to a single trolley.

"There are a few more things that will be shipped later," Naoji murmured, looking around. He remembered the scent of this air; it struck him far more deeply than the clothes or colors or sound of the language. The scent of large, fallen leaves and cool, slow water—he remembered this.

"You travel lightly. Or, should I say, you live lightly."

Naoji turned back to Lui with a smile. He remembered this, too, Lui's fine touch with a sharp phrase, all while looking quite disinterested. "It's a virtue of my people."

Lui paused at the edge of the platform, voluminous coat falling in still folds around him as he studied Naoji. "Are you sure about this?" he asked quietly.

"My family is gone and my land is changing. And it does not wish for my aid while it does so." Naoji knew his smile was sad; how could it be otherwise?

"So?" One of Lui's brows tilted up. "Kuchen is the refuge you have chosen?"

Naoji shook his head at Lui. "We had this out in the letters, Lui. Kuchen is the work I have chosen."

Even more strongly than the air here, he recognized the small easing at the corners of Lui's mouth, the slight settling of those straight shoulders. The familiarity, across so many years, caught at his heart.

He had been right to come back.

Though he was glad not to be a confused and sorrowful boy any longer. It should make dealing with Lui a good deal easier. Naoji's mouth curled a bit as he said, "Tadaima," teasing just a little with his own language.

This was Lui, though. Naoji knew he should have expected it when Lui looked down his nose and returned, in flawless accents, "Okaeri."

Naoji laughed out loud and stepped off the platform at Lui's side.

It was good to be home again.

End

A/N: Tadaima and okaeri (loosely, "I'm home" and "welcome home") are customary phrases for homecoming.

Palm to Palm

Mizuki comes across Yuuta practicing and they have words; and a match; and maybe another epiphany. Drama with Pre-Romance, I-3

Evening brought cooler air and fewer people, which suited Hajime just fine at the moment. He wanted to get his practice in without being questioned about why a third year was so concerned with such things. Only a few lights were on around the courts, not quite drowning out the clear, deep indigo of the sky. It was a lovely evening and he was in a good mood.

At least he was in a good mood up until the moment he saw that Yuuta was on the court before him, and lined up for the Twist Spin shot.

The ball sang off Yuuta's racquet, tore past an invisible opponent and climbed the fence. It was an excellent shot, and it made Hajime grit his teeth.

Using a shot that wore so hard on his body, Yuuta would never last three more years at this rate! What was the boy thinking? How was Hajime supposed to draw Yuuta back, year after next, if he went on like this?

Hajime stalked onto the court and snapped. "Yuuta-kun!"

Yuuta tried to stand up and spin around at the same time, and wobbled. "Mizuki-san!"

"What are you doing, using that shot during practice?" Hajime lectured. "There's more than just this season to think about, now. And why are you out here, anyway, you should be training weights at this hour."

"I was hoping to see you."

Hajime's brows rose. "... why?" Surely Yuuta had enough to keep him busy, taking over the club. And, unlike Hajime, Yuuta was the sort to throw himself headlong and absolutely into everything he did.

All right, maybe it wasn't so surprising he was still using that shot.

Yuuta scuffed a toe against the clay. "The coaches are good; their suggestions for exercises help a lot, with the club. But I feel like my personal training is really falling off." He looked up, eyes clear. "I was hoping you'd be willing to help me."

The corner of Hajime's mind that hadn't been entirely sure Yuuta wouldn't hold a grudge breathed out a sigh of relief. He buried that under his week-old sense of annoyance, though, and folded his arms, raking Yuuta up and down with a long look. "And how am I supposed to train someone who won't do as I say?"

"I do!" Yuuta protested. "Well, I mean... it wasn't..."

Hajime sighed and waved a hand to quiet him, mouth quirking. "Yes, yes, all right." Honestly, he knew perfectly well there was a difference between disobeying a tactical order and not sticking to a training regimen. Yuuta had never once slacked on his training.

He also knew it would take Yuuta several more minutes to articulate that. If Hajime's weapon was forethought, Yuuta's was intensity, and subtlety was generally a bonus for him.

This was a good opportunity to set his hand on Yuuta's training again, though. "Come along, then." He pulled out his racquet. "Play a set with me so I can see how it's affected your game."

He watched, as they played. Yuuta had judged correctly; there was a starting spring missing from his footwork, an edge of power missing from his shots. He was still magnificent—the best Hajime had ever trained. But he could be better, and, knowing that, Fuji Yuuta would never rest.

They'd agreed on that from the beginning.

He nodded to himself, at the last point, and came to extend his hand over the net, as usual. "All right. Double your running time to start with." He paused, less for real thought than to get more of his breath back; even off his peak, Yuuta was strong. "I'll stop by tomorrow evening to adjust your weights."

Yuuta nodded, still sharp despite the sweat sticking his shirt to him, and shook Hajime's hand once, quick and firm. "Yes, Mizuki-san." He tucked his chin down for a moment before glancing up and adding. "Thank you."

"Just focus on getting stronger," Hajime directed. And then he frowned, remembering. "And stop using the Twist Spin during practice. Really, you shouldn't use it even in official matches until after your next growth spurt."

Yuuta looked down, and Hajime felt the hand in his tense. "I know," Yuuta said, quietly. "I was listening to everything, last weekend. Tonight I was testing to make sure I'd recognize that kind of strain." He opened his mouth to add something and then closed it again, chewing on his lip.

In the back of his mind, where the truth lived, Hajime thought that he really didn't understand Yuuta. Yuuta's forthright passion was something he didn't think he'd ever felt. He didn't understand why it wasn't driving Yuuta away from him, now that the harshness of Hajime's calculation was out in the open.

And yet, he was glad it wasn't. For one thing, it was surely good for Yuuta to temper that enthusiasm with at least a little considered judgment, which he was clearly starting to do. For another...

Well, never mind that.

"I have longer term plans in mind, now, than I have this past year," he said at last.

Yuuta's hand relaxed and he looked up with a faint smile. "Okay."

The clarity of those grey eyes stole Hajime's thoughts for a moment, before he shook himself and fished out another ball. "Well, come on, then. One more set, since you're out here."

As Yuuta fell back to the baseline, Hajime told himself not to think foolish things. Personal interest, even in someone with Yuuta's brightness, had absolutely no place in his search for perfection. None at all.

Surely not.

End

Ace, King

Yuuta tries to decide how it's going to be between he and Mizuki from now on. Drama with Pre-Romance, I-3

Yuuta worked through his last set of repetitions and let the bar clank back down to rest, sprawling over the bench as he caught his breath. He grinned up at the ceiling, satisfied with the feeling of burning muscles and heaving lungs. This was the feeling he remembered, the feeling of driving right up to the edge of his strength and endurance and staring the limit down. The feeling of advancing.

The feeling Mizuki-san gave him.

He sighed a little and reached for his towel, levering himself up. He wished Mizuki-san had had a better match with Aniki. Not that it hadn't been an amazing match, of course, but... neither of them seemed nearly as happy with it as he and Echizen had been with their match. He didn't like thinking that maybe Mizuki-san didn't know what it was like to just play. Play all out, play your best, and feel satisfied that you had. It had been so fantastic! Did Mizuki-san never feel like that? If he didn't, it made the way he played seem really cold. Cold and distant.

And, yeah, losing sucked, but that was what training was for, right? So you could win next time. Only it seemed like Mizuki-san didn't think so.

Or hadn't thought so. Mizuki-san said things had changed.

Yuuta really hated not knowing whether he could trust that.

He leaned over the sink in the changing room, splashing water on his face more vigorously than necessary. Mizuki-san was the one who showed him a way to stand on his own—a way to respect himself. And, yeah, he'd order people to run until they dropped, and practice moves until you did them in your sleep, and dissect mistakes in chilly and excruciating detail. Mizuki-san had always been three times as demanding as the coaches, and pretty damn merciless. But Yuuta liked that. He didn't want mercy; he wanted to be the best.

Of course, he also wanted to keep being the best for more than one season. Hard to do that with a busted shoulder.

Mizuki-san said it wasn't like that anymore. He had told Yuuta to stop with that shot.

Yuuta leaned his elbows on the counter, staring down at the trails of water running down white porcelain. He'd trusted Mizuki-san. Was it stupid that he still really wanted to?

"Ah, there you are. What was your lap time this afternoon?"

Yuuta started at the sound of Mizuki-san's voice behind him, and turned to find Mizuki-san standing in the door, brows lifted, foot tapping as Yuuta tried to remember the question. "Oh. Yeah, um, fifty-eight seconds."

"Hm." Mizuki-san folded his arms, dark eyes turning distant. "That should do. Increase the speed two notches, next time you practice with the ball machines." He paused in the act of turning away and looked more sharply at Yuuta. "How is the team doing?"

Yuuta blinked. "It's doing fine. We have a handful of good players already sorted out to work on."

"Hmm." Mizuki-san frowned. "Are your classes going well?"

"Yeah," Yuuta said, slowly, starting to wonder what the inquisition was for.

"Well then try eating better," Mizuki-san ordered. "You don't look well. It won't do either of us any good if you fall ill enough to affect your training."

Either of us.

Yuuta relaxed all at once. Mizuki-san was looking annoyed, not considering or sleek; he hadn't thought before saying that. He really did see Yuuta and Yuuta's plans, and not just himself and his own. "Yes, Mizuki-san."

Mizuki-san looked at him, unreadable, for a long moment before nodding. "Very well. Protein and then bed, Yuuta-kun." As he slid the door closed behind him he murmured, "Sleep well."

Yuuta smiled down at his hand-towel for no reason at all. "You too, Mizuki-san," he said, quietly.

End

Approaching Fineness

After watching Regional finals, Yuuta and Mizuki both have a new range on their goals. Drama with Romance, I-3

"...didn't think that doubles pair would hold out nearly that long!"

"I didn't think Aniki would hold out that long! I never thought you could play tennis blind like that."

"Or like that Echizen did. Did you see that jump?" Yanagisawa shook his head in amazement.

Yuuta snorted. "Since I'm not blind, yeah."

Hajime leaned back in his bus seat and half listened to them, eyes closed, letting numbers dance behind his lids. The rate of progress among Seigaku's second years was indeed very unusual. Fuji's breakthrough was a little less so, perhaps; if his new model was correct, then Fuji was just mining skills he'd already had.

Echizen, of course, broke all the curves he'd predicted, but that was, itself, starting to be predictable.

"Echizen is still in motion," he murmured. "He will not be entirely predictable until he stops, as Tezuka has."

After a moment of silence, Yuuta asked, slowly, "Does that mean Tezuka-san is actually the easier one to beat?"

Hajime smiled; observing the tournaments seemed to be doing good things for Yuuta's awareness of the mental game. That would be useful. "Indeed. In strategic terms, at least." He glanced over his shoulder at them. "You need the basic strength to carry out any plan to defeat him, but he is less likely to break the parameters than someone like Echizen."

"Yeah, but who's got the strength to beat Tezuka?" Yanagisawa asked, skeptical.

Hajime's mouth tightened. "Possibly no one," he admitted, grudgingly. "Yet." Any stable variable could be solved for.

"Yeah, but I'm not going to have a chance for another two years." Yuuta sighed, rather wistfully Hajime thought. "You guys will get him next year."

Hajime pursed his lips and said, reluctantly, "With a brand new team, perhaps not. Unless of course we can catch Seigaku again at Prefecturals." He might get lucky and find strong players who just happened not to have formed a club yet, but he'd be foolish to count on such a thing.

"So there you go, no one from our side will be taking Tezuka on before you catch up." Yanagisawa grinned at Yuuta. "If you do, I mean. You could go back to Seigaku for high school after all."

Hajime stiffened. He hadn't even thought of that. He couldn't believe he hadn't thought of that. Yuuta might... !

Yuuta growled. "Shut up, senpai."

Hajime tried to swallow sudden panic down out of his throat, as Yanagisawa snickered. "Do you... think you'll go on to St. Christopher, then?" He tried to sound careless; from the startled way Yuuta looked around at him he didn't think he quite succeeded.

"I'd pretty much planned to, yeah," Yuuta answered, a little tentative.

"I'm glad to hear it," Hajime said with generous understatement. "I shall plan for your arrival."

Yuuta smiled, relaxing again. "I thought you already were, Mizuki-san."

Hajime blinked. Yuuta had seen that, and he... didn't seem to mind. "I had hoped," he murmured, while he turned the thought over.

Yuuta nodded, looking satisfied. "So this year and next I'll concentrate on the team, and taking us just as far as I can, and the year after I'll meet up with my senpai again."

The way that knot in his chest eased, on hearing that Yuuta would follow him, made Hajime tense up in a different way. Yuuta was his ace player; Yuuta's game was excellent, and growing better; Yuuta's passion cast light around him, on the court.

And Hajime didn't want that passion to go away.

This... this was not what he had expected, when he'd found Yuuta at that tennis school and dangled St. Rudolph in front of him.

Was it a problem, though? He worried at the question as Yuuta and Yanagisawa discussed the new Regulars behind him. Perhaps he and Yuuta could just... balance each other nicely. That could work, on the courts as well as off. So perhaps it was all right to want.

To care.

He would try to make it be all right; because he didn't want to stop, now.

End

Heat Imaging

Yuuta plays some with Fuji and they wind up discussing Mizuki. Drama and Romance, I-3

Yuuta swung and missed again. "Damn!"

"As your opponent, I appreciate that, but you'd better not let Kaa-san hear you saying it," Aniki called across the net.

"I don't see Kaa-san here right now," Yuuta pointed out, swinging his racquet onto his shoulder. In fact, no one at all was here right now; they had found the most out of the way court at the least lively tennis school they could. Aniki obviously didn't want his new move scooped, and Yuuta really, really didn't want anyone to see them playing.

If anyone said anything about the genius, and, oh, his little brother too, he didn't think he'd be able to do anything but blow up at Aniki. Again.

Aniki chuckled and fished their water bottles off the bench, tossing Yuuta his. "You've improved since Prefecturals."

Yuuta grinned, pleased. "Yeah? Good." He took a long drink. "Mizuki-san's been helping me with my training schedule, but it's hard to be sure sometimes."

Aniki coughed and sputtered. "Mizuki? Yuuta you can't tell me you're still training with him!"

"Why not?" Yuuta blinked at his brother.

"Yuuta! He nearly crippled you!"

Yuuta snorted. "Oh, he did not. One hard match with that shot wouldn't have hurt me." He examined at his water bottle while Aniki stared at him. "A whole season might have. But it didn't happen."

"But it could have!" Aniki caught his shoulder, frowning. "Yuuta, please."

Yuuta squirmed. He'd kind of hoped not to have to discuss this with Aniki. "Mizuki-san is good at what he does, Aniki. And it's different now."

"Different how?"

Yuuta lifted his chin. "Different because I know what I'm doing, and he knows I do. And he has plans that need all his players in good shape." And Mizuki-san looked at him differently, too, which Yuuta wasn't going to say because he didn't know how to describe the difference. At least not so that Aniki wouldn't have a heart attack.

Aniki was quiet for a moment. "Do you really think he can teach you what you need, to play at the level you want to?"

Yuuta was quiet for even longer, struggling to find the right words. Finally he said, "I think determination and working hard enough can take us to the top. And you must think so too, Aniki, or you wouldn't be out here, coming up with new moves and trying them out on me. Mizuki-san makes everyone work harder than they ever thought they could. Including himself, now."

"There's working hard, and then there's destroying yourself." Aniki's eyes flickered, at that, though, and he looked away. "If you're sure," he said, finally.

Yuuta smiled a little, finger tracing around the cap of his water bottle. He'd admit, to himself, that sometimes he'd like it if Mizuki-san let go a little more, ran a little hotter. He couldn't help thinking that getting to the top needed some of that, too. But he was very sure that Mizuki-san wanted to win and was looking everywhere for ways. Maybe... maybe he could get Mizuki-san to see this one. And that way they could help each other. "Yeah. I'm sure."

Aniki sighed. "All right. I guess we already know you're more stubborn than I am." He lifted his racquet. "Once more?"

Yuuta grinned. "You bet! I'll catch that ball before we leave." Yuuta set himself, ready to throw everything into the game, the way he always did. It was just about his specialty—kind of the way calculation was Mizuki-san's.

Mizuki-san had showed him the way to grow and stand on his own; maybe now it was his turn.

End

Steel and Cypress

After watching the National semifinals, Mizuki wrestles with his ambitions and fears—at least until Yuuta gives him a push. Drama with Romance, I-4

Hajime lay on his bed with his arms crossed behind his head. To the absent Yuuta, he repeated, "Your brother really, really irritates me."

Fuji's match against Shiraishi had been magnificent. It had been a good match, unlike the one he'd had with Hajime. Fuji had found, not only determination, but passion. Passion that made him truly look like Yuuta's brother for the first time Hajime could recall.

Passion Hajime had never played with.

The understanding twisted at him, made him turn on his side and curl in on himself, trying to escape his own thoughts.

Did he need it? Was that really one of the pieces he'd been missing? Did he have to... to expose himself that way, to play at the top?

Yuuta did.

Fuji had.

He would be damned before he'd be less than Fuji Shuusuke.

A quick rap on the door interrupted his brooding, followed by Yuuta's voice. "Mizuki-san, did you see... Oops." Yuuta's voice dropped to a whisper. "Sorry."

Hajime turned over in time to see Yuuta tiptoeing back out the door and his mouth twitched up at one corner. "I'm not asleep," he said dryly.

Yuuta looked over his shoulder. "Ah? Oh, good then." He turned around again and came to bounce down in Hajime's desk chair. "Did you see the tape Akazawa-senpai got of some of the other matches?" Yuuta's eyes were a little wide. "Are all Nationals games really like that?"

Hajime turned over the various Nationals matches he had seen, in his head, marking the texture and intensity of them all. "Yes, I'm afraid so," he murmured.

"Wow." Yuuta sat back, eyes fixed on something besides the room around them. "That's amazing," he said softly. And then his focus snapped back to Hajime. "We can do it, though. Right, Mizuki-san?"

Hajime felt breathless, pinned by the burning-glass of that fierce, grey gaze. He had, in fact, little doubt that Yuuta could do it.

Could he?

Could he refuse?

"Yes." He closed his eyes. "Yes, Yuuta-kun. We will."

When he opened his eyes again Yuuta was smiling, brilliant and... somehow already triumphant. Hajime's mouth quirked. What a spot to put himself in, a sensible, logical person agreeing to go forward alongside this firebrand and push both of them to the edge and beyond.

All because he wanted Yuuta to look only at him, the way he was right now.

He sighed and leaned back on his elbows as Yuuta enthused about some of the shots he'd seen, mind already racing ahead in time, tracing the curve of his conditioning, mapping it steeper. He would climb that curve, and win. That was the important thing.

He would keep Yuuta beside him.

End

Percentage by Volume

Yuuta puts some work into repairing Mizuki's reputation among the St. Rudolph tennis club. Drama with Romance, I-3

When Mori looked at the new training menu and growled, "This is Mizuki's!" and the three first year Regulars actually looked alarmed, Yuuta knew he was going to have to do something drastic. He couldn't very well show up, year after next, at St. Christopher with these jokers in tow, still thinking Mizuki-san was demon-spawn. He and Kaneda might not be the only players the team needed.

"Wherever the exercises came from, the menu is mine," he said flatly, still hoping to head things off.

"He's screwed this club up badly enough already," Mori shot back, ploughing right over Yuuta's attempt. "Look how low our ranking was this year!"

Yuuta's eyes narrowed. "So, you think that was because of Mizuki-san's training?"

Behind the other two second years, Kaneda suddenly grinned and then tucked it away and looked sober. Yuuta caught his eye and winked, very quickly. Kaneda didn't lose it, but he did look like he was biting his tongue not to.

Mori, on the other hand, walked right into it. "Yeah, that's what I think!"

"Well, he's still training me, so why don't we see about that?" Yuuta pointed to all his Regulars, one after another. "Mori, Toriume, Arima, Miyamoto, Kimura, Ogata. You're all playing me, today." He showed his teeth as they all stared at him. "And I guess I'll finish up with Kaneda." Or else Kaneda would finish up him, if this went badly.

"Sure thing," Kaneda agreed, cheerfully.

Yuuta strolled out onto the nearest court, turning to look over his shoulder at Mori. "Well? Let's go! One set match, Mori. Your serve."

"You'll never be able to do it." Mori stalked back to serve.

"Guess we'll see," Yuuta murmured, setting himself.

Yuuta ordered his knees not to give out and gave his team a glare, hands on his hips. They stared back, most of them in shock, though Kaneda looked wry and Ogata had a speculative gleam in his eye. Yuuta had won all seven sets, though just barely from Ogata and Kaneda, and he really hoped he didn't die before he made it back to the dorms.

After all, he had to tell Mizuki-san how well training multiple sets had paid off.

"I didn't do that with any special skill or talent," he said, flatly. "I could do it because I've been working my ass off, according to a training schedule Mizuki-san made." He paused to let that sink in, and to catch his breath. "Now. Do you want to be able to do that?"

Ogata pushed away from the fence and stepped forward. "Yes."

Kimura grinned and joined him. "Yeah."

Arima chuckled and clapped a hand on Miyamoto's shoulder, and they stepped forward together.

"Sure looks like it paid off," Toriume allowed, and stepped up.

Mori growled. "Oh fine, all right." He frowned at Yuuta. "You're crazy, you know that?"

Yuuta leaned on a bench, laughing. "I think I've heard it said."

Kaneda took a long look at him and turned to the team. "All right, then, let's get on with practice proper. First the weights..."

Yuuta cautiously stretched his legs as Kaneda took the team in hand, and made a note to do something nice for his vice-captain. If he'd tried to actually lead practice today, he'd have fallen on his face for sure, and that wasn't quite the lesson he was trying to teach.

"That was foolish, Yuuta-kun," Mizuki-san told him that evening. "Surely there was another way to make your point." He tested the shaking of Yuuta's wrists with light fingers, looking disapproving.

"It worked," Yuuta defended himself.

"There was no need for it."

"I couldn't just let them spread it to the rest of the club," Yuuta insisted. "What would that mean two years on? Besides—" he broke off, biting his lip.

Mizuki-san raised his brows. "Besides?"

Yuuta swore at himself for slipping like that; he really did need to learn to watch his mouth one of these days. He looked down and muttered, "I don't like them talking about you that way."

"Yuuta..." Mizuki-san sounded startled. He looked startled, when Yuuta glanced up. Slowly startlement melted into a smile and his hand on Yuuta's wrist closed gently for a moment. "Thank you." And as quick as that he was brisk again. "But it won't do for you to strain yourself like this."

Grateful to get off without embarrassment, Yuuta nodded. "Yes, Mizuki-san."

He took the rest of the lecture fairly meekly, and folded the memory of Mizuki-san's smile away to take out and look at later.

End

A/N: Ogata and Miyamoto were created by Lys ap Adin, for St. Rudolph's next generation, and are used by permission.

Cold Fingers and Hot Drinks

Yuuta and Mizuki train with each other over the winter and find their way toward an understanding. Romance with Drama, I-3

Hajime's hands were cold.

He didn't bother telling himself it was because they were playing outside in the dead of winter. He knew better, and he did try not to lie to himself, at least.

He flexed his fingers around the handle of his racquet, breathing deeply, feeling the chilly air tingle in his lungs.

"Ready whenever you are, Mizuki-san!" Yuuta called cheerfully across the court. Hajime snorted.

"You're always ready," he called back. Before Yuuta could answer, before he could wind himself any tighter than he already was, he threw the ball up and served, hard and fast.

He watched Yuuta catch it, watched Yuuta like a hawk and stooped on the ball as it came back again. And again. And again. The ball would not get away from him; today he would not let it, no matter what. He heard Yuuta laugh, bright and exhilarated, across the net, felt the heaviness of the return straining at his arms and threw it back anyway.

This was terrifying.

Yuuta was a better player than he was. Not a better strategist or athlete or planner. But a better player; he had been for almost a year, now. And today, in defiance of all common sense and logic, Hajime was going to try to win an all-out match from him.

Again.

This was senseless. His hands would be shaking if the racquet wasn't keeping them busy and the ball keeping them steady. He watched and dashed and dove for the ball and always, always sent it back, and felt like he'd taken hold of a live wire and now electricity was running through him, snapping and spitting. He was drenched with sweat, even in the cold, and wondered with every breath if he could keep going.

When they reached six all he wondered if he could stop.

And today whatever fire or fate ruled games like these favored him. The last point was his. Yuuta met him at the net, grinning, nearly glowing. He didn't seem to mind Hajime's victory; he never seemed to.

Hajime was just grateful to get inside and sit down and breathe air that didn't seem to sparkle in his blood.

A clank, and the warmth of a can against his hand, brought him back to the world and he took the coffee Yuuta had brought him. "Thank you."

Yuuta sprawled on the bench beside him, opening his juice. After a moment he said, "You're getting better at that."

Hajime sniffed. "I can read a scoreboard." He knew he was getting better; that was half of what alarmed him. What if he let this passion, this openness, slip out at some other time and knock some delicate calculation or other awry? What if it ran away with him?

Yuuta smiled down at his drink. "I know. I just mean... it's really great to play against you like this."

Hajime regarded Yuuta ruefully. He sometimes wished he wasn't starting to understand that. "I know."

Yuuta traced a finger around the top of the can. "Mizuki-san..." Finally, softly, he said, "Thank you."

Hajime tried to breathe slowly past a sudden tightness in his chest. "For what?" he asked, lightly. All right, so he was, in significant part, doing this for Yuuta—Yuuta didn't know that.

Yuuta raised his head and looked back with such clear eyes that Hajime suddenly doubted his own thought. "For everything," he said, quiet and sure. "For all of this."

Hajime couldn't quite look away, and thought for one crazy moment that he would drown in that living grey. When he spoke, his voice was huskier than he had thought it would be. "Perhaps I should be thanking you."

Yuuta's eyes widened and red stole over his high cheekbones. "Mizuki-san."

One of them was going to have to look away, Hajime decided distantly. Otherwise they'd be here until full darkness fell to separate them. He traded one contact for another and reached out to rest his fingers on the back of Yuuta's hand as he closed his eyes and drew a breath and told himself to be sane.

Yuuta started. "Mizuki-san, your hands are freezing!"

"That," Hajime informed him with dignity, "is because I react like a normal person to winter: by getting cold." Unlike Yuuta, who just seemed to get more bounce in his step the chillier it got outside.

It was his turn to start as Yuuta took his fingers and chafed them between his hands. "You should have said." Yuuta wrapped Hajime's hand back around his still-warm can of coffee.

Hajime hauled his breath back under his control and laughed softly. "Well, there was something outdoors I wanted." He was secretly delighted to see Yuuta color again. Yuuta was so transparently sincere; it was enough to enchant a person, really.

Yuuta resettled his shoulders and lifted his chin. "So. You wanted another game, then?"

Hajime blinked at the riposte and finally laughed out loud.

"Yes, Yuuta. Perhaps I do."

End

Heart Shaped Petals

It's graduation, and Mizuki's intentions are finally unmistakable. Romance, I-3

Yuuta supposed it was all sorts of good omens and stuff like that for the third years to graduate just as the sakura were blooming, but this year he felt just a little lost, watching the petals fall over everyone's carefully pressed uniforms.

Mizuki-san was leaving.

He walked beside Yuuta, under the trees, hands tucked into his pockets. "So, Yuuta-kun. What are your plans for the next year?"

Yuuta blinked. "You know what my plans are. We've talked about it. You're the one who wrote my training menu for the next two months."

"Not your tennis plans, your academic ones." Mizuki-san gave him a sharp look. "You'll need to keep your grades up to the mark, to join me again a year from now."

Yuuta stopped and looked at Mizuki-san with a certain exasperation. "Yes, Mizuki-san. I know that," he pointed out, as patiently as he could. "But my grades have always done just fine, here. You know that."

Mizuki-san shrugged, as if tossing something off his shoulders. "Well, I suppose so."

Yuuta's mouth tugged up at one corner. Maybe he wasn't the only one who was feeling jittery about this graduation. "I'll be fine."

Mizuki-san turned to face him, silent and inscrutable for a long moment. "Yes. I believe you will." And then his lips curled just a bit, the way they did when some plan of his was about to succeed, and he lifted a hand to cup Yuuta's cheek. "You always have so far. It's one of the things I like about you, Yuuta-kun."

Yuuta had to swallow hard as Mizuki-san's thumb brushed over his cheekbone. It was hard to catch his breath all of a sudden. "Oh... Good..." This was not the place he'd expected Mizuki-san to do something like this. He was glad Mizuki-san had, because damn it was nice to be sure, finally, but...

Mizuki-san took one light step toward him, and Yuuta's heart started going faster, and—

"Mizuki!"

Mizuki-san stepped back again, hand slipping away with a last brush of fingertips as Akazawa-senpai came around the curve of the path.

"Mizuki, are you coming with—" Akazawa-senpai broke off, brows rising slowly as he eyed the two of them.

"Ah, are we leaving already? Yes, I'll be right there," Mizuki-san said, as collected as if Yuuta wasn't standing beside him turning red.

"Sure," Akazawa-senpai agreed in a tone knowing enough to make Yuuta squirm. As he turned back down the path, Mizuki-san huffed and looked at Yuuta out of the corner of his eye.

"Perhaps we can continue our discussion later, Yuuta-kun."

"Yeah. Sure," Yuuta managed. He nearly lost his breath again at the way Mizuki-san smiled, rueful and genuinely amused for one unguarded moment.

"Perhaps you'll visit me at St. Christopher's dorms; I'll send you my room number." His fingers stroked the back of Yuuta's hand. "Until then."

Yuuta thought, watching Mizuki-san walk down the path, that that almost-promise might just have been worth the entire past year.

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

Polarization - Part Two

Watari finally succeeds in becoming a woman, and Tatsumi finally finds out why he wanted to so badly. And why Enma is so upset about it. Drama with Romance and Porn, I-4

- Note: Part Two involves explicit het sex between Tatsumi and Watari; if this is not your cup of tea, you can read parts One and Three and still get most of the plot.

Watari—and he rather liked Yuma's suggestion of Yutako, it was cute—was charmed by how courtly Tatsumi was suddenly being. He held her hand to balance her while she slid off her shoes—honestly, something would have to be arranged about that, surely they didn't have to be so uncomfortable—and slipped the lab coat off her shoulders and hung it up for her. If they hadn't translocated directly in, he'd probably have held the door for her, too.

But she did hope he'd get on with things; it wasn't inconceivable that Enma would send someone to fetch and quarantine him early.

She relaxed a bit when Tatsumi took her hand and led her to the bedroom, pointing out a chair-back she could hang her clothes over. She wriggled out of the snug, linen suit Wakaba had found for her—definitely needed to take Saya and Yuma up on the offer to shop for underthings—taking the opportunity to grin over her victory. Her well proportioned victory, at that.

A soft snort made her look up to see Tatsumi smiling faintly. "You and your experiments," he said. "You're like Tsuzuki with a whole box of pastry all to himself."

Watari shrugged. Since he couldn't stop grinning, he couldn't really deny it.

Tatsumi set his hands lightly on her waist and drew her close and kissed her; it was soft and a bit hesitant, and very nice. The way her nipples felt, brushing against the skin of his chest was even nicer—warm and tingly. "Mmmmm." Watari snuggled closer and laughed when Tatsumi started. "No need to be shy, you know."

"I see," Tatsumi murmured. He led her over to the bed and settled them both on it, leaning a little over her. Watari thought the concentration on his face was endearing, as he stroked a gentle hand down her body. The softness of her new curves felt good, when touched. Voluptuous—he tasted the word in his head; yes, that was it. Tatsumi's hand brushed lightly over her thighs and she spread them apart, nearly wriggling with anticipation. Insurance and research all in one, what could possibly beat it?

"Hm." Tatsumi gave her a thoughtful look, and she was going to ask why, but he bent his head and left a path of soft kisses between her breasts and down her stomach and that was rather distracting.

"Mm. Ooo, that's nice." It got a lot moreso when his fingers brushed gently between her legs, parting soft folds of skin.

She was busy cataloguing the way that touch made shivery feelings swirl low in her stomach, and almost missed what it meant that she could feel the heat of his breath against her down there.

Her eyes widened and her breath caught and for a moment she couldn't even sort out what the sensation was that was rolling over her like a tide. A quick gasp, hands catching at the sheets, and she remembered that these feelings were "wet" and "soft" and "hot" and "sliding", only those parts added up to a whole that was something else entirely.

Pleasure.

Pleasure, surging out from that one point, out to her toes and fingertips. Pleasure making her feel that her whole body must be glowing with it. Pleasure drawing little sounds out of her throat, making her body move, leaving her with no thoughts but "hot" and "wet" and "sliding" and "soft".

And "more".

Heat condensed down to something molten and surged out again, long, wild ripples of it that left Watari blinking at the ceiling, rather dazed.

Tatsumi was stroking his body again, holding him close. "Now will you relax a little? However your body is arranged, you aren't going to enjoy this if you don't relax, and I have objections to hurting my partner."

"I'm plenty relaxed," Watari pointed out, and added, "The difference may not actually be quantifiable. How curious."

It took him a moment to figure out why Tatsumi had buried his head in the pillow.

"No, no, really I am relaxed!" She waved her hands. "It's just..." She laughed. "I'm still me, Tatsumi."

Tatsumi lifted his head again and looked down at her, mouth curling. "Yes. You certainly are."

"And I don't actually think I'm a virgin," she added, helpfully. "The equations indicate there has to have been some conservation of age and time's effects on the body."

Tatsumi cleared his throat, and she was fascinated to see actual color rising in his face. That deserved a data point all to itself—making Tatsumi blush.

"I'm glad to hear that."

She figured he probably started stroking her again to distract her, but that was okay; it certainly felt good. He wriggled a bit , pressing into Tatsumi's hands, and wound her arms around his neck to pull him down to a kiss. "Mmmm, more."

"You're normally more patient when it comes to your experiments," Tatsumi noted, dourly, and Watari grinned; he liked it when Tatsumi loosened up enough to tease him.

"I am; but timing is everything, you know."

Tatsumi snorted, but he did kiss her back, and his fingers slid down between her legs again. Watari's eyes unfocused as those fingers eased into her and she tried to mark the sensations spilling past. "Mmm. Ooo, shivers. Mm, oh that's nice—kind of tingly..."

The slight vibration against her arm, she catalogued as Tatsumi trying to stifle a chuckle.

And actually maybe it was a good thing he was going slowly, because while Watari was sure she wasn't a virgin, she was turning out to be very tight. An equation describing the interference function of experiential conservation in muscles that had been configured differently danced across her mind and dropped into the Examine Later memory-box. "Ahh, a little deeper... yes, there..." Watari's hips tilted, back arching, as the sharp stretch eased into glowing heat. "Mmmm, Tatsumi, now."

Tatsumi was wearing a faint smile as he settled between her legs, and Watari smiled back. When Tatsumi had asked why him, it had really been a silly question. Who else was this kind? Besides, Tatsumi was confident enough to help her without repercussions to himself, and he... he...

He felt smooth and thick inside her, and the slide as he moved was so slick and wet it took her breath right away, and she could feel the bones of his shoulders under her hands as they closed tight, and he was all the way in and it made her moan.

Her hips pressed up to meet him as he thrust again, and Watari sighed with pleasure. "Yeah." She slid her hands down the length of Tatsumi's back and pulled him in tighter, moaning as their hips ground together and a bolt of heat zinged up her spine.

The rhythm was familiar. The sound of her partner gasping wasn't any different. The pleasure itself was deliciously familiar. But the pattern of the hot sensations was so different—did distribution have anything to do with quality?—and it felt so good she couldn't concentrate, only wind her legs around Tatsumi's and rock up into him hard and fast.

Clearly they'd have to experiment a lot more...

That shivery drawing-down feeling welled up in her again, and she gasped as pleasure tightened and the world crystallized. And then it surged out like something exploding and she gasped wildly for breath, riding the fierce sensation until it ebbed back and she could pick out individual parts and realize that Tatsumi was moaning, hips jerking against her.

She stroked his chest, smiling as he slowly relaxed too. "Mmm. That was nice."

Tatsumi laughed, husky, rolling over to lie beside her. "It was." He picked up her hand and dropped a light kiss on her fingers. "Thank you."

"No, no, thank you!" Watari couldn't quite manage a laugh, though, as she remembered all of why she was doing this. She hoped it would be enough.

It had to be enough.

When Tatsumi slid an arm around her and held her against his shoulder, she let him, and even cuddled closer.

TBC

Polarization - Part Three

Watari finally succeeds in becoming a woman, and Tatsumi finally finds out why he wanted to so badly. And why Enma is so upset about it. Drama with Romance and Porn, I-4

Watari left the offices at quarter to twelve the next day and walked steadily out the door, looking straight ahead.

Tatsumi lasted perhaps five minutes.

And then he left, too, holding his bento prominently to stave off questions about why, and locked himself in one of the soundproof library viewing rooms. He gathered into his palm the tiniest thread of shadow he could weave and sent it sliding down halls and walls and under the door of Enma-daiou's audience room.

He suspected he'd get a lot worse than a docked paycheck if he was found out, but the tightness around Watari's eyes and the tension of her mouth were more than he could ignore. He liked most of his co-workers, even when they were being idiots or breaking expensive things, but Watari...

Watari was the only one who laughed at him.

He heard the thud of heavy doors swinging shut and then nothing for so long he wondered if Enma's power had somehow closed out his shadow.

"So," Enma's voice finally rumbled.

"You wanted to see me," Watari stated. "Here I am."

Tatsumi could imagine Watari spreading her hands demonstratively, and probably turning around just to show off everything.

"You have unfitted yourself for your purpose." Enma's voice was clipped. "This does not speak well for your dedication to your work, Golden Bird."

"It wasn't my work, or my purpose," Watari shot back, fearless as if she merely faced Konoe.

Now Enma sounded surprised. "Of course it was your work! The entire project is based on your discoveries and calculations." A sly, coaxing edge slipped into his tone, one that made Tatsumi bristle to hear. "Surely you want to see if you were right? To carry the experiment through to the end and see the final culmination of Mother? To have your brilliance vindicated before all?"

Watari was silent for long enough to alarm Tatsumi. He knew how Watari was about his damn experiments...

"No," Watari whispered, at last. "Because I wouldn't see. I wouldn't know. If the Golden Bird of the Sun and the Jade Hare of the Moon combine the way you want, to make Mother complete... I will be gone."

"You agreed to that once already."

The simple, factual tone of Enma's statement horrified Tatsumi more than anything ever had before, bar seeing Tsuzuki bleeding out in the midst of black flame.

"I agreed to give my mind, and my body." He could imagine Watari standing straight, chin lifted. "Not my soul."

"Is there a difference in our world?"

Oddly, the next thing Tatsumi heard was a sigh and a rustle. When Watari spoke, her tone made Tatsumi think of her running a hand through her hair. "Enma-daiou. I'm sorry. I know you want to escape. To give your throne and history to another and finally pass on."

"You know." Enma's voice was suddenly contemptuous. "You can't know, Golden Bird. I have been here since the beginning! The first human who died, caught in this... trap of the gods! Everyone passes on. Everyone but me."

"I know." Watari's voice was soft. "Mother contains your mind, and it was me they poured all that through in the first attempt. And yes, my calculations are almost certainly right; Mother could replace you, if it incorporated pure representations of Yang and Yin to give it eternal balance. But I will not be Yang to take your place." Her voice turned wry. "As you see, I am not a suitable representative anymore."

Enma's voice rumbled deeper than ever, heavy with anger and threat. "So, are you any use to me anymore?"

"Less use," Watari returned agreeably, just as if utter destruction wasn't hanging over her head. "But still some. As any other employee." A small sniff. "Any other employee who's a genius inventor, anyway. The only inventor," she added, "who might find another way."

A snort that could only be Enma. "Begone."

As the doors' thud echoed down his shadow again, Tatsumi exhaled and realized that his shirt was soaked with sweat and he was shaking with tension.

No wonder Watari had been tense last night, gambling for her soul's integrity on one roll of the dice!

Or, perhaps, on one roll, at any rate.

And her damn sense of humor was rubbing off on him, too.

Tatsumi translocated home to get a fresh shirt and a drink of water, and put his lunch in the refrigerator. He was certainly in no shape to eat anything now.

He was not entirely surprised to see that Watari, when she got back to the offices, gobbled her own lunch and half of Tsuzuki's in exchange for Watari's cupcakes. It was coming to him that Watari was in all ways astonishing.

It was the end of the day before Tatsumi managed to casually stop at Watari's desk. "So, you've succeeded with your transformation, the way you needed to," he said, choosing his words carefully. "Is it reversible?"

Watari's head jerked up to look at him with warm eyes startled blank. "Tatsumi..." Slowly she answered, "I expect the change can be made back. The experience will be with me forever, though."

"Ah. That's good," Tatsumi murmured. And then her wording caught up with him. "You expect? You don't know?"

"Well, I mean," she waved her hands as if to shape an answer out of the air. "It might reverse. Or it might not. That part isn't vital to the experiment!"

Tatsumi covered his face with a weary hand, trying not to laugh. It would be bad for his image, and it was only his image that preserved discipline in this mad office.

"Did you, um. Eat lunch, Tatsumi?" Watari asked. The undertone of her voice was a touch husky, and when Tatsumi looked up, she was watching him with a tangle of amusement and surprise and gratitude and... something he couldn't really name.

"No," he admitted.

"I could make you some dinner," she offered, properly off-hand if one wasn't looking at her eyes.

"Not in your lab," Tatsumi specified, on a last gasp of self-preservation.

She laughed, and it was altogether Watari's laugh, bright and guarded. But perhaps inviting the hearer to see if he could find his way past it.

And shadows, Tatsumi was reminded, went everywhere there was light.

End

Cotton Sheets

Mizuki and Yuuta have some pillow-talk about the ongoing tournaments and more about names. Romance with Light Porn, I-4

Hajime had to admit, despite the embarrassment of various preparations and the general awkwardness of their first few tries, there was something very nice about being in bed with Yuuta. Once he made up his mind to something, Yuuta had no self-consciousness Hajime had been able to discover, and he seemed perfectly content to lie in bed naked and discuss tennis while Hajime's hands wandered over him.

"...so if we manage to take Hyoutei in Semifinals, we'll be dealing with Fudoumine in Finals after lunch. It'll be a hard day on everyone. Mmm." Yuuta wriggled a little as Hajime stroked his stomach, muscles tightening under Hajime's palm.

"You've trained hard for endurance, yes?" Hajime traced his fingers down the hollow of Yuuta's hip; he thought he might never stop being fascinated with the texture of Yuuta. "It is a disadvantageous order, though. Fudoumine will be the greater threat, this year." Especially since, from his information, Tachibana had chosen to coach his proteges in favor of actually playing this year.

"Then we'll just have to see if we can beat them all," Yuuta said, suddenly steely tone in direct contrast to his lazy stretch and return to fold his arms around Hajime, fingers smoothing over Hajime's ribs.

Yuuta's willingness to touch back was the other really nice thing, even if Hajime was still getting used to the whole idea. "I have confidence in you," he murmured into the curve of Yuuta's shoulder.

A quiet laugh brushed past his ear. "That's one of the reasons I believe we can win, Mizuki-san."

"Hmmm." Hajime propped himself up on an elbow and looked down at Yuuta thoughtfully. "You know, all things considered, I think you might use my given name." He leaned down again to stroke Yuuta's lips apart with his tongue and demonstrate one of the things to be considered.

Apparently it was a good demonstration, because when he drew back, heat still curling through him, it took Yuuta a few breathless moments to murmur back, "Hajime-san..."

Hajime smiled; he liked the way his name sounded in Yuuta's mouth. The way Yuuta's tone made everything between them perfectly clear to anyone who might listen was a warm, satisfying weight in Hajime's chest.

The brilliant smile that followed took him by surprise, though, and so did the way Yuuta's arms tightened around him, drawing him down snugly against Yuuta's body.

"Hajime-san," Yuuta repeated against his neck, mouth soft.

Hajime shivered and swallowed. "Yuuta," he answered, husky, before he got enough of a grip to laugh and spread a hand against the small of Yuuta's back. "Ready again so soon?" he teased.

The low, pleased sound Yuuta made in answer, the flash of white teeth in a grin as he spread his legs against the white sheets, sent such a jolt of heat up Hajime's spine he couldn't breathe at all for a moment. Only pull Yuuta tighter against him and kiss him slow and deep.

He supposed, in the back of his mind, that the way he looked at Yuuta, turned towards Yuuta, would also make things perfectly clear to anyone with eyes. He was more or less resigned to that, if it made Yuuta answer him so powerfully, so purely.

If old fears still nagged at him to keep his face smooth and impenetrable, to seek the perfection that was cool and sure and safe, Yuuta's wild, spendthrift excellence had tempted him not to mind the danger. To reach for fire and chance instead, to ride them the way he rode Yuuta's body and savor their sharp pleasures.

Fear was his past. Yuuta was his future now.

End

See and Raise

Mizuki comes to see Yuuta play; so does Fuji; a little silent competition ensues. Drama with Romance, I-3

Hajime nodded to himself thoughtfully as St. Rudolph's match with Rikkai was called. In a way it was a compliment, that Kirihara had seen the threat Yuuta was early on and played his best to defeat Yuuta. He doubted Yuuta wanted to hear that yet, but he filed the thought away for later, when they planned out St. Rudolph's next training push. He had little doubt, after all, that Yuuta's team would still be going to Nationals, once the consolation matches were played.

For now he just waited under the trees as the spectators wandered off and the players clustered around their captains. He couldn't hear what Yuuta was saying, but the energetic gestures told him it was probably encouraging. And emphatic. He smiled, leaning against the smooth trunk behind him. He'd never really taught Yuuta anything about managing people; he'd never had to. The only person Yuuta couldn't seem to manage on instinct was...

Hajime's brows rose as Fuji came down the stands to speak to Yuuta. Apparently he wasn't the only one who had left off observing the high school Regionals to come watch this match.

Yuuta waved his team off to get on with packing their equipment and ran a hand through his hair as he turned to his brother. Hajime watched narrowly, poised to move forward; this was a delicate moment for team morale and Fuji had better not upset Yuuta in front of his players.

He watched as Yuuta made a tight, frustrated gesture, turned away from his team so they wouldn't see it. Fuji moved closer; it looked like he was trying to calm Yuuta down, and Hajime snorted. He wished Fuji all the luck in the word with that. Yuuta wasn't a calm sort of person. Sure enough, Yuuta's mouth went tight; Hajime could see it from where he stood.

He could also see the wry tilt to Fuji's mouth and the cock of his head, as he laid a hand on Yuuta's shoulder and said something serious. Whatever it was, it worked. Yuuta's shoulders settled a bit and he folded his arms loosely, not tight the way he did when he was upset.

Hajime snorted and pushed away from his tree and started down the stands himself. Fuji had had his family togetherness moment, and now he could just leave Yuuta to Hajime to get on with things.

Fuji saw him coming first, over Yuuta's shoulder, and his eyes flashed for a moment. Hajime let his own narrow; he wasn't the interloper, here. "Yuuta," he murmured as he came level with them.

Yuuta turned with a sudden smile. "Hajime-san! I didn't think you'd be here."

"For your Semifinal match? Of course I came." Hajime smiled back, lightly, watching Fuji stiffen just a bit on hearing the way Yuuta spoke the familiar form of Hajime's name. Hajime shifted a step closer to Yuuta, close enough to feel the heat of Yuuta's bare arm against his. Fuji now looked rather frozen.

That was gratifying, but not nearly as gratifying as it was when Yuuta turned toward him, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to be standing so close for everyone to see. Hajime's smile softened as the brightness of Yuuta's eyes wrapped around him. "I wanted to be ready for what your team might need after this. Of course I had to see you play." And if those two statements weren't quite as connected as he made them sound, no one but the two of them had to know.

He started a little when Fuji spoke; for a moment he'd actually forgetten anyone else was present.

"Well, it looks like you have things to take care of, Yuuta. Are you still coming home next weekend?"

"Oh, yeah." Yuuta waved. "Tell everyone I'll see them then, okay?"

"Of course." Fuji gave Hajime a hard look. "Mizuki."

"I'm sure I'll see you later, Fuji-kun," Mizuki purred and smiled smoothly as Fuji stalked back up the stands.

It was so good to win.

"Hajime-san?" Yuuta was looking at him curiously.

Especially when he'd won someone as frankly astonishing as Yuuta. Hajime brushed discreet fingers down Yuuta's arm as he turned back. "We can discuss my notes later; I imagine you'll want to take your team home."

Yuuta's mouth quirked. "Yeah. I want to make sure no one gets too off track while we've still got another match to go."

As was only right. "Perhaps I'll visit later this evening, then," Hajime suggested, and had to supress a shiver at the way Yuuta's eyes warmed.

"I'd like that."

Hajime watched for a moment as Yuuta moved back to his team, marshalling them to depart. Yuuta had chosen him. And whenever he remembered that he wondered if he would ever have a better victory.

End

The Evening and the Morning

Yuuta is down, after Nationals, and Mizuki prods him out of his end-of-the-world gloom. Drama with Romance, I-3

Hajime's shoulder brushed Yuuta's, every now and then, as they walked in the suspended light of dusk. Yuuta walked silently, watching his feet on the pavement, and Hajime glanced at him every now and then, waiting for the right moment to speak, himself.

Finally, he decided there wasn't going to be one if he didn't make it and discreetly nudged Yuuta left at the next corner. "So, who's taking over the team now?" he asked.

Yuuta twitched, half a flinch, and Hajime stifled a sigh.

"Ogata," Yuuta finally answered, voice lower than usual. "I thought maybe Kimura, but Ogata is better at long-term thinking." A faint smile. "And he can growl and snap with the best; he just doesn't do it very often. It'll be a good change of pace for the club."

Hajime turned them north again and nodded. "It's good that you think of these things, as you leave them." Glancing over at Yuuta, he could see Yuuta's jaw clench for a moment. One more push, he decided; but it would have to be the right one. "It was a good team this year. You brought each other further than anyone else could have." He paused for a measured, contemplative moment. "With the possible exception of Mori-kun."

A snort of laughter broke through Yuuta's increasing gloom. "Mori is a pain in the ass."

"Well, all things can be useful. Mori-kun is good leadership practice. Think of him as a variety of resistance weight," Hajime advised.

This time, Yuuta's laugh was quicker, brighter. "Tell me I never gave you and Akazawa-san that much trouble?"

"You were your very own brand of trouble," Hajime informed him serenely. And then he smiled, taking Yuuta's arm to steer him though a green fence of cypress trees. "But one I'll be very pleased to have back."

Yuuta stopped short, looking out over St. Christopher's courts, which they had come out at the back of. "Oh," he said, very quietly, eyes wide.

Hajime nodded to himself, pleased with this change of expression. And luck favored him today, because Yanagisawa was out alone, practicing against the wall of the club offices, and noticed them.

"Yuuta!" Yanagisawa batted the ball down and caught it and waved. "Look who's eager! Here to start with your new team already?"

"I, um..." Yuuta's eyes were still wide, and Hajime's fingers itched to stroke his arm, to make some kind of contact and soothe Yuuta. But the point of this exercise was to for Yuuta to let this season go on his own. "I guess so," Yuuta finally said, softly, and Hajime smiled.

Yanagisawa trotted over and rumpled Yuuta's hair vigorously. "Good!" He leaned back, hands on his hips. "And you know," he added, abruptly serious, "that was really good, taking your team that far in Nationals. Really good."

Yuuta looked down at his feet again for a moment, but finally nodded. "I guess so." When he looked up his eyes were fierce and bright again. "We'll do better next year."

Yanagisawa grinned. "Of course we will." And then he grinned wider, and Yuuta braced himself, on pure reflex as far as Hajime could see. "So, you guys doing a double date or something? I saw Akazawa and Kaneda going by just a little while ago..."

Yanagisawa ducked and laughed as Yuuta dove for him, red-faced and growling, and Hajime shook his head ruefully. Things were definitely getting back to normal. A new kind of normal, perhaps. He caught Yuuta on his way past and twined their fingers together, smiling.

They would most definitely do better, this time.

End

Waiting For Dragonflies

Hiruma reflects on his team. Introspective with Romance, I-2

Hiruma takes entertainment from life however it comes.

He thinks it's funny that Monta calls his rivals "senpai". Personally, he marks it as the moment when Monta falls in love with a player. Hiruma doesn't mind; the people Monta most wants to beat are the ones he's in love with.

He bares his teeth when he hears Sena using honorifics for Agon. He knows it probably bugs the shit out of that bastard, especially since Deimon beat him. Serves him right.

He looks forward to seeing the look on Juumonji's face when Hiruma gets around to telling him he's the next captain. He has a camera just for the occasion.

And he's going to come see every single one of their games, next year, and drag Yukimitsu with him, exams be damned. If he has to shoot the guy's mother, well, one act of charity won't completely ruin his rep.

Actually, he's lying to himself. He's going to be right back here, next year. Somehow. He can't imagine being anywhere else. He'll let the others think this is the last year, because he'll take motivation anywhere he can find it. But he knows. He can't let go.

That's his strength.

It's gotten him in a lot of trouble, too.

He tightens his arm around Mamori's waist and kisses her again and decides he'll figure out which side this falls under later.

End

Lignin

Loosely based on the Five Stages of Love prompt. Yukimura and Sanada, over the years. Drama with Romance, I-3, manga continuity

Seed (Attraction)

Seiichi ran his eye over Rikkai Dai middle school's tennis courts, judging them. The other first years clustered together, most chattering and excited. The knots of older members were more aloof, a few of them already rallying on the far courts. He noted the calm ones, the ones who knew enough to watch quietly, and his lips quirked at the few senpai who knew enough to watch him.

Ah. There.

He moved over to the wall and let his bag drop beside another's. "Sanada. It's good to see you here."

"Yukimura." Sanada nodded a greeting, turning from his own contemplation of their new club to focus on Seiichi. "You chose Rikkai also, then."

"It's the best." And that was all that really needed saying. Seiichi nodded toward the rest of the club. "What do you think?"

Sanada crossed his arms, gazing across the courts again. "I'm glad you're here."

Seiichi threw back his head, laughing. "Yes. They're good, but we're better." He tipped his head, glancing sidelong at Sanada. "Shall we warm up?" And perhaps show the club who they were and save having to argue about it.

The gleam in Sanada's eyes answered him. "Yes."

Seiichi ignored the muttering as they took a court. He knew it would stop soon enough. Right now, he had one of his two best opponents from the entire Elementary circuit across the net from him and nothing mattered but the brilliance of the game.

When it ended, and they came to the net to clasp hands in the middle of the silent courts, they held on for a moment longer than usual. Satisfaction melted into agreement where their hands and eyes met, and Seiichi showed his teeth for a moment before they turned to face the club captain.

He and Sanada together would make this team something that had never been seen before.

Sprout (Romance)

Seiichi liked watching Sanada play, especially in tournament matches. The way he drove his opponents was artistry.

"You can't win with your strength!"

The next ball tore past the opponent's racquet, inches beyond the other boy's flustered reach.

Seiichi leaned on the rail next to Renji, smiling, eyes fixed on the proud straightness of Sanada's back. "Sanada's confidence makes such a strong weapon."

Renji's mouth curled. "Intimidation is most frightening when it's only the truth."

Seiichi laughed, stretching upright slowly, careless and relaxed. "It is, isn't it?"

Renji's eyes slid past his shoulder, measuring the reaction of the Shitenhouji players. "Not to mention it's a weapon you and Genichirou both enjoy using."

"As if you have any room to talk." Seiichi met Renji's eyes for a moment, dark and pleased.

"Well, perhaps," Renji allowed with a tiny smile.

Seiichi turned back to the court to see Sanada's last play, taking in the way he set himself, the clarity of his voice as he called the shot, the fierce focus in his eyes as he hit it. A frisson danced down Seiichi's spine at the beauty of that drive, pure and untouchable.

"Game and set!"

Seiichi drew in a slow breath, savoring the taste of their victory; he could already feel the weight of it in his chest, though there was still his match to go before the rest of the world knew it.

Sanada strode off the court and nodded to their captain before his eyes turned to Seiichi, questioning, challenging. Seiichi paused beside him, racquet in hand, and murmured, "You should be harder with them next time. Shall I show you?"

Sanada's even expression didn't flicker but the ferocity flared again in his eyes. "If you can."

Seiichi stepped out onto the court, head high, thrill singing in his blood, and prepared to do so.

Root (Intimacy)

Seiichi waved good night as Renji turned off onto his street. "So," he said, as he and Sanada continued on, "the club is ours now."

"Mm." Sanada glanced at him. "Are you going to bring in Kirihara?"

"Oh yes." Seiichi eyed his friend back, curiously, though. "You're that sure it will be me?" He had expected Sanada to hold out to the last.

Sanada was silent for a moment. "You will make a good captain for Rikkai."

Seiichi breathed out, slowly, and rested a hand on Sanada's arm. "Thank you." Sanada's fighting spirit commanded his respect the way few things did. Sanada's support would be priceless.

Sanada smiled a little and repeated, quieter. "You will be a good captain." His words said that only practicality made him accept it, but his tone said something more.

They were at Seiichi's turning and he let his fingers slide down Genichirou's arm as he stepped away. "I'll see you tomorrow, then."

"And we'll start making our third National win," Sanada agreed, nodding goodby.

When Seiichi looked back, halfway down his street, Genichirou was still standing at the turn, watching him.

Leaf (Passion)

Seiichi stood in the door of Sanada's practice room, looking out into the summer dark, listening to the snick and rustle behind him as Sanada put away his sword and started gathering up the dismemberd straw bundles. "You know we won't be able to play like that tomorrow," he said quietly.

There was silence behind him.

"Power is only a part of strength." Seiichi's voice sharpened. "You will not lose sight of that, Sanada."

"Not with you to remind me, I suppose."

Seiichi's mouth tightened with some exasperation as Sanada came to stand in the door beside him. "Stubborn."

Sanada chuckled, leaning against the frame. "Of course."

A corner of Seiichi's mouth twitched up; of course Sanada would take it as a compliment. "We will win," he stated, soft and dangerous.

Sanada's eyes glinted in the low lights as he turned to look at Seiichi. "Yes." The heavy, dark heat of the night curled around them. "We will."

Seiichi relaxed, letting go some of the fierce control that had kept him standing upright these weeks of retraining and planning. Sanada agreed with him; he didn't have to force this part to happen.

Sanada's mouth curled in answer. "Of course we'll win," he said quietly, words floating on the darkness. "It's what we are."

Seiichi felt the words catch fire inside him, the fire they shared to forge the team they had. The victories they had. It had always called to him. He tipped his head, considering the winter and the summer and the matches they would play tomorrow, and slowly reached out to close his fingers in Sanada's kendo gi.

Sanada laughed and stepped forward to meet him. They kissed in the doorway, mouths open against each other. Seiichi ran his fingers into Sanada's hair, eyes sliding half closed at the tightness of Sanada's hands on his hips, and growled low in his throat. Tomorrow he would have to be controlled, remember their strategies, not be swept away in the heat of the match.

Tonight, though, he could forget all of that and drink the fire down straight.

He pushed Sanada back against the door frame and they laughed, hot and husky as the night air around them.

Flower (Committment)

"So, what now?"

"Now?" Seiichi leaned back on his hands, watching the setting sun glimmer on the pool in his back yard and gild the long, slim leaves of the irises. He felt a bit like those plants, relaxing from the heat and busyness of summer into the cooler flowering of fall. "Now I suppose we take our exams and start over." He chuckled. "I wonder if our senpai will be pleased to see us again."

Sanada snorted, leaning against the porch rail, arms crossed. "They'd better. We've held up Rikkai's name against harder competition then any they've faced." He waved a dismissive hand. "They won't hold out this time any longer than the last."

"Quite likely. Will you be there for it?"

Sanada's head turned, brows lifting. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Seiichi's mouth tilted and he kept his eyes on the water. "I know your grandfather would like you to pay more attention to your kendo. I've been wondering which you would choose to follow, during high school."

Sanada was silent beside him for a long moment before he finally said, quietly, "It isn't a matter of which. It's a matter of who."

It was Seiichi's turn to look up. Sanada's eyes, on him, were level and calm, and the curve of Seiichi's lips softened into real amusement. "Would you really follow me that far?" he murmured. Warmth curled through his blood at the thought and flared into heat as Sanada smiled, showing his teeth.

"All the way."

Seiichi laughed out loud in the slanting sunlight, and reached out and pulled Genichirou down to a kiss. "Then that's how far we'll go," he whispered into Genichirou's mouth.

End

Sky in Shade

Before they face the last battle, Kurogane wants to settle a few things. (Since CLAMP have slacked off showing us the good stuff.) Porn with Romance, I-3, spoilers through iss. 182

"What will you do after this?"

Kurogane glanced over as Fai settled on the balcony beside him, pale in the settling night. "I'll return to my duties here, of course."

"Of course." Fai's mouth curled but there was something darker at the back of his eyes.

Kurogane was silent for a long moment before finally sighing. He crossed his arms and leaned back against the door post, looking up at the dark sky. "If we can't recover your magic, then I'll still be your prey. Will you mind living here?" Given that Celes didn't exist any more.

It looked like Fai was thinking the same thing.

"I suppose not. It will have to be somewhere." Fai looked around at the screened walls and swooping roofs as if seeing them for the first time. "It's a lovely world," he said, quietly. Regathering himself he added, briskly, "Still, I expect not to trouble you with that."

Kurogane couldn't help rolling his eyes. "What trouble?" he growled. "It was my own decision and it wasn't like you asked for it." He looked aside for a moment. "It isn't any kind of problem."

Fai eyed him with rare exasperation. "Kurogane, I'm drinking your blood."

"I noticed." Kurogane looked at Fai levelly. "And?"

Fai opened his mouth and closed it again with a sigh. "All right. Fine. I know I can't out-stubborn you, by now."

Annoyed, Kurogane snorted. "The only time you haven't, that I've noticed, you were dying. And I said it isn't any kind of problem."

Fai's mouth tightened. "I don't like injuring you."

"It's practically a scratch, it heals right away, it barely even hurts," Kurogane said flatly.

Fai blinked. "It... doesn't?" His shoulders relaxed a shade.

"No, it doesn't." Kurogane looked at Fai for a long, thoughtful moment before holding out his hand. "Come here. I'll show you."

After a moment's hesitation, Fai slid closer and wrapped his fingers gently around Kurogane's wrist. Kurogane's mouth twitched and he curved a hand around Fai's waist, pulling him closer. "More than that, tonight. It's about time you stopped worrying about doing this." He drew Fai against his shoulder and tipped his head back, watching Fai through his lashes.

He wasn't surprised at all when Fai stiffened.

"Kurogane..." Fai's hand braced against his chest, but Fai didn't quite pull away and Kurogane snorted to himself. He'd figured Fai would be hungry by now.

"It doesn't," he said distinctly, "hurt."

"But..." Fai's breath was brushing his throat now, as he leaned in. "Are... are you sure about this?"

A chuckle rolled through Kurogane's chest. "Yes, I'm sure." He lifted a hand, threading his fingers through the fineness of Fai's hair, urging him closer.

Softly, hesitantly, Fai's lips brushed his throat and parted. Fai's tongue stroked his skin and Kurogane took a slow breath, waiting for what was next.

When Fai bit down it was too sharp to be pain, too hot to be pleasure, and a raw sound caught in Kurogane's throat. Fai stilled against him and he whispered, "Don't stop." Slowly Fai's hands slipped over his shoulders and Fai sucked gently.

The slow movement of Fai's mouth on his throat made him shudder and Kurogane gradually slid down until he was spread out on the floor, Fai stretched over him. He'd thought this offer would prove to Fai that it was all right, and maybe it had; Fai wasn't pulling away. And right now neither could Kurogane.

He hadn't expected it to be so intense. Hadn't expected that baring his throat for Fai would fold him in the same ringing rightness he'd felt renewing his oath to Tomoyo. A corner of his mind wondered if that was wrong. He pledged everything he was to his master; a person couldn't do that twice, could they? But Fai... Fai's life depended on him even more surely than Tomoyo's. He'd taken that on willingly.

Fai's teeth grazed his throat again and the thoughts spun away. Kurogane's body pulled taut, hands tightening on Fai's back. "Nnn. Fai..."

Fai made an inquiring sound, distracted and lazy, and it came to Kurogane that Fai was taking longer to feed than he usually did. And that Fai was definitely more at ease than he had been, lying warm and relaxed over Kurogane's chest.

He remembered the brief word Subaru had made time to have with him, in Tokyo.

"It depends on how much of our instinct he has when he recovers, but since you're his only prey he may become..." Subaru's mouth tilted wryly, "territorial. It, ah, affects some people. "

Kamui, had taken a moment from guarding Subaru's back to glance at Kurogane and his nostrils had flared as if testing a scent. "I wouldn't worry about it, if I was you," he'd stated.

Kurogane hadn't pressed for more detail, but maybe he should have.

Or maybe he didn't honestly need to.

He slid his hands down Fai's back and Fai nearly purred. The sound went straight to Kurogane's groin. "Fai..." he groaned softly.

Fai stretched out over him, tongue sliding against his neck, coaxing. Fai's teeth closed again, delicately, not breaking skin this time but holding his throat firmly and Kurogane moaned, sliding a hand down his own body. He started when Fai's fingers closed on his wrist in a steely grip. "Fai?"

Fai made another pleased sound and slid his own hand under Kurogane's kimono and between his legs. Kurogane gasped as long fingers closed on his cock, stroking him slowly. Those twins had an interesting definition of "territorial", he thought distantly.

He couldn't deny responding to it, though, and he spread his legs apart, hips rocking up into Fai's hand, and stroked the slim, hard lines of Fai's body. The confusion of sensations, the pleasure of Fai's hand between his legs, the heat of Fai's mouth on his throat, made him light-headed, but he certainly didn't want it to stop.

Fai's fingers tightened on his cock and the sound Fai made now was lower, husky. His mouth turned hard and demanding on Kurogane's throat, and the pure shock of that made Kurogane cry out. Heat struck down his spine like lightning and he moaned as it spun out into slow washes of pleasure that wrung him out over and over. It took a long time for that heat to release him, under Fai's hands and teeth.

He lay quietly as Fai lapped at his neck, running his hands slowly up and down Fai's back until Fai stilled too. Finally he chuckled. "Told you it was all right, didn't I?"

Fai stirred and murmured, "You did." He didn't look up from where he lay against Kurogane's shoulder and Kurogane lifted a brow.

"So?" He ran his fingers through Fai's hair, gently.

"I... think I would like living here," Fai said, very softly. His hand stole up, fingers brushing lightly over the bite mark on Kurogane's throat.

Kurogane's breath shortened a little at the gesture and he smiled. "Good."

They lay together on the balcony, silent, watching the moon rise.

End

Ride Your Wild Horses

A final confrontation between Seimei and Ritsuka requires Ritsuka and Soubi to finally make their choices. Drama with Romance, I-4, spoilers to vol. 9

One: Ritsuka

"Just listen," Ritsuka said softly and pressed the replay button on the answering machine.

Ritsuka? Ritsuka, it's me; Seimei.

The voice was gentle and cheerful and made Ritsuka's guts twist. He wanted the days back when his memories were clean, before he had to remember his brother's cold, crazy eyes matched to this soft voice.

Ritsuka, do you really not forgive me? Can you really not love me? Well, either way. I want you to come to me, Ritsuka. Come to me at Seven Moons.

A click ended the call and Ritsuka hit erase, hard.

"Will you go?" Soubi asked softly.

Ritsuka turned and leaned against the wall, head bent over his crossed arms. "Yeah." He had to try at least once more, to get his brother back.

To hope there was a brother to be gotten back.

One way or another, he had to be sure.

"Very well." Soubi's hands clenched for a moment and Ritsuka frowned.

"Maybe you shouldn't come." He looked up just in time to see the tension in Soubi's face wipe away to bleakness.

"Of course not," Soubi stated, quiet and flat. "I betrayed you. You can't trust me."

Ritsuka grabbed Soubi's sleeve. "That wasn't what I meant!" This didn't make a dent in Soubi's expression and Ritsuka nearly stamped his foot in frustration. "Soubi!" He pulled on Soubi's sleeve until the man at least looked at him. "Seimei scares you," he said softly.

Soubi dropped to his knees and caught Ritsuka's hand, bowing his head over it. "You are my master. I need to protect you. But I can't disobey Seimei!" His voice was harsh and drawn. "I can't even beg your forgiveness for that."

Ritsuka frowned, worried, and wound his arms around Soubi's shoulders; Seimei really brought out the worst of this in Soubi, and any way he turned that thought he hated it. "Don't be an idiot. If there's nothing you can do about it, it isn't your fault." Soubi said nothing and Ritsuka chewed his lip for a moment. Finally he ventured, "Do you want to try? To do something about it?"

"I can't really imagine that." Soubi looked up and there were tight lines around his eyes, but the look in them was open and pleading. "But I don't want to leave you."

Ritsuka nodded slowly and wound his arms tighter around Soubi's neck, burying his face in Soubi's shoulder. "You come too, then," he whispered.

Two: Soubi

Soubi didn't want to leave Ritsuka, but, looking into the unforgiving chill of Seimei's eyes, he was afraid he was about to.

"I killed the Loveless Fighter." Seimei smiled, bright and careless, and Soubi swallowed hard past familiarity. "What makes you think you're different?" His smile turned hard. "Destroy yourself. And then Ritsuka will be all mine again."

Ritsuka's voice broke as he yelled, "Stop!"

Soubi looked over at Ritsuka through the floating after-shreds of battle spells, shivering. "Ritsuka. I'm sorry..." At least he wouldn't take Ritsuka with him—in the end his unbound nature was a mercy after all. He'd barely cleared his throat to do as Seimei ordered, though, when Ritsuka caught his wrists, staring up at him.

"No." His hands tightened.

The necessity of following Seimei's order shook Soubi's whole body, now, and he stumbled down to the floor in Ritsuka's insistent grip. "I'm sorry," he repeated hoarsely. "I can't—"

Ritsuka's fingers touched his lips and Soubi started.

"I know."

Soubi stared at Ritsuka, wonder distracting him for a moment. Ritsuka had a tiny smile on his face and his ears were pitched ruefully. He watched Soubi with grave eyes, child's eyes, heart-hurtingly clear. In that clarity, will flashed like links of a steel chain—will and determination.

"I didn't understand," Ritsuka told him simply. "You surprised me. I didn't understand any of this." His wave took in the building around them and the pair behind him. "But I think... I think maybe I do now." Ritsuka bit his lip and his voice turned small. "It scares me. But..."

Ritsuka flung his arms around Soubi's neck and Soubi could feel him trembling.

"I understand, now. So. Your name... is Loveless." Ritsuka's voice rang in Soubi's head like a bell as he repeated, "Your name is Loveless."

Soubi felt the connection, a piercing shock through his solar plexus, or his heart, or his soul, whatever it truly was that anchored a bond, and he cried out, clutching Ritsuka against him, eyes wide and blind. Ritsuka held on just as tight, half laughing and half crying against Soubi's neck.

"I am your Sacrifice. You are my Fighter," Ritsuka whispered. And even softer, "I love you."

"Yes." Soubi bowed his head to Ritsuka's shoulder, breathless with passion and dazed with shock. "Yes, Ritsuka, I swear. I belong to you, body and heart and soul." He felt dizzy with how good it was to belong completely again. And then he twitched at the lazy lash of Seimei's voice.

"He's still mine first, though. And I gave you an order, Soubi."

"No." Ritsuka drew in a long breath and straightened, ignoring the two at his back, taking Soubi's face in his hands. His chin firmed stubbornly and Soubi thought he might cheerfully drown in the fierceness of Ritsuka's eyes. "Soubi, I order you. You will not obey Seimei."

Soubi jerked, locked suddenly between two orders neither of which he could disobey. His voice turned thready. "Ritsuka..." Compulsion and the fresh bond pulled at him, opposing, and he panted, trying to catch his breath, fighting to submit to Ritsuka's will and only Ritsuka's will. "I... I will... not... obey... S-Sei..."

Seimei laughed, bright and sharp, and Soubi flinched.

Ritsuka's eyes blazed and he wrapped his arms around Soubi again, whispering in his ear. "This is my choice. And you are my Fighter. You and no one else."

As hard as the struggle had been to reach it, the change was just as simple as that. A Fighter must obey his Sacrifice without question or hesitation. That truth was engraved in Soubi deeper even than Seimei's name.

And Ritsuka was now his Sacrifice.

Warmth flowed through Soubi, and he relaxed. Soft and serene, he answered, "I will not obey Seimei." He took one of Ritsuka's hands in his and bowed his head to kiss the palm. "I am your Fighter. I obey only you." He rose and smiled down at Ritsuka. "Our name is Loveless."

Ritsuka smiled back, shaky. "All right, then." He turned, standing at Soubi's side, and pointed at Beloved. His voice firmed, low with sadness and hard with determination. "Defeat them."

The bond wound around them both and Soubi clung to it, his shield against the frozen rage on Seimei's face. "Yes, Ritsuka," he said, calmly, and raised his hand.

Three: Soubi

Kio looked up as Soubi stripped off his paint-spattered shirt and tossed it in the solvent-before-washing basket.

"You really did get rid of the bastard. Good."

Soubi stared over his shoulder, arrested. "What?" Kio wasn't there, he couldn't possibly know what had happened.

Kio snorted and nodded at Soubi's neck. "Those cuts are finally scabbing over the way they should." He turned back to cleaning his brushes and sponges, scrubbing more viciously than even oils really warranted. "Makes me sick every time I think of what he must have been doing to keep them raw this long..."

Soubi didn't bother correcting Kio; it would take far too much explaining. Instead he made for the mirror. They couldn't really be...?

They were.

He stared, running his fingers over the knitting edges of the name. Even when Seimei had cut their bond, however he'd done that, these had stayed raw—one of the things that had made him truly wonder whether Seimei was still alive. But now...

Was it Ritsuka?

Warmth stole through his veins at the thought that Ritsuka held him tightly enough to make this happen, even if he didn't see how it possibly could.

The teachers might be able to tell him, he supposed.

"Kio," he called, "I need to borrow your car again."

Four: Ritsuka

Ritsuka folded back his ears and hung onto his patience with both hands. He wanted to be sure Soubi was all right. And he wouldn't kick an injured person in the shins.

Wouldn't. Wouldn't. Really wouldn't....

"Hm." Ritsu-sensei ran his fingers over the old cuts on Soubi's neck some more. "Well, I suppose we'll see. I doubt it will ever actually heal. But for now, at least, you seem to have established a genuine bond with Ritsuka. It's proper enough for him, at least, to take a blank Fighter, given the Loveless Fighter is dead." His hand rested on Soubi's bare chest and Soubi twitched.

Ritsuka couldn't take it any more. "Get away from Soubi," he snapped, glaring at Ritsu-sensei, tail lashing. He didn't care if the man was blind, he was going to stop fingering Soubi right now!

Ritsu-sensei's lips curled. "Quite a proper bond." He stepped back, feeling for his chair and lowering himself into it.

Ritsuka stomped forward and caught Soubi's hand tight in his, not mollified. "And Soubi is the Loveless Fighter!" Soubi stepped closer to him and the singing line of their bond coiled around them both. Ritsuka switched his tail, vindicated.

Ritsu-sensei sniffed. "If you'd come and been taught when you should have, you'd know the difference—"

"Ritsu!" Nagisa-sensei broke in, staring at Ritsuka and Soubi. "They are!"

Ritsuka ignored them both, too busy noticing the warmth in his palm. Hesitantly, he unclasped Soubi's hand and looked, eyes widening. Black letters faded up onto his skin. He looked over at Soubi, questioning, but Soubi was staring, transfixed at his own hand.

There were letters in his palm, too.

Nagisa-sensei seized their hands, examining them with growing disbelief, but Ritsuka was too busy looking up at Soubi to protest much. Soubi's eyes were wide and shocked. "Does this mean..."

"It's not possible," Nagisa-sensei interrupted again, letting them go and backing off. "Ritsu, they're both Loveless! They both have the name on them!"

Ritsu-sensei seemed to be too stunned to say anything, which a corner of Ritsuka's mind noted, rather nastily, was a nice change. Ritsuka reached out for Soubi's hand again, pressing their palms together. Soubi's eyes warmed, slow and wondering, looking down at Ritsuka for a long moment before looking up at the two teachers, cool again.

"Should it have been possible for Seimei to break his bond with me, once the name Beloved was written?" he asked, mildly. "He did, though."

"So much," Ritsuka put in, "for being taught properly." He tugged on Soubi's hand. "Let's go, okay?"

Soubi inclined his head, hiding a faint glint in his eye. "Whatever you wish." He held the door for Ritsuka without letting go of his hand and left the two adults still sputtering behind them.

Ritsuka drew a deep breath once they were out of the building. "I don't think," he said firmly, "that I need to learn anything from them."

"I couldn't agree more," Soubi murmured, thumb brushing Ritsuka's wrist.

Ritsuka looked down at their joined hands and up at Soubi a bit shyly. "It's... it's where you kissed. When you agreed to be with me."

"That's the strength of your heart and your will, Ritsuka," Soubi said softly. "To claim even me for your own, forever." He leaned down, fingers stroking the line of Ritsuka's jaw, lifting his head, and kissed him gently. "I'm glad."

Ritsuka kissed back, light and soft, cheeks heating a bit. "Let's go home," he murmured.

Five: Ritsuka

Ritsuka felt queasy. "Are you sure this will work?"

"Yes, I'm sure," Kio-san told him firmly. "Listen to the man with the body modifications." He paused to eye Soubi and added, "The healthy ones."

Soubi sniffed and leaned back in his chair to light a cigarette.

"You're the one who wanted to know," Kio-san admonished. "So listen up. Keep picking off the scabs and cover the cuts with this," he tapped a bottle of greenish goo on the table. "It'll take longer to heal, but it won't scar."

Ritsuka swallowed hard and took a deep breath to settle his stomach. He was a little afraid of how Soubi might answer the next question, but the tiny smile on Soubi's face when Kio-san mentioned not scarring made him ask it anyway. "Can I... Is there some way I can help?"

Soubi looked up to meet his eyes, faint smile softening. "You've already done it." He stood up and herded Kio-san out. "All right, I'll do it. And be careful," he added as Kio-san raised a finger and opened his mouth. Closing the door behind his friend he came back to Ritsuka and bent to place a kiss in Ritsuka's palm. "And I will belong only and completely to you."

That still made Ritsuka's stomach flutter uncertainly, but Soubi was standing on his feet and his eyes were peaceful and that made Ritsuka happy. He turned his hand to curl around Soubi's and smiled up at him.

"Okay."

End

Taste Your Salt Water Kisses

Ritsuka won't move out so Soubi moves in. Everyone involved has to readjust their lives. Drama with Angst and Romance, I-5, implicit spoilers

One: Soubi

"You can't just move in!"

"Why not?"

"Well..." Ritsuka's ears saddled. "I mean... It's not the kind of thing..."

"Ritsuka." Soubi touched his cheek, eyes dark. "I can't just leave you here unprotected. I can't. Don't ask me to, please." He was perfectly willing to beg for this, except that didn't always work with Ritsuka. A tiny part of him didn't think that was fair.

Ritsuka was frowning and chewing on his lip. "But... it might just upset Kaa-san more. And," he folded his arms tightly, "the only other bedroom used to be Seimei's." He looked up, straight into Soubi's eyes. "I don't want to put you there."

The sweetness of his Sacrifice's care for him stopped Soubi's voice for a long moment.

"You're both idiots," Kio put in from where he was rummaging in Soubi's fridge. Ritsuka glowered and Kio grinned. "Who says a room has to be a bedroom? Go on a cleaning spree or something, move everything around. Make the old bedroom a closet or something."

"Oh." Ritsuka looked thoughtful. "Hm."

There were times Soubi was tempted to feed Kio his own paints, but he was useful every now and then.

Ritsuka was looking around Soubi's apartment with a more measuring eye now. Finally he turned back to Soubi and wound his fingers in the bottom of Soubi's shirt. "Okay, look. Let me pick the time, all right? I want to ask Kaa-san when she's in," he paused and Soubi mentally inserted a sane phase, "a good mood."

"As you wish," Soubi said, voice low. He could only hope Ritsuka wouldn't wait too long.

Two: Ritsuka

Ritsuka put his hands on his hips and looked around, pleased.

They hadn't actually done anything with Seimei's room; he'd known Kaa-san wouldn't agree to that. But they had moved other things, and now the long upstairs room that had held some of Tou-san's old stuff was cleaned out and turned into Soubi's room and studio in one. Soubi was fingering the pale curtains Ritsuka had dug out of the bottom of Kaa-san's old sewing basket and smiling.

"Perhaps you should think of a career as an interior decorator." He looked over his shoulder at Ritsuka, a faint teasing light in his eyes.

Ritsuka flicked his ears back but didn't glare too hard. He was just happy that Soubi wasn't as tense as he had been lately. He didn't like the idea of a tense Soubi around his mother.

Soubi crossed the room in two long strides and caught Ritsuka's face, delicately, in his hands. "Thank you, Ritsuka," he whispered.

Breathless, Ritsuka leaned into him. A little voice in the back of his head noted he was getting awfully used to doing that. "What for?"

Soubi smiled, dry and sweet. "For indulging your Fighter."

Ritsuka snorted a little. "Right. Come on, let's go down to dinner." He tugged Soubi out of the room and down the stairs.

Dinner was... odd. He was pretty sure Soubi hadn't had a chance to speak to Kaa-san when Ritsuka wasn't there, and the only thing Soubi had said to her when Ritsuka was there was I am here to protect Ritsuka. He'd kind of expected Kaa-san to try to send him away, at that, the way she had Hawatari and Shinonome-sensei. But here she was, serving Soubi seconds and smiling. It was fragile, under bruised looking eyes, but she was smiling.

He wished he could believe it would last.

While it did last, though, he would enjoy it. "It's really good fish, Kaa-san. Can I have some more?"

"Of course." She busied herself getting him another portion and some more pickled vegetables to go with it. "It's good for you, Ritsuka. Eat as much as you like."

For this moment, with dishes clattering in the warm evening and three people around the table, he could believe everything would be all right, and, while his mother was turned away, he smiled softly up at Soubi.

Soubi's rare open smile answered him.

Three: Ritsuka

Ritsuka flinched as a glass shattered against the wall over his head.

"You care more about some stray than your own mother?! Fine! Then get out, both of you get out!"

"Kaa-san..." Ritsuka reached out a hand only to jerk back as a plate followed the glass, and then Soubi was there, hand wrapped around Kaa-san's wrist. His eyes were cold.

"That will be enough."

It scared Ritsuka a little to see Soubi look like that and he reached out again, pleading. "Soubi..."

Soubi's eyes met Ritsuka's, and his mouth tightened, but he finally bowed his head. When he spoke again his voice was quieter. "Come, Aoyagi-san. It's time to sleep for a while."

Kaa-san was crying now, but she went along easily as Soubi led her away. Ritsuka just slid down the wall to the floor and rested his forehead on his knees. He was shaking a little. Not because of the sudden violence. Because of the sudden stop.

Because, deep down, he hadn't really thought anyone but Seimei could stop Kaa-san when she got like this.

But there were no more screams or crashes. Just the faint murmur of voices and the click of a door being shut.

It really was just him that was the problem.

"Ritsuka." Soubi's arms were around him and Ritsuka turned his face into Soubi's chest, tired and hopeless. "Ritsuka, please." Soubi's whisper was urgent. "Please, let me take you out of here."

Ritsuka laughed, one harsh breath. "Maybe I should. Maybe it really would make her better if I left."

Soubi's arms tightened. "Ritsuka."

They were both silent for a while. Finally Soubi gathered Ritsuka up in his arms and stood. Ritsuka stirred. "I should clean up the pieces."

"I'll do it tomorrow morning," Soubi stated, not pausing as he carried Ritsuka up the stairs.

Ritsuka let Soubi undress him and tuck him under the blankets and, when Soubi hesitated, sitting on the side of his bed, reached up silently to pull him down. Soubi promptly slipped under the covers and cradled Ritsuka close, stroking long fingers through his hair, hesitant and tender.

Finally Ritsuka managed to say, softly, "I am glad you're here."

He could feel Soubi relax as he cuddled Ritsuka closer.

Four: Soubi

Soubi stood in the kitchen doorway, arms folded, watching Ritsuka's mother. She started when he finally spoke.

"Do you understand what you're doing to your son?"

She turned wide, dark eyes on him. "I.. I love Ritsuka. He's all I have left."

"You're hurting him," Soubi said flatly.

She folded her hands in front of her mouth, staring at him, silent and trembling. Soubi's thin patience snapped.

"You are going to stop, Aoyagi-san, because you are going to go see that psychologist of his if I have to drag you, and you are going to talk to the woman if I have to force you." He stalked forward as he spoke to stand over her, perfectly willing to intimidate the woman into cooperating or drag her down the street, screaming, if that was what it took.

He stopped short in surprise when she smiled.

"Yes."

Soubi blinked.

"Take me." She held out one wrist as if offering to be dragged and strangeness wrapped around him for a moment, like deja vu turned inside out.

Maybe her smile just reminded him of Seimei's. It was probably only that.

Taking no chances, he took her arm and led her to the door. She went easily, put on her coat when he handed it to her, didn't rage or even protest.

But when he wasn't directing her she didn't move at all.

She gave the clinic receptionist all her information and agreed that she wanted to see the psychologist. She smiled. She cooperated. But when the doctor held open the office door for her she didn't walk through it until Soubi grabbed her arm again and took her in.

He ignored the doctor's raised brows and leaned in a corner, out of the way, with his arms crossed and tried to stifle that queasy feeling of recognition.

Whenever the woman hesitated in answering one of the doctor's questions she looked at him. And then she answered, as if he had... Soubi stifled that thought and kept on trying not to really listen.

"Seimei isn't here to make me stop anymore, you see."

Not succeeding very well, but trying.

He wasn't surprised, when the doctor finally asked what Aoyagi was doing to Ritsuka and Aoyagi slowly turned to look at him, silent, eyes wide and waiting. Soubi swallowed behind clenched teeth and managed to grate out, "Tell her."

The woman obeyed immediately, and the doctor only had a moment to look at him with sharp eyes before she had to pull her professional mask back on. Soubi ignored them both. He didn't want to do this. He didn't ever want to do this. He didn't want to be the one who gave orders. For him to be the one in Seimei's place...

He wondered, distantly, whether Seimei really was god, after all. The universe certainly seemed to have his vicious sense of humor.

By the time the first session was over he was shaking a little and the doctor stopped him on the way out to ask softly whether he was all right.

"I'll be fine once I get back to Ritsuka," he answered, unstrung enough to give her the truth. He'd be fine once he had his Sacrifice to obey and the world was right side up again. He started a bit as the doctor's eyes flashed.

"You can't put all of this on a thirteen-year-old boy," she told him sharply. "If both you and his mother are doing that, then you'll just both have to stop."

Soubi stood as if turned to stone for a long moment before his head bent and his fists clenched under the weight of those words. "I... understand what you say," he managed at last.

The doctor sighed and patted his shoulder more kindly. "Well. I imagine I'll see you next time, too, then."

Soubi took Ritsuka's mother home and went up to his studio and sat, staring at a blank canvas, for a very long time.

Five: Ritsuka

What used to scare Ritsuka was the anger on Soubi's face when he stopped Kaa-san in one of her rages. Now there was something else there, and he didn't know what and that scared him even more. Soubi still looked grim, those times, but his eyes creased like he was hurt, too.

And it wasn't always rages Kaa-san had, now. Ritsuka was happy, glad that he could finally help Kaa-san, at least those times when she just put her head down on the table and cried. But that didn't stop him getting worried.

Finally he cornered Soubi in his bedroom one evening, while he was drying off some brushes. "Soubi. Will you tell me what's wrong?"

Soubi's long hands hesitated. "I... don't want to burden you," he said quietly, without turning around.

Ritsuka scowled. "Don't be dumb." He came and wound his arms around Soubi's waist firmly. "We're a pair, right? Closer than anything else." He rested his cheek on Soubi's chest. "Just tell me."

Soubi's fingers settled softly on his hair. "Your mother," he said, after a long, silent moment. "I see Ritsu-sensei in her. Even Seimei in her. Yet, I see myself in her as well. And so I see them in myself, and I..." A shudder ran through Soubi. "I don't know... what to do now."

Ritsuka wasn't sure he understood, but... Seimei had protected him, and now Soubi protected him. Every now and then, Kaa-san's eyes reminded him of Seimei's. He could see that much. Maybe there were just too many reminders of other people, for Soubi. Slowly he asked, "Can you just be Soubi?"

Soubi stilled. Finally he leaned down to press his lips against Ritsuka's hair. "Who do you want Soubi to be?" he asked, very softly.

"No, I mean..." Ritsuka looked up at Soubi, confused. "I mean, can you just be you?" He laid his hand on Soubi's chest, over his heart. "Be whoever Soubi really is?" He glanced aside, tail curling shyly. "I'd... I'd like that."

He worried some more when Soubi sank down to his knees, but relaxed again when Soubi caught his hand and kissed the palm. Soubi was all right when he did that. Soubi's eyes were dark when he raised his head, but his mouth twitched like he was about to laugh.

"I'll try."

Hesitantly, because he really didn't get Soubi sometimes, Ritsuka leaned into him and put his arms around Soubi's neck. "I'd just like it if you were happy."

The laugh that escaped against his ear was soft and shaky and true.

"I'll try that, too, then."

End

Easy

Hikaru is very matter-of-fact about intimacy, which is probably why it works. Pre-Romance, I-2

"Touya, move back a bit."

Akira sighed. Shindou could get downright pushy about being able to see the board, even when Akira was just recreating games. "Fine." He scooted back on the smooth boards of the porch, eyes not leaving his book.

So he was startled to feel a sudden weight on his folded legs.

He looked down and, indeed, that was Shindou's head in his lap.

"Shindou, what are you doing?"

"Studying." Shindou waved a handful of kifu, a wealth of what, are you going blind? in his voice.

Akira eyed him for a moment. Shindou looked perfectly comfortable. Finally his mouth quirked and he shook his head, looking back at his book and picking up the next stone.

After a while he shifted the book to his other hand so he could brush his fingers through Shindou's hair while he thought.

End

Homecoming

Alexiel finally returns, to the interest of all and apprehension of some—particularly Lucifer. Romance with Drama, I-3

They gathered quickly, and Belial thought that it was just like Alexiel's latest incarnation to not give any warning. The room was small enough, and the interested parties many enough, that aides and seconds had been left outside, but that had never stopped Belial before, and se watched from a slice of shadow in one corner.

Kurai didn't exactly pace, but she hovered at two distances, and flitted from one to the other every now and then. Gabriel, by contrast, stood calmly beside Alexiel's body. Of course, Gabriel had done this herself just a year ago. Raziel sat behind her, equally calm; of course, he had never met Alexiel, only Setsuna. Michael fidgeted, on the far side of Raphael from his brother. And Lucifer and Uriel held up opposite walls, both about as far from Alexiel as they could get without leaving the room.

Belial sighed. Se hoped, for hir lord's sake, this would go well.

And then hir glance sharpened, because hir sigh had been echoed by one from Alexiel. Kurai spun around so fast she wobbled, poised at her distant hovering spot. After one more moment of utter stillness, Alexiel drew in a deep breath. As she exhaled her eyes opened.

Belial watched Lucifer exhale with her.

Alexiel rubbed a hand across her eyes and yawned. "Where?" she mumbled, and then blinked at the crowd surrounding her. "Oh. Right."

Gabriel laughed. "Welcome back, Alexiel." She put a quick hand behind Alexiel's shoulder as she started to sit up. "Take it a little slowly. You weren't sealed, this time, it may take a while to settle back in."

Raphael waved a dismissive hand. "The strength of her spirit will draw the body around itself immediately. No need to worry about her."

"Love you, too, Raphie-kun," Alexiel muttered, flipping him off with the hand not rubbing her face.

Kurai made a small noise, at that, hope lighting her eyes. Alexiel looked around and smiled. "Kurai." When that failed to make Kurai stop chewing on her lip, Alexiel's smile softened and tilted. "Hey, kiddo." She held out her arms.

Belial shook hir head as Kurai took two running steps and flung herself into Alexiel's embrace. It would do no one any good to lead the girl on.

"I missed you," Alexiel said, gently. "Both of me."

Kurai looked up, one crystal blue eye showing under her rumpled hair. "Really?"

"Really," Alexiel laughed, and ruffled Kurai's hair some more.

Kurai giggled, and backed away. "Okay." Her eyes were clear again.

Belial's estimation of Alexiel rose. Maybe this would fail to be a catastrophe after all.

Alexiel swung herself off the plinth and stood, but her stretch was interrupted as her eyes fell on Lucifer, still leaning against the wall silently. "You came," she whispered.

Lucifer returned her gaze, eyes hooded. "It seemed polite to give you a clear opportunity, in case you wanted to try killing me again. Consider it your homecoming present."

Belial had to wonder, as Alexiel stood frozen, whether she could see past the sardonic chill to the genuine offer underneath it. If Alexiel really did want Lucifer's life, for the sake of the world or the sake of a grudge, he would give it to her this time.

As Alexiel paced toward him, through a room full of people holding their breaths, Belial wondered whether she was going to take him up on it.

Alexiel stopped a hand's breadth away, glaring up at him with stormy eyes.

And then she reached out and hauled him into a rib-cracking hug, burying her face in his shoulder. "You are such an asshole," she declared, a bit muffled.

Lucifer's eyes widened, and Belial saw him swallow before his hands lifted, hesitant and slow, to settle on Alexiel's back. "Careful," he said, voice just a little uneven. "You'll have me calling you Setsuna if you keep talking like that."

"Fair enough." Alexiel sniffed. "Kira-senpai."

"Not anymore."

"I know."

Lucifer's eyes darkened, and he ran one hand, slowly, through her long, thick hair.

Alexiel stiffened abruptly, at that, and lifted her head. Belial caught a flash of apprehension in her face.

Lucifer shook his head. "I know why you didn't tell me who I was." His mouth twisted. "Or that I had already had my wish, more than once, in Eden."

The tangle of sorrow and anger and tenderness plain to see in Alexiel's expression was a match for the tangle lurking in Lucifer's eyes. Belial wondered whether it was uncharitable or just accurate to think that they deserved each other.

"What... what if I ask, first, this time?" Alexiel said at last, voice wavering.

Lucifer's snort was a bit pained, but the arms around Alexiel tightened without reserve. "You have me, idiot," he murmured. "You've always had me."

Belial had to look away when their lips met. The kiss was too hesitant, too heavy, too beautiful with hir lord's relief. It made hir dizzy to watch. So se watched the other watchers instead, and hir lips quirked as se took in the generally indulgent expressions on their faces.

Se wondered how many of them realized that Abe's real ruler was home now.

End

The Wave that Turns the Tide

Doumeki has figured out what quiets Watanuki. Written for Porn Battle, with the prompt: Doumeki/Watanuki, hush. Romance, I-3

Kimihiro glared at Shizuka fiercely. "You are NOT coming with me this time! Absolutely, positively, most certainly NO—"

His lecture cut off with a startled sound as Shizuka's mouth covered his, hushing him gently. Shizuka didn't let him go until he was breathless and leaning against Shizuka for support.

"Then I'll follow after you."

"Shizuka...!"

Shizuka's mouth quirked faintly. "What? I'm not quiet enough for you already?"

Kimihiro glared some more, but his lips twitched reluctantly at the old joke.

Shizuka gathered Kimihiro closer. "I'll be with you, one way or another," he murmured against Kimihiro's hair. "I'm here to protect you."

Perfectly familiar with Shizuka's world-bending stubbornness, Kimihiro pressed his forehead against Shizuka's shoulder. "Promise you won't let yourself get hurt," he demanded.

"I promise." Shizuka tipped Kimihiro's chin up and kissed him again, softly.

"Liar," Kimihiro whispered into his mouth.

"Never to you."

Kimihiro knew that was true and subsided a bit. He let Shizuka lay him back against the smooth, sun-warmed boards of the engawa and fold his yukata open, and reached up to pull Shizuka down against him. Shizuka's hands on him were strong and slow, stroking over Kimihiro's body until he arched up against Shizuka, panting and flushed.

"Shizuka!"

"Yes," Shizuka whispered to him, "I'll be peace for you."

Kimihiro caught his breath slowly in Shizuka's arms, making soft, contented sounds as one strong hand rubbed his back. As the shadows lengthened, though, he sighed and sat up. Shizuka helped him straighten his clothing and cupped a hand around Kimihiro's cheek.

"Ready?"

"Of course." Kimihiro smiled up at him, rueful. "You'll be with me."

End

A/N: Shizuka means "quiet" or "peace".

Else the Bottles Break and the Wine is Spilled

Nokoru finally figures out how to approach Suoh. Written for Porn Battle, with the prompt: Nokoru/Suoh, futurefic, "can't seduce your best friend like you would a lady". Romance with Porn, I-3

Imonoyama Nokoru, darling of the Clamp Academy, Chairman of the High School Division, and all-around gentleman, sat and stared glumly at the top of his desk. For once there was no paperwork on it, waiting to be done; he'd finished everything.

Suoh had taken his temperature and, when that was normal, checked the weather forecast, which wasn't quite the response Nokoru had been hoping for.

The problem with seducing one's best friend, he decided, was that none of the usual methods worked. If he handed Suoh flowers, Suoh figured they were for the office and went looking for a vase and put them on Nokoru's desk. He couldn't very well open doors for Suoh, because Suoh felt that was his job, as Nokoru's bodyguard.

Best not to think about the attempted candle-lit dinner. At least Akira and Utako had gotten some use from it in the end.

So Nokoru had tried adapting his methods instead. The way to a lady's heart was to do sweet things for her. He could expand on that, surely. Unfortunately, doing anything for Suoh was difficult. Suoh never seemed to need help with the little chores around the office. He flatly refused to let Nokoru do any of the security work, on the grounds that he would wind up finding damsels in distress on the surveillance cameras and get distracted. And as for being obliging by finishing the paperwork on time...

Thump.

"Since you're in such good form today, Kaichou, here's the paperwork for the festival next week." Suoh gave Nokoru a brisk nod and went back to his own desk.

Nokoru wondered if banging his head against the new stack of papers would help any.

He looked over at Suoh, calmly absorbed in calculations and future planning and all the things Nokoru wasn't really very good at. Everything Nokoru wanted. How did Suoh do it? How did he capture Nokoru's complete attention, so easily? He was nothing like the ladies Nokoru had always delighted in helping.

Nokoru sat up straight, eyes gleaming as he replayed that thought. Nothing like the ladies. So maybe, just maybe, the approach Nokoru needed was something nothing like he used with ladies!

Right.

Nokoru stood up and marched over to Suoh's desk. "Suoh."

Suoh looked up with a faint smile. "Yes, Kaichou?" Nokoru's heart did turny-trippy things at that smile and he sternly quashed the urge to be courtly and indirect in response. Instead he took Suoh's face in his hands and kissed him.

He barely heard Akira say something strangled about tea cakes and scramble out the door, because he was paying too much attention to the way Suoh's eyes widened, the way his hand lifted and hesitated and finally settled softly against Nokoru's shoulder. When Nokoru drew back Suoh stared up at him for a long moment before finally murmuring, "Nokoru."

The sound of Suoh saying his name gave Nokoru a sweet, breathless moment of thrill. "I should have figured this out much sooner," he declared, and promptly sat himself down, straddling Suoh's legs. Suoh flushed and Nokoru laughed softly, delighted. "Much sooner." He leaned in again to kiss Suoh, and was pleased to feel Suoh's hands slide slowly up his back.

"Nokoru," Suoh repeated, husky this time, "not here."

"All right, then," Nokoru agreed, sunny, and stood, grabbing Suoh's hand to haul him up, too. "How about my room?"

Suoh looked amused and resigned as Nokoru towed him down the hall, waving cheerily to Akira as they passed him, coming back with a tea tray.

"We'll be back for tea later," Nokoru assured him. "Probably."

Akira turned bright red and Suoh groaned. "Nokoru..."

Nokoru just laughed. In fact, he had a hard time keeping himself from laughing all the way across campus, just because he was so brilliantly happy. He positively pounced Suoh into bed, once he had the bedroom door closed behind them.

Suoh went with good grace, mouth quirking as he settled Nokoru more comfortably over him. "Never have been able to resist you, I suppose."

Nokoru was laughing softly, again. "You probably shouldn't tell me that right now."

Suoh looked up at him, eyes serious, and lifted a hand to run through Nokoru's hair. "You can have anything you want from me," he stated quietly. "You know that."

That struck Nokoru silent and breathless. "Suoh," he whispered, and leaned down to kiss him again, more passionate than ever but slow this time. Suoh gave it all back to him and smiled.

Nokoru felt like he couldn't speak above a whisper any more, and it was Suoh's name he said, over and over, as he undid Suoh's clothes, kisses following the parting cloth over Suoh's skin. Suoh arched under him, gasping as Nokoru's hands curved around the sharp line of his hips and Nokoru's mouth closed on his cock. Nokoru thought, distantly, that Suoh always knew him, knew what to do for him, but most of him was taken up with the texture of Suoh's skin under his fingers and the weight of Suoh between his lips and the gift of Suoh's body, stretched out and taut, under the scarf of sunlight from the window.

When Suoh moaned, husky, shuddering under Nokoru, it was enough to make him dizzy.

Nokoru twined himself tightly around Suoh, burying his head in Suoh's shoulder, and Suoh's fingers combed slowly through his hair.

"I hope you don't try to seduce ladies like this," Suoh said, at last, so solemnly that Nokoru knew he was teasing.

"No," he answered, softly. "Only you."

Suoh's arms folded around him. "Good."

End

Coals and Ink

Rukia and Orihime have some soft, quiet moments together. Written for Porn Battle, with the prompt: Rukia/Orihime, grooming as foreplay/a sign of affection. Romance, I-3

Rukia sighed happily as the soft brush stroked through her hair. One of the things she liked best about being assigned here, or at least about staying with Orihime, was having someone to brush her hair in the evenings. It reminded her of growing up, when the girls had saved broken combs to wash in the canal and do each other's hair with.

It wasn't at all the same when the Kuchiki servants did it.

She was nearly purring with contentment when Orihime stopped and patted her shoulder. "There."

"Okay." Rukia scrambled up off the pillow and turned to take the brush. "Your turn."

It still made Orihime blush a little and Rukia shook her head, rueful. "You have beautiful hair," she reminded Orihime.

"But people say it's so loud colored," Orihime murmured.

"Ichigo's hair is loud," Rukia corrected firmly. "Yours is beautiful." She stroked the brush carefully down the silky length. "Arisawa likes it, doesn't she?" Rukia smiled. "And your brother?" At Orihime's faint murmur admitting that, she nodded. "And so do I."

"Thank you." Orihime's voice as soft.

Rukia gently brushed the hair back over Orihime's shoulder and leaned in to kiss the curve of her neck. "You don't need to thank your friends for something like that." She wrapped her arms around Orihime, pleased when she leaned back into Rukia's hold.

"Thank you anyway." Orihime smiled over her shoulder, the real smile this time.

"Well. You're welcome, then." Rukia ran her fingers through the warm, shining fall of Orihime's hair and over her throat, and turned her chin gently to kiss her again. "Very welcome."

The way Orihime turned to cuddle into her, arms sliding around her waist, was all the thanks Rukia needed. "It's been a long day for everyone," she murmured into Orihime's hair. "Come to bed?"

Orihime blushed for real this time and nodded shyly, and Rukia lifted one of her hand to kiss the fingers before tugging her to her feet. "Come on then." Glancing aside, a little shy, herself, she added, "I'll make sure you sleep well."

The hair brushing wasn't the only thing she liked about staying with Orihime.

End

Without Fear

Crossover of Petshop of Horrors and Labyrinth. D seduces the fading Goblin King into the shop. Written for the Porn Battle prompt: D/Jareth, what dreams are made of. Not Exactly Romance, I-3

D looked around, fascinated. The doors of the shop went to many strange places, but they rarely took him into dream realms. The strange proportions of the granite walls, in this place, the odd plants and creatures, all spoke to him of dreams, though, and he wondered why he was here.

The shop doors never opened at random.

"Who are you?"

The man who stepped out of the air was... not exactly a man. D tilted his head. "I am called Count D. And you?"

After a moment's hesitation the man said, slowly, "I am Jareth, the Goblin King." His thin lips twisted. "Without much of a kingdom anymore, I admit."

So. D looked around, curiously. "This world seems robust," he murmured, asking without asking as was only polite.

The goblin waved a dismissive hand. "The world, yes. Creatures live here. But my magic was broken." His eyes were distant and dispassionate as he added, "I suspect I will fade soon."

"Much that is magic can be mended," D suggested delicately.

Jareth laughed, bleak and sharp and wild. "I haven't the strength any longer to find anyone who can sustain me."

"What is required?" D asked, quiet and even.

Pale, feral eyes focused on him. There was long hunger in them and D spread his hands, serenely, offering.

Given the setting, he was not entirely surprised when Jareth stepped closer, sliding one hand into his hair, tipped his head back and kissed him. He spread his hands against Jareth's chest, acquiescent. The shop would not have shown him this place if he were not needed.

"Normally," Jareth murmured in his ear, tone ironic, "I would sweep you off to my castle at this point. I'm afraid that's not possible, right now."

"Quite all right," D murmured, suppressing a smile. "I'm sure we can find something suitable." He took a small step back, hands stroking over Jareth's shoulders, down his arms.

Jareth looked at him for a long moment, unreadable, before he snorted softly. This time the twist to his mouth was wry as he followed D, step by step back through the door. Across the hall another door fell open and D backed toward it, short, quick steps that turned Jareth's gaze predatory.

When Jareth swept him up and laid him down on the huge, low bed, D had to stifle an outright chuckle. He didn't know whether his newest acquisition understood what was really happening, yet, but he was starting to think that the Goblin King might not care. "You've caught me," he said, softly, fishing for what it was, exactly, that Jareth needed.

"Yes," Jareth kissed down the line of D's throat. His hands stroked over D's body, tracing the lines of him faultlessly through the fabric of his robes. "Give yourself to me," he whispered.

"Yes," D answered, opening his mouth under Jareth's kisses, pressing against him, answering his hands. It was no more than he did for any animal in the shop, in the end.

Jareth kissed him fiercely, caught him close, lay over him as if to shelter, or perhaps separate, him from the rest of the world, and D was pliant and willing in his arms. And finally, Jareth unwound, over him, breathing out, and slumped against D's shoulder.

D smiled, soft and sad, and stroked his wild hair back, kissing his brow gently. "We'll find you proper sustenance, here," he murmured.

"You are of my kind." Jareth didn't lift his head, voice low and undone.

It was D's turn to smile a bit wryly. "Somewhat. My line is made of darker stuff than dreams, even yours."

Now Jareth lifted himself and looked down at D, eyes gleaming. "I am servant to your dreams, for now."

"My dream is your life." D met those sharp eyes steadily and they gentled. Jareth lay down again, beside him, acquiescent in his turn, slowly relaxing into sleep.

D lay awake and turned over in his mind plans for finding his newest guest a suitable human.

End

Kiss for a Lifetime

Anzu wants someone she can understand. Written for the Porn Battle prompt: Anzu/Shizuka, hand-holding, the very first time. Fluffy Romance, I-3

It took her a while to come to grips with it. After all, Yuugi was the sweetest boy she knew and his other self was, well, he was exciting. But the fact was, she didn't understand them, any of them, and she wasn't at all sure that Duelists understood normal people, either.

And the thought of kissing someone she didn't understand made her twitch.

And Honda was a goof, and Otogi-kun was too close to a Duelist in his own ways, and Mokuba was a cute kid but he was way too young!

Shizuka, though... Shizuka was sweet and brave and amazingly strong, after all just look at all she'd been through without ever even flinching. And Shizuka smiled at her and leaned against Anzu's shoulder when she laughed, and took her hand so trustingly it made her want to hold the girl close and protect her from the whole world and listen while Shizuka told her what courage looked like.

Not the courage of dragons and swords, but the courage of reaching for an earthly dream and standing firm under earthly sadness.

And that, she supposed, was how she'd come to be holding Shizuka, marveling at how slight she felt in her arms, feeling warm arms slipping around her neck, and kissing Shizuka as gentle and slow as she knew how.

Which wasn't very much yet, the knowing that was, but it was their first time, after all. They'd get better.

Although, looking at Shizuka's shy smile, feeling the softness of Shizuka's hair under her fingers, she wasn't actually sure that was possible.

End

Wind is on the Face of the Water

Just after their arrival in Nihon, Tomoyo-hime prompts Fai to get his head sorted out about Kurogane. Drama with Ambush Romance, I-3, some spoilers

Fai sat quietly by Kurogane and watched the faint glow of Tomoyo-hime's hands on Kurogane's mangled shoulder with blank eyes. Now and then he touched the hand locked around his arm. Even barely conscious, Kurogane had grabbed hold again as soon as they were settled in the palanquin. The confusion of those last moments in Celes spun through his mind's eye over and over.

"Since when..." he whispered, not expecting an answer even if Kurogane had been awake.

And so he started when Tomoyo-hime murmured, "Probably since the very beginning."

The beginning? Fai shook his head. "But..."

Tomoyo-hime looked up, hands still busy casting healing, and smiled at him, sweet and kind and merciless. "Well, what did you think, the first time you saw him?"

It was a little hard to remember that now, after all the worlds, all the events, all the words. Her smile reminded him, though, and he answered slowly. "He was so stern and determined." As memory sped up so did his words. "So urgent, but only looking at one single goal. I wanted to—" he broke off sharply.

"To make him look at you?" Her eyes twinkled before she looked down at Kurogane again. "Do you think," she added, softly, "he saw you any less clearly?"

Fai chewed on his lip. He'd been surprised, more than once, by Kurogane's perception, and he had to admit Kurogane didn't say what he saw very often. "I... suppose not."

"He is a very kind man."

Fai bent his head. "I know."

"You've helped him." One small hand reached out and touched his cheek, asking him to look up. Tomoyo was smiling again. "Thank you."

For once glib words completely deserted him and Fai shook his head helplessly. Tomoyo-hime patted his cheek, serene and unyielding.

"Come along. As soon as this is bandaged it's your turn."

Fai was rather afraid of that.

Fai washed slowly, being careful not to get his dressings wet. He didn't want to give Tomoyo-hime another chance to tell him alarming things.

Had Kurogane really... cared about him... from the very start? Fai had thought that, kind as he was, Kurogane was still wrapped up in his own determination, his insistence on returning to his home. He'd taken "it doesn't concern me" at face value, thought it was safe, right up until Tokyo.

In retrospect, that had obviously been foolish of him.

Even after, when Fai tried to make it safe again, to draw back—as well as possible while drinking Kurogane's blood which, admittedly, wasn't very—the stubborn man had refused to go.

Refused to let Fai go.

Looking back, Fai couldn't lay his finger on any single moment, or even progression of moments, that might have told him Kurogane would do such a thing, make such sacrifices to save him. And that... that probably told him something in itself.

He stared down into the steaming water, wondering what he was supposed to do now.

"No, like this. Over that finger, and brace the inner with your thumb. Don't hold them too hard or..."

The clump of rice Fai was trying to eat disintegrated and he sighed while Tomoyo-hime kindly didn't laugh at him—at least not out loud. Perhaps it was just as well Shaoran and Mokona had fallen asleep before dinner and weren't here to watch this. One more try. Ah, that was better.

"He's very much like Sakura-chan."

Fai paused with his chopsticks in his mouth and raised his brows, trying to wordlessly convey the comparison between a small, laughing, bright-eyed princess and a large, growling, glaring ninja. Tomoyo-hime just smiled and sipped from her cup.

"They love the same way."

Fai swallowed and concentrated on capturing another of his unidentifiable vegetables and tried to keep breathing. The princess' open-hearted love had been a benediction, making no demands of him, so freely poured out he could only do his best to aid her wish in return. To compare that to the quiet waiting that hid behind Kurogane's growling and snapping made his heart skip in something like panic.

Tomoyo-hime gave him a long look and made a little hm sound. "Well." She smiled brightly, in a way that made Fai instantly wary, and picked up a carafe. "Shall we drink, then?"

"Ah. I wondered if you would be here." Tomoyo-hime stepped softly into the room and slid the door shut behind her.

Fai stirred in the dimness, where he sat watching Kurogane sleep. "I didn't want to bring my misfortune on him, as well, you know" he said softly.

Tomoyo-hime stood for a long breath, looking at him steadily before she finally crossed the room with delicate steps and rapped him briskly over the head, making Fai start and duck.

Maybe it was some kind of national habit.

"Don't be foolish," she directed. "Have you forgotten that I am a miko? I would know if you truly brought misfortune, and I say that you do not."

"But..."

Tomoyo-hime shook her head, ornaments chiming. "You do not." Her firm tone brooked no hint of doubt and Fai subsided, flustered. He had never questioned that one thing; no one he really knew had. "Didn't Yuuko-san tell you?" Tomoyo-hime asked, settling down beside him and smoothing the covers over Kurogane's chest. "Everyone makes their own choices. It's from those choices that inevitability flows, not the other way around."

Fai felt as though those small hands were turning his world end for end, and shook his head mutely. Tomoyo-hime sighed and reached up to lay her hand gently on his head.

"Yuui, royal prince," she said soft and clear, "Fai D Fluorite, Mage of Celes, it was not your fault."

The words rang through him like a bell and he lifted a hand, wanting to catch and hold them. She took his hand in both her own.

"Kurogane does not believe it was your fault either. You trust his eyes, don't you?"

"Yes," Fai whispered. She had an answer for every fear, fit each one together as neatly as someone piecing back together a broken mirror, and the reflection she showed him was ragged but clear.

"You should sleep a little," she told him. "I'll call you when he wakes." Her smile turned mischievous. "If you don't know on your own, that is."

Fai's mouth quirked wryly. Clearly he wasn't going to win any argument with her tonight. "Thank you." Besides, he did want to speak with Yuuko; if Kurogane was this determined to protect Fai he couldn't complain about Fai doing the same in return. He touched Kurogane's chest one last time, feeling his heartbeat, and took that reassurance with him when he stood.

"Fai?"

He paused at the door. "Yes?"

"Remember this. This time I will say 'Welcome'. Next time, it will be 'Welcome home'."

It took him a moment to clear his throat enough to speak. "Next time, then," he said, husky, "I'll say 'I'm back'."

The moonlight lit up her smile.

End

A/N: Personally, I felt that the transition from absolute despair in Celes to everything being hunky dory in Nihon was way too abrupt. This is one attempt to explain how Fai could have gotten from the former to the latter.

Rain on the Mountain

TYL Hibari and Yamamoto in a tranquil moment. Kind-of Romance, I-3

Feet move softly over the mats of his private rooms, and he listens to them come, leaning in the open screens and looking out onto his small, private garden. Moonlight filters down through illusion and glimmers on leaves. The chill of the evening curls around the warmth of the sake cup in his fingers, a pleasing contrast.

Long hands slide over his shoulders and down his arms, and the heat of another body settles against his back. Lips brush his throat, just above the collar of his kimono where a drop of water from his wet hair is making its way down his neck, and a husky voice murmurs, "That was a good fight."

He smiles out into the stark lines of the night and leans back against Yamamoto, relaxed in the aftermath of shared intensity. "It was." It probably wasn't entirely suitable to interrupt kata, but he hadn't been able to resist and Yamamoto didn't seem to mind.

He lets Yamamoto's arms rest around his waist, the same intimacy as a razor edge screaming against his steel, both pure and clean. It's only Yamamoto whose ferocity is this clean, and he savors it the way he does the sake.

Perhaps, he thinks as Yamamoto kisses his throat again, coaxing and inviting, perhaps tonight he will see if that ferocity tastes as good elsewhere as it does when they fight.

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

Choice and Necessity

Fai and Kurogane get to have their cake fangs and eat with them too. Written for the promt: Kurogane/Fai, an ideal ending. Romance with Light Fang-porn, I-3

Kurogane frowned. "I thought that was supposed to go away when you got your magic back."

Fai prodded a still-sharp tooth with his tongue. "It doesn't seem to have." Kurogane's frown turned into a glower, but Fai just crossed his arms and looked thoughtful. "The odd thing is, I'm not... well..." He cleared his throat and looked sidelong at Kurogane.

"Not what?"

There was a bit of color on Fai's cheeks. "Not, um. Hungry. That way." He tipped his head, looking contemplative. "I could definitely do with some nice pastries, though."

Kurogane opened his mouth, disgruntled at the very memory of that whole cafe fiasco, and then closed it again as the actual meaning got through. "So... what? They're just for show or something?"

Fai looked even more thoughtful. "Hm. Well, now, I'm not sure about that." He slanted a look at Kurogane and the corners of his mouth turned up in a downright wicked smile. "Why don't we test it and see?"

It was Kurogane's turn to clear his throat, and also take a quick look to make sure the door was firmly latched as Fai prowled closer, a laugh in his blue-again eyes. "I suppose that might be... wise," he agreed, hands settling against Fai's back to hold him close and steady as Fai twined his arms around Kurogane's shoulders.

Actually, 'wise' probably wasn't the right word at all, but he couldn't think of another as Fai nibbled delicately on his neck and the sharpness of fangs made him shiver.

"Mmm, let's see," Fai purred. "Still feels right." He dragged a slow tongue over the skin he'd been biting. "Still tastes right."

"Fai," Kurogane growled, though it was a sort of relief to find the idiot mage willing to tease him about this.

Fai hesitated a moment, glancing up at him, and Kurogane's mouth quirked. "So what are you waiting for?" he murmured, combing his fingers through the softness of Fai's fair hair. "Go ahead."

Fai leaned into him, lashes lowering, and bit down.

The intensity of it made Kurogane shudder, but this time he hung on to his brain, panting, arms tight around Fai, waiting to see.

When Fai softened against his chest, draped bonelessly against him, and soft lips stroked over his throat lingeringly, he let himself moan. Fai's tongue moved over his throat, hot and slow, and Kurogane tipped his head back, breath coming short.

"Still tastes good," Fai murmured, lips brushing over his skin. Kurogane felt them curve and then Fai's hand slipped inside his kimono and long, warm fingers closed around him. "Still feels good, too."

"Fai!"

Fai stroked him slow and firm, kissing his throat open mouthed. "Yes?" There was a teasing lilt in his voice and he closed his teeth again, delicate, just letting Kurogane feel them.

He groaned, pressing Fai closer, hips rocking into Fai's hand, very glad of the wall behind his shoulders.

Fai cuddled into him, fingers still stroking firmly, and whispered against Kurogane's neck, "We can have everything. And now it's just because we want it."

The heat and relief of that understanding poured through Kurogane and drew pleasure along with it and he gasped, body arching taut. Fai made a soft, pleased sound as Kurogane's arms closed around him tighter, stroking him slowly, lapping at his throat.

Kurogane leaned back against the wall, panting, and finally gathered his thoughts enough to conclude, "So you still can you just don't have to."

Fai nodded, resting his head on Kurogane's shoulder. "It seems that way."

Kurogane bent his head and pressed his lips against Fai's hair. "All right. I don't have to hunt anyone down and kill them until they tell me how to change it back, then."

Fai laughed, bright and open. "I love you too, Kuro-chama."

Kurogane grumped a bit under his breath at the wretched nicknames but didn't let Fai go.

"Now," Fai added brightly, "about those pastries. And I want some tea, too, you make the best tea. And maybe some noodles and—"

Kurogane kissed him in the faint hope that it would shut him up. At least that was what he told himself as his arms tightened, holding his idiot mage close.

End

Time-lapse

Post-canon. Yukimura has recovered and Fuji has left tennis. They cross paths over art and weave a new acquaintance. Drama with Romance and Porn, I-3, implicit spoilers

Thirteen Months After The End

Seiichi walked slowly from one classroom full of art to the next, scribbling impressions in his notebook. One more session and the workshop would be done; he was still amazed at how much Sumitomo-sensei had fit into one weekend. It had certainly been a good experience for him, and he wanted to give good responses to his fellow students' work—especially, perhaps, to the media he was less familiar with since that had been part of the project for this workshop.

"What are you thinking?"

It was not the kind of question Seiichi expected to hear out of the blue, but he recognized this voice and so it surprised him less. "Fuji." He turned away from the first piece of the photography section. Fuji was standing at his shoulder, watching him, head tilted just a bit as if to catch a faint sound; he looked relaxed, smiling, but his gaze was sharp. Seiichi had to smile, too. He'd rather missed seeing that expression across the net, this year. "Just considering the difference between a painter and a photographer."

Fuji seemed to turn this answer over behind his eyes for a moment. "And what is the difference?"

"A photographer looks for what's present, to capture it." Seiichi spread his fingers toward the line of black and white images that flowed down the wall. He paused there, wanting to see what Fuji made of that, and wanting, with a spark of amusement, to prod back at him for having started the conversation so bluntly, so personally.

"I suppose that's true enough," Fuji finally murmured, when Seiichi didn't go on. "And a painter?"

Seiichi folded his arms, looking back at the room he'd just come from and the sweep of oil paints down canvas, colors over and under each other. "A painter looks for what isn't there, to create it."

"So. Photography is merely derivative?" There was an edge in Fuji's voice, sliding underneath his smile. "I think Hatakeyama-sensei might disagree."

Seiichi's mouth curved in answer. "Is reality derivative?" he countered.

Fuji's weight shifted back and Seiichi almost laughed. This was different from a game on the court, but similar enough to draw him. Getting Fuji Shuusuke to be serious was interesting under any circumstances.

And he hadn't had a chance to on the court, this year, after all.

"Reality simply is," Fuji finally answered.

Seiichi shrugged slightly. "And I would say the same of imagination."

Fuji was quiet for another moment, puzzlement and amusement tangling together in his quirked brows. "A moment ago you were saying how different the two art forms are," he pointed out.

"Nothing is all one color." Seiichi flashed another smile, sharper this time, deliberately provoking. "A painter learns that early on."

"And what does a photographer learn? This hasn't been a very productive seminar for you if you can't answer at least some of that," Fuji shot back.

A good shot, Seiichi acknowledged. He had to think about this one more deeply. "Answering that might take more time than we have left," he returned lightly. "Perhaps I should write you instead."

"And buy extra time," Fuji murmured. His smile grew slowly. "If I give you a time-out, I think I should get to finish the discussion face-to-face."

Seiichi had never backed down from a challenge in his life. "How about the Tokyo Metropolitan Museum, then? Next weekend?"

"Two o'clock," Fuji agreed, chin lifting.

Seiichi was looking forward to it.

Five Months Later

"Do you miss tennis so little? Or do you just miss it that much?"

Shuusuke blinked, looking down from the huge multi-media canvas, and his lips curved. Yukimura had gotten him with that one; he'd have to ask.

"What do you mean?"

"You didn't come to watch any of the matches last year." Yukimura ran a fingertip over the plaque with the title, head tipped as though contemplating the canvas or the question.

"Well, Tezuka is gone, isn't he?" Shuusuke returned lightly. It was harder to tell how frustrated Yukimura was by that, but you could practically see the steam coming off both Sanada and Atobe whenever Tezuka came up.

Yukimura's eyes cut toward him, dark. "I hadn't thought Tezuka was your only friend on that team."

Shuusuke stifled a spurt of irritation. Of course he wasn't. Eiji was still playing. And Inui. And Taka always tried to watch the matches, himself. And none of that really mattered, because Yukimura was turning the topic. "I've taken everything I can from tennis," he said, firmly turning it back.

When he saw Yukimura's tiny smile he let out a soft breath. So he'd fallen for the false bait, had he?

This was why he liked conversations with Yukimura.

"So Tezuka is part of what tennis gave you?" Yukimura probed, circling back around.

Shuusuke was silent for a moment, moving to the next canvas, this one all in greens and grays and titled Mountain, Sky. He let his eyes follow the curves of paint as he thought. Yukimura reminded him a lot of Tezuka, sometimes. Other times not. Yukimura might just understand his reasons.

"It isn't as though I found my tennis just for Tezuka," he told the silent presence behind his shoulder. "Not in the end."

Yukimura made an agreeing sound.

"But who is there, now, who can tell when I'm doing my best or not?" Shuusuke finished, quietly.

"We could."

When Shuusuke looked over his shoulder Yukimura's arms were folded. That was a sign of judgment, he knew now—of suspended patience. He couldn't help a dry laugh at the thought of how close he'd come to facing that on a regular basis.

"I thought about transferring, you know. For a while." Shuusuke turned around and leaned against the wall. "I decided not to, but—" he broke off, unsure he wanted to share the rest of it. The temptation he felt watching a game, now.

"But?" Yukimura's head tilted again, dark hair feathering over his cheek. "You still could you know."

Now it was Shuusuke's arms that were crossed, tightly. Their conversational game was getting too close to the truth. "Tennis isn't what I'm going to do when I graduate, though. Why should I transfer just for that?" He meant it to come out light and didn't think he'd managed very well.

Yukimura bowed his head. "True enough." He was the one who led the way to the next painting this time. Shuusuke rested his eyes and mind on the indigo and sleek white of this composition.

They didn't speak of anything other than artistic technique again until they were choosing sandwiches from the vending machines.

"Whatever it is, you should come watch the matches. Or you'll never settle it."

Shuusuke glanced at Yukimura to see what kind of gambit this was and stopped short, leaning half over to pick up his lunch. There was no calculation in Yukimura's expression. Not pushing, not pulling, not lying in wait. Just a simple moment of kindness, and Shuusuke found himself at a loss how to answer it.

Finally Yukimura smiled and shook his head. "So? Where should we go next time? It's your turn to choose, again."

Shuusuke regathered his wits. "Konica Minolta Plaza will have some new work by Nishigaki Kanako next month."

Yukimura laughed. "And you can scout another gallery location while we're there, right?"

Shuusuke smiled back, back on balance. "I think about the future."

That got another sober look from Yukimura. "Yes. You do. And that's good. But we all need something that takes us up completely in the now, too."

Shuusuke thought about that so hard he didn't taste his sandwich as he ate it.

Five Months Later

Finishing National matches swiftly had a psychological value that Seiichi appreciated. He thought he liked the practical value better, though, getting a chance to scout some of the other teams without having to rely on third parties. In a generation of strong players, lesser players and club hangers on quickly lost the range to judge some games and teams accurately.

Renji made a satisfied noise as they stopped by the fence and Sanada snorted in answer, crossing his arms.

"I'm simply pleased to see Sadaharu playing as I expected," Renji answered mildly.

Seiichi eyed the scoreboard. "It looks like we'll be seeing them in the quarterfinals. You think he'll place himself in Singles Two, then, against you?"

"Quite likely," Renji murmured, tilting a brow at Seigaku's third year captain, standing on the sidelines looking both pleased and stiff while Seigaku's current singles ace played, and Ooishi and Kikumaru behind him, toweling off and talking together quietly. "He will have made the same calculations I have, and that will be the deciding match."

"No mistakes this time, then," Sanada stated.

Renji's gaze didn't leave Inui's match. "Certainly not," he murmured.

A flash of light on the sidelines drew Seiichi's attention away from their half teasing, half serious exchange and his own brows rose as his eyes found the source.

Fuji was standing around one side of the court, camera in hand, photographing the match. A tiny smile tugged at Seiichi's mouth and he resettled his jacket on his shoulders and strolled around the corner. Fuji probably heard him but ignored his approach, completely absorbed, hands moving swift and sure over focus and lens adjustments and he snapped frame after frame. The last one caught Inui's final shot with what looked to Seiichi like perfect timing. He stood quietly as Fuji snapped a few more of the players' realization that the round was over.

Finally Fuji lowered his camera with a sigh and surfaced. "Yukimura." He nodded.

"Fuji." Seiichi leaned against the fence, biting back a smile. "I'd heard something about you shooting at the Prefectural games."

Fuji's eyes glinted for a moment. "Coming on my own terms seemed worthwhile."

"Always," Seiichi agreed, and watched as Fuji's hand relaxed on the camera case. "I would be interested to see how it all comes out. If you decide to show any of the results."

Fuji actually laughed at that. "I'm sure you would." His eyes turned distant as he looked across the courts. "We'll see."

Seiichi accepted that with a nod. Some things couldn't be rushed, and by now he was pretty sure Fuji was one of them.

"I might get some interesting shots of you, I suppose," Fuji mused.

Seiichi's mouth curled. "Any shots you can get you're welcome to, of course. It's a public court."

"No studio shots, then?" Fuji asked with a sly sideways glance.

Seiichi considered that for a moment and leaned back, satisfied, as the answer came to him. "If you'll sit for me in turn."

Fuji rocked back just a bit himself. Seiichi wasn't surprised; he had a few reservations about sitting still to be examined that intently and he doubted Fuji felt much different.

"I'll... think about it."

"Of course," Seiichi murmured. He couldn't take too much more time aside for this but he couldn't resist just one last shot. "Perhaps we'll see you for the next match as well, then."

Fuji gave him back a smile, sharp and slanted and oddly companionable. "Perhaps. It's a shame you didn't come by in time to see Shiraishi's second round match, too."

The teasing malice of the observation drew Seiichi back, turned him to lean into Fuji's return gambit. "Oh? Is he playing differently this year?"

Fuji gave him a perfectly sunny look, shrugging the camera strap over his shoulder. "Perhaps."

Seiichi's teeth flashed in a quick smile and he shrugged, casual. "Surprises are no problem. For those with sufficient confidence."

"I'll ask you how it went in two weeks, then," Fuji tossed over his shoulder as he moved toward the gate to join his ex-teammates.

Seiichi was chuckling under his breath as he rejoined his own.

"What was that all about?" Renji asked, curiously.

Seiichi waved a hand. "Nothing to do with tennis."

He didn't actually hear what he'd just said until both his friends turned to look at him. Then he had to pause, himself, and reflection tugged his mouth into a more rueful line. "It's just... something different," he murmured. And that might well be his motto, regarding Fuji Shuusuke. "He did mention Shiraishi," he added, "but I'm not entirely sure he wasn't just teasing."

Sanada's brows rose and Renji looked amused. "Indeed? Well, I suppose we'll see in the finals."

Seiichi spent a moment looking forward to the art-date in two weeks, and then put it aside to concentrate all his attention on the game they were really here for.

Four Months Later

Shuusuke settled into his seat with a sigh of pleasure for warmth of winter sunlight through the window and sipped the Pokka Lemon he'd found in the third vending machine.

Yukimura shuddered delicately. "I have no idea how you can drink that straight."

"I like tart things." Shuusuke chuckled reminiscently. "It's even come in handy every now and then."

Yukimura raised a brow and clearly refrained from asking. Just as well, perhaps; Shuusuke didn't know how someone who held his team's reins as tightly as Yukimura did would take Inui's wicked sense of humor.

"You're so serious," he murmured around his straw, following the train of thought. And then, because it was so apropos, teased, "You should smile more often."

Yukimura leaned his chin in one hand, mouth quirked. "I smile plenty often. But I also concentrate seriously when it's called for."

"Mmm." And that sent his thoughts right back to the gallery they'd just left, and the techniques Shuusuke had observed there. "If I were trying to capture what you are," Shuusuke mused, "I would use black and white, just like that showing. As fine grained as possible. You have so many shadings to you."

"I'll model for you when you model for me," Yukimura returned, the argument months old and well worn, now. Then he tipped his head, though, eyes dark and curious. "Is capturing what I am something that matters to you?"

He'd never asked that before and Shuusuke answered without thinking, caught up in the usual speed of their exchanges. "Yes."

They looked at each other for a long, silent moment before Yukimura finally looked away, finger tracing a bead of condensation down his water glass. His voice was soft and neutral and undemanding when he asked, "Why?"

Shuusuke opened his mouth and closed it again slowly. Because it's so hard to find was the first answer that came to his tongue, but... it didn't feel complete. If the question had been part of their usual sparring that wouldn't have bothered him. Yukimura had asked this one differently, though.

That difference was owed honesty.

"The challenge appeals to me as an artist." Shuusuke laid out the words carefully, wanting to be sure of their composition. "And being able to see what you are appeals to me as," he hesitated, but the sentence led him to it, "as a friend, I suppose."

Yukimura looked up and this smile was one Shuusuke had never seen before, bright and gentle. "All right, then."

Shuusuke blinked.

"I wasn't entirely sure, you know." Yukimura took a sip of his water. "Whether we're going to these galleries as opponents or as friends."

Habit prompted Shuusuke to ask, "How much difference is there?"

Yukimura's chin was in his hand again and he tipped his head in wry acknowledgement. "For me, sometimes not much. But I think it's different for you."

The tingle of the alertness that their sharper exchanges always brought brushed over Shuusuke, but this time it didn't make him brace as he usually did. He glanced down, moving his straw back and forth with a fingertip. "Maybe so." He looked back up. "You'll really do it?"

Yukimura laughed. "Well, I'll go first, anyway."

"Thank you." Visions of lighting effects and calculations of film speed danced through his thoughts as he stared off over the plaza, and he supposed he couldn't honestly blame Yukimura when he kept laughing.

Four Months Later

"So, this is an art classroom, right?"

"Mm," Fuji agreed around the canister top between his teeth.

"Then there must be heaters hidden around here somewhere. Go find them."

Fuji blinked. "Mm?"

"There's nothing between me and the tile floor but paper," Seiichi pointed out, tartly. "I'm about to freeze something off."

"Mm." Fuji took the top out and closed up his latest roll of film. "Okay, hang on."

Somehow, Seiichi was not surprised when Fuji turned to adjust his tripod instead of rummage in the classroom's cupboards. "Fuji," he said, low and definite, "either you pull your mind out of the inside of your cameras and get me the heaters or I'll go look for them myself."

"No, no, no! I just got the shadows right!"

Well, that had gotten his attention, at least. "Then get me the heaters," Seiichi repeated with, he thought, great patience for someone who was freezing his ass off far more literally than was usual.

Fuji sighed and finally went to root through the cupboards. "Last time you complained that the lights were too hot."

"Last time I was wearing more."

"What is it about captains and perfection? You're never satisfied." Since Fuji was shifting two small heaters over while he said it, Seiichi let that one go. "Happy?"

Warmth radiated from the grilles on either side of him and Seiichi sighed. "Much better."

Fuji looked over his shoulder as he adjusted the tripod again, with a teasing curl to his mouth. "I notice you didn't actually say you were happy. What did I just mention about perfectionism?"

Seiichi's brows rose. "And who is it who's taking fifteen minutes to get the angle just right for shots that are going to take about two minutes, if that?"

Fuji blinked as if it hadn't occurred to him and Seiichi couldn't help settling back a bit, vindicated. Fuji put his hands on his hips.

"Don't move."

"Not moving," Seiichi agreed, letting out a deep breath and holding still again as Fuji slipped behind his camera and the first click of the shutter licked through the darkened room.

Seiichi held himself still, impassive, watching the edges of the lights sliding off counters and stacked desks as Fuji moved around him. This was very odd, really, almost like some kind of meditation. It wasn't very inward, though. The touch of Fuji's attention on him was like the heat of the lights—almost a pressure. The focus wasn't entirely unfamiliar, but he was used to responding to it.

"You could smile, you know," Fuji interrupted his thoughts. "If I wanted a stonefaced model, I would ask Tezuka next time he's home."

An image of Tezuka, arranged nude on the cold tile and paper flashed through Seiichi's mind and he snorted helplessly. "Fuji! You can't tell me to hold still and then make me laugh!"

Fuji snapped three shots, rapidfire, and emerged from behind the camera looking faintly smug. "I certainly can."

Seiichi looked up at him, arrested. "You wanted me to laugh?"

Fuji made a sound of agreement. "Line and texture and shadow are one thing. I've got some shots already I think will come out very well. But something that shows how alive you are... well, that's different."

Seiichi was quiet while Fuji moved the lights for the next pose, and finally asked, "Are you going to turn that one in with your portfolio, too?"

Fuji paused, back to him. "No."

Seiichi tucked the warmth that answer brought carefully away and leaned obligingly on the box Fuji dragged over, stilling himself for the next set of planned, artistic shots, occupying his mind with where they should go for their next outing. Perhaps he would choose something besides art, this time.

Three Months Later

"Shuusuke, you have a visitor."

Shuusuke looked up from arm-deep in a bag of sandy potting soil, expecting to see Yukimura, or perhaps Eiji, and got a surprise. "Tezuka!"

"Fuji." Tezuka stepped out onto the deck with a polite bow to Shuusuke's mother.

"I thought you weren't going to be home for another four days." Fuji stood, brushing off his hands and arms and waved his friend to one of the deck chairs.

"I found a standby seat on an earlier flight." Tezuka settled into the second chair and looked with approval at the plate of onigiri Shuusuke's mother had left out for him earlier. "It's good to be back."

Having heard Tezuka's opinions of Western food before, Shuusuke chuckled and nudged the plate over to him. "So it went well."

"Fairly well." Tezuka took a bite and leaned back in his chair a bit. "The final match was close, and I'm satisfied with it. And I have an offer for endorsements."

"Tezuka, that's wonderful!" Shuusuke knew that an endorsement deal meant more money to travel and enter the important tournaments. Tezuka did not, of course, agree with him, but he smiled faintly and that was just as good.

"Everyone seems to be doing well here," Tezuka observed instead.

Familiar with his friend's thoughts, Shuusuke had no trouble decoding this. "Yes. I think Seigaku might just be at Nationals this year. It seems appropriate, for our third year again." Well, his third year, anyway, and Inui and Eiji and Ooishi's. Tezuka was on a different time table now.

Though, even if Seigaku got past Hyoutei, there would still be Rikkai to deal with. Shuusuke and Yukimura weren't talking about that this week. Instead they had argued about whether Shuusuke's translation of Mallarmé's "Un coup de dés jamais n'abolira le hasard" for his French class was taking too much poetic license, and how much was too much when translating a poem, after all.

Tezuka was looking at him with a brow quirked and Shuusuke realized he was smiling at nothing. "How long are you going to be home for this time?" he asked.

"At least a month, I think." Tezuka's fingers tapped on the arm of his chair and Shuusuke read impatience in that kind of fidgeting. "There has to be time for filming as well as training, now."

"Perhaps you can get me in to watch," Shuusuke said, lightly, and chuckled at the dour look Tezuka gave him. "Seriously, though, will it eat into your training time that badly?"

Tezuka's mouth thinned a bit. "I want to train toward entering the Australian Open, this winter."

Shuusuke sat back, letting out a slow breath. "Aiming for Federer already?"

Tezuka brushed a few grains of rice off his fingers and glanced over at Shuusuke with a tiny smile. "Of course."

Yukimura would get that glint in his eyes when he heard, Shuusuke reflected. He was already annoyed enough that Tezuka had gone on ahead, without Tezuka starting on the Grand Slam tournaments. "This should be interesting," he murmured.

"I hope so," Tezuka answered, and Shuusuke had to shake his head to pull his thoughts back onto the conversation.

"Well, if you do happen to have a day free anywhere, let me know." He smiled cheerfully.

Tezuka gave him a long look. "You have something in mind?"

"I had thought I might visit some of the area botanical gardens, this summer," Shuusuke murmured, which was entirely true. He and Yukimura already had plans for a week and a half on. There were other gardens he thought would do Tezuka more good, though.

"Which one?" Tezuka asked with prompt wariness, undiminished by over two years out of Shuusuke's immediate range.

"I was thinking an outdoorsman like you might enjoy Atagawa park in Shizuoka." Shuusuke nibbled delicately at a rice ball.

"I'll see, then."

Shuusuke looked forward to the email he'd get when Tezuka looked Atagawa up and found the bit about the alligators. He grinned behind his snack. He liked to think that, when Yukimura went pro, he and Tezuka might meet at tournaments and have the extra bond of both having been teased by Shuusuke. He'd consider it his personal contribution to their professional rapport.
When Yukimura went pro and Shuusuke's weekends were reduced to repotting his cacti and buying new lenses without anyone along to talk to who understood why light was important and days without anyone who laughed at his teasing. Without someone who sometimes, lately, touched the back of Shuusuke's hand in a way that made his breath catch. Shuusuke quashed a sigh. He didn't want to think about that.
"So, at any rate, tell me more about this last tournament." He settled back in his chair and prepared to listen.

Eight months Later

Seiichi dug through his drawers and frowned. "Do I already have a blue T-shirt in the packing pile?" he called over his shoulder.

"No, just the black one."

Seiichi made an annoyed sound and went to rummage through his closet. "Are you sure you should be helping me pack instead of getting a start on your reading for classes?" he asked over his shoulder.

Fuji shrugged. "I can catch up. You're going to be gone for five weeks this time."

Seiichi smiled, folding his blue T-shirt. "Maybe you'll have some new art to show me, when I get back, then, instead of having to go look at other people's."

Fuji shorted. "In between my coursework."

"Since when has that ever stopped you?"

Fuji shrugged again, and Seiichi frowned a little. "If you wanted to go professional right away, you could have..."

"Like you?"

The question had an edge to it, one Seiichi didn't often hear from Fuji any more. He tossed the T-shirt into his bag and turned to look at Fuji directly. "What's wrong?"

Fuji looked away. "It's nothing."

Seiichi waited, patiently.

Fuji crossed his arms, frowning down at them. "Everyone's leaving," he murmured, finally.

"Not everyone, surely," Seiichi said softly.

"Both my best friends take up a lot of space when they're gone." Fuji still didn't look up.

"You know we'll always come back, though."

Fuji's mouth tightened.

Seiichi sighed to himself. So that's what it was. He laid a hand on one tense shoulder and said, quietly, "Shuusuke."

His friend's eyes widened a little. It was the first time Seiichi had called him by his given name.

"This is still home."

Shuusuke smiled, but the shadows didn't leave his eyes. "I know."

Seiichi stifled a snort. No one had ever budged Fuji Shuusuke when he didn't want to be budged, and he'd clearly decided he was going to lose something. Seiichi had practice overcoming the immovable and impossible, though, and he had no intention of being lost, no matter what Shuusuke thought.

He turned his hand over and cupped Shuusuke's cheek, thumb stroking over his cheekbone, and Shuusuke leaned into the touch, but those shadows stayed, flavored with a hesitance that made Seiichi's voice gentle, even in his exasperation.

"This is home," he repeated with deliberate emphasis, and leaned down and brushed his lips over Shuusuke's.

Shuusuke's hand closed tight around his wrist, and Seiichi's mouth quirked. Even after that, Shuusuke wouldn't reach for what he wanted, wouldn't hold Seiichi in place, would only ask around the edges. Time to try something else, then.

"Listen," he murmured against Shuusuke's mouth. "Whatever else is happening, even if it's a major tournament, even if it's a Grand Slam tournament, I will be here for your first gallery showing. I promise."

Shuusuke's breath hitched against his lips, and he stared up at Seiichi, last of the shadows finally wiped away by shock. "Seiichi..."

Seiichi smiled. "I promise."

Shuusuke closed his eyes and laughed, husky, and took a long breath. "All right." When he opened them again, his eyes were clear.

"I believe you."

Three Years Later

"An amazingly good show, Fuji-san, all things considered. I'm sure we'll all have to keep an eye on you in the future!"

Shuusuke smiled quite insincerely at the woman and murmured his thanks. He resolved to apologize to Yuuta the next time they were both at their parents' house for dinner; the condescension of the art critics was making his jaw clench in a way he found extremely familiar from watching his brother, and if this was how Yuuta had felt for years, well. A lot of things became clearer.

He passed on, mingling with the respectable crowd, being sure to smile and nod politely no matter how inane the remarks. He wished Seiichi could have been home for this show. He was better than Shuusuke at being charming and imperious at the same time.

In a way, of course, Seiichi was here. Shuusuke smiled genuinely as his gaze passed over the sequence of five photos that had pride of place in the gallery. The fluid arch of Seiichi's spine, and the shadows that turned the muscles of his legs into an abstract had turned out just the way Shuusuke envisioned, and he had named the series "Edges of Perfection".

His face was starting to ache from the constant smiling, though, and he thought it was time for a break. Slipping past some unused panels into the back room, he rummaged out a paper cup and ran some water. His mouth was certainly grateful, after so long chatting.

"Hiding from your fans?"

Shuusuke's eyes widened and he had just started to turn when arms slid around him, catching him back against Seiichi's chest. He laughed softly. "Weren't you supposed to be in France this week?"

"I told my manager it would cost about the same to fly home and back as to live there for the time until the tournament. I started telling him as soon as you wrote to say you had a showing." Seiichi dropped a light kiss under Shuusuke's ear.

Shuusuke leaned back with a pleased sigh. "Mm. You don't have to make it home for every one."

"Just all of them that I can." Seiichi's lips curved against his neck. "So are you hiding out, back here?"

Shuusuke let his head rest back against Seiichi's shoulder. "Just taking a break. First one this evening, I should point out." He could feel Seiichi's laugh against his spine.

"Good. They won't miss you for a little while, then." Seiichi's hand slid down Shuusuke's chest, and further down his stomach. "I missed you," Seiichi murmured in his ear, hand finally coming to rest between Shuusuke's legs.

"Seiichi..." Shuusuke's voice was suddenly husky. He could feel the heat of Seiichi's palm through the fabric of his slacks. "You pick the strangest places."

Seiichi laughed again. "What, you didn't think the studio was appropriate?" His fingertips rubbed up and down Shuusuke's length. "It was just the way you were looking at me."

"Through a lens?" Shuusuke teased back, breathless.

"Focused," Seiichi corrected, tongue tracing lightly over Shuusuke's ear. "Completely intent. I love seeing you that way."

"Seiichi," Shuusuke said, low and insistent, and lifted a hand to twine through Seiichi's hair, tilting his head back until he could catch Seiichi's mouth. Seiichi's hand tightened between his legs and he made an approving sound.

"Since you're sure," Seiichi murmured, and his fingers worked Shuusuke's slacks open and slid inside to wrap around him.

"Very," Shuusuke agreed, a bit distracted. The heat of Seiichi's fingers was taking up all his attention, and the faint roughness of Seiichi's calluses. "Nnnn..." He leaned back into Seiichi, hips rocking up into the touch. Seiichi's hands always made him stop thinking, especially when they moved over him slow and hard and deliberate, and he tipped his head back further as Seiichi's mouth moved down his throat. The wet slide pulled a shiver down his spine; this was Seiichi, present and dense and sensual, and later he would want to capture those things in light on film, but sensation was their medium right now and this picture, this pleasure was too immediate for him to want anything but to complete it. Seiichi pulled Shuusuke back more tightly against him and his hips ground hard into Shuusuke's rear. The sound Seiichi made, half moan and half growl, made Shuusuke's stomach tighten, and the hardness of Seiichi's cock pressing against his ass made him think of sun-warm afternoons draped naked over the velvet arm of their couch, and thinking of that sent a tingle of heat through him so sharp that it condensed pleasure around it. Shuusuke had just enough mind left to bite back the open moan as he came. Seiichi's mouth covered his again, kissing him fierce and hot as Seiichi's hips jerked against his ass.

It took Shuusuke a few minutes before he could say, breathless and laughing, "Welcome home."

"Mm. I'm back," Seiichi murmured against his ear.

The visceral proof of the polite phrases left a warm glow in Shuusuke's bones and he breathed out a soft sigh. They stood together for another moment until Seiichi reached past him to the towels over the sink and Shuusuke had to laugh again, quietly, with genuine amusement, as they cleaned themselves up. Seiichi drew him back for another kiss, when they were done.

"So, have you had enough of a break?" There was a certain amount of mischief in Seiichi's eyes.

"You want to go back out with me and watch people admiring you?" Shuusuke teased back.

"Admiring your work," Seiichi corrected serenely.

They strolled side by side through the crowd and Shuusuke was amused to watch how many of the critics suddenly found a reason to simply smile and nod at him. They paused by the images of Seiichi, and the original looked up at them thoughtfully.

"I'll tell you another thing that photographers learn," he murmured.

It was their second oldest game, the only one they both still played, and Shuusuke tipped his head inquiringly.

"Photographers learn that there are two subjects in any photo: the one in front of the camera and the one behind it." Seiichi looked back down at Shuusuke with the smile that was reserved for him, gentle and intent.

A delicate shiver brushed down Shuusuke's spine. There was nothing he would trade for the way Seiichi saw him, saw all of him.

Nor for the way he saw Seiichi.

He reached out to lace their fingers together briefly, out of sight of the crowd. "If they have subjects that touch them. Yes."

Seiichi's thumb stroked the inside of Shuusuke's wrist before he let go. "You didn't get much of a drink earlier. Come get another, and tell me things."

Shuusuke smiled. "Well, I've been asked to teach at a workshop on artistic technique next week..."

End

A Brighter Shade of Red

Crossover of Saiunkoku Monogatari and Fushigi Yuugi. Shuurei has a friend and advisor who is apart from the capital's politics; Yui has a place for her abilities and a lover who reminds her of them. Drama with Romance and Porn, I-4

Yui curled up on the bed, one hand propping up her head, and watched Shuurei pace the room, sleeping robe fluttering around her ankles.

"And then! And then! He said we couldn't do anything about Haruki, even if he is taking bribes, because he has a patron from the Heki clan, and I should know that the Heki are going to be the deciding voice in the land redistribution this year!" Her brown eyes snapped like sparks; Yui felt she might warm her hands at that fire of Shuurei's, melt the ice out of her bones, where it had settled years ago.

In any case, she could help feed it. She pursed her lips, paging, in her mind, through the scrolls she had read—she'd thought at first just to have something to do. "Well, you know I haven't gotten through as much of your historical law as I'd like, so there may be a contradictory precedent I don't know about..."

Shuurei turned to her with wide, hopeful eyes, and Yui chuckled.

"The Heki own a lot of land rights outside their province, yes, but isn't it all subsoil rights? If another block were to buy up the topsoil leases, then that would take effective control of the land away from the Heki, wouldn't it? I'm sure I read about this just a little while ago."

Shuurei stood still, clasped hands pressed against her lips, eyes suddenly wide. "Oh. Oh yes. And then it wouldn't matter how the redistribution went, because the usage rights would already be tied up. I wonder... if the Emperor could regain control of that land this way it would pull more power back from the great families... " She nodded decisively. "I'll write to Uncle, tomorrow, about supporting that."

"Always thinking about the bigger picture." Yui smiled at her. "That's why you're a politician and I'm not." Actually, the political tangles here still made Yui's head spin sometimes.

Shuurei snorted at this, impatient as always with anything that sniffed of self-deprecation. "Just one of the best law scholars in the capital. Even if almost no one but me knows it yet." Shuurei picked up her discarded hairbrush to finish brushing out her hair.

Yui shrugged, smiling. "I always thought I might want to go into law, when I was younger. I like having the chance to do it, now."

Shuurei looked over her shoulder, gentle now. "Maybe that's why you came here."

Yui turned over on her back, looking up at the ceiling. "Maybe. Who knows." Her mouth quirked. "Besides, possibly, Riou." Who she tried to stay away from. She dealt with mysticism even worse than politics, these days.

Shuurei sighed, running her fingers through her loose hair. "Riou came to talk to me again yesterday. He thinks I'll stop caring for politics and such 'little things' sooner or later." She sat down on the edge of the bed with a glum sigh. "Probably sooner, according to him."

"I think he's dreaming," Yui said dryly. "I'm grateful enough he placed me with you, when I first came here, but honestly. I can't imagine you ever not caring about this." More softly, "About your people." It was one of the things that fascinated her enough to stay here with Shuurei—her care, her idealism and ruthlessness, each passing effortlessly through her hands in its time, like juggled balls.

Shuurei tangled her fingers together. "I can't either," she said to them, "but... I'm..."

Yui silently cursed Riou for stirring up Shuurei's doubts again. She reached out and pulled Shuurei down to her. "Shhh. Whatever your mother was, you're you." She kissed Shuurei softly and smiled. "See?"

Shuurei laughed, finally relaxing, winding her arms around Yui. "I'm so glad you came," she said, muffled, against Yui's shoulder.

"I think I am, too," Yui whispered into the darkness of her hair.

Shuurei leaned up on an elbow, eyes wide with mock alarm and sparkling. "You think? That won't do at all!" She pressed closer against Yui and kissed her back, considerably more sensually, open and unselfconscious.

Yui made a soft sound, lips parting, hands sliding down the full curves of Shuurei's body under the robe. "Going to convince me to be more enthusiastic?" she asked, husky.

Shuurei, who was always at her best with a challenge, downright grinned, hands busy with the tie of Yui's sleeping robe. "I think so, yes."

Yui laughed. Having met Kochou she didn't wonder any more at Shuurei's boldness and humor about this. And then she moaned softly as Shuurei's hands stroked over her skin.

She had never told Shuurei, and she never would, that whatever Shuurei's heritage was, it did change her. Her hands reminded Yui a little, just a little, of being touched by a god, a glow of rightness and presence that wasn't physical but still heated Yui's body.

Just enough to calm Yui's lingering hunger and let her feel this world properly.

"Ahh..." Yui's breath deepened and she arched up into the wet heat of Shuurei's mouth on her breast. "Very convincing," she gasped.

"Mm?" Shuurei's tongue stroked her nipple. "And this?" Slim fingers slid down between Yui's legs, touching her gently.

Yui was losing track of the game in the pleasure, but managed to whisper, "Very glad to be here," before the sweetness curling down her nerves distracted her entirely. She spread her legs wider, lifting up into the touch, and Shuurei kissed her, murmuring soothing half words, fingers rubbing slow and easy, coaxing and gentle, the way she'd always touched Yui from the first moment they'd met and Shuurei had gathered up her hands in welcome.

Shuurei's fingers dipped into her and slid back up, bold and slick, and Yui gasped, hips rocking up. She loved Shuurei's ease with their bodies. It sank her down into the heat, into a feeling of safety as Shuurei's familiar, mortal and human curves pressed against her and dark hair slipped down to brush her cheek like another caress. "Shuurei," she breathed, arms tightening around her as pleasure curled tighter and tighter and finally broke through her, hot and strong and open.

Shuurei held her close until she sighed and relaxed back against the sheets. Yui nuzzled the curve of Shuurei's neck and murmured, "You know I'll stay with you." She hadn't missed the tiny flicker of darkness in Shuurei's eyes before teasing covered it.

Shuurei blushed a little, soft and happy, and snuggled up against her. "I know. It's wonderful; thank you."

"Mm, thank you," Yui returned, and they laughed together, light and breathless.

Sometimes, when Yui ran her fingers through Shuurei's sleek, dark hair, she remembered Miaka leaning against her, Miaka's hands reaching toward her. But when Shuurei smiled, warm as the sun and twice as brilliant, dragons and gods and the dimmed day-to-day world that came after washed out of Yui's mind, and she, too, was very glad she had come to this place. A place where the eyes of the person who touched her saw beauty and wisdom, not fragments and foolishness. It made her think she might become what Shuurei saw.

She held Shuurei closer and murmured against her ear, "Do I get a bedtime story tonight?"

"Of course." Shuurei hooked a leg comfortably around Yui's. "What do you want to hear about?"

"Tell me more about the Chancellery..."

End

A/N: The author would like to note that this story is entirely the fault of Lys ap Adin, fic enabler extraorinaire.

They Also Serve

Kyouko and Haru deal with Family (and family) politics. This fic was originally written for the first round of khr_undercover and has been revised from the originally-posted version, mostly for the sake of development and expanding a few things. Post-TYL arc, assuming a divergent future; safe for general audiences.

The first day of her official duty as Sawada Kyouko's personal bodyguard was nothing like I-Pin had imagined it would be.

There was a lot more crying than she'd expected, for one.

The house majordomo, Sergio, had provided her with a copy of Kyouko-san's daily schedule, looking all the while like he wasn't convinced that such secrets should be entrusted to a seventeen-year-old girl. I-Pin had memorized it, even though she'd already known most of the particulars, and presented herself promptly, just as Sawada-san was kissing Kyouko-san goodbye after their breakfast. He smiled at her and thanked her, again, for being willing to serve in this fashion, and then headed in the direction of his study, where Gokudera-san would be waiting to start the day's business.

Kyouko-san went in the opposite direction, to the private morning room that looked out over the east gardens where she and Haru-san normally had a cup of morning tea together and—I-Pin wasn't entirely sure what Kyouko-san and Haru-san could spend morning after morning talking about, but she supposed she would find out. I-Pin followed after her, trying to ignore the butterflies in her stomach at the thought that this was it—she had really, truly been given charge of the safety of the Vongola Tenth's wife.

"It's so good to have you here, I-Pin," Kyouko-san murmured, when they'd come to the little sun-soaked room, and pressed I-Pin's hand between her own. "You don't know what it means to me."

"It's my honor, Sawada-san," I-Pin said, embarrassed by how damp her palms were and the way Kyouko-san took no notice of it.

"None of that, now." Kyouko-san released her hand. "I remember when you used to call me 'nee-chan'. Don't be formal with me now. It'll make me feel old."

"But—I—" I-Pin stopped when Kyouko-san laughed. "Perhaps in private?" she ventured, for the sake of compromise.

"I suppose that's only proper." Kyouko-san turned and gestured at the little tea table and its array of teacups and pastries, already waiting for Kyouko-san and Haru-san. "Will you join me while we wait for Haru?"

"I don't think that would be proper," I-Pin said, after a moment's hesitation.

Kyouko-san's smile was rueful. "If you insist." She sat, and poured a cup of tea for herself. "I hope you don't mind this duty," she said, as she added a bit of sugar to the cup and stirred it. "It won't be nearly as exciting as the things the boys get up to, or what Bianchi-san does. The Vongola's wife tends not to get out very much."

"Of course I don't mind!" I-Pin bit her lip, and then rushed on, before her sense of propriety could get the better of her. "I'm so young, and this is my first assignment for the Vongola... It's such an honor to be given such an important task. I don't think I—I don't think I really deserve it."

"Of course you do," Kyouko-san told her, brisk. "I wouldn't have requested you, otherwise, and Gokudera wouldn't have agreed if he hadn't thought the same."

It wasn't elegant, or professional, to gape. I-Pin gaped at her, nonetheless. "You requested me?"

Kyouko-san smiled at her. "I did. Sometimes it seems like Haru and I are drowning in a sea of testosterone."

Haru-san let herself in just in time to hear that. "What's this about testosterone?" she asked, taking the second seat at the table.

Kyouko-san poured a second cup of tea. "I was just explaining why we're so glad to have I-Pin back."

"It's because boys are stupid," Haru-san said.

Kyouko-san paused in the act of handing her the teacup, and I-Pin stared. "Haru? Is everything—"

"I'm fine," Haru-san said, but I-Pin thought that she certainly didn't look fine. Her lips were pinched, and as I-Pin watched, she helped herself to one of the delicate pastries that were heaped on a plate, only to begin tearing it to pieces.

Kyouko-san put the teacup down. "What happened?"

Haru-san shook her head. "It's nothing. He just proposed again."

"...ah." The syllable was full of understanding. "You fought?"

Haru-san drew a breath. "For a while. Like usual."

Kyouko-san seemed to be studying her. "Normally, you like fighting with him."

That seemed to be enough to tip the balance of Haru-san's composure. "Normally he doesn't all but call me a whore to my face!" she exploded, and then burst into tears. "I'm sorry," she choked out, between gasping sobs. "I don't know why that bothers me—we always say such awful things to each other—we never mean them, except last night it seemed like he did, and—"

"Shh," Kyouko-san murmured, as she moved her chair around the table and put her arms around Haru-san, while I-Pin watched, mute with astonishment. She'd heard the rumors that Gokudera-san and Haru-san had a stormy sort of relationship, but Lambo-kun had been irritatingly vague on the particulars, and certainly hadn't said anything that would have made her expect this.

Haru-san leaned against Kyouko-san; after a few more gulping sobs, I-Pin could see her taking hold of herself again. "I'm so sorry," she said, as Kyouko-san produced a handkerchief. Haru-san accepted it to wipe her eyes, and then stared at the smudges of makeup on the pale cloth. "Damn it."

"It's only a handkerchief," Kyouko-san said. "Don't—"

Haru-san shook her head. "I'm being a terrible bother." She straightened her shoulders. "Especially over such a silly fight."

Kyouko-san, I-Pin noticed, simply pressed her lips together tightly, and said nothing.

Haru shook herself. "Give me just a moment," she said. "I'll wash my face, and we can get down to business."

"Take your time." Kyouko-san watched her leave the room, drumming her fingers against her knee, as if considering something. Then she rose and went to the side table, and dialed something on the house telephone. When she spoke, it was in a tone that I-Pin was sure she'd never heard Kyouko-san use before. "Tsuna? Yes, I'm sorry for interrupting you, but it's important. Is Gokudera still with you?" She paused for the answer, and her mouth firmed. "Good. When you're finished with him, send him to me. I need to speak to him." She listened. "Thank you."

She returned the receiver to its cradle, and restored her chair to its proper place. When she'd done that, she favored I-Pin with a wan smile. "I'm so glad you're here. It would be... difficult to handle this in front of one of the boys."

"I'm not sure I understand what's happening," I-Pin admitted.

"It's a very long story. Listen for a bit and see whether it comes clear." Kyouko-san busied herself with filling a plate with a selection of the tea dainties. "If not, then we'll find a way to muddle through an explanation."

It was on the tip of her tongue to ask what was so wrong between Haru-san and Gokudera-san that a proposal would cause them to fight, but the sad, set look in Kyouko-san's eyes made her bite her tongue.

When Haru-san returned, her eyes were puffy, but her expression was composed. "Are those the ones I like?" she asked, when Kyouko-san gave her the little plate.

"I asked for them, just for you." Kyouko-san's expression had gone back to the sweet, gentle smile I-Pin was used to seeing.

"You're wonderful." Haru-san fell upon the little cakes. "Never let Lucia-san go. The woman's a saint and a marvel."

"Isn't she? Rosetti-san is never going to forgive me for hiring her away from them." Kyouko-san sipped her tea, with a complacent smile. "How was your shopping yesterday? Find out anything?"

Haru-san looked at I-Pin and then Kyouko-san, and only answered when Kyouko-san tipped her chin in a brief nod. "It was sparse."

"Tell me anyway," Kyouko-san said, over the rim of her cup.

"I still haven't found anyone willing to talk to me. The Modigliani are terribly closemouthed." Haru-san frowned. "The one man who was willing to give me the time of day wanted to hear about the Vongola's business."

Kyouko-san looked troubled. "Mm. I don't like that."

"How do you think I feel? Men are supposed to be putty in my hands, not concrete." Haru-san nibbled on one of the pastries. "Maybe I just need to give it more time. Flirt harder or something, or get closer to someone who's not a foot soldier."

Kyouko-san looked even more troubled at that. "Be careful, Haru. If anyone realizes—"

"I'm always careful." Haru-san tossed her head. "No one's going to realize anything I don't want them to." She punctuated that with one of her chirpy giggles and a smile that I-Pin would have supposed was genuine, if it hadn't been for the lingering redness of her eyes and the very serious look on Kyouko-san's face. "Don't worry. I'll be fine, and I still bet you that I'm going to be able to get to the bottom of this before—well, before anyone else does."

"Mm," Kyouko-san said, and looked up. Her expression changed, and she laughed. "Why so confused, I-Pin?"

I-Pin felt her cheeks turn hot, and she tried to school her expression. "I'm sorry, Kyouko-san. I was—um. It's nothing."

Haru-san's mouth kicked up at the corners. "You're wondering what on earth we're talking about, that's all."

I-Pin ducked her head, acknowledging the point.

"It's as I told you," Kyouko-san said, after a moment. "The Vongola's wife isn't free to move around. There's not much I can do about that, but I do have to know what's going on. Tsuna tells me what he can, but..."

Haru-san picked up where Kyouko-san's voice trailed off. "He has a tendency not to share some things."

"He doesn't want to upset me," Kyouko-san said, tone mild.

"He just doesn't think it's any of your business," Haru-san retorted. To I-Pin's ears, the exchange sounded practiced, like they'd had it many times. "None of us can afford to be ignorant of what's going on around us. Especially not Kyouko-chan."

"So Haru is my eyes and ears." Kyouko-san looked at Haru-san, expression something that I-Pin couldn't quite decipher: it looked like affection and regret and worry, all mixed together. "She finds out the things they don't tell me, and together we piece them into something that I can use to help the Vongola."

"It's a dirty job, but someone's got to do it." Haru-san grinned, cheerful.

"That someone doesn't have to be you," Kyouko-san murmured. "We could—"

Haru-san interrupted her. "We're not having this argument again." Her voice was almost harsh. "You need me, and no one else can do what I can do for you. No one else is going to have the position I've created for myself and no one else is going to have my protection, and besides, I want to do this for you."

"But when it costs you so much..." Kyouko-san began, and stopped at the fierce look Haru-san gave her.

"Am I or am I not your right hand?" Haru-san demanded. "I knew perfectly well what I was getting into from the beginning."

Kyouko-san's mouth quirked. "That was more than I knew," she said, and sighed. "You're not just my right hand, you're my only hand, and I do wish you would have a care for yourself."

"Don't worry so much about me. I can take care of myself." Haru-san's tone was very nearly brusque, as if she was defying either of them to mention the tears from just a few minutes ago. "Anyway, it's not going to be just me for that much longer. We're already off to a good start, yes?"

I-Pin found her position changed abruptly from interested observer to the focus of their scrutiny. After a moment, she understood their twin looks. "Me?" she said, alarmed. "But I—why me?"

"You can get to places that even I can't," Haru-san said, blunt. "I'm not a fighter, so the boys don't take me seriously, and I can't flirt for information inside the Vongola because Hayato would lose face if I did. You're Kyouko-san's bodyguard. You're practically one of the boys yourself."

"But—what about Bianchi-san? Or Chrome-san?" I-Pin said, a little desperate. "I mean—they're much more important and they know their way around—"

"And Chrome belongs to Tsuna," Kyouko-san said, gently. "And Bianchi-san..."

"Bianchi-neesan is already part of the Vongola system," Haru-san said. "She's already focused on her role. We want people who are willing to be more flexible." She paused; I-Pin thought it must have been deliberate. "And whose interests will follow Kyouko-chan's."

I-Pin froze. "I—but—" she said, with the sense memory of kneeling before Sawada-san and the solid metal of his ring beneath her lips flashing through her mind. "I've already promised to serve the Tenth. I kissed his ring."

Haru-san's smile was tiny. "So did I. And Kyouko-chan, she wears his ring. We both still serve the Vongola. It's just... in our own way."

"If you say yes," Kyouko-san murmured, "and you don't have to, if you prefer not to—but if you say yes, the things I will ask you to do will be for the sake of helping me help Tsuna. Do you see?"

I-Pin bit her lip till it stung. "I—may I think about it?"

"Of course." Kyouko-san's smile was gentle. "Speak to Tsuna, too, if that would help set your mind at ease."

There was really only one proper response to that; I-Pin bowed. "Thank you, Kyouko-san."

"Think nothing of it." Kyouko-san refreshed her tea, and turned back to Haru-san. "So you're having as much trouble with the Modigliani as everyone else is."

"A little less, I think." Haru-san's smile was sharp. "I was the one who noticed there was something wrong there in the first place."

"True. Again, Tsuna thanks you for that." Kyouko-san sipped her tea. "What of the other Families? Anything interesting I should know?"

Haru-san lifted a shoulder, shrugging. "Not really. The Barassi are starting to think about marrying off their younger daughter. It looks like the Orsini and the Leone are both going to try for her hand." She thought for a moment. "Feretti-san's mistress may be pregnant, so things are upset there."

"I imagine so. Poor Maria." Kyouko-san sipped her tea. "He's not still threatening to put her aside for the mistress, is he?"

"Why do you think they're so upset?" Haru-san asked, tone dry.

"Perhaps I'll have her to tea," Kyouko-san said. "It's not much, I suppose, but I do like Maria. She's so sensible."

"And goodness knows we could use as much of that as we can find," Haru-san said, and then snapped her fingers. "Oh yes. Vieri-san is expecting again."

"Again?" Kyouko-san looked astonished. "She already has five!"

"Well, in another few months, she'll have six." Haru-san drained her teacup, and shook her head at Kyouko-san's abortive move towards the teapot. "Better her than me, that's all I can say."

"Maybe this time she'll have that girl she's been wanting," Kyouko-san murmured. She glanced at her watch and started. "My goodness, is that the time already?"

"It is," Haru-san said, looking at her own watch. "That's about all the gossip I have for you at the moment, anyway. I'm going into town later to see what my girls have to say. Hopefully, we can get to the bottom of this Modigliani business soon."

"That would be nice. Tsuna's worrying over it too much." Kyouko-san looked up at Haru-san as she stood. "Haru. Do be careful."

Haru-san's smile was quick. "I'm always careful, remember?" She smoothed her skirt, laughing at the sound Kyouko-san made, and let herself out.

I-Pin waited for a sign from Kyouko-san; the itinerary she'd memorized suggested that the next thing Kyouko-san would do would be a trip downstairs to speak to Sergio and make sure that the household's affairs were running smoothly.

Kyouko-san stayed seated instead, and finished her cup of tea, quietly—waiting for Gokudera-san, I-Pin supposed. Presently, she set the teacup down and took up the handkerchief she'd lent to Haru-san, and spread it across her knee. The smudges of Haru-san's mascara were very dark against the fabric. "It would be a good idea if you could make yourself as inconspicuous as you can," she said, studying the handkerchief.

"Of course, Kyouko-san." I-Pin dipped her head and then retreated to the corner, where she could watch the room, and stilled herself.

Not long after that, someone knocked on the door, and Kyouko-san called for them to come in. It was Gokudera-san; he left the door open behind him, until Kyouko-san said, voice very clear and calm, "Close the door, Gokudera."

I-Pin had a good vantage point for watching his face; Kyouko-san's tone turned his expression wary. "Is that appropriate, Kyouko-san?"

"Close the door," Kyouko-san said, again, voice so calm that it sent chills running down I-Pin's spine. "I'm sure I-Pin will be able to guard our reputations for us."

Gokudera-san glanced at I-Pin, but shut the door. "You wanted to speak to me?"

"Yes," Kyouko-san said. "I have some things to say to you." When Gokudera-san nodded to show that he was listening, she went on. "This is about Haru."

Gokudera-san's mouth went flat. "Kyouko-san, with all due respect, I have a lot of things I have to get done today. I don't think now's the time to be talking about my personal life."

"And I disagree with you," Kyouko-san said, and that was when I-Pin finally placed her tone: it was the same one that rang in Sawada-san's voice when he was in the grip of his Will. "Has it honestly never occurred to you that perhaps Haru has more to do with her life and for the Vongola than to sit around at home and make your babies?"

"No," Gokudera-san said, mouth still flat, lines etched at the corners of it. "But maybe it would have if she did more with her time than spending it shopping and gossiping and flirting with other men, since those are services that I didn't think the Vongola really needed."

Kyouko-san's voice didn't get any louder, but it turned sharper. "Do you think the only way to serve the Vongola is to carry a gun or a box weapon? Or the only life a person can give is the one that the body holds? Does service only matter when it comes to the forms you approve of?"

"Of course not, but I'll be damned if I can see how frittering your life away does anyone any good at all," Gokudera-san snapped.

"Is that what you think we've been doing?" Kyouko-san asked, and I-Pin had to suppress a shiver at the still expression in her eyes.

She'd always thought Gokudera-san was a smart man; certainly he was smart enough now to say, "Not you, Kyouko-san. You're the Tenth's wife. You couldn't fritter away your life if you wanted to."

"And yet all I do is spend my time giving parties and standing by Tsuna's side with a pretty smile," Kyouko-san said. "How very useless of me."

Gokudera-san backtracked faster. "You're the last person I would call useless," he said, gesturing. "I don't know how many times I've seen you jigger a negotiation in our favor just by saying the right thing and smiling. You're one of the most respected women in the mafia world."

"Then tell me this," Kyouko-san said, slow and deadly calm, "how do you suppose I know what exactly the right thing to say is?"

Gokudera-san blinked. "I assumed the Tenth must tell you things." He smiled. "And maybe women's intuition?"

"Then you're ten kinds of fool, Gokudera Hayato." Kyouko-san's voice cut like the fine edge of a knife. "The kinds of things I need to know aren't found in how many men the Barassi can muster or what kinds of box weapons are in production now. I need to know who's allied with whom and what they get out it, who's feuding this week and where their weak spots are, and who holds the balance of power and who doesn't. I have to know where the right word would help and what the right word is. I have to pay attention to which Families have sons at loose ends, and whose mistress is pregnant this week, and who has a daughter they'll trade to another Family for trade concessions, and who was insulted at last week's garden party and won't speak to the Leone for love or money. There's no intuition to it. It's a lot of hard work, and a lot of sifting through hints and rumors and speaking to the right people and cultivating the right contacts. And I ask you, Gokudera, is that the kind of information that you think Tsuna can give me?"

Gokudera-san opened his mouth, and then seemed to think better of it. "...some of it," he said, finally. "And I know he receives reports about some of the other things."

"And where do you think those reports come from?"

"I..." Gokudera-san stopped, and stared at her. "Surely not."

"From me," Kyouko-san said. "And my information comes from Haru and the network of contacts she's built up, piece by piece and person by person, for years now. She goes where I can't and sees the things that I won't ever see and listens for the things that will never reach my ears." She stopped, and drew a breath, and said, with slow, careful emphasis, "Tsuna is not the only member of this Family who has a right hand, and without Haru, I couldn't do the many things I do for Tsuna and the Vongola."

"Your..." Gokudera-san began, and stopped, like he couldn't quite bring himself to say it.

"My right hand," Kyouko-san said. "The one who does the things I'm not able to do. The one who puts herself into danger every day when she speaks to the men of other Families and cultivates them for whatever tidbits of knowledge she can coax out of them." She stopped, perhaps to let that sink in, and then picked up the stained handkerchief that had been sitting, forgotten, on her knee.

The motion caught Gokudera-san's eyes, and he stared at it. The moment comprehension flickered over his poleaxed expression, Kyouko-san spoke again. "A married woman isn't free to act, you know. It wouldn't be honorable. But a woman who isn't so firmly bound... she can, perhaps, flirt with whomever she likes. If it's known that she has a man—a protective man, a dangerous man, a man whom very few people would care to cross—perhaps she can even do this with impunity. And if her man is an important person to her Family, then perhaps people might be freer with their attentions than they might otherwise be, because they hope she may be indiscreet in her turn. But she's never indiscreet, because her loyalty is to her Family and to the man she loves." Kyouko-san stopped, and drew a breath. "And she's proud of her service, and how vital it is, even if no one else knows what it is she does, but at the same time, she's painfully aware of the things that she can't do because of that service."

Gokudera-san listened to that, nearly impassive, except for the muscle that flickered at the corner of his jaw. When she had stopped, he stood silently for nearly a minute before asking, voice taut, "And no one thought that this was something that I ought to know?"

"We decided that the fewer people who knew the truth, the easier it would be for Haru to keep people from suspecting what it is she's doing," Kyouko-san said.

"Including her own boyfriend."

I-Pin bit her lip at the heavy bitterness in his voice.

"To protect her, yes." Kyouko-san lifted her chin, by a fraction. "It was my decision, in the end."

"To protect her. Of course." Gokudera-san's voice was still taut with—bitterness and anger and outrage, I-Pin decided. "And I suppose the only reason you changed your mind was because her cover story is in danger now."

"Excuse me?"

Gokudera-san gestured, hand cutting through the air, sharp. "Because I told her to stop fooling around on me, or it was over."

The quick intake of Kyouko-san's breath was loud. "She didn't even mention that. Only that you'd proposed again."

"Yes, again, like an idiot. If I'd just realized that it was my protection she'd wanted, I wouldn't have bothered." He ran a hand through his hair. "I suppose that wouldn't have been as plausible, though, would it?"

Kyouko-san pressed her lips together, firmly, before she finally replied to that. "I know you're angry, but did you not hear me when I said that she loves you?"

"I heard," he said, grim. "I also heard how convenient it was for her boyfriend to be me. I assume she chose me because of my position in the Family, and because Hibari wasn't available."

"She chose you because she loves you," Kyouko-san said, and I-Pin wondered how angry she actually was, for it to be seeping into her voice like this. "This wasn't something we planned, Gokudera. It grew out of our circumstances. And this is why I was reluctant to tell you, because I knew you'd be an insecure ass about it!"

I-Pin flinched, and Gokudera-san went white and clenched his hands at his sides. "We both know I was her second choice," he said, from behind teeth that were clearly gritted together. "Can you really blame me?"

Kyouko-san curled her fingers together around the handkerchief. "Now you really are being an idiot," she said, voice soft. "You know better than that. You know that Haru is better than that."

"I know you only think the best of people," Gokudera-san retorted. "But if you want to pretend that she didn't spend all that time mooning after the Tenth, then I don't think I'm the idiot here."

I-Pin held her own breath as Kyouko-san took a breath and let it out, and then another, before she finally said, "That was a very long time ago, Gokudera, and we were still children. People do change, you know."

"And yet you're married to the Boss, like we all knew you would be. They don't change that much."

Kyouko-san closed her eyes. "You've obviously made up your mind to think the worst. Is it even worth it to argue with you?"

Gokudera-san's voice was very even. "What would you have me do, Kyouko-san?"

Kyouko-san opened her eyes again, and looked at him. "I would ask you to bear with it a little longer, until we've dealt with the Modigliani. After that, you and Haru can go your separate ways, and she and I will figure out something new. Will you do that for me?"

Gokudera bent his head, but the motion looked stiff. "I live to serve the Vongola."

"I know you do," Kyouko-san said, slowly, almost sadly. "Even when we don't treat you so well as you deserve." She sighed. "Thank you for your patience, Gokudera."

"As my lady commands," he said, mouth twisting around the words. "Will there be anything else?"

"No," Kyouko-san said, softly. "Not today."

"Thank you." He bowed, short and jerky, and spun on his heel to let himself out.

When the door shut behind him, I-Pin released a long breath.

"Damn," Kyouko-san said, so quietly that I-Pin barely heard her. "Damn it."

"Kyouko-san?" I-Pin ventured.

"I'm afraid I've made a mistake," Kyouko-san said, smoothing and folding the crumpled handkerchief. "A rather large one. And for the life of me, I'm not sure how to fix it." She shook her head. "What a mess."

"He'll change his mind, won't he?" I-Pin asked, hesitant.

Kyouko-san smiled at her, but it didn't reach her eyes. "I hope so." She stood. "But it's no use worrying about it just now. There's work to be done."

I-Pin fell in at her side, watching and worrying all the while.

It was something of a relief to get out of the Vongola mansion and away from its stifling atmosphere, and to linger at the salon, letting Adele fuss over her hair and insist on a facial—"Haven't you been sleeping, dear? Your eyes are all bloodshot."—to deal with the morning's storm of emotions. There was unfortunately limited amounts of information to be heard in the salon that afternoon, since Haru was nearly the only customer, but that was a relief, too, and Haru relaxed into the simple pleasure of being attended to.

Still, she did pick up a few interesting tidbits; Giovanni Barassi was specifically interested in allying with a Family that would help him recoup some of his losses since the Vongola had curtailed his smuggling operations, which gave the Orsini boys an edge over the Leone son. The Orsini weren't as fond of the Vongola as they might be, to boot. It was something worth thinking about, at any rate.

Haru picked up a few more scraps of information as she made her afternoon rounds—Antonio at the dress shop mentioned that it had been an unusually long time since Caterina Modigliani had purchased a new dress, and he knew for a fact that she hadn't been patronizing another shop. Haru believed him; Antonio prided himself on his tenacity and attention to his customers, and was fully capable of interrogating an unfaithful client until he'd discovered the cause of her infidelity. That Caterina Modigliani wasn't purchasing new dresses seemed odd; the woman was beautiful and knew it, and had a reputation for accentuating her beauty fairly enthusiastically.

Haru tucked that bit away to discuss with Kyouko-chan.

Nothing else in her rounds was particularly fruitful, save for the coffee she stopped to enjoy, because there she met one of the boys who had a connection to the Risso arm dealers. Nino was a nice fellow, and so far one of her best leads regarding the Modigliani, since he seemed to be pretty much head over heels for her. Haru smiled at him and let him buy her another coffee, and flirted delicately with him as he hinted at the same important deal he'd mentioned before. It wasn't anything she didn't already know, but it confirmed that whatever it was that the Modigliani were up to, it was proceeding apace.

All told, it wasn't a bad afternoon's work. Haru returned to the Vongola estate in something she supposed would pass for good spirits.

"I should have known better," she announced to the air, when she discovered the message that Kyouko-chan wanted to speak with her waiting for her.

When Haru found her, Kyouko-san was in her study, standing at the window under I-Pin's watchful eye. "Was there something you needed to tell me?"

Kyouko-chan's shoulders rose and fell on a sigh, and then she turned to look at Haru. Her expression was drawn. "I'm afraid so."

Haru took her usual seat and braced herself. "How bad is it?" It couldn't be anything that affected the Vongola as a whole; things were too peaceful for that, and Kyouko-chan merely looked strained, not terrified or angry.

"It's—difficult." Kyouko-chan gathered herself, hands pressing together; that was what she did when she didn't want to fidget. "I—spoke with Gokudera this morning."

"You... oh, god." Haru pinched the bridge of her nose; so it was only a disaster for her personally. Wonderful. "Why?"

"Because I hoped I'd be able to help." She paused. "Why didn't you tell me he was talking about ending it?"

Haru sighed and looked up at her. "Because he always says that, if I don't say it first."

Kyouko-chan blinked a bit at that, momentarily sidetracked. "You two have a very strange relationship."

Haru shrugged; she couldn't deny it. But then, not everyone could be as sweet a pair of lovebirds as Kyouko-chan and Tsuna-kun managed to be. "Normally it works out all right." That didn't seem to soothe Kyouko-chan very much. "So... what did you tell him?"

Kyouko-chan gave into the inevitable, fingers twisting around each other, which wasn't a good sign. "I explained why you do what you do. He... wasn't pleased, really." Before Haru could ask what that meant in practical, Hayato-specific terms, Kyouko-chan rushed on. "He seems to think you chose him because of... business-related reasons, and not for his own sake. And that you might still be carrying a torch for Tsuna."

Haru could only stare at Kyouko-chan for a moment, absorbing that. "You're not joking, are you?" Kyouko-chan shook her head. Haru pinched the bridge of her nose again, trying to press the incipient headache away. "Oh, no. He's such an idiot." And of course he would have taken things entirely the wrong way, because that was just how Hayato's brain operated, the insecure idiot.

One of these days, she was going to persuade Tsuna-kun that the Vongola didn't really need Hayato's family, and then she was going to go out and do her very best Hibari Kyouya impression for several people the world would be better off without. Perhaps it wouldn't fix what was past, but it would make her feel better.

"There's... I'm afraid there's more." When Haru looked up, Kyouko-chan looked positively miserable. Haru braced herself again, for the worst. "I'm afraid... I didn't know that you... threaten to end things regularly. I, um, gave him permission to end things after the Modigliani thing is taken care of."

"You..." Haru groped for words in the face of the enormity of that, because it was one thing for the two of them to scream that this was it, it was over for good, get out when they were arguing, but for the Tenth's wife to give Hayato permission to end things, when he was in a calmer frame of mind... "Oh my god," she said, as the bottom dropped out of her stomach.

"I'm so sorry." Kyouko-chan was wringing her hands so hard that they were probably in danger of being rubbed raw. "I swear I didn't realize—if I'd only known—"

"How could you have known?" Haru asked, from around the hard lump in her throat. "We have the apartment we do because it's so far away from the rest of the house and no one will have to hear us yelling." That didn't seem to reassure Kyouko-chan, so Haru dredged up a smile from her reserves. "Don't worry. It's going to take us forever to crack the Modigliani business open. That'll give him plenty of time to think things over and come back around to being sensible."

"Do you really think so?"

"Sure I do," Haru said, with all the briskness she could muster. "He never stays angry for long." Usually, anyway. This might be a special case. "Don't worry. This might even be a good thing. If he knows what I'm doing now, then I can compare notes with him directly, instead of running things through you and Tsuna-kun."

"Still, I am sorry," Kyouko-chan said, although she looked a little bit more hopeful around the edges. "I'll do anything to make it up to you—"

"Hush, don't say things like that." Haru gave her a smile. "That's too dangerous for the Vongola's wife to be saying." She stood. "It'll be fine. Don't worry about it. Now, I have some things to put away..."

"Of course, of course." Kyouko-chan gave her a worried smile. "I'll see you in the morning."

Haru nodded, and saw herself out, and didn't give vent to her emotions until she was safely behind her own door. "Fuck," she announced, to the too-still apartment.

And then, because it was pointless to dwell, she went to unpack her packages and put them away.

"You know," Tsuna remarked once the door was closed behind him, in tones of wonder, "this morning, one of the things I told myself was, 'At least this is the worst Hayato's mood can possibly get.'" He hooked his fingers in his tie and unknotted it. "I guess it's good to know that I can still be taken by surprise." He hung his coat over the back of a chair and sat on the edge of the bed. "What on earth did you say to him?"

Kyouko turned from watching his progress in her mirror to meet his eyes directly. "I explained what it is that Haru does for me."

Tsuna's eyebrows went up. "I see," he said, pulling his tie off. "Once he's had a chance to think it through, I suppose he'll calm down."

"I wonder," Kyouko said. "He seems to think he's been used rather badly."

Nothing in Tsuna's expression even hinted that he might be thinking I told you so, and she loved him for it. Instead, he sighed, and said, "I'll speak to him—"

"Don't." When he looked at her, she added, "I think this is something they have to do for themselves."

"Do you think so?" Tsuna frowned, and stretched to drape his tie over the arm of the chair. "I hate watching them argue with each other."

"Me too." Right now, she'd give anything for it to be an ordinary argument. "I'm afraid it's worse than that. He's—after the Modigliani business is dealt with, we may need to rebuild Haru's network."

Tsuna's fingers stilled on the buttons of his shirt. "Ah," he said quietly. "That would be unfortunate." His fingers began moving again. "But I suppose that we'll do it if we have to." He shook his head. "Though I really would rather not have to."

"Same here." Kyouko watched him undress, and went to him when he held a hand out to her. "I hate to see them so upset," she said, against his shoulder. "Especially Haru."

"I don't know. Right now I'd trade you Hayato for her," he said, against her hair.

She couldn't help laughing. "I'm not sure that would be a fair trade."

"No? Pity." He lifted a hand to her hair, and she sighed at the warmth of it. "They're both intelligent adults. They'll figure it out, surely."

"Let's hope so," Kyouko agreed, as he reached for the lamp and turned it off, and let him draw her into bed. When they'd arranged themselves comfortably, she told him what news Haru had brought her. He made interested sounds at the news of the Barassi's daughter, and vaguer noises when she mentioned poor Maria Feretti—well, it didn't make all that much difference to the Vongola whether Paolo Feretti got his children from his wife or his mistress, but Maria was a good person and didn't deserve the indignity of being put aside after all the years she'd endured her husband's infidelities. "And Anna Vieri is expecting again," she finished.

"What, again?" Tsuna asked, sleepy voice rich with amusement. "Don't they already have enough?"

"I think she just likes children a lot," Kyouko said, listening to the slow, steady heartbeat under her cheek. "She's not the only one, you know."

Tsuna's chest rose and fell on a sigh, and his arm curled tighter around her. "Things are still unstable," he said, quietly. "I don't think—"

"I don't think it's ever going to be stable," Kyouko told him, and then forced herself to take a deep breath. "I just—I'm afraid of waiting too long, Tsuna."

He sighed again. "I know."

Kyouko lifted herself up on an elbow to look at the dim outline of his face. "Think about it," she said, softly. "Maybe, after the Modigliani—"

His fingers against her lips stopped her. "There'll be time," he said, softly. "I promise."

Kyouko let him coax her back down, and sighed. "I worry," she told him, after a moment.

"Too much, sometimes," he replied.

But he wasn't the one who was left at home to worry about him whenever he went to negotiate with the other Families, Kyouko thought, and didn't say. He wasn't the one who had to wonder whether she'd be left alone, with nothing to show for the time they'd had together, and he wasn't the one who'd have to deal with the Family if he died without an heir. "Just think about it," she said again, finally. "Please?"

"I'll think about it," he said, and Kyouko could tell he was smiling. His lips brushed against her temple. "Go to sleep, love."

Even if he was humoring her, it was a start. Kyouko sighed again, and nestled against him, and tried to let go of her worries, at least for a little while.

Hayato didn't show up at dinnertime, and didn't call to say where he was or whether to keep his meal warm for him or not. Haru found herself waiting for him much longer than was sensible before she finally sat down to her own portion. She covered his serving and put it in the refrigerator when she'd finished, and tried to read for a while, but couldn't keep track of the words on the page. In the end, she gave that up, disgusted at herself and annoyed at Hayato for being—himself, mostly—and retreated to the bathroom for a long, hot bath.

Soaking in the tub did little to slow her thoughts down, between the issue of the Modigliani—there was something there, something important that she was missing, if only she could put her finger on it—and what to do about Hayato, and what she was going to do if the stubborn, proud fool really had meant it this time when he'd said it was over—

But there was no use fretting over it. If Hayato couldn't trust her to know the difference between work and her personal life, then this was bound to have happened sooner or later.

A glass of wine did what the bath couldn't, and slowed her thoughts down enough to be manageable by the time she gave up waiting for Hayato to come in and went to bed.

She'd half-expected to toss and turn all night, but the previous night had been restless enough that she fell asleep almost immediately, and slept soundly until the alarm went off.

Hayato had come in during the night, and was asleep in the living room, scrunched up on the couch with his head at an angle that Haru knew was going to mean a painful crick in the neck. He was scowling even in his sleep, and promised to be an utter monster whenever he woke up.

After a moment of looking at him, Haru went and armed herself with a pot of coffee and a bottle of aspirin. She left them within his reach on her way into the bathroom. It wasn't much, as far as peace offerings went, but it wasn't as though she'd managed to slip back into an entirely charitable mood just yet.

When she emerged from the bathroom, refreshed and almost ready for her morning workout, the coffee had done its work. Hayato was hunched over it, glaring at the coffee table as if it had offered him some insult. He didn't look up when Haru stepped into the living room.

So it was up to her to start things moving? At least that wasn't anything she wasn't already used to. "If I'd realized you were planning on sleeping out here, I would have chosen one of those couches that folds out to be a bed."

"I wish you would have," Hayato grunted, still not looking up.

"I'll keep it in mind, next time we redecorate," Haru told him, as lightly as she dared, and waited to see how that would be taken. Perhaps a night's sleep would have—

"You can do whatever you like, once I've moved out."

Or perhaps not. "I wish you wouldn't," Haru said, once she'd caught her breath from that. "I've gotten used to you, you know."

"I'm sure you have." Hayato's mouth was twisted into one of his self-mocking grimaces. "You're good at that. I'm sure you won't have any trouble finding someone—"

"If you finish that sentence," Haru said, as calmly as she could manage, given the circumstances and the early hour, "I will slap you."

He looked up, as if to gauge whether she meant it. "We both know it's true," he said. There was fresh anger there, layered over something else—an aching sort of thing, she thought, in the part of her that wasn't taken up with her own outrage.

"I know no such thing," she snapped. "I'm married to you in everything but name, you idiot, if you'd just get your head out of your ass long enough to notice it." She ran a hand through her hair. "I swear I don't know what it is about letting a man into your life that makes him think that he has a right to the whole thing, but—wait."

"Isn't that what—" Hayato began,indignant.

Haru held up a hand to silence him. "Hush. Argue later. Thinking now." She pressed her folded hands to her lips, thinking furiously. "The problem is, we've been thinking of the Modigliani as always having been loyal to us, and we've been wondering why on earth that should have changed." Standing was no good; she launched herself into motion, pacing the length of the living room and back, working through her thoughts out loud as she maneuvered around Hayato's easy chair and the basket of her magazines and books. "But the Modigliani aren't what they've always been, are they? The current boss, Vincentio. He married into the Family and took the Modigliani name, and his Family—they merged with the Modigliani."

Hayato seemed willing to suspend the argument for the moment. "Mm. He was one of the Bolzoni," he said. "The Bolzoni had money, and the Modigliani didn't, but they had a much older name, and a spare daughter—"

"Caterina, yes. Who isn't buying dresses any more," Haru said, reaching the end of the room again and turning; she ignored the confused expression on Hayato's face. "So Vincentio married into the Modigliani and took their name, and then... then Massimo got himself killed, conveniently enough, which means Vincentio is suddenly the heir by way of his new wife... and then old Enrico Modigliani dies, and Vincentio takes over, and now, a few years later, the Modigliani are no longer quite loyal to the Vongola. How convenient."

"I suppose it is, but Enrico died of a heart attack, and Massimo's death was an accident," Hayato pointed out.

"And if you ask Bianchi-neesan, she can tell you half a dozen ways to cause a heart attack that looks perfectly natural," Haru said, waving that aside as she stepped around the basket again. "What do we really know about Massimo Modigliani's death? Anything?"

"I did just say that it was an accident," Hayato pointed out, but he was beginning to look thoughtful, perhaps in spite of himself. "He drowned while he was sailing. It was sad, but—" He stopped, and went silent while Haru made a few more circuits of the room. "It was peculiar," he said, presently. "He was supposed to have been an excellent sailor. The Modigliani investigated, of course, but they found that it was an accident."

"Were they Modigliani investigators, or were they Bolzoni?" Haru asked him.

Hayato frowned, looking past her, into space. "Hm."

When he didn't say anything else, Haru murmured, "I think it bears looking into."

That brought his focus back down to her. "Even if it wasn't an accident, what do you propose to do about it?" he protested.

"The Modigliani were poor, but tightly-knit. They still are." Haru stopped. "If we can just find the right fulcrum, we might... might be able to move Caterina Modigliani into action."

"You do realize that you're suggesting that we start an internal war in another Family, don't you?"

Haru looked at him, but his expression was as neutral as his tone. "Only if Caterina-san isn't as smart as she's supposed to be," she said, finally. "If the Vongola could give her proof that the Bolzoni removed her father and her brother, it seems to me that she would be well within her rights to take the control of her Family back from the interloper. And if the Vongola were to help her..." She shrugged and spread her hands. "Our alliance is renewed and solidified. Or maybe the Modigliani get thrown into chaos, the Modigliani and Bolzoni factions spend their resources on each other, and the Vongola can sleep easier at night. Either way, we win."

"If what you're insinuating about Vincentio Bolzoni is correct, which is going to be difficult to prove." Hayato took a drink of his coffee, the gesture an absent one and his eyes gone unfocused again. "It's worth looking into, as long as we're discreet about it."

Haru smiled, pleased. "Good, good. You have resources that I don't, so you'll—what?" she asked, because he was looking at her again, pulled back from his contemplation of the Modigliani's internal politics.

"I hadn't realized you spent so much time thinking about Family politics," he said, slowly.

"It's more interesting that shopping." Haru straightened her shoulders. "And a girl has to have something to pass the time."

Hayato's smile was ironic. "I suppose she does."

"Yes, well." Haru shook herself. "See me standing here, wasting time." She turned away. "If you find out anything about the Modigliani or the Bolzoni... maybe you can tell me about it at dinner," she said, as casually as she could manage.

"That's expecting a lot of me, don't you think?"

Haru paused, hand resting on the door jamb. "You never know. The Vongola does have one of the best intelligence networks that I know of."

His sigh sounded frustrated. "I'll let you know if I learn anything."

Not at dinner, she noted. But it was, perhaps, a start. "All right. Bathroom's all yours."

"Thanks."

She didn't see him again before she left to go work out, and passed the time she spent running by consoling herself that at least she'd managed to avert the argument they'd started to have, and that speaking to each other civilly was something that almost resembled progress.

The good thing about Haru's new theory was that it had distracted her, at least somewhat, from her problems with Gokudera.

The bad thing was that it presented Kyouko with an entire host of new problems.

"You realize that if you're right, I'm going to have to find a graceful, subtle way of saying, 'Excuse me, Caterina-san, but I believe your husband killed your father and your brother,' don't you?" she asked, once the implications of Haru's theory had truly sunk in.

Haru's answering shrug was breezy and unconcerned. "That's why you're the Boss's wife, not me." Her smile turned wicked. "And don't forget, you have to find a way to say, 'Oh, hey, do you want the Vongola to help you bump your husband off?' too."

I-Pin, standing guard in the corner, made a sound that sounded suspiciously like a muffled giggle.

Kyouko sighed. "None of my etiquette lessons ever covered this," she noted. Not even the ones she'd learned from UnitÃ -san, which had seemed impossibly and improbably extensive at the time.

"I'm sure you'll think of something." Haru's smile was warm and reassuring. "You always do." Then she shrugged again. "And I could be wrong, of course. Don't forget that."

"Mm." Kyouko rather doubted that; it made the Modigliani's sudden swerve into sedition much more plausible than it had been before. "We'll see, I suppose."

Haru smiled. "Of course we will." She set her teacup down. "That's all I have for you this morning. Unless there's anything else, I have plenty of work to do, whether I'm right or I'm wrong."

"I won't keep you from it," Kyouko said. "Just... one question before you go." She folded her hands together, hesitating. "How are things with Gokudera?"

Haru looked away. "Up in the air," she said, briefly. The line of her jaw was set and said more than her words did.

"Ah," Kyouko said, heart sinking at that news. "Let me know if there's anything—"

Haru looked back at her; her smile was only a bit strained at the corners. "You know I will." She stood. "Until later."

"Until then," Kyouko told her, and sighed as she went.

"What's bothering you?" Kyouko asked, when even turning out the lights and pressing close to Tsuna had failed to relax him.

Tsuna's chest rose and fell under her cheek. "Hayato spoke to me today."

Sometimes it worked to tease Tsuna, gently, about how seriously he and the boys took their roles. This... this was not one of those times. "What did he say?"

"He wanted to know whether he ought to resign as my right hand."

Half a dozen reactions flashed through Kyouko's mind at that, from disbelief to amusement at Gokudera's tendency towards extreme reactions; they were tempered by the soft, even tone Tsuna had taken. It was, despite their being curled up in bed together, his business voice. Kyouko took a breath. "Why did he ask you a thing like that?" she asked, already suspecting what the response was going to be.

She wasn't far off. "A boss should have complete faith in his right hand," Tsuna said, slow and even. "He felt that since there were things I couldn't tell him, I should find a right hand who would be more reliable."

Kyouko closed her eyes and forced herself to take a breath, and then another, before she responded to that. "I told him that it was my decision," she said, finally, when she'd mastered herself again.

"He's aware of that," Tsuna said, and although his voice was all business, his hand on her shoulder was gentle. "He suggested that I seek a replacement who you would approve of, too."

"Oh, hell," Kyouko said, because that was the only thing to say to that.

Actually, that wasn't true. "Tsuna, I'm sorry." Hadn't that been one of the very first things the Giglio Nero's UnitÃ  had taught her—that one didn't, couldn't play games inside one's Family? "I shouldn't have insisted on keeping Haru's business a secret."

"No," he agreed, and that was the thing that had taken her the longest to accept—that he could be as ruthless with himself and her as he was with his enemies. "You shouldn't have. And I shouldn't have agreed."

Kyouko let out a breath. "Tell me that you talked him out of it, at least."

"I did, eventually." Some of the strain went out of his voice. "It took some doing."

Knowing Gokudera? Yes, it probably had. "I'm sorry," she said again, softly. "I'll speak to him. I owe him an apology, if he'll have it."

"He will," Tsuna said, voice thawing the rest of the way, now that they understood each other. "He's not unreasonable."

Kyouko wasn't quite able to keep herself from snorting at that. "Generally, no."

Tsuna's breath huffed against her cheek. "I suppose he does have his moments."

"From time to time." Kyouko raised her head to look at him. "Is he going to be okay?"

"...I think so," he said, mouth set in thoughtful lines, just barely visible in the dimness. "He's so proud, you know."

"Yes," Kyouko said, and rested her cheek against his shoulder again. "I know."

She would have to do her best not to forget that again.

Even when she'd been memorizing Kyouko-san's daily routine, I-Pin hadn't fully grasped how much of Kyouko-san's time was spent waiting: waiting for Sawada-san to join her for a meal or a conversation, waiting for Haru-san to bring her information, waiting for the replies to letters and invitations and phonecalls, waiting for something—anything—to happen.

The bulk of Kyouko-san's itinerary was taken up with activities that filled all that waiting space.

"I told you this would be a boring duty," Kyouko-san said, at the end of I-Pin's first week, late in the afternoon, as Maria Feretti and her bodyguard strolled out of the garden to the car that was waiting for them.

"Bodyguards like boring," I-Pin murmured, which made Kyouko-san laugh. "I don't mind, Kyouko-san."

"I'm glad to hear it," Kyouko-san murmured, watching Feretti-san—thin, worn Feretti-san, who had cried on Kyouko-san's shoulder for a good long while—climb into her car. "I think all these things I spend my time doing must seem terribly frivolous, or so I imagine."

"How so?" I-Pin asked, after a moment's hesitation.

Kyouko-san looked away from the long, dark car. "Oh," she said, with a faint smile. "It's because I'm not doing my real duty as Tsuna's wife." When I-Pin stared at her, confused, she added, "Well, I'm only doing half of my job."

"Half?" I-Pin echoed, ransacking her brain for the things that Kyouko-san ought to be doing that she wasn't already, when the week had been full of a hundred little duties attended to by Kyouko-san's personal attention.

Kyouko-san moved along the path, and stooped to examine a rose bush. "Mm. There aren't any little Vongola heirs running around yet, are there?"

I-Pin's cheek went warm. "Oh. I suppose there aren't."

"No," Kyouko-san said, fingertips brushing over the plush petals of a full-blown rose. Her smile was rueful. "It makes Tsuna's advisors rather nervous, or so I hear."

I-Pin nibbled on her lip. It seemed forward to ask, but Kyouko-san had been the one to open up the topic... "Are there—do you have plans?"

"Not yet. He wants to wait till things are... safer, I suppose." Kyouko-san shook her head, straightening up. "I've told him that 'safer' probably means 'never', for us, but he doesn't seem to want to listen to me." She looked away from I-Pin, surveying the garden. "I think it will have to be soon, though."

"I—" I-Pin hesitated, searching for something she might say to that. "You were very good to me and to Lambo-kun," she said, finally. "I think you'll be a very good mother."

Kyouko-san's answering smile was bright, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Thank you, I-Pin." She shook herself, and glanced at her watch. "Ah, it's getting late. We need to get inside—Gokudera has a meeting with me in a few minutes."

Ever since the trip to the-future-that-wasn't, Kyouko had thought that Gokudera's box weapon was perfectly suited to him. She was reminded of his similarity to Uri again when Gokudera came slinking into her sitting room, eyes wary and fingers flicking a lighter through them nervously. "You wanted to see me, Kyouko-san?"

"I did." Kyouko gestured at the pair of chairs pulled up to the fireplace. "Will you sit?"

"I'd rather stand," he said, perfectly polite—yes, she'd rather expected him to be angry with her still. "If it's all the same to you."

"Whichever you prefer," she said, and watched him arrange himself like a soldier going to parade rest, lighter secreted away somewhere. "I owe you an apology," she began. "I shouldn't have kept Haru's duties a secret from you. You should have known about them from the start, and for that I am sorry."

"That's not what you said the other day," he said, after several beats of silence, his expression gone still and unreadable.

"The other day I was angry," Kyouko said, as frankly as she could manage. "My best friend was hurting, and I was angry on her behalf." Belatedly, she realized that her fingers were working against each other, nervously, and forced them to be still. "I should not have let myself lose my temper like that."

"Mm." Gokudera's expression remained shuttered. "Did the Boss ask you to do this?"

Kyouko felt her spine drawing straighter of its own volition, pride offended at the very suggestion. "No," she said. "He told me what the two of you discussed yesterday, but he didn't ask me to do anything. I'm apologizing because what I did was a mistake and was wrong, and you deserve better."

If anything, his expression went even more frozen at that; when he finally spoke again, Kyouko recognized it for what it was: frozen anger. "Yes," he said, each syllable clipped short, the control of this anger a marked and dangerous contrast to his ordinary explosions, "I really think I do."

I-Pin moved in her corner, restless. Kyouko gestured at her to be still, with a calm she didn't feel—she always managed to forget how terrifying Gokudera was when he was truly angry. It happened so rarely, and was normally directed outside the Family. It was unnerving to be the focus of it now, when the last time she'd seen him like this, he'd left the Magri Family in smoking ruins for their attempt on Tsuna's life. "You do," she agreed. "I made a mistake, Gokudera, and I don't have any defense except that I was very young then, and inexperienced, and it didn't occur to me what things would look like from your perspective. I'm sorry."

"How could you not realize what—" Gokudera stopped himself as his voice began to rise. "How could you not realize what kind of effect it would have?" he repeated. The lighter reappeared, and he flicked it open and closed, fingers restless. "He has to be able to tell me everything. If he doesn't—"

"I know that now," Kyouko said, watching him narrowly, but some of the coldness was dissolving into a hotter, simpler anger, something that was less about pride than exasperation. "I was young and stupid, Gokudera. I didn't understand, then."

"Why did you even do it in the first place?" he demanded, temper cracking the rest of the way open.

Kyouko suppressed her relief at that; Gokudera in a cold fury was a terrifying, implacable thing. By comparison, his normal temper burned out as fast as a match. "Because you were young, too," she said, slowly, and watched his eyes flare. "And we—Haru and I—worried that you wouldn't understand that it was something that she needed to do, for her own self-respect, and that you would ask her to choose."

She paused, giving him a chance to absorb that, and then continued when he narrowed his eyes, clearly considering it. "And because, back then, there were many people who looked right through me, as if I didn't matter at all to the Vongola. Having something that no one else knew—let me deal with that graciously. It's a very hard thing, to feel like the only thing people see when they look at you—if they even look at you—is a useless, silly girl." There was something else that might be useful here, as embarrassing as it was to bring up. She spread her hands. "Do you know how long it would have been before Tsuna and Niisan told me about all this, if the other Hibari-san hadn't done it for him?" He shook his head. "Three or four years."

His eyes widened just a bit. "That seems a bit... excessive."

"I thought so, too. All the same..." Kyouko shook her head. "I shouldn't have done something at your expense, just to soothe my own ego."

"Not my expense. The Vongola's," he said, but his eyes had started to go more thoughtful than angry.

"Your expense and the Vongola's," she said, determined to firm about that, at least. His mouth quirked a bit at the correction. "I am sorry, Gokudera. It was never that I didn't trust you." She glanced away from him, and was careful to keep her voice steady. "There's no one I would rather trust him with than you. Please believe me when I say that, at least." She steeled herself and met his eyes again. "And I promise that I will never ask him to keep another secret from you. Ever."

She hardly dared to breathe as he held her gaze, until he finally dipped his head into a nod. "I would appreciate that," he murmured, hands stilling on his lighter again. "Was there anything else you wanted to discuss, Kyouko-san?"

Kyouko searched his expression, fingers twisting together. Was there anything else she could say to him? Perhaps something about Haru? In the end, she decided not. "No," she said. "I won't keep you from your duties any longer."

He nodded, the motion brief, and turned away. "Thank you, Kyouko-san," he said, at the door, and then went out.

What for? she wondered, and sighed. In a situation like this, who could know? "I just hope that did some good," she said, out loud, and then shook herself. Either it would or it wouldn't. "I don't know about you, I-Pin, but I could really use a cup of tea."

"That does sound good," I-Pin murmured, and gestured. "I could call for them to send some up...?"

Kyouko sank into one of the seats. "Do, please," she murmured. "And tell them to send two cups."

I-Pin looked uncertain, but she didn't argue, and Kyouko smiled. That, at least, could be counted among the day's victories.

Haru carried no weapons: not a gun or a knife, nor a ring or box, but all the same, she was armed and dangerous—or so she'd overheard, once, from one of the Cavallone foot-soldiers, who was warning another when he'd thought she couldn't hear him. At the time, it'd given her a warm, satisfied feeling to hear, and even now, with all her other difficulties weighing on her mind, it was comforting to know that even when the men of other Families knew she was dangerous, most of them never remembered to be wary of her. It was amazing what a man would tell a girl after a glimpse of leg or a bit of dÃ©colletage, especially when they were accompanied by a giggle and a credulous look.

What was even better still was having a better angle to attack the Modigliani with; a little detective work and a little more leg work allowed her to sweep into Kyouko-chan's morning room and announce, "I've been going about this all wrong. I'm so stupid, I can't even believe myself."

Kyouko-chan, who was, after all, the very soul of courtesy, merely lifted her eyebrows and held out a cup. "Tea?"

"Thank you." Haru sat, knowing that she was beaming—well, she'd earned it. "I'm so good at this that I make myself sick." She reached for one of the tea cakes, and then stopped, looking at the array of place settings, the number of them finally registering. "Are we expecting guests?"

"In a manner of speaking." Kyouko-chan looked at her, clearly uncertain of how she was going to take whatever it is she was about to say. That, Haru thought, was a pretty good sign of what was to come. "Tsuna and Gokudera will be joining us shortly."

That pretty much figured. "Oh, god," Haru said, and left the tea cake alone. "Do we have to—"

"I'm afraid so," Kyouko-chan murmured. "Tsuna says they have news." Her hands folded around each other. "Are you and Gokudera—"

"He's still sleeping on the couch," Haru told her, blunt, because that was the easiest way to get through it. "I barely ever see him, and he's not talking much." She held up a finger before Kyouko-chan could open her mouth. "Don't apologize. Not again. It is what it is, at this point." She hadn't managed to resign herself to that, yet, but that wasn't the point. Calming Kyouko-chan down was.

"Still..." Kyouko-chan began, and then drew herself up at the tap on the door. "That must be them. Come in!"

It was the first chance Haru had really had to get a good look at Hayato since the morning of her epiphany; as she'd rather expected, it looked like he wasn't taking care of himself. His cheeks were thinner than they ought to have been, and there were dark circles under his eyes—well, it wasn't a very comfortable couch for sleeping on.

It would have been nice for him to have noticed her looking, but he was carefully avoiding her gaze. Haru frowned, annoyed, but then she realized that Tsuna-kun had taken the chair on Kyouko-chan's other hand, which left the only empty seat next to her, and Hayato's grimace became clear.

"Sit down, Gokudera, don't loom at us," Kyouko-chan said, pleasantly enough, when it seemed like he would pace rather than sit. The words were sweet enough, but her voice was firm.

Even so, it looked like he was tempted to argue, until Tsuna-kun caught his eye. "Yes, ma'am," Hayato said, still frowning, but he took the seat.

Haru stifled her sigh.

Kyouko-chan poured the tea and passed the cups around, and then smiled, as pleasantly as she did whenever she played hostess. "Well, now. Where shall we begin?"

"Hayato," Tsuna-kun said, his tone somewhere between invitation and command.

"Boss." Hayato opened his portfolio and cleared his throat. "First, I would like to point out that it is extremely difficult to investigate a death that's four years old, and even harder when that death occurred in what is currently hostile territory for the Vongola."

"And we truly appreciate your skill and dedication," Tsuna-kun murmured, with a faint smile.

Hayato still hadn't managed to suppress the way a compliment from the Tenth lit him up, Haru noted, and carefully did not smile.

"As I was saying," Hayato continued. "It was very difficult to investigate Massimo Modigliani's death, and my expense report will reflect that fact. Nonetheless, we did find some very interesting things." He tapped his finger against a paper in his portfolio. "The official reports of his death indicated that he drowned while sailing. The autopsy reports that he appears to have been swept overboard during the storm that he was—most unwisely, and rather uncharacteristically—sailing in, that the cause of his death was drowning, and that the contusions his body sustained were all post mortem, as a result of his body being battered by the currents and rocks."

"Now why do I think you're going to say that it turns out that it didn't happen that way?" Haru couldn't resist asking, which earned her a quick, impatient look.

"Indeed," Hayato said, at his fussiest and most precise. "As it turns out, upon examination of the body, it seems that the original autopsy was never performed."

"You examined the body?" Haru demanded, as Tsuna-kun said, "Wait, what do you mean, 'upon examination of the body'?" Kyouko-chan merely looked pained.

Hayato's shrug was eloquent. "As I said, the expense report will reflect how challenging this investigation was." He tapped the papers in his portfolio again. "Upon forensic investigation, we discovered that there was no evidence of water in Massimo Modigliani's lungs. We also discovered that his skull had sustained a number of fractures, any one of which would have been sufficient to kill him outright. In short, he was dead before he hit the water." He snapped his portfolio closed.

They were silent, absorbing that, until Haru sniffed, and said, "I told you so."

"So you did," Tsuna-kun murmured. He shook his head. "Isn't this just a mess?"

"What are we going to tell Caterina?" Kyouko-chan added.

"That's up to wiser heads than mine," Haru said. She spread her hands. "But I do have a few things that might make the job easier." Kyouko-chan gestured at her to continue. "Yes, well, like I was telling you before the boys came in, I was going about things all wrong. The current Modigliani is a very deeply divided Family, you see. The Bolzoni never really integrated well with the Modigliani, so approaching them like they were interchangeable made them all clam up." She smiled. "But if a person happened to be sympathetic to how awful it is to work with those damned Bolzoni, one of the Modigliani men will tell you just about anything you ever wanted to know."

Hayato made an impatient sound. "Are you going to get to the point any time soon?"

Haru rolled her eyes at him. "No, I thought I'd take all week." She took a sip of her tea, just to annoy him, and then continued. "The Bolzoni and the Modigliani divide goes straight to the top. It's a purely political marriage, and it sounds like Caterina dislikes her husband a great deal. If we approach her with Hayato's evidence and the offer of assistance, I think she would hear us out." She paused, and added, "What's more, she's pregnant, and the doctors say it's a boy. There's some worried men among the Modigliani who don't really trust what Vincentio Bolzoni will do if the pregnancy comes to term."

"Well," Tsuna-kun said, after a moment. "That does put a new light on things."

"It does, yes." Kyouko-san picked up a tea cake, nibbling on it absentmindedly, clearly thinking through what Haru had reported. "I don't think we could ask for a better situation, really. Thank you both. That's splendid work that you've done."

Haru smiled, pleased, fully aware that she probably looked as self-satisfied as Hayato did whenever Tsuna-kun complimented him. Well, no matter. They'd both earned it. "What next, Kyouko-chan?"

"A party, I think. A garden party, just for some of the ladies of the most prominent Families," Kyouko-chan said, slow and thoughtful. "Something informal and low-pressure. Caterina will need to come, if only to keep the Modigliani from looking any more suspicious than they already do."

"A week from now," Tsuna-kun added. "That will give us the time we need to put together a plan that we can offer her."

"A week... mm, yes, that should work." Kyouko-chan nodded, decisive. "But there'll be a lot of work to do between now and then."

"Ridiculous amounts of work," Tsuna-kun agreed, with a small grimace. "We'd best get to it." He gestured at Hayato, and they stood.

Haru rose along with the two of them. "I don't have anything else," she said, "so I'll go see whether I can't dig anything else up that we might find useful."

Kyouko-chan's expression went worried. "Be careful," she said.

Haru huffed at her. "I'm always careful," she said, and followed Hayato out into the hall.

Tsuna-kun was right behind her, but then he stopped. "Hayato, hold on for just a moment. I need to check something with Kyouko."

"Right, Boss," Hayato said.

Tsuna-kun ducked back into Kyouko-chan's morning room, which left Haru eyeing Hayato sidelong. Tsuna-kun's hasty departure reeked of a set-up to her, but since he'd gone to the trouble... "So, nice work with the murder investigation," she said. "How on earth did you manage to get your hands on his body?"

Hayato had enough of an ego that he was still willing to take a compliment, even from her, because he smiled a little, self-deprecating. "Oh, it's a long story. There were lots of bribes."

She had no doubt of that, and smiled. "Yeah? I'd like to hear it."

That seemed to have been a mistake, although she didn't know why. "Don't," he said, abruptly, smile disappearing.

"Don't what?" she asked, frowning at him.

He looked up and down the hall, and then said, quietly, "Don't treat me like I'm one of your marks."

That would have made her angry—and she was tempted to it—except for fact that there was something that hinted at pain lurking in his eyes. She put the anger aside, for the moment. "I've never treated you like one of my marks," Haru said, instead. "Not once."

"It sure looks the same from where I'm standing," Hayato said, voice still hushed.

"Then you should look harder." Haru drew a breath. "I'm only going to say this once, and it's up to you whether you listen to me or not, but this is the honest truth. I've only ever taken one man seriously in my life, and that's you. I may flirt with other men, which is my job and something I do well, but I don't flirt with you. What you see is what you get, as far as I'm concerned, and every time I've told you that I love you, I've meant it right down to my toes. I would race you to the altar, if I could marry you and still be Kyouko-chan's right hand, but the fact is that I have to at least look like I'm free to do as I will if I want to keep on doing what she needs me to do. It's up to you whether you think can compromise with me enough to know that I'm yours in all but the name of it, but I'm willing if you are. And the last thing I'll say is this: what would you give up, if it meant staying on as Tsuna-kun's right hand?"

She stopped there and tried to read his expression, but he'd gone still on her, impossible to read no matter how well she knew him. "Anyway. You know where to find me," she said, and turned away.

She tried not to read too much into the fact that he didn't come after her, but it was difficult to do, and even more difficult to concentrate on doing her job.

In the end, Kyouko thought, it was almost ridiculously easy to separate Caterina Modigliani from her other guests. "May I have a word with you?" she murmured, as the party began to wind down. "Privately, in a bit?" She gestured discreetly at Caterina's waist, which was just beginning to thicken visibly. "There are things I'd like to ask you."

Caterina nodded, regal as a queen—Kyouko privately suspected there was a reason why the woman wore her masses of golden hair swept up as she did—and said that she would be happy to answer any of Kyouko's questions. When the last of the other guests had departed, she waved a hand at her bodyguard. "Leave us be, Vittore," she commanded. "We're going to be discussing things that men should not hear."

Vittore looked torn between his duty and his obvious terror of what the two of them might end up discussing. Kyouko smiled at him, and indicated I-Pin. "Don't worry; I-Pin will still be here to look after us."

He didn't seem terribly reassured by I-Pin, but her presence seemed to be enough to fulfill the dictates of conscience, and he repaired to the front hall to smoke a cigarette.

"My husband's man, Vittore," Caterina said, with a sardonic smile. "As you can see, he's very careful of his duty."

"So I gathered," Kyouko said, and steered Caterina to her private sitting room. "And how is your husband?" she asked, after the tea tray she'd requested arrived and I-Pin had made herself inconspicuous.

Caterina accepted her cup of tea, eyes unreadable over the rim of her cup. "Flourishing like a weed."

"Mm, I see." Kyouko studied her, trying to get the measure of her mood, which was difficult. "If you will pardon my saying so, you don't seem all that fond of him."

"Not all of us are as lucky in our marriages as others have been." Caterina set her cup down. "What was it that you wanted to know, Kyouko? Surely there isn't any biology that your own people couldn't teach you as well as I could, even if you haven't managed to conceive yet." She tipped her head to the side, blue eyes going sharp. "Or does this have to do with the sudden interest the Vongola's people have been taking in mine?"

Kyouko kept her expression neutral, despite the stab. "The latter." She also set her tea aside, the time for polite fictions past. "Did you know that your brother was murdered?"

Caterina's mouth tightened, and her blue eyes went hard and chilly. "I suspected he was, but I had no proof."

"We do," Kyouko told her. "We can't tell you who did it, but it certainly seems like he was murdered, and that murder was covered up. Which does lead one to certain conclusions."

"Vincentio," Caterina said, slow and measured as a death knell. "Yes. He has always been ambitious." She steepled her fingers. "And what interest does the Vongola have in my brother's death?"

"The Modigliani and the Vongola used to have cordial relations." Kyouko gestured, sketching out the decline of that relationship. "We would like to see them restored to their former state."

Caterina's answering smile was slow and sharp. "I knew he'd overstep himself eventually," she said, practically crooning the words. "I was only afraid that I wouldn't be there to see it, or to root him out." She sat up straighter, expression as serene and distant as a marble saint's, and just as terrible. "And is the Vongola prepared to help me do so?"

For a moment she hesitated, but it would be far better to have Caterina Modigliani as an ally than an enemy. Kyouko lifted her chin. "We are," she said, committing the Vongola, for good or ill.

"Very good." Caterina's teeth gleamed, white and sharp. "Let's talk business, then." Her eyes sharpened. "Or will I need to speak to your husband?"

Kyouko gathered all of her dignity to her. "I speak with Tsuna's voice in this."

"I thought you couldn't be as pretty and helpless as you looked," Caterina said, with every evidence of satisfaction. "To business, then."

"Of course." Kyouko kept her hands pressed together; it would do the Vongola no good at all to betray her own feelings now. "We have forensic evidence regarding your brother's death that we will gladly make available to you, as well as a select circle of allies, if you wish it."

Caterina's mouth pursed. "One wonders how you came about possessing it." Kyouko began to shake her head, but Caterina held up a finger. "No, I know you won't say. It's no matter. Once my Family is my own, I'll deal with the matter myself. Very well. Evidence. What else can you offer me?"

"Assistance," Kyouko said. "Depending on how you wish to deal with Vincentio, privately or publicly, we will lend you our strength." She took a breath. "And we offer protection, given the precarious nature of your position."

Kyouko suspected that Caterina disliked the reminder, given the way she frowned, but she inclined her head after a moment, acknowledging the point. "Evidence, assistance, protection. Weighty things, all of those. Tell me again: what do the Vongola stand to gain from all this?"

"It's as I said before," Kyouko said, carefully. "The Modigliani have been the Vongola's allies for generations. We would be very pleased to have that relationship restored. Yours is a very old and proud Family, and we prefer to call you friends."

"Especially since we're powerful enough now, having merged with the Bolzoni, that we could cause you real problems." Caterina's smile was mocking at the edges. "Though I'm sure you're too proud to say as much."

"Not at all," Kyouko said. "But wars between Families are terrible things, and we would regret the losses that subduing your Family would cost us." That was for the crack about being pretty and helpless. "It would be better for us to resolve this peacefully."

Paradoxically enough, the insult made Caterina smile. "Just so," she murmured. "Just so." She leaned back in her seat, flattening a hand over her stomach. "Mine is a house divided, as you know. We'll need to remove Vincentio discreetly. It must look like an accident, you understand. After he's gone..." She shrugged. "I doubt they'll let me take over as the Family's head myself, you know, but I'll raise my son to be a Modigliani."

Kyouko inclined her head. "I'm sure he will be, through and through." He could hardly be anything else, with such a fierce woman to raise him.

"Of course he will." Caterina dusted her hands, briskly. "Now. I mustn't stay too long, or it will look more suspicious than it already is. Send word through that friend of yours. Tell her that Nico is my most reliable man. Any message she gives him will reach me as quickly as he can manage it." She stood, and smoothed her skirt. "It's a dangerous game that girl plays, you know. If the men of this country weren't so stupid, she'd have been lost a long time ago."

"It's a very good thing so many of them can't see what's in front of their noses," Kyouko said, after a dizzying moment of fear.

Caterina's smile was brief, but something warm glinted in her eyes. "Yes, it is, isn't it? Now, show me out. Try not to look too embarrassed when I start giving you medical advice in Vittore's hearing." She paused, and eyed Kyouko. "You have seen a doctor, haven't you? And had a doctor look him over, too?"

"I'll be sure to do so at the first opportunity," Kyouko said, not even trying to fight the blush. It was better to seem naive than to tell the Vongola's business publicly.

"Do," Catarina said, as Kyouko escorted her out. "Men can be so ridiculous about their masculinity, but it's their fault more often than not."

"I see," Kyouko said faintly, which launched a long discussion of intimate medical affairs that had her altogether relieved to deliver the woman to her bodyguard and flee to the privacy of her own rooms.

If Kyouko-san had to find tasks to keep herself busy, I-Pin knew, Sawada-san was completely the opposite: he had more things to do in a day than any three men could get through.

And yet, despite her guilt at giving him one more thing to deal with, I-Pin found herself stopping by his office after her shift had ended. Sawada-san was on the telephone with someone—by the sound of it, Squalo-san, since she could hear his side of the conversation too—but he smiled and motioned at her to sit.

I-Pin did, gingerly at and at the very edge of her seat, and pretended that she couldn't actually tell what Sawada-san and Squalo were arguing about—the Varia's desire to go and deal with the Mondigliani once and for all, from the sounds of it.

Sawada-san finally, and firmly, said, "No, and that's final, thank you and have a nice evening." And then he hung up, leaned his head back and moaned, "What did I do in a past life to deserve the Varia? I ask you."

"If this is a bad time, Sawada-san—"

He looked at her and smiled, good humor restoring itself. "It's not. It's just that Squalo has a way about him, that's all." He folded his hands under his chin and looked at her. "What can I do for you, I-Pin?"

She suppressed the urge to squirm under the full weight of his attention, and tried not to look at the heavy ring on his finger. "I... Kyouko-san said I should talk to you..."

"Ah," he said, and nodded, "then it must be something important."

I-Pin swallowed, and wondered about that. "I—maybe?" she said, fidgeting in spite of herself. "She asked me... to do the same kind of work that Haru-san does for her."

"And you're not certain whether you should," Sawada-san guessed. She nodded, grateful that he understood without her having to fumble through an explanation. "Would you like to?"

"I—yes, I think so," I-Pin said, hardly daring to raise her voice above a whisper. "But I've already—you—" She gestured, helplessly.

"Mm, I see." Sawada-san unfolded his hands, and looked at his ring. When he looked back at her, his eyes were gentle, and infinitely kind. "Would it help if you thought of it as transferring your service to a slightly different branch? It all comes back to the same place in the end, you see."

"You don't mind?" I-Pin asked, careful.

He smiled. "Of course I don't mind. I'd be glad, actually, if she had another person who she could rely on. You would be doing me a favor if you accepted her offer."

The rush of relief was sudden enough that I-Pin sagged into the chair, sinking into the deep cushions. "Oh," she murmured, "oh, I'm glad. I wanted to say yes, but—"

"But, like all of us, you have an overdeveloped sense of duty." Sawada-san chuckled. "Say yes, with my blessings, I-Pin."

She smiled back, in relief, and in the easing of that burden, she saw the answer to the question that had been puzzling her since the first day of her duty: Kyouko-san had changed to match herself to Sawada-san, or perhaps he'd become a bit like Kyouko-san, because they both held their people in the same way. "Thank you, Sawada-san."

"You're welcome," he said, and paused, almost like he was hesitating to ask something. "I-Pin..."

"Yes, sir?"

"If I may... you see Kyouko... more than anyone else," Sawada-san began. "Even me, or Haru-chan. Do you think... does she seem happy, to you?"

I-Pin froze, eyes wide at the enormity of the question. "Is she...? I—I'm not sure I'm the right person to answer that."

"I'm only asking for your opinion," he said, swiftly, color rising in his face. "You don't have to—in fact, let's just pretend that I never even asked."

I-Pin worried at her lower lip. "I think she is, mostly," she said, very soft and very fast, before her courage could desert her, because if she was going to serve Kyouko-san, there was no better place to start than with this. "But I think there's something that she wants very badly, even though she tries not to let on about it." When he motioned at her to go on, she plunged ahead, determined to say it even though her face felt like it was on fire. "I think—she wants to start a family. Soon."

It looked very much like Sawada-san was blushing as hard as she was. "I—ah. Suppose this is what I get for asking, isn't it?" And he looked so sheepish about it that I-Pin couldn't quite help the faint gasp of hysterical, embarrassed laughter that escaped her. "She's mentioned—that—a few times, but—she wants it badly?"

I-Pin thought about the look in Kyouko-san's eyes whenever Haru-san delivered an update regarding Vieri-san, and the way she and Feretti-san had leaned on each other that afternoon, and nodded. "Yes," she said, softly. "Very badly. But she's trying to be patient, and to wait for you to be willing, too."

Sawada-san took a deep breath, and blew it out. "I see. I'll—yes, I see." He shook his head, looking like his mind was very far away, far enough away that he'd forgotten about I-Pin altogether.

"Was there anything else you wanted to know?" she asked, softly, to recall him back to the present.

The distant expression vanished from his eyes. "If there is, I'm afraid to ask," he said, hastily.

"Then, if you'll excuse me..." When he nodded, I-Pin stood.

She was nearly to the door when he said, "Thank you, I-Pin."

I-Pin turned and smiled at him, a little shy still, even after that conversation. "You're welcome, Sawada-san," she said, and let her self out.

The day they buried Vincentio Modigliani was sunny and beautiful, and was the occasion of I-Pin's first public foray as Kyouko-san's personal bodyguard. As a consequence, she was so taut with nerves that the day etched itself into her memory. She carried the snatches of it that had engraved themselves into her memory to the end of her days: from the lines of long dark cars that disgorged member after member of the most prominent Families at the church to the priest's sonorous words that extolled Vincentio Modigliani's many virtues. The faces of the crowd were particularly interesting at that point. The Vongola were politely attentive, the Cavallone rather amused, the Barassi were clearly bored, and Caterina Modigliani simply endured it, face held stiffly correct.

It would have been farcical, had it not been so deadly earnest.

After the funeral, the other Families stood back and made way for Sawada-san and Kyouko-san, when they made their way to where Caterina-san stood to pay their respects, pale and remote as a queen. "Our sympathies for your loss," Sawada-san said, voice pitched to carry.

Caterina-san's voice carried just as clearly over the murmur of the other Families. "Thank you for that."

Then it was Kyouko-san's turn, just as she and Haru-san had discussed over their morning tea. "Please let us know if there's anything we can do for you," she added, reaching for Caterina-san's hand and gripping it. "You have our complete support."

It may have pretended to be purely sympathetic, but as I-Pin watched the crowd for threats, she saw that the other Families understood quite clearly: the Vongola were placing their weight behind Caterina Modigliani, and didn't care who knew it.

"I will be sure to do so," Caterina-san said. "Again, I thank you for your kindness to me."

"We're nothing without kindness," Sawada-san pronounced.

It should have sounded silly, against the backdrop of so many Families, most of whom were clearly already scheming ways to turn this Vongola-Modigliani alliance to their own ends. Somehow—I-Pin suspected it was because it was Sawada Tsunayoshi who had said it—it didn't.

"Let me know if there's anything at all I can do," Kyouko-san said again, and kissed Caterina-san's cheeks.

"I shall be sure to," Caterina-san murmured.

Sawada-san and Kyouko-san withdrew, giving way to the Vieri, and were intercepted by Dino Cavallone. "Tsuna," he said, with a smile that Sawada-san returned, and then turned to Kyouko-san. "And Kyouko-chan. You're as radiant as ever."

"Flatterer," Kyouko-san murmured, with a smile and downcast eyes.

"Perish the thought." Dino-san pressed a hand to his heart, as if wounded, and then turned more serious. "Sofia wasn't feeling well this morning, but she said to tell you that it's been too long, and I'm to invite you to dinner sometime soon."

"That sounds lovely," Kyouko-san said. "She's right. It's been forever."

"Yes, and a funeral is no time for socializing," Dino-san said, as if all the Families around them weren't conducting business as they spoke. "It's such a shame, what happened to Vincentio. Food allergies—who would have thought it?" He shook his head sadly, though his eyes were sharp, looking at Sawada-san. "The Modigliani have no manner of luck at all."

"They say bad things come in threes," Sawada-san murmured, casually.

Dino-san's mouth ticked up at the corners. "So they do. Let's hope that holds true, hm?" He turned a more genuine smile on Kyouko-san. "I'll have Sofia call you. Pick out a good time for dinner, okay?"

"I'll be waiting," Kyouko-san promised him. He smiled and moved on, only to be replaced by Paolo and Maria Feretti, who were full of polite greetings and hushed murmurs about the deceased.

After the Feretti it was the Giglio Nero; after the Giglio Nero, it was Girasole, and the afternoon wore on like that. Sawada-san and Kyouko-san made polite small talk with everyone, reaffirming their alliances and considering the offers of new alliances, all couched in polite small talk. Elsewhere in the crowd, Haru-san did the same. It was exhausting just to watch. I-Pin was drained by the time it was finally over, and wondered how anyone could still be smiling and unruffled at the end of it. Somehow Kyouko-san and Haru-san managed it, and didn't even sigh until they were safely ensconced in the Vongola limousine.

"That's that," Haru-san said, as it purred into motion.

"And thank goodness," Kyouko-san agreed, with a heavy sigh.

Neither of them were looking at Gokudera-san, who was looking—rather pointedly—out the window. I-Pin's heart sank, and she hoped (against hope, she suspected), that the two of them were only referring to the funeral.

Given how quiet the rest of the ride home was, she doubted it.

"That was exhausting," Kyouko declared, when they'd finally dismissed Gokudera and I-Pin and reached the sanctuary of their own rooms. She sat at her vanity, and took the earrings out of her ears. "Funerals are such barbaric customs." Or perhaps the barbaric part was knowing that the crowd of mourners gathered around Vincentio Modigliani's coffin were there mostly to make sure the man was dead, and that she had played a significant role in bringing about his demise.

"I keep thinking that one of these days, they'll get easier, at least when they're for an enemy," Tsuna agreed. "But they never do."

Kyouko began wiping away her makeup as he began to shed his clothes. "That's a pity," she said. Then she reconsidered it, and shook her head at herself. "Or perhaps it's not."

"It's hard to decide," he said, and came to stand behind her.

Kyouko sighed as he set his hands on her shoulders and began to knead the tension out of them. "Oh, that's nice," she murmured. "Don't ever stop."

His reflection smiled down at her. "If you like." His thumbs circled at the base of her neck, slow and warm and strong. "You're all knotted up."

"Mm. Wearing my hair up does that." Although that wasn't all of it; part of it was the memory of Caterina Modigliani standing in her black dress at her husband's graveside, absolutely untouched by the fuss around her.

"Does it?" He began teasing the hairpins out of her hair, letting it tumble down from its chignon. "Is that better?"

Kyouko sighed and leaned her head back, against his stomach. "Much. Thank you." And his fingers carding through it felt even better. She made a contented sound, eyes half-shut, as she drank in the strength and the gentleness of him. Perhaps not all marriages were lucky, as Caterina had said, but hers was, and knowing as much only made her savor it more.

She felt Tsuna take a breath, like he was preparing to say something. "So," he murmured, and she opened her eyes to look at his reflection. He looked as shy as he had the night he'd asked her to marry him. "There was something you asked me to think about, after this mess with the Modigliani ended."

"And...?" she asked, as her pulse quickened, in spite of herself. It was foolish to get her hopes up, but...

"And yes," he said, quietly, watching her. "You're right. It's only ever going to be one thing after another. I'd like it not to be, but it's foolish to wait any longer than we already have."

"Tsuna," she breathed, and reached for his hand, pressing it to her cheek in lieu of the things she didn't know how to say.

He smiled again, shy, the color running high in his cheeks. "Come to bed?" he murmured.

Kyouko smiled up at him. "Yes," she said, softly, and rose to press herself into his arms. "Oh, yes," she whispered, and lifted herself onto her toes to kiss him.

"Come to bed," he said again, against her mouth, and she was only too happy to comply.

It took a long, hot bath to get the feel of the Modigliani funeral in all its odious glory off her skin, and she lingered in the bathtub until the water began to cool. When Haru finally emerged from the bathroom, wrapped up in her robe and still squeezing the water from her hair, she found Hayato sitting on the couch.

From the looks of things, he'd been there for a while; he'd undone his tie and opened his collar, and was working through a glass of wine. Haru froze and stared at him, trying to figure out what all those clues meant.

"I was starting to wonder whether you'd fallen asleep in there," he said, after they'd stared at each other for a moment.

"That happened once," Haru protested, and wrapped the towel around her head to keep the water from trickling down her neck.

His mouth kicked up at the corner. "Doesn't mean it couldn't happen again."

This seemed like a promising start; the wine had probably been a good idea. "That's what you think," she grumbled, and claimed his easy chair for her own seat. She steeled herself, and asked, "Are you here because we've put the Modigliani thing to bed?"

"Yes," Hayato said, after a pause.

Haru sighed and closed her eyes. So it had come to this after all. "Can we put off fighting till tomorrow?" she said, tired. "It's been a hell of a day, you know."

"I know. I'm not here to fight." When Haru looked at him, he was looking determined. "You made a big speech to me a while ago. I've been thinking about it. One of the things I've been thinking is that I deserve a chance to reply. Fair?"

Haru swallowed. "Okay, that's fair," she agreed. She arranged her robe and her hands, and looked at him. "I'm listening."

"Thanks." Hayato looked down at his laced fingers. "When we first met, you went head over heels for Tsuna. For the longest time, all you talked about was the things you were going to do when you became his wife, and how you were going to be the best mafia wife ever, and so on. And then you stopped all of a sudden, and I figured it was because you'd finally realized that as far as he was concerned, Kyouko was the only woman in the world. And I figured... that sucked for you. Sucks for anyone that happens to."

Haru started to speak, to explain, but he shook his head. "Just let me get through this first, okay? Please?"

"Go ahead," she said, quietly, and saved up her explanations for later.

Hayato cleared his throat. "So the way I figured it, when you and I got together... I was your second choice. And, you know, when Tsuna's your first choice, well, being second place doesn't actually look that bad, usually. Usually. It's just..." He stopped, and shook his head. "You know how I get, sometimes. Paranoid about... things."

That was, the clinical portion of Haru's mind noted, putting it rather mildly, but she said nothing and let him continue uninterrupted. "And every time I asked you to marry me, and you said no, and I couldn't figure out why... I just got more paranoid. Especially when it seemed like some days I couldn't go five steps down the road without someone telling me about seeing you chatting up yet another guy."

Biting her lip wasn't enough; she had to say something, whether he was finished or not. "I'm sorry," Haru said. "We should have told you."

Hayato's mouth twisted. "Yeah, well, I'm not going to argue, but... I don't know. Maybe if I'd known what you were doing from the first, it would have been okay, and maybe I wouldn't have been able to take you seriously." He shook his head. "I don't know. What I do know is that you're right. You are damn good at what you do. This thing with the Modigliani... we might have eventually noticed something was up, but you got there early, and I'm betting that was a big part of what kept things from going completely pear-shaped."

It was unexpectedly sweet to hear him say as much. Haru had to swallow hard before she could get any words out. "Thank you."

He smiled, brief and rueful. "Yeah, well. Credit where credit is due."

Haru glanced away, eyes traveling over the titles on his bookcase. "No, really. You're the one with the legitimate intelligence operation. I pretty much make it up as I go along. It works, but..." She shrugged. "It's not particularly elegant."

Hayato snorted. "Elegance is overrated."

"That's what you say now," she murmured, and looked back at him. He seemed to have finished his reply, at any rate. Haru leaned forward a bit, lacing her fingers together and looking at him, hoping he could see how serious she was. "You weren't ever a second choice. Yes, I had a school-girl crush on Tsuna-kun, for a while, but it didn't last much past meeting Kyouko-chan for the first time. You'd have to have been completely oblivious to miss the way they looked at each other." She smiled, remembering. "But it was so easy to tease Tsuna that I kept on playing that game for a while, until UnitÃ -san told us that it was time to put those silly games aside and be serious." She laughed, softly, at the look on his face. "You didn't know about that? Hayato, Kyouko-chan is good at what she does, but it was something she had to learn, just like Tsuna-kun had to learn to be the Tenth."

"Oh," Hayato said, still looking—and sounding—stunned. "Oh. I—you never said anything."

Haru shrugged. "You never seemed all that interested in the things we girls got up to," she told him, which was the truth and then some—and Hayato was one of the better specimens of his breed.

"Which was, clearly, a big damn mistake." Hayato raked a hand through his hair, and sighed. "Can't really start something like this over from scratch, can we?"

Haru couldn't stop her heart from skipping a beat, and probably wouldn't have tried even if it had been possible. "There's a little too much water under the bridge," she agreed, after a moment. He frowned, until she went on. "We might be able to work on fixing the things that are broken, though."

Hayato let out a breath. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, we could do that." He looked as relieved as she felt.

That was good. Haru wished she could leave it there. "And what I do as Kyouko-chan's right hand... you can handle that?"

Hayato looked away, and was quiet. Haru let him be, waiting him out. "I think so. If... as long as you remember to come home at the end of the day."

"Idiot," Haru said, wry and affectionate. Honestly. She was going to have to stand by what she'd said—boys managed to be incredibly stupid sometimes. "I've never once forgotten who comes first."

That got him, as she'd suspected it would; she saw him swallow, hard. "First, huh?" Hayato glanced at her, almost shyly. "Really?"

Haru sighed and went to him, and wound her arms around him. "Yes, first. Really," she murmured, firmly.

"I guess that's okay, then," he said, and pulled her closer.

Haru closed her eyes at the wash of relief. "Thank goodness for that," she said, and pressed against him. When she trusted herself to speak, she added, "I've missed you, you great insecure idiot."

"Is it too late for me to change my mind?" he murmured, as he wrapped his arms around her.

"Yep. You're stuck now," she told him, and smiled when he laughed softly.

Yeah, maybe they were going to be okay after all.

"...and that's all I have this morning," Haru-san chirped, and helped herself to another teacake.

It certainly seemed like plenty to I-Pin, but both Kyouko-san and Haru-san seemed pleased with the flotsam and jetsam of gossip that had floated out of the aftermath of Vincentio Modigliani's funeral.

Or perhaps they were just pleased about other things, and it was spilling into their work, she decided, looking at the way they were smiling—with their eyes and not just their mouths. Not that she was going to complain, if that was the case.

"Wonderful," Kyouko-san murmured. "The work never stops, does it?"She dusted off her hands. "But if that's all—"

This seemed to be as good a time to speak as any. "Excuse me, Kyouko-san?" I-Pin said, softly. "I have something, if you don't mind?"

The two of them turned identical surprised smiles on her. Kyouko-san was the first to recover, of course. "By all means," she said, gesturing at her to go ahead.

I-Pin had thought about this moment long and hard, trying to puzzle out what would be appropriate and agonizing over what she should do. Now that the moment was here, it felt only natural to go to Kyouko-san and go to one knee. As Kyouko-san's breath caught, she took Kyouko-san's hand between hers. "You asked me to serve you," she said, touching her forehead to the back of it. "I would be honored, Kyouko-san."

"Oh," Kyouko-san said, voice quiet and full, and laid a hand on her hair. "Thank you, I-Pin. I'm very grateful."

I-Pin looked up and smiled when Kyouko-san drew her up from her knees. "It's my privilege," she murmured.

Kyouko-san's answering smile was bright. "I'm glad to hear it." She inclined her head. "We have a lot of things to talk about."

Haru-san poured her a cup of tea and Kyouko-san prepared a plate of dainty pastries for her as I-Pin brought a third chair to the table, and slipped into the place they had prepared for her. "Thank you," she said, accepting the tea and the plate, and looked at Kyouko-san. "I'm ready to begin if you are."

Kyouko-san nodded, still smiling. "Let's," she said, and they did.

the end

Gray Willow Catkins

Yamamoto decides Gokudera is broken and needs to be fixed. It takes a while to find the right opening. Drama with Romance, I-3

Takeshi lay on his bed, arms folded behind his head, and stared up at his ceiling, thinking.

Gokudera had argued with him earlier, and Takeshi had teased him a little by smiling agreeably the whole time. Finally Gokudera had run his hands through his hair, looking like he was two breaths away from trying to pull it out, and yelled "Don't you ever get mad, you idiot?!" before stomping off.

And now, for the first time in years, Takeshi was thinking about the things he'd said to Gokudera in the middle of their fight with Gamma years ago... or yet, depending on how you looked at it.

Gokudera's constant growling had always kind of amused him, and he admitted that every now and then he sort of poked Gokudera just to get him going. Like playing with a cat; a few scratches were fair trade for getting to watch it flail at you. Actually, Gokudera reminded him a lot of a cat, sometimes, a feral cat that would only let one person pet him without biting, and that person was Tsuna. Even when they'd just met it had made Takeshi wonder a little how often Gokudera must have gotten kicked, to be that way, and now he was wondering more seriously.

Often enough that Gokudera didn't understand not getting mad all the time?

Takeshi frowned at his ceiling. He didn't like that idea.

...often enough that Tsuna doing something, unthinkingly, to help Gokudera had knocked down every wall he had and set him following Tsuna with his heart in his hand?

Takeshi really didn't like that idea. It just wasn't right for anyone to have something like that done to them.

Well, if that was the case, then something would just have to be done to fix it. After all, Takeshi liked and respected Gokudera, trusted him with Tsuna's welfare and Takeshi's own back. It shouldn't be too hard to show him that. Takeshi nodded firmly at his ceiling, satisfied with this conclusion, and reached for his homework.

"You want to what?"

"Practice." Takeshi smiled at Gokudera and, when this only got him a dubious stare, amended. "Train. Together. For next time. You know there's going to be a next time, and it might need two of us at once."

Gokudera couldn't deny that, though he looked like he wanted to. "And who do you think we can train against?" he asked, arms crossed.

"I bet Reborn can find people."

Gokudera opened his mouth and closed it again. "Hm." He glowered down at his folded arms for a while before muttering. "Probably a good idea. I guess."

Takeshi didn't press for anything more enthusiastic. That kind of was enthusiastic, coming from Gokudera. And now he would have more opportunities to show Gokudera that Takeshi wouldn't kick him, and he really didn't have to bite preemptively. It was a great idea if he did say so himself.

Of course, Reborn wanted to test them himself, first.

"Hopeless," he pronounced, landing with a light tap of shoes beside them while Gokudera swore—at least Takeshi assumed he was swearing from the tone, he'd reverted to Italian—and Takeshi tried to figure out how to untangle them without slicing anything off. "You'd better start with targets instead of opponents. Leon."

Takeshi couldn't help laughing at the beady look Leon gave them before he transformed into a projector and a vaguely person-shaped red light flickered against the trees.

"Shut up, you idiot," Gokudera snarled, finally hauling himself out from under Takeshi. His eyes narrowed on their target and more explosives appeared between his fingers. "And this time just go and let me take care of not hitting you."

Takeshi grinned at that and agreed easily. "Sure thing ." He'd been right; practice would make good opportunities to prove his trust in Gokudera.

Gokudera paused and gave him a longer look. "Yeah, whatever," he muttered finally, and lit his bombs.

It took weeks before Reborn declared them ready for a live opponent.

"Fuck," Gokudera muttered, eyes just a little wide.

"I guess Reborn wanted us to practice for so long first so we didn't get killed," Takeshi speculated.

Hibari pushed away from his lounge against a tree and looked them up and down. "Hm." The corner of his mouth curled.

"Okay, look," Gokudera muttered, low, "either one, he goes after you for a good fight or two, he goes after me to get me out of the way. My weapons are mid-range, and in close I'm no match for him. So if one, can you hold him while I get a target and if two, can you distract him so I can open the range again?"

Yamamoto considered. "I can't hold him for long, but yeah. And I'm pretty sure I can be distracting."

Gokudera snorted. "Don't know why I bothered asking." He sighed and flicked out a handful of explosives as Hibari started tapping his foot with impatience. "Kind of hope it's two."

Takeshi looked at him, startled. "You do?" He had never thought of Gokudera as one of the ones who liked this kind of fight for its own sake.

Gokudera gave him a dour look. "If he's looking at you for a good fight, he'll pound me into fucking paste for interrupting. Crazy bastards, all of you," he added under his breath.

Takeshi considered Gokudera for a long moment. "You know, you're really good at this."

"Notice that afterwards!" Gokudera snapped as Hibari stopped waiting for them and they dodged back and apart.

Takeshi laughed. "Okay!" He would, too. And bit by bit he'd get through.

A month later he was starting to have some doubts about that.

Oh, they were getting to work pretty smoothly as a team, at least when there was an opponent in front of them. They were having some really fun matches on the way, too, though Gokudera gave him dark looks whenever he said anything about that. The problem was that, the more time he spent with Gokudera, and the better able to work together they got, the clearer it became that Gokudera was still holding himself apart. He might not be the best fighter among them, but when it came to his heart, he left absolutely no openings, sliding by every overture Takeshi made, slick as ice. It was starting to get frustrating.

Takeshi probably shouldn't have taken that out on Shamal, but when he emerged from Gokudera's smoke screen right behind the man and heard him muttering about his precious girls choking and whippersnappers too smart for their own good, it annoyed him.

"All clear," he called, as Shamal went down in a heap, clouted smartly with Takeshi's hilt. "Don't suppose you can get rid of the smoke?"

"What do you want me to do, blow it away?" Gokudera grumbled.

Takeshi shrugged. "Sure, why not?"

There was a moment of silence. "Why not? Why not throw a bomb in there when I can't actually see where you are? Gee, I can't imagine." Sarcasm dripped off Gokudera's voice.

Takeshi's mouth quirked. "I trust you."

The smoke was thinning enough on its own for him to see Gokudera, standing a dozen paces away, staring at him with a now-familiar expression of wary puzzlement. Takeshi sighed to himself and waited for the usual sort of comment about baseball-addled brains.

Instead Gokudera shook his head and asked, "Why?"

The question, the moment he'd been waiting so long for, sang down Takeshi's nerves and made the world sharp, and now Gokudera was looking at him even more warily. He took a breath for control. The words were sure as a sword stroke in his mind, though.

"Because you see the big issues and you think about them for all of us. Because you'll shoot without a second thought, if it's to protect us. I've watched you give everything you are to Tsuna, and you never hold back. You snarl all the time, but you can't pass by a stray or a kid. You act like a thug, but you read physics for fun. You have a temper hotter than those bombs, but you'd die for any of us; you've proved that."

Gokudera actually backed up a step, eyes wide with shock. Takeshi spread his hands.

"I trust you because you're you."

He could see Gokudera swallow before he managed to speak. "Yamamoto..."

Shamal groaned, between them, and rolled over, squinting up. "Remind me not to underestimate you brats any more," he husked and put an arm over his eyes.

When Takeshi looked up, Gokudera was collected again, face closed, and he sighed. It had been a step, at least, he was pretty sure, and he didn't want to mess that up by pushing Gokudera too far.

At their next practice, though, he decided he should have pushed, because Gokudera was completely distracted.

And Colonello was not someone even both of them together could be distracted, against.

"Gokudera!"

Gokudera hauled himself out of the splinters of a tree, wincing. "I'm fine."

"You're not fine, you have a piece of tree in your arm," Takeshi pointed out, just a bit exasperated. Then he had to bite down a yelp as Gokudera reached around and yanked it out.

"Enough for today," Colonello told them, shaking his head. "Get that fixed." He frowned at both of them, though it didn't have quite the usual coach-scowl impact, on a baby's face. "And get your minds on your training, kora!"

"I'm not going near Romario," Gokudera muttered, as Colonello's eagle flapped off with him.

Actually, Takeshi couldn't blame him for that. "Do you have an emergency kit at home?"

Which was how they came to be in Gokudera's tiny apartment kitchen, Gokudera seated on his table, swinging a foot and watching with rather alarming disinterest as Takeshi cleaned and wrapped the gouge in his arm.

"There." Takeshi tied the bandage off.

Gokudera slid to his feet and flexed his arm a lot more freely than Takeshi would have thought wise when it wasn't absolutely necessary. "Yeah, that'll do." He looked aside. "Thanks."

Takeshi sighed softly. He knew it was possible to get through to Gokudera; Tsuna had done it more or less by accident.

So maybe the question was, what did Tsuna do that he wasn't? He thought about that as he put the emergency kit back in order. Tsuna was diffident, unthreatening. Except when he was in the grip of his Will, and then he got less diffident and more threatening than any two of his Guardians put together, and Takeshi had seen Gokudera watching when Tsuna was like that. If anything, Gokudera's focus on Tsuna got even tighter, then. Tsuna was accepting, but Gokudera wasn't responding to simple acceptance from Takeshi. Of course Tsuna was so completely transparent about it...

Takeshi paused in the act of stowing the kit back in Gokudera's rather bare cupboard. "Gokudera." He turned to look at him, wondering if he'd gotten it at last. "Do you think I'm lying?"

Gokudera blinked at him. "Huh?"

"When I say I trust you. Do you think I'm lying?"

Gokudera's shoulders jerked and pulled tight. "I'm sure your word is good," he said flatly, staring out the kitchen window.

Takeshi had a feeling he'd just stepped in another mafia custom of some kind, but he'd figure that out later. The important thing was that, obviously, his word alone really wasn't enough. He chewed on his lip for a moment, thinking. He didn't think he could be as clear as Tsuna was, but maybe... maybe Gokudera would accept a different kind of evidence. Something that wasn't just words.

And he could think of one thing that Gokudera couldn't possibly misunderstand, no matter how determined he was.

Gokudera looked around again as Takeshi came closer, frowning a little. "What?"

Takeshi smiled, just a little wry. "You can hit me for this, if I'm really wrong." He lifted Gokudera's chin and bent his head to kiss him gently.

Gokudera froze, staring at him. But not slugging him, which Takeshi took as a good sign. He slid an arm around Gokudera and drew him closer, slow and careful.

"What...?" Gokudera was stiff as a board, eyes wide and a little wild.

"I thought you might believe body language more than words," Takeshi explained, one hand rubbing Gokudera's back.

"You can't... It's not..." Gokudera shook his head violently, though he wasn't pulling away, which made something in the back of Takeshi's head sit up and take notice. "You can't."

"Can't what?" Takeshi asked, quietly.

"I'm not... You don't..." Gokudera's jaw tightened. "You can't think I'm worth anything."

Takeshi considered that for a moment, head cocked. "Why not?"

Gokudera opened his mouth and closed it again, looking rather lost. Finally he glanced aside and mumbled, "No one does?"

Takeshi took a slow breath, fitting pieces together in his head. Gokudera might think that was true but he had to be desperate for it not to be, or else Takeshi would have eaten dynamite the second he touched him. "Tsuna does," he pointed out, hoping to springboard from this inarguable fact. Before he could, though, Gokudera spoke again.

"No one else." He wasn't stiff any more, but he was still, completely still, eyes dark and cold as he gazed blankly over Takeshi's shoulder. Takeshi almost shivered at that cold, except that a spark of genuine anger was starting to warm him up.

No one should have something like this done to them.

"Someone," he corrected, firmly, turning Gokudera's head back toward him and gathering him closer.

Gokudera started, jarred out of that frozen stillness, and and still not socking Takeshi one for doing this. Takeshi nodded.

"Someone," he repeated, softer, and kissed Gokudera again, deliberate this time, coaxing, because he'd be damned if he let Gokudera go on thinking like that. This time he was rewarded with a quick, uneven breath and Gokudera's fingers tightening in his shirt for a moment.

"Yamamoto..."

Takeshi wound his arms snugly around Gokudera. "Hmm?" He could feel tiny shivers running through Gokudera and lifted a hand to knead the nape of Gokudera's neck, slow and firm.

"You really...? I mean..." Gokudera looked up at him, conflicting expressions tangling in his eyes—tense fear and disbelief and a tiny glow of wonder.

"I really mean it," Takeshi told him gently. "We're all in this together. I'm glad we are." He smiled, brushing back Gokudera's hair. "You're amazing, you know."

A faint pink crept across Gokudera's cheekbones and he glanced aside again. Takeshi resolved to tell him that was adorable, some time when it wouldn't undo months on end of work.

"Okay," Gokudera said softly. "I... I believe you."

Takeshi smiled. It was a good start.

End

Body Language

Gokudera's trust issues are Yamamoto's new hobby; he has his work cut out for him. Drama with Romance, I-3

"Delivery!" Takeshi called, cheerfully, banging on Gokudera's door. It took a few minutes for Gokudera to answer the door, and another for him to finish staring in disbelief.

"What are you doing?"

"Bringing you dinner." Takeshi dangled the bag of carryout from raised fingers.

"Why?" Gokudera asked, after another long pause.

"Because you skipped lunch today." Takeshi smiled with sunny obliviousness, hiding his amusement as Gokudera scrubbed a hand over his face.

"Fine, whatever, get off my stairs before the neighbors try to kill you for making such a racket." Gokudera took the bag ungraciously, muttering under his breath as Takeshi came in, toeing off his shoes and closing the door. Gokudera turned his back pointedly, taking a step toward the kitchen.

It was too perfect an opportunity to resist, and Takeshi was making a policy of taking all the opportunities he could, these days. If he didn't, Gokudera slid right back into hissing and bristling.

He wound an arm around Gokudera, drawing him back against his chest, and dropped a light kiss on the curve of his neck. He was elbowed in the stomach for his trouble. All right, so there was still some hissing and bristling in any case.

"Oof," he said, ruefully, and smiled as he watched Gokudera stalk across the room, back straight.

"Why do you keep doing that?" Gokudera muttered, smacking containers down on his tiny span of counter.

Hissing or not, Gokudera gave him a lot of opportunities, and this was one Takeshi had kind of been waiting for. "Because you're cute."

Gokudera stopped and turned to stare at him. "I am not cute!"

"Adorable?" Takeshi offered, grinning.

Gokudera sputtered at him, glaring and Takeshi laughed, reaching out again to gather him in.

"Gorgeous?" he murmured, settling the lean, elegant line of Gokudera's body against his.

Gokudera's cheekbones turned pink, which absolutely was adorable. "You say the most idiotic things," he said, looking aside.

"True things."

Gokudera humphed, but it slid into a softer sound as Takeshi turned his head back and kissed him, fingers sliding into his hair, cradling his head. A shiver rippled through Gokudera, but he also relaxed. Touch was the language Gokudera really believed; Takeshi just had to speak it clearly enough. When Takeshi drew back Gokudera's eyes were dark and thoughtful.

"True things," Takeshi told him again, gently, thumb stroking the nape of his neck.

Gokudera shrugged a shoulder and looked down, but didn't deny it. Takeshi chalked up another scrap of progress on his mental scoreboard.

This was not Takeshi's favorite way to spend the term break.

Gokudera was wound up tighter than usual, and it was making Takeshi nervous. Theoretically the lawn of the Vongola headquarters contained only Vongola allies, here for another meet-the-Tenth gathering, but if Gokudera had seen something to alarm him Takeshi wasn't going to second guess him. Gokudera was the one who knew this world.

It took him a while to work his way casually over, but finally he was close enough to murmur, "Anything wrong?"

Gokudera started and looked around at him, eyes abruptly sharpening. "What?"

Takeshi relaxed. If Gokudera had seen something, he'd already have been sharp and focused, as, indeed he was now. "Just wondered. You seem kind of tense."

Gokudera's gaze turned distant and dark again, and he shrugged a shoulder, sharp and jerky. Takeshi frowned. Something personal, then? "What is it?" he asked, softer.

Gokudera looked at him for a long moment, mouth tight. Just as he was taking a breath, though, and Takeshi was calculating the odds whether it would be to spill or to tell Takeshi it was none of his business, another of the gathering stopped beside them.

"Gokudera Hayato, isn't it?" The man was older, hair just starting to gray, and neither his tone nor his expression was what Takeshi would call friendly. A moment fishing through his memory tossed up the name Spigola, though he was pretty sure this wasn't the boss.

Gokudera's shoulders were stiff again. "Yeah?"

The man looked him up and down. "I hear you plan to be the Vongola Tenth's right hand."

Gokudera's chin lifted a hair. "That's for the Tenth to say." His voice was hard and level.

The man's mouth twisted. "I hope he has better sense than to take a punk like you've always been. The Vongola are better than that."

Takeshi frowned after the man, as he stalked past, and edged closer to lay a hand on Gokudera's back.

Gokudera flinched.

Takeshi was starting to think he'd been right the first time, about Gokudera having spotted trouble. It just wasn't the kind he'd expected.

"You asked what was wrong?" Gokudera said quietly, through his teeth, not looking at Takeshi. "There are too many people here that know me, is what's wrong."

Takeshi's frown deepened. How was he supposed to make any progress when jerks like that came along and set Hayato back? "With that kind of attitude, he can't know you very well."

Gokudera made a harsh sound, shoulders shaking. It took Takeshi a long moment to realize it was a laugh.

Gokudera would probably kill him if Takeshi kissed him right here, which wouldn't do at all. Instead Takeshi rubbed his back slowly, turning to stand between Gokudera and the rest of the gathering. "What does it matter, what they think?" he asked. "Tsuna is the only one who has any say in it, isn't he?"

"It wouldn't be entirely wise of him to ignore the opinion of his allies," Gokudera said in a stifled tone.

Takeshi thought about that. "He did, though. You are. I mean you were. Will be. Kind of." Okay, he probably deserved the look Gokudera was giving him. "In the future. Remember?"

Gokudera blinked. "Oh," he said at last.

Takeshi smiled. "Yeah, oh." He slid his hand up under Gokudera's hair to knead his neck. "He wants you. We want you. And we're the ones who know you."

Gokudera looked uncertain, now, but that was better than the harsh expression he'd had. He leaned just a little into Takeshi's hand. "Mm."

"If we weren't in public, I'd show you," Takeshi murmured, coaxing.

Gokudera flushed. "Don't even think it," he hissed, glaring.

Takeshi grinned. That was much better. "Sure." He let go with a last brush of his fingers and wandered off, casually.

But not very far off.

He stayed close enough to slide into the path of the next person to head toward Gokudera and look at the man the way he looked at his targets for cutting practice. When the man flinched and veered off, Takeshi nodded and let the still poise run out of him again and looked around for a drink tray. He figured he'd be here a while.

From the corner of his eye he watched Gokudera's shoulders relaxing from their over-straight line and smiled.

It was all about body language.

Takeshi perched in the window across from the school's music room and listened to the music winding down the empty hall.

He had been there for almost an hour, he thought. He wasn't sure; he hadn't looked at his watch for a long time.

When the music ended, this time in a definite scraping of furniture and shuffling of paper, he sighed. Well, hopefully he'd get to hear more some time. And when Gokudera emerged from the music room and stopped short, staring at him, it was worth it. Takeshi grinned and hopped down.

"That was great."

Gokudera waved a hand, looking uncomfortable. "I'm not professional grade or anything. It's just a hobby, really."

Takeshi cocked his head. "You don't have to be professional to be good."

Gokudera snorted. "Says the man who insists on playing a ball game professionally?"

Takeshi allowed the point and tried another tack. "That first one you played was... well it was something else." He frowned for a moment, fishing for the right words. "It kept my attention. It... didn't let go."

"Chopin's Fantaisie?" Gokudera smiled. "Not surprised. A lot of his pieces are that way, but the Fantaisie especially. You're never sure what's coming next."

"What was the second thing you played?" Takeshi asked, wanting to keep Gokudera going. It fascinated him when Gokudera forgot himself and showed this side.

"The Nocturne in C Minor." Gokudera's eyes brightened. "I like that one. It's the last of his Nocturnes. There's some speculation, lately, that it was based on an Italian opera."

"It reminded me of you."

Gokudera blinked and Takeshi shrugged. He was just about positive he wouldn't find the words to explain this, but it was true. "The way it moved. It just... felt like you." His mouth quirked. "The last one reminded me of you, too."

Gokudera's brows rose. "The Waltz in A Minor?"

"Not exactly the same way," Takeshi allowed, and chuckled as Gokudera frowned. "It made me think of you in other moods." He reached out and stroked the backs of his fingers down Gokudera's cheek.

Gokudera's breath hitched. He always seemed so startled by this, and Takeshi was starting to think very dark thoughts about the people Gokudera seemed to have encountered before coming to Japan. He reached out and drew Gokudera close.

"We want you," he murmured. "I want you. The elegance and the explosions and the growling and all of it."

"Yamamoto..." Gokudera's eyes were wide and unguarded, and it drove Takeshi a little wild to think that something so simple was such a revelation to him. He caught Gokudera tight against him and kissed him, deep and intent and hungry, parting Hayato's lips and twining their tongues together, more demanding than he'd dared be before, trying to show what words apparently weren't quite getting through. Again.

And maybe his instincts were right again because Gokudera answered the kiss, finally, hesitant but wanting, fingers winding tight in Takeshi's shirt. He kissed Gokudera until they were both breathless, hands kneading slowly up and down his back. He kissed his way down Gokudera's neck and made a pleased sound at the way Gokudera relaxed against him, head tipped back with a faint, startled sound. This was what he wanted, yes.

"I'll show you some more, if you want," he said against the curve of Gokudera's neck.

"Maybe not right here in the school hallway." Gokudera's voice was dry, for all the husky edge to it. "Hibari would probably kill us."

Takeshi laughed. "Good point." He lifted his head to smile down at Gokudera. "You mind if I come visit this evening, then?"

Gokudera stared at him for a moment before he glanced aside and swallowed. "I wouldn't mind." His voice was huskier than it had been while they were kissing.

"I'm glad," Takeshi said softly.

Gokudera reached for his bag to sling over his shoulder and glanced up at Takeshi with a tiny smile. "Come on, then."

Takeshi smiled in complete contentment and tucked his hands in his pockets and followed along.

He didn't think for one moment that he was done, but this time he was sure that Gokudera had heard what he was saying.

End

Comfort Food

Gokudera is sick and being stubborn, and Yamamoto decides to step in. Unmitigated Fluff, I-2

Warning: May cause tooth decay. To prevent cavities, brush thoroughly after every reading.

"HA-CHOO!"

Tsuna almost flinched at the violence of Gokudera's sneeze. "Are you sure you're all right? I mean, shouldn't you be staying home?"

"'mb fide," Gokudera muttered around his wad of handkerchief. It hadn't moved far all day, but when it had his nose had looked absolutely raw. "Not goig to slack off by job 'cause of a code."

Takeshi sighed and made a note to himself that Gokudera got more stubborn and foul-tempered when he was sick. He wouldn't have thought it was possible if he hadn't seen it with his own eyes.

"Don't worry," he told Tsuna. "Gokudera is going home now."

Tsuna blinked. "He, um, is?"

Takeshi tucked his hands in his pockets and smiled, serene and immoveable, ignoring the evil glare Gokudera was giving him. "Yes. He is."

"Fuck you." It would have been more impressive if Gokudera hadn't had to blow his nose so hard before he could manage to enunciate it. Takeshi decided it was time to bring out the heavy weaponry.

"When you're better, if you like," he said, agreeably.

Tsuna and Gokudera both turned red.

"In the meantime, though, you should be resting, right? Tsuna is home and safe, you've done your job, time for dinner." Takeshi took ruthless advantage of Gokudera's flusterment to steer him on down the street, waving goodbye to Tsuna over his shoulder. Tsuna stood at his gate, watching them and shaking his head, but Takeshi thought he was smiling.

Gokudera called him names most of the way to his apartment. Takeshi smiled and agreed with every one, even the ones in Italian he still didn't understand. Though, after this long, there weren't many of those. Gokudera's energetic stomping lasted all the way up his stairs. Takeshi took over, though, when Gokudera fumbled with the buttons of his coat.

"You're taking a long, hot bath," he said firmly, unwinding Gokudera's scarf. "And then you're going to eat something. And then you're sleeping however long you need to. Got it?"

Gokudera snarled at him. Takeshi ignored it. "Bath," he repeated, turning away to rummage in Gokudera's cupboards for anything resembling food. "You can't guard Tsuna if you're this sick." He tracked Gokudera's steps across the apartment by the shuffling and banging into the few furnishings, and breathed a sigh of relief when the water went on. He hadn't been positive even the ultimate appeal to the Tenth would work this time.

Eventually he assembled rice that didn't seem to have dried out yet, some eggs, not too old greens, and rather a lot of pickles. Tamagoyaki and onigiri it was. He kept half an ear out while he cooked, listening to the water eventually turn off and the silence the followed. When it had gone on for a while he left off pressing the rice and tip-toed across to sneak a look in on Gokudera, long enough to see that his head was still above the edge of the tub, at least. He was cleaning up when Gokudera finally emerged, flushed and damp and breathing easier if the lack of handkerchief was any indication. Takeshi smiled and set Gokudera's plate out for him before turning back to the sink.

He listened to Gokudera's grumbling and stifled a chuckle when it turned muffled, as around a mouthful of food.

Eventually Gokudera brought his empty plate to the sink and elbowed Takeshi for room to wash it. Takeshi stood firm. "I'll do that. You go to bed before you lose all that heat from the bath."

Gokudera scowled at him, but didn't fight this time, dropping his plate in the water with what was probably a deliberate splash and trudging toward the bedroom.

Takeshi finished up quickly and brewed some tea and slipped into Gokudera's room with a cup, quietly in case he was already asleep.

He made a grumpy sound, so probably not.

Takeshi set the cup down beside the bed and eyed the thin blanket with disapproval. Gokudera was shivering, curled up with his back to the door. He'd gathered by this time that Gokudera would just get more stubborn if he pointed it out, though, so he went rummaging again, this time for covers. Hauling his finds back he silently spread out two more blankets and a very large towel.

And then he eased down onto the bed behind Gokudera and curled up around him, carefully bracing an arm over him so its weight wouldn't come down too heavily.

Slowly the shivers stopped.

Gokudera finally stirred. "You'll get sick, too," he husked.

"If I do then you can have your revenge, and make me take care of myself," Takeshi said lightly.

Gokudera snorted silently, just a huff of breath under his arm. "'Kay."

Takeshi lay quietly, and listened to Gokudera's breath finally evening out into sleep, and smiled, and didn't move.

End

Some Sweet Day

After a hard workout, some privacy finally leads Gokudera and Yamamoto to a significant intimacy. Takes place some time between Comfort Food and Going Back Someday. Drama with Romance, I-3

Takeshi thought he and Gokudera were making good progress. When Reborn stopped by their practices to work with them, these days, they actually made him move pretty briskly.

Of course, he made them flat, exhausted, dripping with sweat and repeatedly, if virtually, dead. But it was progress.

"Hey," he said, rolling over, halfway between panting and laughing as he watched Gokudera eye a handful of muddy, paint-dyed hair glumly. "Come back with me today. Tou-san will feed us and the bath is bigger than the one at your place."

Gokudera only hesitated a moment. "Okay." Takeshi smiled.

It was definitely progress.

Gokudera hissed when he tried to reach his back with the sponge and Takeshi looked up from rinsing his hair and shook his head at the black and blue starting across Gokudera's ribs and shoulders. "You're going to have a lot of bruises."

"Yeah, I got that part," Gokudera grumbled, twisting gingerly on the bath stool.

Takeshi shook his head with a wry grin and came to take the sponge away. "Here."

Gokudera twitched. "You don't have to," he muttered.

"Why shouldn't I want to?" Takeshi asked, reasonably.

Gokudera didn't answer, sitting stiff and hesitant as Takeshi ran the sponge over his back, and Takeshi sighed to himself. Every new touch needed new reassurance. He could do that just fine; he just wished Gokudera didn't need it. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to Gokudera's neck, where wet hair parted over his nape. "I do want to."

Gokudera shivered. "Yamamoto..."

"Let me?" Takeshi asked, softly, hands sliding down Gokudera's arms, one still full of the sponge.

After a moment Gokudera nodded. He didn't make a sound as Takeshi gently washed his back, though he settled back slowly when Takeshi pressed against him, reaching around to soap his chest. He was a little flushed, but almost anything could still cause that.

And Takeshi still thought it was adorable.

The flush turned deeper when Takeshi scooted around to run the sponge down his legs and Takeshi was careful not to tickle. He didn't want Hayato tense. Gokudera kept his head down and didn't look at Takeshi as he set down the sponge and reached for the water.

"Here. Hold still." Takeshi washed the suds away, fingers stroking over the fine, lean lines of Gokudera's body. It felt good to be able to do this for Gokudera, something simple and caring.

The one thing he didn't like was how flustered this made Hayato, how unfamiliar it seemed to him. He was definitely going to have to think about hunting a few people up—or down—the next time they were in Italy. Carefully smoothing away the hard line from his mouth he turned off the water and regarded Gokudera.

He knew touch would reassure if he was clear enough. But maybe it was time for something else, too.

Gokudera still wasn't looking up. Takeshi took a slow breath and set his fingers under Hayato's chin, lifting his head. His eyes were dark and hesitant.

"Hayato," Takeshi said.

Gokudera's breath drew in and his eyes widened. After one shocked, still moment, he reached out a hand and Takeshi promptly gathered him up, holding him close, hands sliding over damp skin. "Hayato," he murmured again.

Hayato pressed against him, almost huddled into him, and Takeshi's arms tightened. "You didn't think I would?" he asked, softly. Hayato made a noncommittal sound, and he had to smile; Hayato went to such trouble to seem casual, even when he was pressed tight against Takeshi and breathing quick and unsteady. "Shh," he soothed, one hand spreading warm against Hayato's back, over his heart.

It took a while for the tightness of want and fear to ease out of Hayato's muscles, and Takeshi's knees were complaining a bit about the hardness of the tile, but he ignored them. This was more important. Feeling the clutch of Hayato's hands loosen and his breath slow as Takeshi held him was much more important.

Finally Hayato stirred and Takeshi felt the slow intake of breath against his shoulder. Quietly, a little shyly, Hayato murmured, "Takeshi."

Takeshi couldn't stop the smile that pulled at his lips. "Yeah."

Hayato was quiet in his arms for another breath before he lifted his head and pushed a little against Takeshi's chest. "I want some hot water before all these bruises stiffen up," he said softly, still not quite looking at Takeshi.

"Good idea." Takeshi eased back onto his heels, a bit slowly. He had to laugh at the way they both creaked, getting to their feet. "Here," he held out a hand to Hayato. "So neither of us falls getting in."

Hayato looked at his hand for a long moment before taking it, face flushed again thought a tiny smile tugged at his lips. "Yeah. Okay."

Takeshi smiled back, satisfied.

Definitely progress.

End

Festivity

A person can learn all sorts of useful, interesting things by eavesdropping. Takes place early on in The Queen and All Her Men. Warnings for unabashed adorable fluff involving toddlers, and the general Hibari outlook on life.

Kyouya supposed that it was all well and good that Sawada's cub had survived another year. Given the general atmosphere in which she'd done it, he even supposed that he could understand commemorating the accomplishment. What no one had been able to explain (to his satisfaction, at any rate) was why doing so involved filling the south garden with every squalling mafioso brat from one to ten years old, and why he was required to attend.

"Mari likes her Uncle Hibari," Sawada Kyouko had said, firmly, and there was something in her smile that suggested teeth. "She wants you there. Don't worry, all you actually need to do is be present. We won't force you to have fun, I promise."

Kyouya had found the novelty of seeing Sawada's woman showing her fangs like that amusing. It was his duty, he felt, to reward such efforts, so he had agreed to attend, albeit grudgingly.

Her word had been good, though, and he had been allowed to retain his dignity and sit in the shade beneath the terrace in peace, save for the handful of times Mari had bustled over to him, full of a four-year-old's newfound authority. Once had been to inquire after his comfort, and another had been to bring him a plate of cake, carried carefully in her own pudgy hands. He'd been forced to eat a bite under her command, but after that, she'd let him alone in order to terrorize the rest of her guests.

Kyouya supposed life could have been worse, and closed his eyes—not that he had any intentions of actually sleeping, since it was much too loud for that—to keep anyone else from disturbing him.

He should have known better.

"My goodness, will you look at that?"

The voice—female, older, probably one of the other Families' matrons—sounded like it was right in his ear.

"Isn't that just a sight to warm your heart?" asked a second voice, also older and female.

That meant they weren't discussing him. Kyouya slitted his eyes open and tipped his head further back to look—ah, yes. They were above him, two of them leaning against the terrace railing, looking out at the garden.

"It's a sight to warm something," the first one agreed—she was from the Valetti, he thought.

Her companion giggled, a sound that was distinctly at odds with her stout figure and her grey hair. "Absolutely. That one is positively delicious. I could eat him up with a spoon."

They definitely didn't mean him, then. It seemed entirely likely that they hadn't even noticed him. Kyouya raised an eyebrow, and wondered what the Orsini boss would say about hearing his wife saying such things.

"I certainly wouldn't kick him out of bed," Valetti murmured, fanning herself with a bit of paper.

Kyouya opened his eyes a bit wider, to see who they might be discussing. The only one in easy sight was Yamamoto, who currently had small children dangling from every extremity, and was laughing even harder than they were.

That made sense, he supposed, and closed his eyes again, the better to listen.

"Is he attached?" Orsini asked, slow and thoughtful.

"That one is... hm, the Vongola's Rain, so no, he's not, as far as I know." Valetti's voice turned sly. "Why, were you considering him?"

"And if I was?" Orsini asked, arch. "There's no harm in a bit of fun. And don't you think he'd be... fun?"

"Oh, undoubtedly," Valetti agreed, practically purring the words. "Younger lovers always are." Then her tone turned practical. "But it's not sensible to get mixed up in another Family's Guardians."

Kyouya muffled a snort.

"Pity," Orsini said, regretfully. "Actually, I was thinking of something else. HÃ©lÃ¨ne is about the right age to catch a boy's eye, you know. If that one's not attached yet..."

"Mmm," Valetti said, the sound a thoughtful one. "Mmm, yes, I see what you mean. It would be a good in, no less."

"Exactly. And he seems like a good enough man. He might even make a decent father, if his showing here is any indication. And surely he must be looking for a wife by now."

Valetti hummed. "Mm, you would think. Well. It certainly wouldn't hurt to look into. Makes me rather wish I had a spare niece at the moment. Pity."

"Indeed," Orsini said, sounding altogether too smug about it. "I think I—my goodness, what do you suppose he's coming this way for?"

Valetti giggled. "Maybe he knows we're talking about him?"

Kyouya snorted and opened his eyes to see Yamamoto ambling over as the women on the terrace fluttered. He tilted his head back again so that he could watch them, and waited until Yamamoto had hailed him to smile, so that when the two women finally looked down, he was showing all his teeth.

They disappeared in a flurry of red faces and squeaking, which was as satisfying as scattering herd animals ever was, and left him in peace as Yamamoto dropped himself onto the grass next to Kyouya's chair with a gusty sigh. "You know, I'm glad we're Tsuna's Guardians," he announced. "Mari's a holy terror, and I don't even wanna think about what she's going to be like when she gets older."

Kyouya just snorted at him, letting him know that he wasn't fooling anyone.

"No, I'm serious." Yamamoto grinned up at him. "Can you imagine how she's going to boss her boyfriends around?"

That was a topic too close to what the idiot women had just been prattling about, so Kyouya grunted at him, noncommittal.

Yamamoto peered up at him. "What's wrong?"

"Watch out for the Orsini," Kyouya said, short and precise. "They have a niece they'd like to see you married to."

"What, again?" Yamamoto groaned. "Damn it."

Kyouya looked down at him, curiosity piqued. "Is it that regular an occurrence?"

"Yeah, sometimes." Yamamoto's smile was wry. "Most of 'em seem to think they'll get closer to Tsuna that way." His eyes went darker. "I would have thought they'd learned better by now."

"Mm. You should pick one, then. From inside the Family."

Yamamoto blinked up at him, slow and herbivorous. "Why would I want to do that?"

Kyouya's chair was comfortable enough that he settled for simply kicking Yamamoto rather than interrupting Mari's party with a fight. "To keep the other Families from siccing their daughters and nieces on you. And so you can have your own brats to play with."

"But I don't want that," Yamamoto said, with a faint smile. "Would've done it a few years ago, if I had."

Kyouya snorted, but he supposed that was true enough—they'd all had plenty of chances to join the headlong rush into marriage and domesticity. "You like the brats," he pointed out.

Yamamoto's shrug was probably grinding grass stains into the back of his shirt, but he didn't seem to care. "The kids are fun," he said, admitting it easily enough. "But this way I can give 'em back at the end of the day." His eyes went darker again. "And they probably wouldn't mind it as much if Uncle Yamamoto doesn't make it home, one of these days. It'd be different for Yamamoto-tousan."

"Sheep," Kyouya told him. "Don't be stupid." He aimed another kick at Yamamoto's ribs.

Yamamoto caught his foot before it could connect, hand curling around his ankle and holding it, grip solid. "Baa," he drawled, with a grin and sharp eyes. "I've already got just about everything I want," he added, looking up at Kyouya, a considering sort of look on his face. "Not everything, though."

Then his fingers slid up the inside of Kyouya's slacks.

Kyouya blinked as Yamamoto's thumb stroked over the bare skin just above his sock. "You can't be serious."

"Can't I?" Yamamoto asked, voice pitched low, just for him, thumb still moving slowly, dragging something hot down Kyouya's spine to curl in the pit of his stomach.

Kyouya thought it over. "Make sure you are," he said, and watched Yamamoto's smile stretch wider at the note in his voice.

"Oh, I'm serious," Yamamoto said, fingers creeping higher. "Plenty serious. I play for keeps."

Kyouya regarded him, and then nodded, short and sharp. "All right, then," he said, and then kicked free of Yamamoto's hand. "Mari's looking for you," he announced, at the surprise in Yamamoto's eyes. "We'll finish this later."

Yamamoto grinned up at him. "Sounds good to me," he said, and rolled to his feet.

Kyouya watched him divert Mari's determined march in their direction by swinging her up onto his shoulders as she shrieked joyfully, considering, and then nodded to himself, stretching out in his chair again and leaning back.

He caught just a glimpse of Sawada Kyouko's satisfied smile above the terrace railing before it vanished in a swirl of bright hair.

Kyouya growled, but had to admit, on second thought, that it was better her than the Orsini harridan. Still. If Yamamoto had known she was there, Kyouya was going to do more than just kick him.

That promise made to himself, Kyouya settled back in his chair and watched the rough-and-tumble happening among the brats, contemplating the possibilities before him.

It was turning out to be a satisfactory sort of day after all, he decided, all things considered. And the evening promised to be even better.

- end -

Three Things that Might Have Happened to Xanxus

A spin-off from Lys ap Adin's AU "Five Things that Never Happened to Xanxus" (read that first). What if Federico had lived and Squalo's duel with Tyr had happened on schedule? What would happen then? And how would Tsuna come into it? Drama with Occasional Romance, I-4

Many Roads

Promotion, in the Varia, happened for all kinds of reasons: when a squad leader decided it was about time, when the person wanting promotion decided it was about time, when the Boss needed another squad leader, in the field when someone had to take charge, for political or family influence though those didn't usually survive very long. It all usually worked out, on way or another. The question of who would lead the Varia, though, wasn't left up to anyone but the one who led already and the one who wanted to.

"Watch him," Tyr had murmured as he passed Xanxus on his way to the open, tree-fenced practice ground the Varia kept. So he was watching, standing off to the side with folded arms while his commander and some scrappy silver haired punk with a sword went at it.

He had to admit, the kid was good; he'd trained with Tyr often enough himself to know he wasn't holding back, and it had been hours and the kid was still standing. They pressed each other back and forth and, as the hours ran on and the sunlight slanted down into dark, they did things Xanxus had never seen, moves that looked like they belonged to a wrestling match, moves made for a spear or a lead pipe, moves that he almost couldn't follow, that took such subtle advantage of the shape of their swords there were probably books written about how and why it worked.

They didn't stop when the sun went down.

They didn't stop when it came up.

They stopped at midday, but only because they'd both passed out from exhaustion, and only to start again when they could stand.

They stopped when Squalo lost a hand, but only long enough for him to back off and tie the stump off with vicious force, before he charged in again.

They stopped for good when Tyr finally fell.

Xanxus ran a disgusted hand through his hair. "Fantastic," he muttered to himself. "Watch him, yeah, right. Fuck you, boss." He could feel eyes on him, feel the watchers waiting to see what the second in command would do. He pushed away from the brick wall he'd leaned against and walked forward until he faced Squalo over Tyr's body. Silence spread out, the murmurs of the watchers dying away again. He stared at the kid and the kid stared back, eyes dark and dilated. Squalo didn't speak, and Xanxus wondered if that was just exhaustion or there was more going on here that Tyr had wanted him to see.

"Fucked if I'm gonna be led by a brat like you," Xanxus said, finally, and another murmur swept around them.

The kid didn't even blink. "Fight me, then."

Xanxus glanced down at Tyr and back up, eyes raking over Squalo, who was swaying on his feet, blood still dripping from the end of his arm. He snorted and turned away toward the watching crowd. "Don't just stand there! Take him to the hospital, dump some blood back into him, and some fucking food while you're at it. Tomorrow," he added, looking back at Squalo, who had his mouth open, glaring even as bled-out and flattened as he was.

Squalo snapped his mouth shut and grinned. "Tomorrow."

The kid left on his own feet and Xanxus glared down at Tyr's body. "Hope you're fucking amused," he muttered, leaning down to straighten Tyr's limbs. The other squad leaders came forward and he flipped the commander's badge at one of them. "Hold onto this."

He and Squalo met the next afternoon, on the same field.

Squalo focused on him the same way he'd focused on Tyr and Xanxus wondered briefly if he was like that in all his fights, and whether this actually had anything at all to do with who led the Varia. There was a way to tell, now he thought of it. He locked eyes with the kid, lifted one of his guns and fired just to the side of Squalo. A swath of trees blew away into splinters.

The kid glanced at the destruction and turned back to Xanxus, eyes hot, teeth bared. "Fight me," he said again, low and eager.

Yeah, maybe this wasn't about who led, not for Squalo. Xanxus shrugged. "Fine." He beckoned sharply with the barrel of the gun and Squalo came in on him, poised and taut. Xanxus caught the sword on the metal of the gun and kicked out, watching as Squalo twisted aside. It took three exchanges for him to decide he'd better go all out. Even half dead from the fight with Tyr, Squalo was damn good. Besides, it would be no kind of win if the kid passed out again.

And it had been a while since he'd been able to take all the brakes off.

Squalo made a husky sound the next time they closed, and his movement turned sharper, faster, like he was reflecting Xanxus or pulled along somehow. It was weird, a distant corner of Xanxus' mind observed; Squalo was focused on him like a fucking laser but he also seemed, as Xanxus smashed aside a thrust, almost distracted by something. And Xanxus was positive now, shooting out Squalo's footing to stop a lunge, that he was fighting to fight, not to lead. That would, he decided as he ducked a tearing cut, make for a good Varia member. It made for a good fight, and in the end Xanxus was bleeding from a dozen slashes, limping from two of them, head ringing from one damn vicious hilt strike. But he was still the one standing and one of his guns was pressed to Squalo's forehead. Squalo looked up at him, eyes as wide and dark as they'd been yesterday, before he closed them, waiting.

There was no fear in them, though.

Xanxus thought about that and nodded and caught Squalo a good crack across the side of the head with the butt. Squalo went down in a heap and Xanxus turned to look at the medic who'd brought Squalo from the hospital. "Take him back."

"Damn straight," the man muttered, marching onto the field to collect Squalo, mouth set in a disapproving line. Xanxus snorted, amused for a moment when he thought about how someone like Squalo probably reacted to being told to take it easy. "Well?" he added, hands on his hips, looking around at the witnesses.

The senior squad leader tossed him the commander's badge. "We're good."

Xanxus eyed the bit of metal with little favor. "All right. I'll tell the Ninth, then." He limped over and grabbed a roll of gauze from the medic before he left, winding it tight around his thigh. He swore under his breath all the way to the Ninth's office, and not because of the pain. "Watch him," he growled to himself, as he reached the door. "You could have just said 'tame him, but don't kill him'. You could have just said 'ready or not, sucker'." He respected his commander... his ex-commander. But sometimes he really wondered about Tyr's sense of humor.

The old man looked up and smiled to see him, but sighed. Xanxus ran that through his "sentimental old bastard" filter and snorted. "Kid's still alive. I'm not going to kill a member that valuable just because he hasn't got the sense god gave a fucking duckling."

Federico, leaning over the Ninth's shoulder to read whatever it was they were looking at laughed. "Sounds like he's a good match for you."

Xanxus gave him a dire look, which had no effect at all. He was used to that, but it still pissed him off.

"Tyr told me it would be you who led after him, whichever way this went," the Ninth sighed and beckoned Xanxus over. "Come. There's a job we may need the Varia for within the next month."

The little metal badge suddenly felt like it weighed a lot more. Xanxus wondered if this was how Federico felt all the time, these days, and glanced over at him, curious. The wry smile he got made him think it probably was.

"Yes, Boss," Xanxus answered and came to stand at Federico's shoulder.

The World on its Side

Federico liked to use one of the sitting rooms for most of his talks with Family members, but when a killing needed to be planned, he preferred his office. It reminded him to stay focused on business and not sidetrack or delay the inevitable.

"All right." Squalo pushed back his chair and stood. "I'll get my squad ready." He waited for Xanxus' nod before actually leaving and Federico stifled yet another chuckle. Xanxus paused in rising and eyed him.

"What? You've been smirking a lot lately."

"Oh, it's just Squalo." Federico shook his head at the door.

Xanxus frowned. "I know he's young to be a squad leader, but hell so was I..."

Federico waved a hand. "No, no. Not that. It's just his crush on you."

Xanxus stared. "You're shitting me," he said finally.

"Not at all." Federico cocked his head. "Xanxus. Did you really miss it?"

"He just likes people who can fight!" Xanxus protested.

"Well, yes. That was kind of my point." Xanxus bridled at the heavy patience of Federico's tone and he laughed, pushing himself up out of his chair. "You'd think you would recognize it."

Xanxus glared death at him and Federico snorted, reaching out to close a hand around his nape. "It looks awfully familiar from here," he murmured, grip tightening as Xanxus stilled under his hand.

"Boss..." When Federico tugged, Xanxus came to him, mouth opening under Federico's. Federico leaned back against the desk and pulled Xanxus against him so he could kiss him properly—properly being until he was breathless and flushed, hands fisted on the back of Federico's jacket.

"You're mine," Federico said quietly, catching Xanxus' gasp at the words in another kiss. "You always will be. But it would be good for you to have people of your own, too."

It took Xanxus a minute to gather words, and they came out husky, but he finally managed. "Boss, are you really trying to get me to screw my second in command who's seven goddamn years younger than me?"

"What?" Federico grinned. "Look at who I'm screwing."

Xanxus was starting to glare again so Federico pulled him back for another kiss. "Just think about it," he murmured into Xanxus' mouth.

He got a wordless sound of agreement this time, and yes it was probably cheating but Xanxus had always required unusual measures.

Xanxus went about his duties feeling distracted for a few months.

Federico had to be seeing things. Squalo was... well, he was Squalo. He was Xanxus' second, the one who did the personnel stuff.

"Did that look like an attack to you?!" Squalo's voice echoed off the walls of the training hall. "What the fuck do you think you're doing, walking in the park?!"

He bitched out subordinates and opponents at the top of his lungs, louder than a man his size should be able to; even if four years had given him height he was still pretty damn scrawny. He was more determined than any two other Varia members. He trained and fought like he didn't care if he died. If Squalo was in love with anything it was his damn sword.

Xanxus couldn't deny, though, that, now he was watching for it, he kept finding Squalo watching him. Across the practice grounds. Sidelong, when Xanxus couldn't avoid the paperwork in his official office any longer. After jobs.

Okay, all the Varia watched him, then, but Squalo didn't watch him like he was wondering whether this would be the time Xanxus forgot which ones his allies were. Squalo watched him like... like...

Federico had to be seeing things.

Squalo strode over and leaned against the wall beside him with a thump. "Swear to God, half of them don't know which end the bullet comes out of."

Xanxus grunted. Squalo didn't have any patience with less than perfection, or at least "really fucking good". It was one of the things Xanxus liked about him.

Not liked liked, just liked, damn it. There was no reason for him to even have had to think that. He shoved away from the wall with a growl. "Spar with me."

Squalo's teeth showed as he grinned. "Sure thing, boss."

The other members scattered out of their way, and scattered further when Xanxus shot out one of the windows and part of the wall around it. That was fine; it would do them good to get used to keeping out of the way when one of the top members cut loose.

Squalo was laughing.

They went for over an hour and it didn't end until Xanxus got Squalo down, kneeling on his sword arm, one gun pressed firmly under his jaw. Squalo lifted his chin, looking up at him, just waiting. Varia didn't yield.

After a long breath Xanxus let him go and they both hauled themselves upright. "Not bad."

"You too." The quirk of Squalo's mouth wasn't nearly as insolent as his words, and he gave Xanxus a measuring look. "Feel better?"

Xanxus blinked at him, startled.

Squalo nodded, for no reason Xanxus could see. "Yeah, looks like it. Good." He stretched, lean and casual as an alley cat, and lifted a hand. "See you tomorrow, boss."

Maybe, it occurred to Xanxus as he watched Squalo go, Squalo had been watching him closer than he'd realized.

The Varia slid through the Scioneri perimeter like a knife, heading for the main House through the heavy dark of three in the morning. Xanxus watched ahead, poised. If they had to get loud about this job, they would, but it would serve the Varia's reputation better if some of the foot soldiers were left around the edges.

When they reached the walls they scattered.

Squalo was watching the last of his squad go, frowning a little at the audible click of the latch as they went through one of the windows, and Xanxus stifled a snort. Some day he'd decide whether Squalo was just a perfectionist of if he really was a control freak too. He set a hand on Squalo's shoulder to pull his attention back. They were supposed to take the door themselves.

Squalo's head snapped around and a shiver ran through him.

Xanxus paused. Squalo's eyes were wide and dark in the faint house lights, and Xanxus swore he recognized Squalo's expression though he couldn't put a word to it. That would wait, though; they had a job to do now. He jerked his head for Squalo to follow him and his second nodded silently.

The focus of the job didn't ease until they were out and nearly back to their headquarters, and when it did he frowned, scrubbing absently at his sleeve with a scrap of towel. Good thing someone way back had decided the Varia would wear leather, or the dry cleaner's bills would break even the Vongola bank. What had that expression been? Where did he know it from?

"...looks awfully familiar from here..."

Xanxus stared blankly out the car's window. Federico had said that. He'd said that while he held Xanxus, the way he'd always damn well been able to.

The thought threw him completely out of the game, and he barely got through his report on the job without either hauling off and punching Federico for putting the idea in his head or turning to ask Squalo what the hell he was thinking. Once they were safely back into their own halls, Xanxus leaned against the wall and shook his head vigorously; it didn't knock anything loose, unfortunately.

"Boss?"

Squalo was looking at him curiously, no sign of that earlier flash of awareness or want or insanity or whatever the hell it was. Now Xanxus was wondering if he was seeing things.

Well there was one way to be damn well sure.

Xanxus reached out and curled a hand around the back of Squalo's neck, sliding it up into the thick softness of his hair.

Squalo went very still, even his breath stopping, except for the tiny shiver Xanxus could feel under his hand. That look was back and, yeah, it was definitely want. Xanxus did recognize it, and damn Federico for being right. Because, recognizing it, he had to do something about it.

"Boss," Squalo said, low and husky.

"Come here," he said, quietly, tugging Squalo closer, feeling how readily Squalo came to him. When he caught Squalo's mouth it opened under his and after a moment of hesitation Squalo leaned into him, kissing back just as sharp and intent as he did everything else. That made heat curl low in Xanxus' stomach. When he finally let go they were both breathing harder, and this time he recognized the look in Squalo's eyes right away. The first time he'd seen it was over Tyr's body. "Do you really fall in love with your opponents?" he asked after a considering moment.

"The good ones." Squalo didn't pretend not to know what he was talking about. "Doesn't last very often."

"Maybe because you kill most of those."

"I couldn't kill you, though." Squalo's thin, hard body eased against him a little more, and he grinned. "Still couldn't."

"And you like that," Xanxus guessed.

The heat in Squalo's eyes was open this time. "I like the reason why."

Xanxus' mouth quirked. He supposed he could relate to that.

He pulled Squalo tighter against him and kissed him again.

Atavus

The bulletproof glass of the mansion's windows turned the sunlight hazy and white and scattered it through the office where three men sat.

Reborn settled back in his chair and crossed his ankles on the cushion. "So. You wanted to see me?" A glance around the Tenth's office showed that it was serious, whatever it was. Iemitsu was here, too. Was there internal trouble in the Family?

"Yes." Federico folded his hands and leaned his chin on them. "Iemitsu, tell me. Would you be willing to have your son serve the Vongola?"

"Tsuna?" Iemitsu actually blinked. "I... hadn't thought of it yet, to be honest."

"Think of it now," Federico directed quietly. "The Cetrulli killed both Enrico and Massimo. Even I barely got out of that ambush alive. Even if I let the Varia come out of the shadows, we're under strength now. Your son's heritage could be a great asset during a time of need."

"It isn't that I would object if he chose to serve or if the Family needed him." Iemitsu rubbed the back of his head looking helpless, not a usual expression for him. "It's just... well, Nana's letters... you see, I think he has the potential, he just hasn't, um, expressed it yet."

In other words, Reborn translated to himself, the kid was a limp noodle. A normal kid, in fact.

"Just as well I asked Reborn to sit in, then." Federico grinned a bit and tilted his head at Reborn. "What do you think? I wanted you to evaluate the boy anyway; if he has any promise, do you think you could bring it out?"

Reborn sniffed. "I straightened out Dino, didn't I?"

"You did that." Federico leaned back in his chair. "Iemitsu? Are you willing to have this go forward?"

Iemitsu bowed his head formally. "If the Family has need, we will answer it."

Federico was still smiling as he looked back at Reborn, but his eyes were serious. "Do it."

Federico had been waiting for the call and picked up quickly when he saw who it was. "Reborn? How is it going?"

"The boy is pathetic. Absolutely hopeless." Reborn's voice was flat, and not just with the distance. There was no one else in the office right then so Federico let himself slump in his chair. Damn it, this had been his best hope... "So I'm going to need your permission to take some extra measures," Reborn went on and Federico nearly swore at him for that scare. It wouldn't do any good, though, Reborn was Reborn and he did things his own way.

"Go on."

"Tsuna won't find his strength on his own behalf." Federico swore he could hear Reborn's tiny smile. "He reminds me a bit of the Ninth that way. So I'm going to need to recruit some more members, people who will bond with him and who he can fight for."

"A Family of his own?" Federico's brows rose as he turned his chair to looked out the tall window.

"A starter set. There are a few possibilities I can see here, but someone from the mafia itself would be wise to add. How do you feel about Gokudera Hayato?"

"The Smoking Bomb?" Federico murmured after a moment's thought. "I think he reminds me a bit of Xanxus as a boy, actually."

"And if he could be tamed similarly?"

"You know, Reborn," Federico drawled thoughtfully, "this is sounding less and less like you really think Tsunayoshi is pathetic."

"He is most definitely pathetic at the moment. That's why I'm here, after all."

Federico laughed. "All right. New members that you've chosen can only be an asset. Go ahead."

Federico tapped his finger waiting for the call to go through. This was not good news he had today. "Reborn?" he snapped as soon as the click came at the other end. "Keep an eye out around you. Rokudou Mukuro escaped from the Vendicare and we think he's gone to Japan."

"Hm. That could explain what's been happening." Reborn merely sounded thoughtful but Federico's tightening grip made the phone creak.

"What has been happening?" he asked flatly.

"A handful of the kids Tsuna's age have been attacked. It's gone in ascending order of strength according to Fuuta's rankings." Reborn sniffed. "They're probably trying to smoke out Tsuna himself, but they obviously know nothing about him."

Federico took a breath and pulled the cold of business down over his flare of worry. "Searching for him to use against Iemitsu? Or a general strike against Vongola, trying to whittle down our strength from the edges?"

"I don't know yet. I'll find out, though."

"All right. Keep Tsunayoshi away from them." Reborn made a slightly worrying sound and Federico frowned. "Reborn?" he asked, a bit warily.

"This could be a good opportunity," Reborn mused. "Some of those struck already have been Tsuna's new Family. He'll fight to protect them, and this might finally bring out his true potential."

After a long moment, Federico sighed. "You do what will serve the Family. Very well. I'll write the order."

Which he did, at once, and sent it. All the more time to contemplate how poorly he was likely to sleep that night.

"I didn't expect a trip back in person just to report on the Rokudou affair." Federico eyed Reborn narrowly. "So suppose you tell me what this is about."

Reborn had his hat tipped down, today, which he only did when he was troubled or angry. Not good signs. "I was right," he said quietly. "Mukuro was exactly what Tsuna needed to touch his true strength. He's only shown the start of it, and I have to tell you: he might be dangerous."

Xanxus straightened from where he'd been leaning in the window, behind Federico's chair. Federico kept his eyes on Reborn. "Dangerous how?"

Finally Reborn looked up, eyes deep and shuttered. "If he keeps developing he may well become stronger than you."

Federico sat back, startled. "You're serious?" With no false modesty, he knew his fighting skills were sharp and his Flame one of the more powerful among the Vongola bosses.

"Sawada Tsunayoshi is a throwback," Reborn said flatly. "The weapon Leon produced for him was gloves. He even looks like the First. Even this young and untried, his Flame is powerful; he didn't just defeat Mukuro, he subdued him and cleansed his aura."

"And you think he might challenge me?" Federico frowned.

Reborn's mouth tightened and he tugged down his hat brim again. "It depends."

Federico waited.

"I said, at the start, that he reminds me of the Ninth. He's reminding me more and more of the First, too. And, like both of them, Tsuna is an idealist. He'll do anything to protect his people—anything at all. If he binds himself to the Vongola and ever believes that the path you choose is going to harm the Family, then yes. He will challenge you." Quietly, Reborn ended, "And if he keeps growing at this rate, he might win."

Xanxus snorted. "So that's why you wanted me to hear this. Fine. He can't be too hard to take care of yet."

Federico sighed, leaning his head back against his chair. "It would be the safest way, I suppose. By one calculation at least. But the Vongola need strong members; that hasn't changed." His mouth quirked a bit, ruefully. "And I was the one who called on Tsunayoshi. I'm responsible for this."

"You're the Tenth," Xanxus shot back, inflexible. "We can't tolerate a threat to you."

"He isn't a threat yet, though." He smiled up at his wolf as Xanxus growled in annoyance. "And even if he does grow stronger than me... Reborn says he will only challenge me to protect the Family. That's not a threat. That's a test of faith." He straightened, feeling his father's support behind him. "I won't turn aside from it."

Reborn was smiling.

After a long moment, glaring, Xanxus crossed his arms. "I want to see him for myself, then."

Federico cocked an eyebrow at Reborn, whose smile had gotten wider and picked up a cheery edge; yes, he'd thought so. "I suppose that could be another useful test for him, hm?" Federico observed dryly.

"It could." Reborn hopped down from his chair. "I'll ask Iemitsu to finalize his choices of Tsuna's Family. Be sure you bring along enough of the Varia to test them, too."

Xanxus gave him an incredulous look. "The Varia? For a pack of brats?"

"Rokudou Mukuro," Reborn reminded him, and Xanxus rolled his eyes.

"Okay, okay, fine, whatever." He slouched back in the window, looking like he was trying to think of swearwords sulfurous enough.

Federico shook his head. "You know, I think I'm glad Dad never needed to ask you to tutor me."

"It's for his own good," Reborn said piously.

Federico snorted. "Like I said."

Reborn watched the last battle quietly, marking Tsuna's progress. His student had done well, as was only to be expected under the circumstances. Xanxus made a very credible threat, and when he'd told Tsuna that if Tsuna didn't prove good enough for the Vongola Xanxus would kill him and everyone near him, Tsuna had clearly believed it.

Xanxus was practically the walking embodiment of extreme prejudice, after all.

"You don't think he'll really kill Tsuna, will he?" Dino murmured, worried, and Reborn stifled a flash of amusement. Case in point.

"I doubt it." He'd be sure of it if Tsuna hadn't started to intuit the First's techniques. If Xanxus knew that Tsuna had mastered a technique made to contain another wielder of the Dying Will Flame, he might just have an "accident" and shoot Tsuna five times in the back to be sure of him. Xanxus had no tolerance for threats to Federico. Fortunately, Tsuna hadn't fully grasped it and Reborn had kept his silence on the nature of the Zero Point. It was for Tsuna's own good, really.

Xanxus' rapid fire flashed and died around Tsuna, leaving him standing, if smoking.

The variation that Tsuna had found for himself, half finished as it was, had given Tsuna time to make another leap forward. All was going well, by Reborn's lights.

Tsuna was blasted through a wall and Reborn tsked.

"Never thought you'd use the actual Cervello for this," Colonello muttered beside him, as they watched the last of Tsuna's little Family reclaim the last puzzle seal to unlock the antidote in Chrome's wrist band.

"The Tenth thought it would be wise to have outside arbiters. You know what Xanxus is like when he's in the middle of a fight."

They watched Xanxus and Tsuna pile into each other, burning, Xanxus' teeth bared as though he'd as soon bite Tsuna's throat out.

"Yeah, but the Cervello nearly poisoned them," Colonello pointed out.

"They have a point. The Family is everything, to the Vongola. If these boys can't come together and support each other in life and death, they aren't worthy of the Vongola. And if they're not, we can't just leave them knowing so much about us."

"Reborn!" Dino sounded disapproving, but Squalo laughed until he coughed and hunched over in his wheelchair.

"It's no wonder the boss likes you," he wheezed.

Reborn raised a brow; this was the first he'd heard of Xanxus liking him. But the battle above them fixed his attention, because Tsuna and Xanxus were both gathering their Flame, preparing what looked like one last strike against each other. He pulled his hat down to shade his eyes from the glare and waited, watching the screen, to see who was still standing after that.

In the clearing smoke and dust, they both stood, both swaying on their feet. But it was Xanxus who stumbled to his knees first.

"So. Are you satisfied now?"

Everyone started at the voice through the speakers, and the figure that stood at the edge of the crater Tsuna and Xanxus had made.

"Tenth," Reborn murmured. He had wondered whether Federico would be content with a second hand report, actually, but he hadn't quite expected this.

"Federico-sama!" For the first time, he saw a Cervello flustered, one hand pressed to her ear as she whispered with her compatriots and finally fumbled with the deactivator on the spectator's cage. "The Tenth has taken over the judgment of the battle," she announced unnecessarily.

"Boss?" Xanxus muttered, sounding a little dazed. Everyone piled around the buildings, Squalo snarling as he wrested his wheelchair out of Dino's control and made for his boss, in time to see Xanxus raise his head, eyes widening. "Boss?!" He surged to his feet, staggering. "What the fuck do you think you're doing here?"

"I came to see if you were satisfied," Federico said in a perfectly reasonable tone.

Xanxus slashed a hand down and staggered a few more steps when it overbalanced him. "Don't give me that! You're in fucking Japan with no fucking bodyguards for fuck's sake!"

Federico's mouth twitched. "You're backsliding, there, you know. I thought I taught you to swear more creatively than that."

"Goddamn it, Boss!"

Tsuna's group gathered together, Tsuna leaning on Gokudera and Yamamoto, and watched wide-eyed. "Um. That's the Tenth?" Tsuna asked Reborn as he stopped beside them.

"Yes."

"And, um. Xanxus is... he's..."

"He's a bit of a mother hen about the Tenth, these days," Dino filled in easily, coming to join them with a smile. Reborn noted that he didn't say it loud enough for Xanxus to hear and nodded, satisfied that he didn't have any stupid students.

Tsuna's eyes crossed a little as he contemplated Xanxus as a mother hen. Xanxus was still yelling.

"...wouldn't let me destroy the fucking Cetrulli, so you can't just fucking waltz around the goddamn world like you're taking a cruise vacation, and—!"

"Xanxus." Federico met Xanxus' furious gaze, cool and unyielding, and Xanxus bit back the rest of his outrage, mouth pressed into a tight line. "I asked you a question. Answer me."

It obviously took Xanxus a moment to remember what it had been, and when he did he snorted. "Am I satisfied?" He turned his glare on Tsuna, who met it steadily even through his increasing puzzlement. After a long moment, Xanxus muttered, "He won't betray anything, I'll say that."

"Then the rest is my business to look after." Federico clasped Xanxus' shoulder and shook him gently. "Right?"

After a taut hesitation, Xanxus breathed out and bent his head. "Yes, Boss."

Federico smiled, hand tightening for a moment, before he left Xanxus to his gathered squad leaders and turned to Tsuna, walking across the gouged, uneven ground as if it were his own reception hall. Tsuna's people straightened a little, watching him come, and Reborn nodded to himself.

"Tsunayoshi." Federico addressed them evenly, not rejecting and not welcoming. "You've seen some of what our world is like. It's a harsh, dangerous place with many bad choices in it. I wouldn't ask anyone to join us lightly, but the Family has need of you so I'll ask you to make a choice now. Will you serve us? Lend your strength to the Vongola? Protect the Family?"

Reborn hid a moment of surprise under his hat and heard Xanxus' growl behind him. Federico would let them go, even now?

Tsuna stepped forward, hesitantly, looking up at this man he'd never met before. "I... I don't know," he admitted. "I don't think I understand the Vongola, really." A faint, flashing smile tugged at his mouth. "Reborn doesn't really explain things like that very well."

Well of course not, no explanation would bring understanding. That was what experience and God-given brains were for, provided a student could be induced to use the latter. Reborn returned Federico's raised brow with a blank look.

"I see." Federico tipped his head, considering Tsuna and his people and the battlefield around them, and finally smiled. He gestured at the Varia, carelessly fierce and arrogant in their strength, gathered around their leader as Xanxus rested a quieting hand on Squalo's shoulder and listened. "That is the Vongola." He waved at Dino, hovering by Tsuna's people and giving orders into his phone in a low voice. "And that is the Vongola." He opened a hand at Tsuna's group and finished quietly. "And this is the Vongola."

Tsuna's eyes opened wide, and Reborn saw the change in them he'd seen a few times before, the look both distant and immediate that meant Tsuna's intuition had perceived and understood something. "Oh." Tsuna looked around at his little Family, at Gokudera's unstinting loyalty, at Yamamoto's matter-of-fact support at his back, even at Hibari standing aloof to one side, and back at Federico. "Yes," he said, quietly. "I will."

"Thank you," Federico said, soft and sincere. And then he relaxed and the atmosphere of the entire field lightened. "We'll speak more later. For now, we need to have everyone's injuries seen to."

"We've got it," Dino put in, clicking shut his phone as a small horde of Cavallone descended and started gathering up the wounded.

Reborn stood back, satisfied. "So?" he murmured to Federico, as the man came up beside him.

"Keep going," the Tenth ordered. "We'll need him." He laughed, soft and true. "Maybe I'll even need him, myself, for all that he is. I'll have a matched set. My wolf and my conscience."

Reborn pulled his hat down and smiled. Just because someone wasn't officially his student didn't mean he couldn't see that they learned a few things.

End

A/N: Canon would have it that Squalo is still two years younger than Xanxus after the latter's eight year suspended animation. This would make him fourteen when he defeats Tyr, and I'm sorry but no; I just don't buy it. Given how massively Amano screws with her worldbuilding and timelines, usually out of pure carelessness, I'm just going to say he's sixteen at the time.

Happily Ever After

Companion to Lys ap Adin's "Bloodsport"; a series of linked shorts that follows Gokudera, Yamamoto and Tsuna after the end. Lots of fang-sex, a bit of humor, and a smidge of crack thrown in at the end. Romance and Fang-porn, I-4

Positive Reinforcement

When Hayato had agreed to become part of Tsuna's clan, he hadn't expected to be spending much time in Tsuna's own company. The clan lord would obviously, he'd thought, have better things to do than meet in person with a scruffy little dhampir. It appeared, though, that Tsuna liked his news first hand, and so it was that Hayato found himself sitting in that arm chair across from his new lord at least once a week.

And Tsuna's rooms might be nice and warm, but it still gave Hayato the shivers.

"So, both Belphegor and Rasiel were out that night, hm?" Tsuna paced slowly beside his chair, eyes distant. "I think perhaps Xanxus isn't as much under Byakuran's control as he would prefer." Tsuna focused on Hayato again and smiled. "I'm impressed you spotted them."

Hayato stomped hard on a blush. He was not one of Shamal's fluttery girlfriends and he did not blush for pity's sake. "They were concentrating on fighting each other; they didn't take much care to conceal themselves."

"Nevertheless." Tsuna rested his fingers on Hayato's shoulder. "Few would look beyond their own hunger, when feeding, to notice who they were."

Hayato swallowed. The mention of feeding made him remember the way his... his... his dinner companions leaned against him when he drank, and that reminded him of his faintly guilty curiosity over how it felt and why they did it, and, as always in Tsuna's presence, that made him wonder what it would be like. And that made him, once again, have to grab hold of his never to be sufficiently damned human hormones and try to stuff them back in their box before Tsuna noticed. Which was probably a lost cause, but Tsuna had been forbearing enough not to press the issue so far.

Cool fingers lifted to touch his throat lightly, making him gasp. "And are you well fed now?" Tsuna murmured.

Only it looked like his dispensation might have run out tonight. He'd been half expecting it for weeks, when Tsuna looked at him with that tiny glint of speculation behind the sympathy. "Boss," he said, husky, unable to meet the dark gaze above him.

"Are you willing to share with me?" Tsuna asked softly, and Hayato swallowed, remembering the times he'd listened to that question be asked, the few times he'd had the nerve to ask it himself.

"I'm half-blood," the last gasp of his sanity drove him to protest. Vampires might kill other vampires, but they didn't drink from them. Unless they were watchers and he wasn't thinking about that, damn it.

"That means you're both, not that you're neither." Tsuna's smile showed just a hint of his fangs, as was mannerly when asking for a meal, and that stunned Hayato; Tsuna was really serious about this. "So?"

Hayato closed his eyes; he refused lie to himself about how much he wanted even this kind of belonging, no matter how ridiculous that was, or had seemed right up until now, and it was obviously pointless to lie to Tsuna. "Please."

Tsuna's slender fingers ran up his throat to his chin and effortless strength tipped Hayato's head back. Tsuna's lips brushed Hayato's once and moved down the line of his jaw, slow and gentle. Hayato was tense, breathing in quick gasps, and Tsuna's lips moved against his skin as he murmured, "I won't leave you. Relax." The sound Hayato made was uncomfortably close to a whimper, and Tsuna's fingers combed through his hair, slow and soothing. Tsuna's knee slid up onto the chair beside him, caging Hayato under the slim arch of his body and Hayato jerked up against him, breathless, at the delicate prick of fangs on his throat.

"Shhh."

Hayato was nearly writhing in the chair with the slow, light nip of Tsuna's teeth up and down his throat, never quite breaking skin. He couldn't tell whether Tsuna was teasing him or marking him, and oh god he shouldn't have thought that because the idea of walking around marked by Tsuna's fangs made him harder than he'd ever been before in his life.

"There, that's better."

Hayato took a few seconds to understand the words, and then it didn't matter because Tsuna finally bit down properly. Heat struck straight through the core of him and he couldn't even form the thoughts "sharp" or "ow" because all he could feel was the way Tsuna's teeth in his throat held him, the slow surge of thrill and sweetness when Tsuna sucked.

Now he understood why the people who came to the clubs did it. It was incredible. It was just on the edge of bearable, and it went on and on, sensation like a blood-starved limb waking up, so intense that he couldn't tell if it was pleasure or pain, only feel it.

When Tsuna finally let him go he felt wrung out, too dazed to speak. He let Tsuna settle him back in the chair, feeling the faint throb where he'd been bitten.

Tsuna smiled down at him. "I like the taste of you."

Hayato could feel his face getting hot.

"Both," Tsuna reminded him. "You live in both worlds. That is one of the things I value in you." His fingertips brushed the bite and Hayato shivered, lips parting.

"Rest," Tsuna told him and kissed his forehead.

"Yes, boss," Hayato managed, before lethargy and the overstuffed cushions of the chair sucked him down into drowsing. The thought meandered through his mind that he'd shared blood both ways now. Vampire and human.

He eased down in the chair, liking that thought, and Tsuna's soft laugh followed him into sleep.

The Return of the Vampire...

There was always the risk, when the doorbell rang after dark these days, that it would be another thrilling moment of flight come calling, so Hayato was already scowling when he opened the door. It was good to get off on the right foot. What stood there tonight wasn't an invitation to airsickness, but the scowl didn't go to waste.

It was Yamamoto.

"You have a lot of goddamn nerve," Hayato growled after a moment. "After all this time with no word unless, oh yeah, I watch for the trail of vampires only an idiot would look for, now lying around in scattered soggy bits! Email is faster, you know! Asshole." It wasn't anywhere near his best reaming out ever, he hadn't had much of a run-up, but it was definitely heartfelt.

Yamamoto just nodded. "Can I come in?"

Hayato told himself he wasn't going to be that much of an idiot. He told himself Yamamoto obviously didn't need any of his help any more, and he was probably twice as crazy as before. Watchers usually were. He was going to close this door and go back to the life he'd scraped together for himself after the last time he was stupid enough to get involved with Yamamoto Takeshi.

"Yeah." He turned his back, leaving the door open. "Go ahead."

...And What Happened After

"Well?" Hayato asked, voice flat as he stalked down the hall and into the kitchen to finish making his tea. "I don't imagine you just dropped by to calm my concerns about your continued life, undeath and health."

Yamamoto sighed faintly. "I'm sorry."

Hayato turned around at that, and stared at him. "You... what?"

"I shouldn't have assumed you were like Byakuran's people," Yamamoto said, and promptly ruined the apology by adding, "Even if you were going around drinking blood."

"Excuse me." Hayato's eyes narrowed. "Unless I'm very mistaken indeed, you now 'go around drinking blood' yourself, so just be careful whose eating habits you start getting all high and mighty about."

"Mm." Yamamoto's eyes were dark and distant for a moment, and Hayato shoved down a shiver. He'd known already that Yamamoto wasn't very well going to be coming back after Hibari got a hold of him. "Anyway." Yamamoto focused on him again. "I did want to see you."

"Why?" Gokudera demanded, arms crossed.

Yamamoto shifted, hands stuffed in his pockets. "To ask if you'd have dinner with me."

Gokudera blinked, and his first thought was that that was ridiculous, Yamamoto couldn't drink from humans, and the appearance of a young watcher in one of the clubs would cause absolute chaos. Then his brain caught up. "You what?"

Yamamoto ran a hand through his hair, lingering at the back of his head. For a moment he looked so like the old Yamamoto, smiling and sheepish and thoughtlessly determined, that it took Hayato's breath away. "Kyouya wants to, um, introduce me to Tsuna, but I kind of wanted to eat with someone I knew first."

"That hasn't seemed to trouble you a whole lot until now." Hayato's voice sounded a little weak in his own ears. It was just the moment of shock, he told himself.

"Well, that was different." Yamamoto didn't say how it was different, and that, too, was Yamamoto all over. Hayato scrubbed his hands over his face.

"Why me, though?" he asked, muffled.

"Well," Yamamoto said slowly, "I guess because you're a friend."

Hayato knew right then he'd lost the argument. "Friend, huh?" he managed to snap. "You always leave your friends totally in the dark for months on end?"

Yamamoto was just watching him. "This is the first time I'll feed from someone I'm not killing."

Hayato stared at him, incredulous. Yamamoto clearly had not the tiniest inkling of manners or couth or the right fucking moment; some things apparently never changed. "Is it? That's nice." Hayato leaned against the kitchen counter and muttered, "I've got to be fucking crazy." And Yamamoto was suddenly right there, and Hayato hadn't even heard him move.

"Yes?" he asked, one hand sliding around Hayato's back and drawing him closer.

"You know this might not actually work, right?" Hayato asked, a little uneven. "I mean... half-blood, right?"

"You're vampire enough to need human blood," Yamamoto pointed out, perfectly logical if you ignored the way his eyes were fixed on Hayato's throat.

A tiny part of Hayato was laughing hysterically; first he was human enough to feed Tsuna and now he was vampire enough to feed a watcher? After all these years of being neither, the irony was killing him. Not that Yamamoto compared to Tsuna in any way, especially considering the stunning lack of subtlety with which a lot of the vampires of Byakuran's clan had been strewn over the landscape with parts ripped off lately. Which reminded him.

He set a hand on Yamamoto's chest and pushed him back a bit, and tried to ignore the distinct feeling that it only worked because Yamamoto let him. "That Hibari had better have taught you decent table manners," he said sternly.

Yamamoto cocked his head, considering. "I think so."

"How wonderfully reassuring," Hayato grumbled. "If you spit, I'm going to punch you. Okay, fine, fine, yes I'm willing to share."

It was neither the old Yamamoto nor the crazy Yamamoto who looked down at him, two fingers running down the line of his neck, and said quietly, "Thank you."

"Yeah." Hayato's voice was husky. "All right."

He shivered as Yamamoto tipped his head back, hands closing tight in Yamamoto's shirt as lips moved over his throat, tracing a vein unerringly. A low, wordless sound left him on a breath as Yamamoto bit down, swift and sharp, and Yamamoto made a soft, inquiring noise. Hayato couldn't actually answer, so he just leaned into Yamamoto and moaned a little as an arm came around him and held him up. He was used to the way Tsuna's power, carried on the very scent of him, folded around him when Tsuna fed, but this was different. Yamamoto burned in his senses, sharp and wild, and the movement of his mouth on Hayato's throat was more demanding, more raw. It made heat tighten down on Hayato like a vise, heat that surged up and up until it unstrung Hayato's very bones, and the sounds he made turned broken with his panting.

When Yamamoto finally took his mouth away Hayato could barely stand, with the fiery echo of sensation still rolling through him.

It did finally penetrate that they were still standing in the middle of his kitchen, and he managed to smack Yamamoto on the shoulder. "Thought you said you'd been taught manners," he said hoarsely.

"Was that wrong?" Yamamoto's fingers stirred in Hayato's hair and he shivered softly.

"Not... not wrong." A breath. "Just gauche. Should have expected that, I guess." He managed to lift his head and declare, "Next time, we are using the bedroom."

Yamamoto smiled, and if there was an edge of satiation and a definite glint in Yamamoto's eyes Hayato was too drained to excoriate him for it properly. Later. "All right."

"All right, then."

After a moment of quiet Yamamoto said, "You taste good."

Hayato gave up. He leaned his head on Yamamoto's shoulder and laughed, wobbly and breathless. "All right, fine. Maybe we can have dinner again some time."

"Good."

Hayato growled at that, but let Yamamoto steer him toward the couch and bring the tea over. "Glad you're back," he muttered into his cup.

Yamamoto smiled that new smile again, the one that made Hayato have to swallow.

"Yeah."

Two to Three Servings Daily

Hayato knew he was in trouble when Tsuna stopped in the middle of giving instructions and frowned at him.

"Hayato, how long has it been since you last ate?"

Hayato shook off the tiny bit of fog he'd been in, only a tiny bit really, and protested, "I ate just the other day!"

Tsuna's frown was joined by a wry tilt to his mouth. "I see. And when, exactly, did Takeshi last visit you?"

Hayato cleared his throat, eyes sliding away from the glint in Tsuna's. "Um. Well. Last night."

Tsuna sighed. "Haru," he murmured, "I don't wish to impose, but if you could do us both the favor...?"

Haru had her hands on her hips and was looking sternly at Hayato already. "Well of course!" She linked her arm though Hayato's and towed him off to the far corner of the room, scolding him the whole time. "Honestly, Gokudera-kun, you never take enough care of yourself. You have to eat right!" She positively shoved him down onto a small couch and he told himself he only let her because he was being nice, not because his knees were a bit shaky. "I bet you don't even have your knife on you!" She plumped herself down on his lap, rummaging through her purse. "Here, now." She pulled out a small, plastic case of razor blades and plucked one out, briskly nicking her wrist.

"Whoa, whoa, hey!" Hayato caught her wrist as blood dripped down, lapping at it quickly. "Don't go around wasting that, it's important stuff."

Haru laughed and snuggled comfortably against him, sighing as his lips closed properly over the little slice. "I know."

Hayato wanted to make sure she knew he meant it was important to her, not just to him, but he couldn't quite draw his mouth away from the taste of her to do it. He knew he was probably still in trouble, that Tsuna would likely scold him for being careless, but right now the whole world was Haru's pulse and the living heat of her blood shared between them.

Hunter and Hunted

Hayato had never worried about drunks when he wandered the human parts of town after dark. Half-blood or not, and however delicate he looked, he was more than strong enough to deal with any little annoyances. Walking the vampire parts of town, on the other hand, still had its risks when Lambo wasn't with him.

"Filthy half-blood." The vampire standing in front of him wasn't swaying and wasn't slurring his words, but he was obviously blood-drunk anyway. Hayato hooked his finger through the pin of a flash grenade and judged his distance coolly.

The cool wavered a bit when a second vampire faded out of the shadows, but this one put a hand on the first's shoulder. "Don't bother. That one is tied up with the Vongolas." Too-bright eyes flicked over Hayato, dismissive and wary at the same time. "And he's that new watcher's prey. Not worth it."

"No accounting for taste," the drunk snarled, but let himself be tugged off, and Hayato relaxed a little.

"Maybe I should eat them tonight."

Only to nearly jump out of his skin when Yamamoto's voice came from behind him. "Fuck, are you trying to give me a heart attack?!" And then the fact that Yamamoto was apparently shadowing him some nights came together with what the vampires had said, and he glared at Yamamoto for all he was worth. "And does the entire world now know I'm having dinner with you?"

"Well, you are." Yamamoto sounded reasonable enough, but he also reached out and pulled Hayato firmly against him. His next words were low and intent. "You're mine."

Hayato banged his head against Yamamoto's shoulder a few times and reminded himself strenuously that for all his apparent control Yamamoto was still a very young vampire with instincts still screaming in his ears at top volume.

Yamamoto's fingers touching his hair were light, though, and his voice turned just a little hesitant as he asked, "You are, aren't you?"

Hayato sighed, defeated by that tone. "Yeah," he muttered. And he would deny until the day he died the warmth that thought lodged in his chest. He had a dark suspicion Yamamoto could smell it, though, because he made a satisfied sound.

"Where were you going?" Yamamoto finally asked.

"Downtown. For dinner."

"Okay." Yamamoto let him go and smiled faintly. "I'll watch."

Hayato opened his mouth to protest that pathetic excuse for a pun, but Yamamoto was already gone, at least to his senses. "Smartass," he said anyway, pretty sure Yamamoto would hear it, and turned back down the street.

And tried really hard to ignore the heat at the idea of Yamamoto watching over him.

Double Your Pleasure

Everyone knew that Tsuna had impeccable manners, and Hayato had had plenty of evidence over time that he was no exception to them in Tsuna's eyes. It could still fluster him a little, though, especially when Tsuna courted him for dinner. He certainly couldn't deny how much he liked it, how good it felt to know his clan lord very definitely wanted him—to be kissed and charmed and settled gently back on Tsuna's large, low couch—but he was usually flushed and shy by the time Tsuna bit down.

After that, of course, he was generally too busy with sensation to be flustered any more.

Tonight, though Tsuna had barely started to drink when he tensed and raised his head just a little. His voice was low and sharp as he said, "Hibari. I'm occupied tonight."

"I see you are."

Hayato flushed again, uncomfortable and embarrassed at having this moment seen and watched by Hibari of all people. Tsuna's arms tightened around him, though, and he relaxed again, comforted. He gave himself to Tsuna when they did this, and Tsuna wanted him.

Hibari, predictably, sniffed. "Very well. Come along, then."

"I'll, um, catch up with you, okay?"

Hayato started, looking up, and sure enough that was Yamamoto with Hibari. Hibari was eyeing his fledgling with a dubiously raised brow. Yamamoto was only looking at Hayato.

"We need to educate your palate," Hibari declared, sounding faintly disapproving, and vanished out the window.

"Kyouya," Tsuna murmured, exasperated and affectionate, and added politely. "What was it you wished, Takeshi?"

Yamamoto took a slow step toward them. "Gokudera," he murmured.

Hayato made a breathless sound as the weight of Tsuna's power in his senses abruptly increased.

"Gokudera Hayato is one of my people," Tsuna said, low and even. "I will not allow him to be harmed."

"Boss," Hayato managed, husky. "It's all right." His face turned hotter as Tsuna looked down at him, brows raised a little. "It's... Please." He was definitely crazy, but there it was; the idea of both of them feeding on him made him almost too hot to think.

"All right. If it's what you wish." Tsuna caught his chin and added firmly. "I still will not allow you to be harmed."

That was just fine with Hayato, actually, and he breathed, "Yes, boss."

Tsuna looked up and held out a courteous hand to Yamamoto. "If you care to join me, then."

"Mmm." Yamamoto settled down beside the couch. Long fingers stroked down Hayato's throat, and he moaned softly as Tsuna's tongue lapped at his bite, coaxing the blood to flow again. When Yamamoto leaned in and bit down on the other side, Hayato couldn't hold back a sharp gasp, arching taut against the couch.

Two sets of arms closed around him, supporting him, and Hayato lay back in them, lax and panting. His senses spun as their mouths moved on his throat, and he shuddered and closed his eyes. The power of them was heavy in the room, pushing against each other, slowly building over him until he could hardly breathe. Their occasional, barely voiced growls plucked at his nerves with little twists of fire and thrill, and he moaned whenever a growl was followed by a sharp nip. He couldn't even tell whose hands were stroking over him, because they were each just as possessive as the other.

And he belonged to both of them.

The thought pushed him over the edge, and he gasped, shuddering between them as an extra edge of pleasure washed through him. And again. And again. On and on, until he was crying out, half voiceless.

It was Tsuna who drew back and reached over him to press Yamamoto gently and firmly away. "Enough."

Hayato lay in their arms, dazed and dizzy and wordless. Slowly their power concealed itself again, at least somewhat, and he managed to smile up at them. Yamamoto smiled back, the bared edge of hunting, of having, fading from his gaze. Tsuna kissed his forehead and reached for the side table. Hayato winced a little as small gauze pads were pressed to his throat; he was definitely going to be a bit sore after this.

"Are you all right?" Yamamoto murmured, starting to look just a little concerned and maybe a tinge guilty.

"Fine," Hayato whispered, husky. "No, I'm good." Really good. More than good, even.

"I know you want this," Tsuna told him softly, "but you can't do it often. Give me your word you'll take care."

Hayato was pretty sure he'd be blushing if he had the blood for it right now. "I promise." Tsuna always saw right through him.

And Tsuna was giving Yamamoto a thoughtful look. "You are welcome here, this evening, if you wish to say with Hayato."

"Of course. Yes, I mean, I'd like that." Yamamoto gathered Hayato closer and Hayato caught Tsuna's smile. There was some kind of maneuver or politics behind that, but if Yamamoto wanted to be possessive of Hayato he'd have to deal with Tsuna's hand on the reins sooner or later.

The thought of getting to watch that kind of amused him.

Toothmarks

Hayato wondered, sometimes, if he should just accept Tsuna's offer of a place to stay, here in Tsuna's house. He wound up sleeping here half the time anyway, when he'd been to report in, and tonight—he yawned as he trotted down the hall—was going to be no exception.

"Boss?" he called softly as he opened a door and slipped into Tsuna's sitting room. "You wanted..."

He trailed off staring, because Yamamoto was kneeling beside Tsuna's chair, head bent over Tsuna's wrist as he drank.

It was entirely possible that Hayato shouldn't be watching this. Shouldn't be watching the way Yamamoto sat back on his heels, spine straight, the way his hands curved under Tsuna's arm, the way his throat moved when he swallowed. But he couldn't pull his eyes away. And when Tsuna looked up, eyes dark and half closed, he merely smiled and Hayato stood rooted to the spot by the sight of Tsuna wrapped in the lazy heat of being fed from.

Finally Yamamoto drew back and straightened. "Thanks," he murmured, and the satisfied purr in his voice made Hayato shiver.

"You are welcome." Tsuna laughed softly. "And so are you, Hayato."

"Oh." Yamamoto turned his head. "It was you."

Hayato firmly suppressed the warmth at the thought that Yamamoto noticed his presence through the haze of feeding and stepped further into the room. "Yeah. I was going to report in tonight."

"Hmm." The speculative hum sent another shiver down Hayato's spine, and somehow he wasn't surprised when Yamamoto came to him and drew him in close. He tipped his head back with a gasp as Yamamoto's lips brushed down his jaw, hands spreading against Yamamoto's chest.

"No, Takeshi." Tsuna's voice slid between them like a blade, and Yamamoto looked up, frowning. "You have no need of more tonight," Tsuna told him inflexibly, "and Hayato is still in his recovery time."

Yamamoto's hands tightened on Hayato and a faint growl rose in his throat. Tsuna's mouth quirked, more amused than threatened, and Hayato wondered for the umpteenth time exactly how strong his boss was.

"You don't need to draw blood just to mark your territory, you know."

The growl faded and Yamamoto looked down at Hayato with a suddenly speculative light in his eyes.

"Um," Hayato started, husky, only to break off on a moan as Yamamoto bent his head and the points of his teeth closed on Hayato's throat, holding him sharp and sure. Up and down his throat those teeth moved, biting without penetrating, only promising. Only leaving Yamamoto's mark on him. Some other time Hayato would have to try to be indignant about that, but right now he just hung on to Yamamoto's shoulders and shuddered with the heat curling down every nerve.

By the time Yamamoto stopped it was a very good thing he was holding Hayato up, because Hayato's knees sure weren't going to. Hayato made a protesting sound, though, when Yamamoto let him slip down into one of the soft armchairs. "That's it?" He aimed a swat at Yamamoto and glared when it was dodged. "You fucking tease! You're just going to leave me to die of blueballs, is that it?" Which was not actually that much of an exaggeration, and he shifted a little uncomfortably.

Yamamoto slid a thoughtful glance at Tsuna, who was still sitting with his arm curled up and a cotton pad pressed to his wrist. Tsuna gave him a stern look back. Yamamoto looked thoughtful for another moment and then pleased.

"Well, if that's the problem." He sank down between Hayato's knees, fingers busy undoing Hayato's pants.

Hayato stared, stunned. He wasn't really going to... Disbelief evaporated in the leap of his pulse as Yamamoto's fingers curled around his cock. "Yamamoto...!" His eyes flicked up to Tsuna, watching them with a tiny smile, and then Yamamoto's mouth closed on him, hot and wet and so very good Hayato just sank back with a moan.

The slow, wet slide made him shudder and when the edge of Yamamoto's fangs brushed against him it brought him up half out of the chair. And there was something very familiar about this, about the feeling of Yamamoto's mouth moving on his cock. It was... Hayato's eyes widened. It was the same way Yamamoto's mouth moved on his throat, and the wild rush of heat at that thought nearly made him scream. His hands clenched on Yamamoto's shoulders as pleasure raked through him over and over and left him absolutely limp.

Too limp to bawl out Yamamoto properly for the smug look on his face when he sat up and tucked Hayato back away, which was a shame. Hayato made a slightly light-headed note for later. He seemed to do that a lot with Yamamoto.

"Better?" Yamamoto asked brightly, in one of those flashes of his old self that always made Hayato's chest try to squeeze.

"I suppose so," he said as forbiddingly as he could manage while sprawled back in the chair and still panting.

"Good." Yamamoto finished fastening him up and stood, nodding quite calmly to Tsuna before he strolled out onto the veranda and vanished.

Tsuna looked awfully pleased about something, and frankly Hayato didn't think it was because of the view; that would have been too simple.

"What," Hayato finally managed, "was that all about?"

Tsuna waved a hand. "Watchers tend to be quite territorial."

Which was pretty rich coming from a vampire. Or possibly just pretty scary. And it didn't explain everything. "And?" Hayato asked quietly.

Tsuna smiled at him. "And I am making sure that Hibari's fledgling is raised with better manners than Hibari himself. I'm sure you've noticed that he's a bit rough around the edges."

His boss had a positive genius for understatement, Hayato reflected. "Was he an orphan?"

Tsuna folded his hands, looking down at them. "In a way, I suppose he was. He wasn't exactly turned unwillingly, but he never did get along with his progenitor at all. He and Mukuro fight whenever they meet, and always have." His smile showed his fangs fully. "It appears to be a source of some entertainment to both of them. Mukuro says that's why he turned Hibari in the first place."

Hayato considered the degree of respect Tsuna's show of teeth indicated, applied the principle of understatement to his words, and concluded that it would be terminally unwise for Hayato to dispute this Mukuro's version of events if they ever met. "I see."

Tsuna's smile warmed and gentled. "Yes, I'm sure you do. You see many things clearly." He stood and was beside Hayato's chair in that unthinking flicker of speed he let show when he was in private and relaxed. His fingers ran through Hayato's hair. "Go sleep, now. You can tell me what you've found in the morning."

Hayato flushed. "Yes, boss."

All right, so, clearly it was going to be a bit of a juggling act, letting himself be fed on by both Tsuna and Yamamoto. He didn't actually think he'd trade in a second of it, though.

Omake

"I really don't see how you can abide feeding on him. Human blood tastes dreadful."

Hibari was at it again, and Hayato glared at him over his orange juice, hunching down a bit further into his chair.

"Gokudera isn't human," Yamamoto pointed out. "I like how he tastes."

"As do I, I must say," Tsuna put in, smiling at Hibari with his teeth hidden, which Hayato swore he sometimes did just to provoke Hibari. "He has a very pleasant spicy taste."

Yamamoto looked interested. "Really? I think he has a really light taste."

Gokudera put a hand over his eyes; he couldn't believe he was actually hearing this.

"Perhaps that's not surprising." Tsuna looked thoughtful. "Vampire blood rather burns the mouth of another regular vampire, which I suspect contributes to his taste to me. And the human elements of his blood would make the flavor lighter to a watcher."

Actually, Gokudera could perfectly well believe he was hearing this from Yamamoto the Clueless. What he couldn't believe was that Tsuna was egging him on.

Hibari's lip curled as he looked at his fledgling. "So you like bland food."

"I am not bland!" Gokudera finally burst out, at the same time Yamamoto said, "Stop being a snob, Hibari-san."

Gokudera swore he was never accepting an invitation to a vampire dinner party ever again.

End

Archimedes' Lever - Two

Squalo bonds with Xanxus, and none too soon as Xanxus finds out some things the Ninth had kept from him. Drama with Angst and Sort-of Romance, I-4

Squalo strolled around the edges of the wedding crowd beside Xanxus, keeping an eye out for any unattended cake they could nail down. He didn't have all that much of a sweet tooth personally, but it was a way of keeping score among the kids. After all, twelve year olds couldn't rack up kills yet, or negotiations concluded in their Family's favor. "Vieri are here," he observed. "Furetto, too. Guess that means Bertoldi's dad made him stop sulking and come along." He snorted a little; as if Bertoldi had ever had a chance with Dianora Leone.

Xanxus just grunted, and Squalo grinned crookedly. Sounded like Xanxus was in a bad mood. Again. He just kept chatting. Xanxus brooded a lot; Squalo hadn't been sure what the word really meant until he'd met Xanxus, but Xanxus was practically the definition of it. He came out of it eventually, if you just stayed close.

Well, and didn't lecture, which was where the grown ups always seemed to go wrong.

"Orsini, too," he observed idly, watching Giotto and Ignacio maneuvering for the punch bowl—good luck on that.

His head snapped up at the sound Xanxus made this time, low and ugly. "Xanxus?" His friend's face was dark and hard, lips curled up a little over his teeth, and a tingle slid down Squalo's nerves at that signal of a threat or fight on the horizon. Xanxus wasn't looking at the Orsini boys, though. His eyes were fixed straight ahead where Pino Tomasso and a few of his friends had come to stand.

Oh, great.

"Wedding isn't the place to start a fight," Squalo sing-songed under his breath, not that he thought that would do a bit of good if Xanxus lost his temper. The only answer he got was a snarl. Squalo sighed and stuffed his hands in his pockets and followed along, because Xanxus wasn't turning aside a single centimeter. He never did, and Squalo liked that, no matter how many lectures from the grown ups it meant.

"Hey, Xanxus," Pino called, crossing his arms. "Didn't expect to see you here."

The only answer he got was a stony stare. He plowed on anyway.

"Doesn't seem like the kind of place you'd be comfortable." He grinned at his friends, who grinned back and nudged each other. "I mean, a wedding. Must be kind of new to you, huh?" His smile turned vicious and his voice lowered as he finished. "Since your mom never had one, did she?"

Brightness flashed around Xanxus' clenched hand, and something very dark twisted his face. Squalo felt like that twist was in his gut, too. A few heads turned out among the crowd of grown ups, but damned if Squalo was waiting for them.

A man took care of his own business.

And wiping the smirk off Pino Tomasso's face with a fist to his stomach and an elbow across his jaw was damn satisfying business. Pino spat blood and straightened up with the help of a hand under his arm, glaring at Squalo as a few more boys materialized out of the crowd at his back. Squalo could see Xanxus staring at him, from the corner of his eye, but he kept his gaze on Pino, daring him to say more. "You'll regret standing by a bastard like Xanxus," Pino told him, low and vicious, and then there weren't any more words, just fists. Squalo could hear Xanxus snarling, behind him, and the memory of how his face had looked at Pino's words drove Squalo's feet faster and his fists harder. By the time Rafaele and two of the Tomasso's men arrived to pull them apart there was only one of Pino's friends still standing.

"Honestly... can't even stay out of trouble at a wedding..." Rafaele muttered as he swiped at their faces with a wet handkerchief.

"They asked for it," Xanxus growled, twisting aside.

"Even if they did, this wasn't the place for it," Rafaele told him severely. Squalo didn't think that was entirely fair.

"You'd have done it too, if they'd said that about your mother," he pointed out.

Rafaele paused and sighed. "I see."

"Besides, I was the one who punched Pino first." Squalo grabbed the cloth away from Rafaele to clean his own face with, frowning. "And you were right."

Rafaele blinked. "Excuse me?"

"It is different, when you're fighting for... for a reason." Squalo didn't look up. "For Family." He glanced at Xanxus, who had stopped still and was looking at him very oddly. Squalo shrugged and finished wiping the blood off his chin and offered Xanxus the handkerchief.

After a moment, he took it, not quite meeting Squalo's eyes. "Yeah. Whatever."

Squalo snorted a little, and winced at the way it made his ribs hurt. He was still amused. Xanxus was really bad at the people stuff.

Rafaele was shaking his head. "The two of you," he sighed.

Squalo considered that for a moment and smiled. "Yeah," he agreed, flashing a grin at Xanxus.

Xanxus finally met his eyes and took a slow step closer.

Squalo leaned back on his un-sprained hand and gave his mentor a satisfied look. "The two of us. That was what you wanted me to do, wasn't it?"

Rafaele put a hand over his eyes and laughed helplessly.

Training with Gianni was kind of like training blindfolded, only worse, because you saw things all right, but you couldn't trust any of them. Squalo absolutely hated it, and badgered Rafaele to convince Gianni to come more often, because anything he hated that much was obviously a weakness. Today there were real obstacles among the illusions, which was a particularly nasty touch that Squalo appreciated. Or, at least, he would appreciate it as soon as his head stopped ringing.

"Urgh," he said, and rolled over on his back to see what it was he actually tripped over. A footlocker sat where none had a minute ago, and the opponent he'd been chasing after had disappeared.

No wonder the Ninth's right had was supposed to be so good at negotiations.

By the time Gianni called a halt for the day Squalo was covered in bruises and Gianni didn't have a mark on him, the bastard. Squalo grinned at him. "I'll be better when I come back."

Gianni smiled just a little, but whatever he'd been about to say slid out of Squalo's mind as one of the shadows along the wall stirred.

"Xanxus!" Squalo trotted over before his friend could slip away or do any of the other stupid things he'd been doing this whole week. "Here to train or just to watch?" he asked. Xanxus' answer was a particularly inarticulate grunt and Squalo's smile quirked. "Well, anyway, come on." He took the precaution of towing Xanxus along with him as he racked his sword and nodded to Gianni, and didn't let go until they were out in the hall. They walked together silently, and Squalo waited.

"You're really going?" Xanxus finally asked, head down, hands shoved in his pockets.

"Yeah," Squalo said quietly. "Tyr thinks it's the right time. That I need to see and fight more styles than I'll find here. Feels like he's right." He glanced up at Xanxus' dark expression. "It'll probably only be a year or so."

"Mm."

Squalo rolled his eyes silently and tried another approach. "Well, how am I supposed to be able to keep up with you, if I don't keep advancing?"

That nudged Xanxus into an equally familiar but different response, one brow lifting as he eyed Squalo. "Think a lot of yourself, don't you?"

Squalo laughed. "Wherever you go, I'm following." He grinned as Xanxus' stride hitched; Xanxus never expected things like that, it was almost too easy. "I have to be the best to keep up, right?" He looked up to find Xanxus staring at him and shook his head, jostling Xanxus' shoulder companionably with his own. "Come on, you know that by now, don't you?"

Xanxus looked away and walked on. After a few more strides he said, quietly, "You want to train a few rounds before you go?"

Squalo smiled. "Sure."

Squalo expected to be welcomed home after a year away, but Rafaele had greeted Squalo with such a fervent "Thank God you're back," that Squalo was instantly suspicious.

"What's going on?"

"It's Xanxus."

Squalo narrowed his eyes and sat down at Rafaele's kitchen table with folded arms. "Okay, what did you guys do wrong this time?"

Rafaele gave him a stern look for a moment before sighing. "All right, perhaps there's some justice in that." He poured two cups of coffee and sat down across from Squalo. "There's been some factional trouble brewing, a few of the under-bosses starting to say that Xanxus should be heir, not Federico. What we're afraid of is that they aren't moving on their own."

"Outsiders stirring up trouble?" Squalo had seen that often enough in school.

"Maybe. The Cetrulli, Gianni thinks." Rafaele took a sip of his coffee and leaned back. "The problem is that Xanxus has heard and seems to be taking to the idea."

Squalo shrugged. "Well, why wouldn't he?"

Rafaele coughed on a swallow of coffee and frowned at him. Squalo leaned back and frowned right back at him.

"Look. I follow Xanxus, okay? That doesn't mean just calming him down so he'll go along with whatever you and the Ninth think is good. If he wants to compete with Federico to be the Tenth, it's him I'll be helping."

Rafaele set his cup down carefully. "If you follow him, and intend to aid him, doesn't that include protecting him from the manipulation of outsiders? It won't serve him if the fight just breaks the Family apart for the Cetrulli to pick off. This is why the Family must come first, Squalo."

Squalo thought about that. "Yeah, okay. I guess you're right." Of course, if Xanxus still thought it was a good idea, some other month when it wouldn't just stir up trouble some other Family could take advantage of, well that would be another time.

Rafaele breathed out. "Good. Help me keep this from getting out of hand, then." His mouth quirked wryly. "You're probably the only one he'll listen to right now."

Squalo snorted and pushed himself onto his feet. "That's because none of you understand him."

At the time, even he didn't know how right he was, but they all found out six weeks and four days later. Squalo remembered that day very clearly for a very long time.

It started with an explosion.

Squalo ran for the Ninth's office, and at first everyone around was running in the same direction. The closer he got, though, the more foot soldiers were retreating just as quickly, and Squalo had to shove his way past to break out in the clear area around the office door. Which was when he could hear who was shouting.

Xanxus' voice pulled him in the door like it was a rope tied around him.

The room was a wreck. The bullet-proof glass of the window was shattered and blown out. Chairs and a table were overturned. As Squalo came in he had to duck the vase Xanxus had just hurled at the wall, and was pelted with shards as it burst.

"All this time!" Xanxus shouted, pointing at the Ninth, and Squalo could see why Gianni was standing in front of his boss looking tense; Xanxus' Flame was flickering in and out around his hands. "What the fuck, were you just laughing at the idiot who fell for it?!"

The Ninth pulled Gianni gently back, brows twisted. "Xanxus, no..."

Xanxus laughed, harsh and raw. "Telling me I was your son so your goddamned Family could use me! And all this time it's a lie, and I'm nothing!" Squalo's eyes widened, hearing that.

"No! I didn't ever mean to use you, and I never wanted it to be a lie...!"

"Shut up!" Xanxus screamed. This time it was a chair he picked up and hurled against the wall with wild strength, cracking the back and two legs off. The rage and outrage and raw fear in his voice made Squalo flinch.

"Xanxus," he called, trying to break through.

"Nothing," Xanxus grated, glaring at the old men like he didn't see them, like he hadn't heard Squalo at all. Squalo took a breath.

"Boss!"

Both the Ninth and Xanxus looked around at that, but Squalo only had eyes for Xanxus. "Boss," he said, more quietly. "What does it matter?"

"...what?" Xanxus really looked like he didn't understand the words, and Squalo told the crinkle down his spine to go away and stepped closer.

"What difference does it make?" he asked as he came to stand in front of Xanxus, holding those blank eyes with his. "You're still you. You're Xanxus. That hasn't changed. That's all that matters."

Slowly Xanxus' eyes focused on him properly. Very quietly, hoarse from screaming, he asked, "Are you telling me the truth?"

Squalo stomped down a wince at that. Man, when the Ninth fucked up, he did it in style, didn't he? "I am," he answered, flat and sure, and reached up to grip Xanxus' shoulder. He didn't move as Xanxus' own hand flashed up, though he did relax when it clamped down on his wrist, holding his hand in place.

Xanxus took a slow, shuddering breath and looked up at the Ninth. "Why?"

"Because I wanted it to be true," the old man said, and even Squalo could hear the ache in his voice. "Because it was true in my heart. Not to use you, I swear it. If you'd chosen to leave the mafia and go be a citrus farmer, I'd have still thought of you as my son."

Xanxus had that blank look again, but his voice was more normally puzzled and exasperated when he asked again, "Why?"

The Ninth sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Finally he said, quietly, "Because underneath the angry, sullen child I first met, I could see the man you might become. And I wanted very much to know him." He looked up, and Squalo glanced away, embarrassed by the raw emotion in his face. "I still want to know him."

A shudder ran through Xanxus, under Squalo's hand. "I'll... I need to... I'll just..." Xanxus spun around abruptly and stalked out the door. Without letting go of Squalo's wrist.

Squalo waved his fingers at the Ninth and Gianni in what he hoped was an It's okay, I'll handle it, stay there sort of way, and let himself be towed along, down the halls as people ducked out of their way, and back to Xanxus' rooms. Xanxus slammed the door behind them and stood for a moment, half turned away from Squalo.

"You called me 'boss'," he finally said.

Squalo shrugged. "You're the one I follow. Doesn't matter to me whether you're his blood or not. You have the Flame. You have the strength."

Xanxus looked around at him, eyes dark, still breathing fast from the fight and their retreat here. "But not the right."

Squalo smiled, crookedly. "You have the right to me."

He didn't quite realize the double meaning of what he'd said until the agitation in the set of Xanxus' shoulders, and tightness around his eyes, changed. "Do I?" He pushed Squalo back up against the closed door, grip on his wrist shifting, and asked again, lower. "Do I? Are you really mine?"

Squalo swallowed; there was hunger in the way Xanxus looked at him, and more than one kind of hunger. He thought he could answer the part that wanted a place and reminders of his worth, but the other... He'd only just started getting to grips with all this hormone stuff and still wasn't entirely sure about the whole women thing, but... this was Xanxus. And that was different. Slowly he reached up with his free hand, winding his fingers in Xanxus' jacket. "Yeah."

Xanxus' mouth covered his, hot and wet and a little awkward. Squalo didn't care, because it felt good to have Xanxus' body pressed against his; it felt right. When Xanxus' thigh slid between his legs it felt better than good.

"So," he said, breathless, "if being the Tenth is out, how about the Varia?"

Xanxus lifted his head. "With you, you mean?"

Squalo shrugged, looking up at him. "I'm yours, right?"

The tautness in Xanxus finally relaxed and he leaned against Squalo, letting out a slow breath.

"Yeah."

"He's still in there, huh?"

Squalo leaned in Xanxus' doorway, arms crossed. "Yeah."

Rafaele sighed. "I guess we have to come to him, then."

"Not yet, you don't." Rafaele blinked and Squalo glared. "Not until he's ready to talk to you." And he closed the door firmly.

"Still not yet?"

"No."

"We can't just wait on his brooding forever," Gianni said over the maid's shoulder.

Squalo took the tray of food from her and raised his brows at Gianni. "Why not?" He closed the door.

"Are they still out there?" Xanxus asked as Squalo sat on the edge of the bed.

"It is the main house," Squalo pointed out. "I don't think they're going anywhere."

Xanxus ran a hand through his hair. "Why?" He sounded at a real loss and Squalo cocked his head.

"Guess you won't know until you ask them," he said quietly.

"Okay, go get the Ninth, you can come in," Squalo told Rafaele, and ignored the things Rafaele muttered under his breath. He just went back to stand at Xanxus' shoulder.

Once the Ninth and Gianni and Rafaele had gotten themselves settled, there was a moment of uncomfortable silence. The Ninth finally broke it with a cautious, "I'm glad to see you're doing all right, my boy."

Xanxus twitched. "Quit calling me that. It's not like I'm really your son."

Squalo thought the Ninth almost flinched.

"You've been my son in my heart," the old man insisted.

Xanxus' hair was a complete mess from how often he'd been running his hands through it. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" he demanded. "You said you didn't lie to me just so you could use me, but why else would you do something like that?"

The Ninth looked down at his hands. "When I first saw you I saw a child who'd been hurt and denied far too often. I didn't want to deny you again, and you'd been told you were mine. If I was to take you in and raise you as my own, what harm in letting you, and the rest of the world, believe you were mine by blood, too? At least," he finished, quieter, "that was what I thought then. I..." he sighed. "I'm sorry."

Xanxus just stared at him, face blank. "I don't get it."

Rafaele stirred, glancing between the Ninth and Xanxus and... Squalo? "Look," he said, "Squalo doesn't care where or how you were born, does he? He follows you anyway."

Squalo's spine straightened at that and he gave his mentor a hard look. "Damn right." He glanced down at Xanxus, and settled a bit as he saw the hard line of Xanxus' shoulders relaxing a little.

"It's like that," Rafaele went on. "Timoteo doesn't care about those things either. He wants you to take a son's place in this house, regardless of whether you were born to it or not."

Xanxus' eyes on the old man were dark, now, and confused Squalo thought. "But why me?" he finally said, voice low and cracking a little, and Squalo couldn't help reaching out to close a hand on his shoulder.

The Ninth smiled, gentle and maybe just a little wobbly. "I told you that already, didn't I? I saw some of what you might become. And I think I'll like that man, and I want to know him."

A shudder ran through Xanxus, under Squalo's hand, and he bit his lip. "But I... I'm just..." He bit down harder, stopping himself.

Squalo considered the tension he could feel and made shoo-ing motions at the old men with his free hand. After a judicious look at Xanxus, Rafaele nodded and stood. As the Ninth and Gianni followed, and turned toward the door, Xanxus said, low and rough, "Come back tomorrow...?"

Squalo felt like he might need to squint in face of the Ninth's sudden smile. "Of course, my boy."

Squalo listened for the door closing before he came around to kneel between Xanxus' legs and pull him close. Xanxus' arms locked tight around him, and now Squalo could feel his whole body shaking. "Hey," he said, quietly, not adding any idiocy about was Xanxus okay, just letting him know Squalo was there. They stayed there for a long time.

TBC

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

Two Birds

Mari has to deal with choosing a husband and an outside advisor. The one actually solves the other. Drama with Romance, I-3

Mari shifted her bag of pastries to her other hand and rapped on the door. When Fedele opened it she stomped inside, declaring, "Men!"

"I noticed," he said dryly.

"It's like they think you can have brains or breasts, but not both." Mari made for the kitchen and and rummaged for coffee cups with unnecessary force.

"They're already out."

"Oh." She took a deep breath and let it out. "Right."

Fedele shook his head, looking a little amused, and pulled out a chair for her. "Sit down and I'll get things."

Mari sat and glowered broodingly at her coffee while he laid the pastries out and brought them to the table.

"I can't imagine your own people are being that foolish, so I take it one of the other Families has annoyed you?" he asked, sitting down.

"Not just one! All of them!"

"Even the Cavallone? And the Giglio Nero?" Fedele raised his brows over his cup.

"All right, not Uni, but Uncle Dino is in on it too, this time," Mari growled. "They all want me to get married. Uncle Dino actually told me I should think about it!" Which had felt all the more like a betrayal because Uncle Dino was the one boss who hadn't been throwing his sons at her head all her life. She'd thought he had better sense. If Stefano hasn't distracted his father from the discussion, Mari might have done something drastic.

"Can you really blame them? The Tenth has made no secret that he wants to retire soon, and there's no one to come after you."

"Daisuke has a kid already, and Shin probably will too, any day now." Mari bit into a cookie as though she could bite off all the arguments the same way. "There's plenty of Vongola blood to go around."

"And you know as well as I do that the Vongola prefer to keep the Boss' descent direct, to preserve the strongest Flame if nothing else." Fedele set his cup down and looked at her steadily. "What's the real problem, Mari?"

Mari leaned her chin in her hand and smiled at him wryly. "It's too bad you aren't about thirty years younger, you know." She grinned at the expression on his face and took a more delicate bite of cookie. "I don't suppose I really have any objection to marrying. Mother and Father certainly make it look nice. The problem is that all my prospects are from other mafia Families, and I swear every one of them has been raised to believe that he can take over the Vongola by marrying me."

"Ah." Fedele poured a little more coffee for both of them. "And the allied Families? There are no possibilities among them?"

Mari traced a finger over the smooth wood of the table. "This is probably going to sound petulant." She smiled wryly and his elaborately unsurprised expression. "I've dated most of them at one time or another, except the ones who were too busy acting like extra brothers and trying to sneak frogs into my sock drawer, and none of them feel... right. Perhaps it's foolish of me to hold out for romance, but..."

"But it's what you grew up with," he finished for her, gently. "The Tenth was very fortunate in love. I imagine few bosses can really say that."

"What a tactful way to tell me to give it up," she murmured, and waved a hand at his sterner look. "I know my duty, Fedele. And I'll do it. But it is what I grew up with. Even Uncle Gokudera and Aunt Haru. Even Uncle Yamamoto and Uncle Hibari, for God's sake!"

"Well, if you look at it that way, I suppose you could expand your search, if the young men are insufficient," he mused. "Children would be a bit more difficult, but still..."

Mari nearly spit a mouthful of coffee across the room and barely managed to choke it down so she could laugh herself breathless. "Oh, imagine people's faces!" She wiped her eyes and sat back. "Ah, I needed that."

"You looked like it," he agreed, smiling faintly. "Try not to worry too much about it. Sooner or later it will solve itself."

"Or some new problem will come along to distract me at least." Mari chose another pastry, chuckling.

"Mari, can I have a moment?"

Mari looked up from handing her coat to the housekeeper, surprised to see the sturdy, serious man waiting in the entry hall. "Irie-san! Of course." She waved Mamoru to follow and nodded to Rei. "Tell Father I'll be in in just a moment to report about the Catania holdings."

Rei brushed her jacket smooth over her shoulder holster and nodded soberly. "Yes, Mari."

Mari spared her cousin and Rain's earnestness a smile as she led Mamoru and Irie to one of the hall parlors. "What's up, Irie-san?" she asked, pulling up a chair to the room's low table, aware of Mamoru leaning by one of the windows.

"I wanted to speak with you." Irie seated himself more deliberately, the way he did everything that wasn't an emergency. "I'm considering retiring when Tsuna does."

Mari sat back, startled, this being the first she'd heard of any such idea. "Then CEDEF..."

"I'll stay as long as I'm needed," Irie assured her. "I just thought... well, if you have any idea who you might want as your outside advisor after me..."

"Then I could be thinking about it." Mari smiled wryly. "I see."

"It isn't that I'm not happy, serving the Vongola," Irie said quietly.

"But Father is special to you." Mari firmly stomped on a flicker of inadequacy; this was hardly the first time she'd had to deal with standing in the shadow of the Tenth. "No, I do understand." But who on earth could she call on to serve as the leader of CEDEF, to be her advisor?

Irie smiled a little, apparently seeing the question written in the air above her head. "There's no urgency, if you can't think of anyone yet."

"I can't, offhand," Mari admitted. "Someone who's inside and outside at the same—" She broke off, thoughts arrested. "Hm."

"A thought after all?" Irie's brows rose.

"Hm." Mari stood and paced the room twice. Finally she turned back toward Irie, hands clasped behind her. "Irie-san, advise me," she ordered, intent. "What characteristics do you think are most needed in the outside advisor?"

Irie sat back, eyes sharp. "I would say... detachment," he said after a moment.

Mari crooked her fingers at him, beckoning. "Say more."

"The leader of CEDEF must be able to know everything that goes on in the Family, be prepared at any moment to step in if he's called on or there's an emergency, and yet never do so unless he is called or a true emergency exists." Irie's mouth quirked. "It isn't always easy."

"Detachment," Mari repeated slowly. "Yes." She smiled slowly. "Perhaps I do have a thought for this. I'll just have to convince him it's a good idea. That will be the hard part." She paused, considering. "One of the hard parts. The first hard part, anyway."

Irie laughed. "Somehow, I doubt that will stop you."

"Of course not." Mari smiled at him brightly. And sometimes her father's shadow, and her mother's too, supported instead of stifling.

Irie excused himself and Mari started back to make her delayed report, Mamoru at her shoulder.

"You're thinking of Fedele Rizzo, aren't you?" he asked, quietly.

"Like I said, there will be hard parts."

He snorted. "My sister, the master of understatement."

She stopped and looked up at him, serious. "It feels right, Mamoru. Right for Vongola and right for him. He advises me well already, and we owe him both respect and peace."

"This might not give him either." Mamoru's eyes were dark. "Nor give them to you."

"Perhaps. But this is what I owe him." Her shoulders straightened with the inner certainty that was still fairly rare for her. "And this is what he owes me, as the Vongola."

One breath and Mamoru smiled. "Yes, Boss."

Mari smiled back. "Good! Let's go report to Father, then. And after..." she narrowed her eyes at the future, "...after, I think I'll want to talk to Kazuya about strategy."

Fedele stared at her, coffee halfway to his lips. "You can't possibly be serious."

Mari hadn't really needed Kazyua to tell her that this would be the first response. "I'm quite serious." She folded her hands on the table between them, gaze level. Fedele set his cup down with a clack.

"Mari, just for starters, I'm too old! You'd have to choose another advisor in the middle of your tenure, and that isn't something you want to do."

Reluctance she understood, but this she wouldn't put up with. "It's my business to decide what I do and don't want to do," she rapped out. "Your business is to advise me on the consequences, but that is all."

He sat back sharply and Mari let her tone soften. "If I have to choose someone new later on, then I will. Right now I think you are the best choice, and that's all that matters."

"Not quite all." His voice was calmer, quieter, but still stubborn.

"If you truly do not wish to serve the Vongola this way, then say so and I won't speak of it again. But," Mari leveled a finger at him, "you had better have more of a reason that 'it will cause talk'."

"It will cause talk," he muttered, but he hadn't refused yet and that was progress. Mari gathered her cards and laid them out.

"You are older, and that means you have perspective that my Family so far doesn't. You've seen how the Family operates both as a foot soldier and as the right hand of the heir. And," she finished quietly, "none of the other positions your loyalty and service should have earned you will make you happy."

"My service failed," he said harshly, eyes shadowed in the low afternoon light through the kitchen windows.

"It did not," Mari told him flatly. "You were defeated. Your boss was killed. But your service did not fail. Not then and not since." The way he flinched from her words didn't make her any happier, but she refused to leave them unsaid. "You have not left us. In face of all the idiot tongues wagging about how you must have been in conspiracy with Xanxus to live through the attack, you stayed. You kept faith with us. You served. Tell me who better I could possibly name as my outside advisor?" She reached across the table and touched his arm. "Who else has better earned the right to both guide and stand free of the Vongola?"

He ran a hand over his face, eyes squeezed shut. "God you sound like Federico, when he got into one of his Vongola moods."

"Blood tells, I suppose," she murmured, mouth quirked.

He looked up at her, and she was satisfied to see the tight lines around his eyes easing just a little. "I won't say anything else idiotic, then, like 'are you really sure'."

Mari laughed. "Good. Much more of that and I'd have had to get a little annoyed."

He looked down at his hands and fetched in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "It's a hell of a job, sometimes. But I'll do it for you."

Mari took a nice deep breath of her own. "Thank you."

Catching her father alone took a lot more ingenuity. In the end, she and Mamoru picked the least contentious meeting that month and hoped to cage some time at the end of it.

That meant, of course, sitting through the meeting instead of walking out the instant one of the Colli under-bosses smiled fatuously at her and called her "our young Eleventh" with his hand on the Colli son's shoulder. Mari had never gone out with Pino herself but Fiorela had, and her report had not inclined Mari to him. Even if he hadn't been making the most ridiculous cow's eyes at her.

"You're not actually considering him, are you?" Uncle Gokudera asked, after the Colli left, looking dubious.

"God no!" Mari shuddered. "At this rate, I may never marry at all. I'll go into a convent as soon as Daisuke's boy is old enough."

"I take it you had another reason for being so forbearing, then?" her father murmured. Mari ignored the twitching at the corners of his mouth and leaned back, folding her hands on her knee.

"I do." Mamoru drifted over to stand at her shoulder, making his support evident. "Irie-san has said he would like to retire when you do, so I've been thinking who I might want as my own outside advisor."

"Ah." Father straightened. "Have you found someone?"

"Fedele Rizzo."

Father and Uncle Gokudera both blinked at her for a moment. "He's older than we are," Uncle Gokudera pointed out.

"All the more experience in my service, then." Mari felt a little the way she did facing Uncle Hibari on the practice floor, poised and waiting, taut with not knowing what would come but knowing she could respond to whatever it was. That, more than anything, told her she was choosing rightly in this.

"Mari," Father said quietly, "are you sure you aren't letting sympathy color a business judgment?"

"Yes, I am." She lifted her chin. "I wouldn't call it sympathy, though. Call it compassion."

Father's mouth quirked. "And I an hardly object to that, hm?"

"Of course you can object." She shrugged. "But why would you?"

"Because you will already be facing tensions enough as a woman in charge of the Vongola Family, and taking someone there are still rumors about as your outside advisor will only add to that."

Mari looked at her father for a long moment and finally recognized what was lurking under the sharpness of his eyes: worry. "Are you sure you aren't letting your concern for me color a business judgment?" she asked softly.

Father opened his mouth and closed it again with a sigh. "Perhaps," he allowed. And then he tilted his head and looked at her curiously. "Have you actually spoken to Fedele about this?"

"Of course I have. He agrees."

Father and Uncle Gokudera looked at each other, brows raised. "Well," Father said at last. "If you've convinced the sun to rise in the west already, I don't see where it's my business to stop you now."

"Which just leaves the rest of the Family," Uncle Gokudera murmured.

"I'll deal with it," Mari said firmly. "My Family and I."

"Hm." Father gazed out the window for a long moment and finally nodded. "All right. I approve this. But only," he held up a finger, "if you can bring enough of the Vongola to agree to be sure it doesn't cause waves that will weaken us."

Mari stood, shoulders straight. "Of course."

She had considered doing it her mother's way, by smiling and chatting lightly to people who knew the people whose minds she wanted to change.

Then she had considered doing it her father's way, by speaking directly, quietly, earnestly to the underbosses, the hitmen, the allied bosses.

In the end, though, she decided to do it her way.

She did wait for the next garden party, at least, instead of doing it in the next alliance meeting. And perhaps she did take a small hand with the invitation list, and make sure that the Grecav, the Iveco, Carlo Stanguellini, and Bruno Ansaldo were all there. And may be she did ask Fiorela to leak just the tiniest rumor, beforehand, that she was considering Fedele for her advisor. There was no sense in not using all the tools available to her.

The hardest part, actually, was making sure Uncle Xanxus would be there. Fortunately, he approved of her in somewhat the same way Uncle Hibari did, and was stalking the edges of the gathering in his shirtsleeves with a glass of something a lot stronger than the punch in hand. Mari kept half an eye on him as she listened to the Iveco boss hold forth on the need for absolutely trustworthy advisors, especially for young women, and kept a white-knuckled grip on her temper while she waited for Stanguellini to join them. Ansaldo was already shadowing Xanxus with a faint, stubborn frown on his face, and the Grecav were just one terrace down, close enough to hear everything.

"...and we must all be able to have absolute confidence in someone with the power of the Vongola's outside advisor," Iveco lectured, and Mari womanfully refrained from baring her teeth at him. Ah, here was Stanguellini at last.

"I'm sure the Eleventh will make the best possible choice," he said to Iveco firmly, coming up beside her, and she'd have appreciated the support more if he hadn't turned that earnest and respectful face to her and added, "We know that you'll take the feelings of the Family into account, ma'am."

Mari's tactical sense, trained year after year by Hibari and Lal and Xanxus, by living with one eye always on the shadows for the glint of a weapon, tingled in her fingertips; this was it. She frowned thoughtfully. "I hear what you're saying," she said, rather more carryingly than she normally would. "So you're still concerned by the possibility that Fedele Rizzo colluded with Xanxus in Federico's death?" Those nearest quieted for a moment and glanced over at their little group.

"Well, there were never any witnesses, ma'am," Stanguellini murmured. "And he did survive..."

Mari tapped her lips with a finger. "Well, you know, that's not exactly true. That there weren't any witnesses, I mean." While the two men blinked at her she turned and leaned over the stone rail, waving a hand. "Uncle Xanxus!"

He looked up at her from across most of the gathering, mouth in a sardonic twist. "Yeah?"

"Were you and Fedele working together, when you killed Federico?"

Dead silence fell over the party and everyone turned to stare. Mari continued to look brightly inquiring, though she could see her father, from the corner of his eye, putting a hand over his face.

Xanxus snorted explosively. "Fuck no. What kind of idiot thinks I need help killing anyone I damn well go after?" He glared at Iveco and Stanguellini, who turned a little pale.

Mari waved a casual hand. "No, no, I think people just wondered because Fedele lived."

A corner of Xanxus mouth curled up in a sneer. "What, I should have taken time to finish off the small fry when he was down? He wasn't my target." A stir rippled through the gathering, remembering that Xanxus led the Varia, their pride and their long record of perfect success.

"Yes, I thought so myself." Mari nodded agreeably, and turned back to Iveco. "So there you have it, from the one person who has to know for sure, right?" She smiled at him and then down at the Grecav. "I'm sure that takes care of any doubts." She turned her smile on Stanguellini and then Ansaldo, letting it turn harder.

Stanguellini swallowed. "Yes, ma'am."

She turned back to Iveco, who still seemed to be speechless. "And I hear you're opening up some interests in Catanzaro! Tell me, how is that going?"

"Ah. It's... it's going well. Yes." The man looked at her like he'd never seen her before and maybe, Mari thought as she chatted about business, maybe he hadn't really.

It looked like that had probably changed, though.

"That wasn't quite what I had in mind, when I said you should gain the Family's support," her father said dryly, leaning back in an armchair.

"If you wanted to set limits on my methods, you should have said." Mari crossed her legs and took another sip of her wine. "There are no more doubts about Fedele's loyalty running around, are there?"

"No, I think you broke the kneecaps of every last one."

Mari nodded, satisfied. "Good."

Father looked helplessly at Mother, who shrugged, smiling faintly. "Mari grew up in this world," she pointed out. "And you can't fault the care she takes of her people."

Shin looked up from his perch in the window seat where he was reading a letter from his latest girlfriend in the last sunlight. "It's Mari, Dad, what did you expect? She's like that."

"Not sure that was a compliment, but thanks all the same," Mari told her brother, who grinned at her.

"Mari?" Mamoru looked in the door, and Mari was instantly suspicious of the bland look on his face. "You have a visitor."

Fedele stepped in after him and Mari brightened. "Oh, good, I wanted to tell you—"

"That you asked Xanxus to confirm my 'innocence', which he did in the most insulting manner possible in front of half the Vongola alliance?" Fedele crossed his arms. "Yes, I've heard. From nearly everyone who spoke to me in the past three days."

Mari winced. "Hell. I wanted to get to you first, before the rumors got around."

"You'd have needed a teleporter."

Mari sighed. "Yes, I suppose so." She set her wine aside and looked up at him, seriously. "It was something that should have been done decades ago, and wasn't. I understand why you never wanted to, but it let the rumors of your complicity get entrenched, and I figured I needed the biggest hammer I could lay hands on to shift them permanently."

A corner of his mouth twitched. "That was certainly a very big hammer," he allowed.

"I am sorry I didn't think to warn you," she said penitently. "I should have."

"What, and give me a chance to talk you out of it?" he murmured. "Perish the thought."

She smiled. "To give you time to prepare yourself. Don't worry, you wouldn't have talked me out of it."

A snort of laughter escaped and Fedele leaned on one of the sturdy, wing back chairs, running a hand through his hair. "You really do remind me of him."

"Will that be a problem?" she asked, quietly.

He sighed and smiled down at her wryly. "Not the way you mean it. I imagine it will be other kinds of problems, but we'll deal with that as we have to."

She downright glowed at him until Mamoru ruffled her hair. "You deserved that," he declared.

"Which is why you brought him up here, yes, I know." She smacked his hand away. "I don't know why I ever thought giving you more chances to say 'I told you so' was good idea."

"I'm very glad you've agreed to support Mari," Father interjected, speaking to Fedele but giving the two of them the 'now, children' look that never seemed to wear out even when some of them had kids of their own.

"Yes," Fedele answered quietly. "I think I am too."

"Well, at least the allied Families have stopped running on about getting me married off. That's something." Mari nibbled a cookie and sighed.

Stefano Cavallone looked up from the corner where he'd been having a lively discussion with his sister about whether he needed to break the hands of Storero's second son for trying to put them up Fiorela's dress. "Shouldn't you sound happier about that?" he asked curiously.

Mari bit down more sharply, scattering crumbs over her desk and the papers that covered it. "There's always something," she growled.

"Now Mari." Fedele crossed an ankle over his knee looking ridiculously at ease. "You knew you'd have to give up my kitchen when you convinced me to serve as your advisor."

Mari made a grumpy sound into her coffee cup. Mario had avoided today's meeting too, the rat; she supposed it did take some practice to get used to having business meetings with your dad but if she could do it surely he could.

"At least your mother's Lucia still made pastries for us," Fedele pointed out, so blandly Mari knew she was being teased.

"Wait, so, Mari's upset that you're not having this meeting in the Rizzo kitchen?" Stefano asked his sister.

"It's just nice to get away from the House now and then," Mari answered for herself, and Fiorela smiled wryly.

"Come on, Stef, you've seen Dad sneaking out of our place to go spar with Hibari. I figure it's pretty much the same thing."

Stefano cocked his head at Mari. "What's keeping you from it, then?"

Mari took another sip and sighed. "It wouldn't be good if rumor got around that the Eleventh relies too much on the opinion of her outside advisor. I've just been to a good deal of trouble to squash one set of rumors, I'd prefer if we could avoid another right away."

Stefano leaned his elbow on the back of his sister's chair and smiled at her gently. "Okay. But is there any reason you can't visit a friend more often than that?"

Mari opened her mouth and closed it again. "...oh."

Fiorela gave her brother an approving look. "You're not as dumb as you look, you know."

"Runs in the Family," he said innocently and dodged her (mostly) play-punch, laughing.

"Deliver your message and get out of here," Fiorela told him, settling back in her chair with a sisterly glower.

Still grinning, Stefano turned to Mari. "Dad says to tell the Vongola Tenth that the Cizeta are giving the Valetti the cold shoulder lately, and he thinks it means the Valetti interests on the west coast are failing."

Mari nodded briskly, drawn back to business. "I'll tell him. That matches with some moves the Orsini have been making lately."

Stefano nodded in turn. "I'll tell him."

Mari leaned back in her chair as Fiorela saw, or chased, her brother out, nibbling thoughtfully on a pastry. "I'm kind of surprised the Orsini aren't cutting their alliance with the Valetti, though," she mused. "They're such rampant opportunists. I wonder if the Valetti are letting the west coast interests go entirely. Fedele, have you heard any thing about this?"

"Hm." Fedele turned back from watching Stefano go. "Nothing yet. If they are, they're keeping it quiet."

"As they would. Fiorela." Mari leaned her elbows on her desk, ignoring the crumbs still scattered over it. "I want you to look into this."

Business swept them along and Mari forgot to ask what Fedele had found so interesting about Stefano's departure.

Fedele detached himself from Irie's side and drifted across the room to fetch up discreetly by Mari. She had to admire how smilingly unobtrusive he managed to be. Federico had chosen well, and she thought she had too. The Family was definitely coming around to her way of thinking, as they watched him, and the other Families... well, if any of them harbored doubts or plots she was sure Kazuya could entertain himself with them.

"You've spent a lot of time talking to Stefano Cavallone this evening," Fedele murmured, and then she had to be annoyed at how apparently oblivious even the best advisor could be. Men!

She was going to have that made up into a flashcard she could just carry around with her.

"He's the only one here it's safe to talk to." She hid her snarl behind her wineglass. "Our allies might have backed off a little, but everyone else is still aiming their sons at me like the latest in guided missiles. Thank God Uncle Dino always had more sense than that."

"Hm." He looked at her sidelong and then out over the room where the careful steps of mafia manners were being danced. "You don't think your attention might be mistaken for something else?"

"Not by now." Relaxing a little in the safety of that assurance, Mari smiled over at the table where Stefano was talking with Lanz Furetto, nodding and smiling just as though he'd never called Lanz crawling vermin in his life. "Stefano's practically been family since we were little, and the other Families know Vongola and Cavallone have recent blood ties. He's one of the only men of our world I've managed to actually be friends with." When she turned back Fedele was looking at her oddly and she asked, "What?"

He opened his mouth and closed it again. At last he said in the mild tone of voice that meant he thought she was missing something obvious, "A friendship seems like a better basis for a marriage than missiles, don't you think?"

It took every year of experience and every bit of her mother's teaching Mari had ever had to keep from choking on her mouthful of wine. She stared at the far wall and breathed carefully until she could manage to swallow. Then she looked at Fedele and hissed, "Stefano?!"

Fedele took a measured sip. "Unless I'm very mistaken," he said softly, "Stefano Cavallone likes you very much and has for some time. You can ask Mamoru if you think I'm imagining it," he added, as Mari just stared at him. "I would bet he's seen it too."

Mari stared for another moment, trying to fit her friend Stefano into the mental space of "suitor" and completely failing.

"You seem to like him too," her clearly insane advisor murmured.

"I like him fine, but that's... that's..." Mari didn't feel she had quite the right words for how that was different from everything that courting seemed to involve. Fedele just lifted his brows and flicked his eyes in Stefano's direction.

Stefano had shaken off Lanz and was strolling back towards them. "Holding up all right?" he asked under his breath, setting one of the two plates in his hands down beside her. It held, she noticed, mostacciolli cookies, her favorite out of those set out tonight.

"Yes," she murmured, distracted. "I'm fine."

He tipped his head at the angle that meant "Are you sure?" and when had she learned that? Years ago. She gave him back the tiny, provisional, "Yes, for now" nod and he settled himself firmly at her elbow, nudging the cookies closer.

She was positive Fedele was trying not to laugh.

Stefano was one of her oldest friends.

Stefano had played with her when she was little.

"Mari?"

Stefano had been her escort to her second public event, after the absolute disaster of the first one, and had helped her sneak extra sweets.

"Nee-san?"

Stefano had listened to her complaining about the boys from other Families, and sympathized, and never once suggested a date or a kiss or any such thing.

"Mari?" Haruka tapped on her forehead. "Knock, knock; anyone home?"

Mari started and looked around the room at her family. "Huh? What is it?"

"That was kind of our question," Haruka observed wryly. "What are you thinking about so hard?"

Mari hesitated for a long moment and finally sighed. Her brothers were going to find out sooner or later anyway, and thank goodness none of them were teenagers any more was all she could say. She looked over at Mamoru, sprawled on a couch with a book and asked, "Okay. Do you really think Stefano likes me?"

Mamoru propped himself up on an elbow, brightening. "Hey, you noticed!"

Mari gave him a long look. "I guess that's a yes." She ran a distracted hand over her hair, tugging strands loose from her clip. "Fedele mentioned it."

"Sounds like you really did choose a good advisor," Haruka murmured, leaning against the wall beside her window seat.

"But he's never said anything about it!" Mari protested.

Later she would remember the thoughtful look Kazuya gave her and the quiet way he slipped out of the room.

"Well, yeah, he's not stupid," Shin put in. "He's seen what you do with the guys who do mention it." He mimed dropping an object from a height and made crashing sounds.

"Very eloquent," Haruka said, chuckling. "Also accurate."

"Well they're all such a pain in the ass about it," Mari muttered. Haruka held up his hands.

"No arguments from us Nee-san. Just, you have to figure, Stefano noticed how much you don't like dealing with that, and respected your wishes."

"I guess so," Mari said quietly, winding her arms around her knees.

Her brothers looked at each other. "So how are the holdings in Napoli doing?" Haruka asked Mamoru. "You just visited, right?"

Mari smiled a little as they turned the conversation to other things, business and teasing Shin about his latest girlfriend and whether they should get a puppy for Daisuke's son's birthday. Her brothers could be as annoying as any siblings, but they were always there for her.

She had cause to remember that thought two hours later, after their parents had joined them, when Stefano appeared in the doorway, out of breath.

"Mari?"

"Stef." Talking about someone could not actually summon them up, therefore... "Is Fiorela all right?"

"Huh? Yes, of course she is." He took a hesitant step in. "I... I came to see you."

"You..." Mari caught Mamoru giving Kazuya a thumbs up and glared at her brothers. "You," she said in a very different tone.

"It was just a matter of the right timing, Nee-san," Kazyua told her calmly. "Now is the right time."

Mari firmly ignored Shin's mutter of about time and give Stefano a helpless shrug. What could you do about siblings, killing them all being out of the question? Stefano grinned.

"Well. I think we already got pretty far, all these years, without making it official. I guess we should do this properly, now." He glanced at her father.

"Oh no," Mari groaned, instantly besieged by memories of idiots who tried to court her parents instead of her, "no, we shouldn't."

"I don't think we're thinking of the same properly." Stefano pulled his shoulders back and took a deep breath. "Let's try this." He came to her and she stared, eyes widening, as he knelt down at her feet and took her hand. "Sawada Mari, I love you," he said, soberly, looking up at her. "And it would be my honor to support the eleventh Boss of the Vongola. Will you marry me? Or at least," he added, a little less certainly, when she kept staring at him, "think about it?"

Mari laughed, breathless, and closed her fingers on his. "Yeah. Yeah, I'll think about it." From the way he relaxed, she figured he'd probably heard what she really meant. Stefano usually did.

He looked back over at her parents, a little wary again. "You, ah, do approve, right?"

Mari's parents broke out laughing, which Mari felt rather detracted from the mood of the moment. "Yes, we do," her mother told them, finally. "As long as you make her happy," her father added.

"I'll do my very best, sir," Stefano said, very serious, and Mari rolled her eyes and pulled him up to actually sit beside her.

"He already makes me happy," she told her family sternly, "or I wouldn't have said yes." Stefano had pretty much always made her happier when he was around.

Maybe her advisor wasn't completely crazy after all.

Uncle Dino was looking so smug Mari was starting to seriously consider asking Uncle Hibari to visit, just to wipe that expression off him. Fortunately for her soon-to-be father-in-law, Uncle Hibari's people didn't know where he was this month.

"I hope your next advice to me is less earth-shaking," she murmured to Fedele, watching the allies and associates milling around, some still looking shocked, many having progressed to indignant, and none of them looking especially congratulatory.

"When I'm working for you? I don't see how it could be."

"Pessimist."

"I would have said optimist."

Mari grinned, eyes still on the guests.

"You two deserve each other," Mamoru told them, shaking his head. "Ah. Here's your real escort." He stepped back to let Stefano take the place at Mari's side. Fedele nodded to Stefano and stepped back as well.

"I don't think I've ever been congratulated so sourly," Stefano informed her under his breath, eyes laughing.

"Yes, well, they all think you got the big prize." Mari cast a dry look over the crowd.

"Which of course I did." Stefano lifted her hand and kissed it. "Just not the way they're thinking."

"I am too old to be blushing," she muttered, blushing anyway.

"So is it true, what Mamoru said, that Fedele Rizzo was the one who started you thinking of me?"

Mari smiled ruefully. "I chose him for his wisdom and experience. I got that all right."

"I'll have to remember to do something very nice for him, then," Stefano murmured.

Mari looked back at her advisor, at the straightness of his shoulders as he moved through the crowd, remembering the withdrawn man she'd first set out to drag back into life and honor. "I hope we have already."

Stefano smiled at her, pleased and proud. "You'll be the best Boss."

Mari lifted her chin as she looked out over the gathering, hand closing tight around his. "Damn right." She would be, because she had her Family behind her, and her friend beside her, and a man of such loyalty that even despair couldn't shake it watching over them. Throughout the room, disgruntled expressions melted to blankness under the weight of her eyes. "We're the Vongola.

"This is our world."

End

Sweet and Spicy

Touya keeps trying to draw Yue out, and Yue wrestles with his fear of losing again. Drama with Romance, I-4

Touya was enjoying a very nice afternoon, lying on the couch with a book in one hand and Yuki dozing against his chest. Yuki had finished his writing for the day, making three chapters of his second novel to send along to his agent tomorrow. The day was just cool enough to make Yuki's warm weight feel extra nice. In fact, it was just about a perfect afternoon.

So of course it was interrupted.

Not by the rush of light and feathers that abruptly filled Touya's arms; that wasn't an interruption. No, it was when Yue opened his eyes and said, "The Master needs me."

Touya grunted; of course Yue wouldn't have come out just to chat. He smoothed back Yue's hair, as he'd been stroking Yuki's. "Think you'll be back for dinner?" Food was starting to be a good way to get Yue to spend some time acting like a normal person.

Yue started, seeming to notice for the first time that he was lying against Touya. "I... I don't..." He set his hands against Touya's chest, pushing himself back, eyes wide.

"Oof," Touya complained, and pulled Yue back down so he could breathe. "Legs off the couch first," he directed. "You really need to get more used to this."

Yue lay still for a moment before he tried to sit up again, more slowly this time. "I... wouldn't wish to interrupt more than I do." He looked away, color sneaking over his cheeks.

"You aren't interrupting," Touya told him firmly. How many times was he going to have to say this before both of them understood? "Whichever shape you are, whichever you you are, it's still you. You belong here." Yue was starting to look alarmed, and Touya sighed, going back to the less intimidating questions. "Do you think you'll be back for dinner?"

"I... I'll try," Yue said softly.

"Good."

Touya sat at the kitchen table, triangulating between a medical text, a cookbook, and a book of magic.

Cooking for Yue was more difficult than your average menu planning.

"Apricot ginger glaze for the chicken," he muttered, scribbling notes, "bean salad maybe? Yeah that should be okay since it's fall. Not too much rice, though. Hm. Lemon ice for dessert?" He chewed the end of his pencil for a minute. "Better make it green tea ice—better balance."

He did more homework to cook food for his boyfriend and his boyfriend's other self than he'd done for his chemistry degree, he swore. Well, at least now he know why Yuki was so fond of wheat breads.

Yue got back just as dinner was sizzling and chilling nicely; Touya decided it was a good omen. "Set the table," he directed, handing Yue the plates. The more prosaic he could make Yue's life, the better, he figured. "See if you like the chicken, tonight."

Yue set the table, but he did it slowly, with a lot of little glances at Touya. He hesitated before sitting down. "I shouldn't," he said, low. "Yukito..."

"I made dinner for you," Touya told him firmly, hanging up his apron and grabbing his own chair. "You should eat it."

Yue finally sat. Touya kept him busy through dinner by asking what Sakura had been up to. Apparently what should have been a tame consultation with a wizard from up north had turned into a ghost hunt through the whole town and half the next. Yue actually smiled faintly over the bean salad, though that might just have been satisfaction at recounting how Keroberos got himself stuck trying to slide underneath someone's porch. After dinner, Touya handed Yue a dish towel without asking and recounted his hours lecturing that day as they washed the dishes, just as normal and domestic as he was capable of making things.

Yue seemed puzzled by the whole thing, which made him want to bang his head against the wall.

When they were done and Yue just nodded quietly to him, wings starting to open, Touya decided he had had enough. "Yue." He reached out and gathered Yue into his arms, wings and all. Yue stiffed and Touya sighed; was it always going to be like this? He touched Yue's jaw gently, meeting wide, ice-colored eyes. "Is this really so hard to understand?" he asked quietly.

"I don't... I... yes," Yue stammered, and Touya's mouth quirked; for all his reserve, Yue was very straightforward.

"I'll try to make it easier, then," he said, and leaned in and kissed Yue's forehead softly. "How's this: I want to be with you. All of you."

Yue stared at him, shivering, lips parted, and Touya wished he could think that was invitation and not just shock. When Yue clung abruptly close he felt a flash of hope, but the next instant he was holding only light, and then Yukito was leaning against him, shaking his head.

"What on earth?" Yuki murmured.

Touya sighed, letting his head drop to Yuki's shoulder. "Argh."

"Ah. I see." Yuki stroked his hair. "Don't worry, Touya. We'll get there. Is there leftover ice cream?" he added hopefully.

Touya laughed, which he thought was probably the point. "I made cookies for you. Come on. There's tea ready too."

Yue stood at the furthest edge of the Cards' Place and tried to be calm. The memory of Touya's lips on his made it hard. Other memories kept slipping through his mind, even here—of Mirror blushing when the others admired her new hair ribbons, of even Watery allowing that the Master's brother was very kind, of Dark looking at him from the corner of her eye.

He couldn't think about these things!

"Yue-sama?"

He looked up, startled, to see Dark standing by him, brows drawn down in worry. "Yue-sama, are you... are you well?"

"I'm fine," he told her flatly, folding his arms tighter.

She tipped her head and smiled at him softly. "It's the Master's brother again, isn't it?"

Yue drew himself up; he wasn't going to have any backtalk from the Cards, not even one of the highest. Dark sobered and bowed to him in apology. "Forgive me, Yue-sama. It's only that I wish you could be happier."

"He's mortal." Yue looked aside. "There's no happiness in that, not for me." That had been abundantly demonstrated once already; Yue didn't feel any need to learn it again.

Dark hesitated a moment and came to stand before him, taking up one of his hands in hers. "Yue-sama, happiness and sadness are like Light and Dark. They are not separate." She looked up at him gravely. "You are trying to separate them, to deny happiness so you won't risk sadness. But in doing so, have you left yourself anything but the old pain?"

Yue started to pull away, not wanting to hear this or think about what it meant, and Light stepped from behind Dark. She bowed deeper than her sister, cautious as all the Sun-ruled Cards were with him, and held out her hands entreatingly. "Please, Yue-sama." Softly, she added, "You rule half the cards, under our Master. Your pain troubles us, as well."

Yue stilled, and looked back at Dark, startled. Dark didn't quite meet his eyes, which was confirmation enough. "I see," he said. "I have neglected my duty to guard you, then."

"It's not that!" Dark looked up at him, hands tightening on his. "It's only... until now there was nothing to be done. But now there's him."

Light set her hands on Dark's shoulders, pressing close to comfort her. She looked past Dark at Yue with a soft smile. "As we are not separate, as joy and sadness are not separate, you and your other self are not separate either." She bent her head, diffident, but there was no yielding in her words. "Don't you love him already?"

Yue closed his eyes. "Leave me," he said quietly. When the soft rustle of them had faded, he took a slow breath and let it out. Light could be as artlessly direct as the ruler of her half of the cards. Was she also right?

Would he be fighting it this hard, if she weren't?

Yue sighed. He could almost hear those words in Clow's voice.

Or was it Touya's?

Yukito was being patient. Possibly a bit elaborately patient, but if that provoked Yue to stop lurking just past the edge of clear perception and actually communicate what had him on edge, Yukito thought it would have been in a good cause.

The front door clacked and Touya called, "I'm home!"

"Welcome back!" Yukito called back, tossing his notebook onto the table and starting to rise. Touya was there before he got all the way up, leaning down to kiss him lightly, and Yukito laughed. "Long day?" he guessed. Touya wasn't usually quite that eager.

Touya flopped down onto the couch beside him with a groan. "I have got to get a lab job soon, the kids are going to drive me nuts."

Yukito was going to tease Touya about how he always said that and somehow always kept signing up to lecture again the next term when Yue stirred inside him and pressed a little—not rising to the surface, not yet, just asking. That was rare enough that Yukito smiled. "Someone else wants to talk to you," he murmured, and let himself sink down past the rise of Yue's coolness, until it was Yue sitting on the couch, stiff and tense. Touya smiled at him anyway.

"Yue."

"Touya," Yue returned, hesitantly. He glanced at Touya and away, swallowing. "Did... did your day go well?" he finally asked, low.

Touya blinked at him for a moment, and then the smile was back, softer. "Pretty well. There are a few students I could do without, but most of them are good kids." He rested an arm casually along the couch, behind Yue's shoulders, hand curved down just enough to make Yue feel welcome. "Thanks for asking." There was more than surface meaning in his words, and Yue had to bite back the panic that would normally have sent him fleeing down under Yukito. "I'm glad," he managed.

"Yue." Touya drew him closer, gently. "What's wrong?"

The answer to that was so large that Yue could only shake his head at first. Touya just waited, though, patient with him and finally he said, "Clow left us." It was the first piece of the answer, at least.

"I won't leave you," Touya answered immediately, too fast to have really even thought about it, and Yue looked directly at him, frowning.

"You will when you..." he bit off the last word. He didn't want to say it out loud. Every creature of magic knew words had power.

"When I... oh." Touya's snort startled Yue. "Death is no excuse, just look at my mother." He grinned as Yue stared, thoroughly taken aback. "No, not even then." He drew Yue closer, smile sliding away into seriousness. "I won't leave you. Yukito. Yue. You. Not ever."

Yue found his fingers clenched tight in Touya's shirt. It hurt. It hurt knowing that Touya was right, and this was something Clow could have given them and hadn't.

But Touya did.

Touya's fingers stroked his hair back, and his voice was quiet and sure. "I promise you."

Clow had never given his word. Touya did. It wouldn't be the same, after he died, it wouldn't be enough, but he promised even so. Maybe Yue wouldn't be completely alone, after.

He leaned slowly against Touya, breathing as unsteady as if he'd just run a race against time, and a small, husky sound escaped him as Touya gathered him up close and warm. It was so warm, so good, it had been so long since Yue had felt that. Out of the warmth he finally found the courage to lift his head and touch his lips to Touya's, for all he shivered when Touya's arms tightened. It wasn't with chill. Nor was it him alone; in that warmth, Yukito was there also, feeling with him, and Yue could feel the joy and pleasure of his other self's response.

He could feel it too much, in fact, and without quite meaning to he slid under the rising brightness of Yukito's open love until it was Yukito sliding his arms around Touya's shoulders and kissing him slow and sure.

Yukito broke off with a soft laugh. "We'll have to get better at that."

Touya was looking down at him, worried. "Is Yue all right?"

"Of course! He just isn't used to this." Wasn't used to being happy, that was; but he wasn't sure it was time to tell Touya that yet.

Touya took a long breath, relief lightening his eyes. "I see. Well, you're right then. We'll have to get better at it."

Yukito laid a hand against his cheek. "Don't worry, To-ya," he said, quietly. "We will."

End

Naked Truth

Under the stress of dealing with Muramasa, Senbonzakura could do with some reassurance. So could Byakuya. Written for the Prompt Battle prompt: Byakuya/Senbonzakura, behind closed doors. Porn with Romance, I-4, light D/s

As they returned to Muramasa's suspiciously ill-concealed hiding hole, Byakuya turned away from the mindless chatter of the swords. He could only stand to listen to their foolishness for so long, and today had been more than enough.

"Where are you going?" Kazeshini demanded instantly, and Byakuya glanced over his shoulder.

"To sleep."

Predictably, Kazeshini sneered. "Humans."

Assumptions were a weakness, but Byakuya had no intention of reminding any of these about that. He walked down the tunnel that led to his temporary 'room', feeling the heat of Senbonzakura's suspicious glower on his back.

"I will watch him," his sword told the rest, and light steps stalked after him. Byakuya didn't respond in any way.

He did leave it to Senbonzakura to close the door behind them and listened to the faint slide and clack of armor as his sword slumped.

"I don't like this."

"Is there a problem?" Byakuya asked evenly.

"I know why it's necessary." Senbonzakura came away from the door and moved to light the candle lamps. "But the very idea that I would run wild this long, or that you would tolerate it...!" He tossed down the taper sharply, making the flames flicker. "It offends our honor."

"Our honor lies in our duty." Though Byakuya couldn't entirely disagree. The pretense grated on him, as well. Senbonzakura sighed softly and Byakuya turned to see him lean against the wall, head down. He knew his sword shared his pride, his determination to deal with this intrusion of the family's past, and frowned a little; was there something else wrong, then? "Senbonzakura?" He moved closer, and Senbonzakura looked up, eyes rueful behind his mask.

"It just wears, sometimes. Forgive me."

Byakuya quirked a brow. "Forgive you for your loyalty? Most certainly not."

That made Senbonzakura laugh a little. "Yes, ma—" He caught himself and finished, sober again, "Byakuya."

Ah. Was that it, then? Byakuya considered their situation and smiled faintly; unexpected benefits, perhaps. "There are other ways than speech," he murmured, coming forward until he could rest one hand on his sword's shoulder and set the other on the edge of his mask. Behind it, Senbonzakura's eyes widened, and Byakuya could hear the intake of his breath.

"Yes." It was barely a whisper. Senbonzakura's eyes closed as Byakuya's fingers tightened.

Slowly, Byakuya lifted the mask away and laid it aside, smoothing back Senbonzakura's long, sleek hair. His sword shivered under his touch, eyes opening to look up at him with unmistakable hunger. Byakuya closed his hands around Senbonzakura's face and swallowed his gasp in a slow kiss. Senbonzakura's mouth yielded and opened under his, and, as Byakuya kissed him again and again, formed silent words against his lips: yes and master and please. Byakuya smiled. The thought of reclaiming his sword this way, too, pleased him, and he ran two fingers down Senbonzakura's side, where the armor ties were.

"Yes?"

Even through the armor, he could feel Senbonzakura shiver. "Yes."

Byakuya turned briefly to cast the kidou Falling Snow over the closed door; there would be no unexpected visitors while that lasted. He wanted to take his time about this. Indeed, he had to. Zanpakutou didn't wear clothes—their form was what they were. To change that was a delicate undertaking.

So he went slowly, unfastening the sode, opening the robe and folding it down, unknotting each cord of the dou one by one. Senbonzakura stood still under his hands, chest heaving quick and light as the armor came away piece by piece. Byakuya set each aside with care; it was his own armor, after all. By the time he came to the last layer of cloth, Senbonzakura was trembling, bare hands winding tight in Byakuya's sleeves.

"Master," he said, low and husky, eyes wide, and Byakuya drew him close.

"You are mine," he murmured. "My sword. The edge of my soul. No matter what conjurer's tricks a mad and masterless sword plays against us, we will not be parted." He slid a hand into Senbonzakura's loosened hair and kissed him again, fierce. The passion of his sword's response calmed the fury that even he had had trouble holding back this long.

Briskly, now, he unfolded the futon Muramasa had provided for his lone human associate and stripped away the last of their clothes. Senbonzakura went willingly when Byakuya pressed him down, and sighed on a soft note of pleasure as Byakuya's hands stroked slow and firm over his body.

It was a strange thing. Byakuya could imagine so clearly his sword's pleasure, the building warmth within him; almost, he fancied, he could feel it himself, a delicate echo in his soul. Perhaps it was even so. The slackening of those long, sleek muscles under his hands sent a curl of warmth through him as well. This was his.

When Senbonzakura started arching up into his hands, increasingly abandoned, Byakuya extracted the vial of sword oil he kept tucked into a seam of his pillow. He hid that more carefully than anything but his own thoughts, here. Zanpakutou needed little of the care mortal steel did. The rituals of care and cleaning were for comfort, and sometimes for vanity, not necessity—a gentle reinforcement of the bond between a shinigami and his zanpakutou. To find such a thing here would make even the fools outside suspect both of them immediately. Senbonzakura laughed, breathless, as Byakuya uncapped it. "It's good to feel your touch again," he said softly, and Byakuya smiled a little at the faint color rising over Senbonzakura's cheekbones.

"Indeed." He held Senbonzakura against him and rubbed his entrance slowly, gentle as he had ever been with a lover of his own kind. Senbonzakura's body yielded to him at once, though, and his sword's sudden flush and half-lidded eyes said all was well even before his low moan drifted on the room's still air.

"I am yours," Senbonzakura breathed, hands working against Byakuya's shoulders. "I am of you. Your will is mine."

Heat spiked through Byakuya at those words, that acknowledgment, and he caught Senbonzakura closer, fingers driving deeper. Perhaps, he thought distractedly, this pretend estrangement had worn on him worse than he had thought. The press of Senbonzakura's body against his and the low, wanting sounds he made were far more satisfying than Byakuya had expected them to be. "You are mine," he agreed, husky.

Senbonzakura made an eager sound as Byakuya turned him over and gathered him back into the curve of his body, rubbing slowly between Senbonzakura's cheeks. A little more of the oil to ease his way, and Byakuya was pushing in, breath coming harder with the fierce heat of his sword around him.

"Please," Senbonzakura gasped, and Byakuya could only answer him, thrusting in deep on one long flex of his hips. They moaned together.

After that, Byakuya didn't hold back, and the echo of heat, and the way Senbonzakura pushed up to meet each thrust told him this was right. This was his zanpakutou, and they were not apart. He sheathed himself in his sword, hard and sure, again and again, and knew the pleasure winding through him was both of theirs.

"Master..." Senbonzakura's panting breaths hitched as Byakuya kissed the nape of his neck, open mouthed. "Yes..."

"Yes, my sword, my edge." Byakuya slid his hand down Senbonzakura's stomach to close between his legs, running oil-slick fingers firmly up and down his sword's length. Senbonzakura bucked helplessly under him and muffled a low cry in the bedding, and Byakuya groaned as his sword's body tightened. He pulled Senbonzakura's hips up and thrust into that tightness deep and hard, again, and again, and then the oddly doubled pleasure was too much to resist and he caught Senbonzakura close as heat shuddered through him, raking his nerves.

They lay twined together for a while, panting softly while Byakuya stroked Senbonzakura's hair, savoring their satisfaction. Finally Byakuya eased his sword back over and touched his bare face gently. The curve of Senbonzakura's lips made Byakuya smile too. "All is well?" he asked.

Senbonzakura lifted Byakuya's hand and kissed his fingers. "All is well, my master."

Byakuya nodded approval of this and held his sword closer.

They had a little time, yet, and only a fool would give up the truth before he had to.

End

The Blue Lights, The Scent of Water

Four linked scenes of intimacy, during Frau and Teito's journeys. Teito is stubborn, Frau knows he's doomed, Mikhail snarks briefly. Mild spoilers through issue 61. Drama, Fluff, Romance, Porn, I-4

Translation into Deutsch available: Die Blauen Lichter, Der Geruch von Wasser by JanaTearce

A translation into Russian is available here, by Opossums

One

Frau leaned back on the hostel bed they'd secured for the night, every pillow in the room wadded behind his back, and lit a cigarette. They'd made it to Pirna by dark and the border and Neal were a day away. Capella was safe with his mother, no one was chasing them, and he'd gotten the shower first. Things were going about as well as could be expected.

He hadn't failed in the people under his care, yet, anyway. None of the ones that really mattered, at least.

Some days, especially lately, he felt like there were too many of those. But compared to most of the Church's bishops he had very few responsibilities. Host Zehel's spirit in his own. Keep Verloren's damn scythe contained. Protect Teito. Oh, and banish all the Kor he came across. Just a few, but they were heavy enough he didn't have room for any of the others more normal bishops carried. Not any more.

Well neither did the brat, come to that.

So, yeah, it was probably a good thing that he'd been the one sent out with Teito. Sure as hell no other bishop would understand what the kid was carrying on his shoulders. And Frau admitted it: it was good to be flying again. He'd felt so fucking grounded the last nine years, locked up in that cathedral.

The end of his cigarette glowed as he breathed in the rough heat of smoke, eyes distant. If he could just keep the brat safe, he'd almost feel like this trip was a good thing.

Teito emerged from the bathroom rubbing a towel over his head, with the spare one slung around his hips. "You're hogging the pillows," he accused Frau after one look. "Hand over mine."

Frau blew smoke at the ceiling. "Since I'm paying for the rooms," he mused, "I think they're actually all my pillows."

"The Church is paying, you leech. Gimme." Teito made to grab some of the pillows out from behind Frau, dodging his elbow. "Mortification of the flesh is supposed to be virtuous, isn't it? You're the bishop, act like it!"

"Since when do I give a shit about virtue?" Frau demanded, grabbing for those thieving hands.

Teito froze in his grip and his bared teeth slowly faded into a frown. "How long have you been sitting there in nothing but a towel?" The frown was turning into a real glare. "You've gotten cold again!" He stomped around the room pulling blankets out of the cupboard and threw them over Frau, tugging them roughly around him. Frau watched the performance with a certain sardonic amusement. Having Capella around had turned on the kid's mothering instincts for good, it looked like.

"You do realize that, without body heat to start with, these aren't going to do any good?" He took a drag on his cigarette, mouth quirked as Teito glared some more.

"Fine, then!"

Frau blinked as the kid marched over to the bed and slung a leg over Frau's thighs, settling firmly onto his lap. Teito pulled the blankets around both of them and gave Frau a look that dared him to object. "There."

Frau sighed. "You're too damn stubborn for anyone's good. It doesn't hurt or anything, you know."

"It isn't right," Teito said, low and fierce and not looking at him. "It isn't right for you to be cold."

Frau rested a hand on the kid's head, ruffling his hair. "Yeah, it is," he said quietly. "Because this is what I am."

Teito frowned at him. "Well...! Well, then, fine! But..." he wrapped his arms firmly around Frau's neck, "then this is warm too, isn't it?" He leaned in closer and brushed his lips over Frau's, unpracticed and unhesitating.

Frau stilled, eyes widening at that soft and completely unexpected pressure. "Wha..." He closed his hands on Teito's shoulders, moving him back a little. "Haven't you ever heard of a metaphor, you little maniac?" he demanded. All his damn church training was suddenly screaming in his ear. It was usually only the tedious rules about chastity that got him in trouble, and he didn't give a damn about those. But the one law about what a person got up to in his own bed that he agreed with wholeheartedly was that no one should ever, ever abuse the trust of the children sheltered by the Church.

Teito gave him one of those rare, clear-eyed looks that made Frau think maybe Castor hadn't been completely insane to nominate the kid as a bishop. "You're not dead," he stated, like it was a known fact, and shook his head as Frau opened his mouth to protest. "You died, but you're not dead. I've made a lot of dead bodies, Frau, and this," he put a hand flat against Frau's bare chest, "isn't like that. Your heart doesn't beat, but your blood still flows. You move and breathe, but you don't have any body heat. That's impossible." He gave Frau a look like the laws of physics were his personal fault. "So. You're a spirit-body, aren't you?"

Frau settled back. He was just a tiny bit impressed. Maybe. "That's pretty much what we figure, yeah. I mean, with the transforming into huge skeletons and all."

Teito nodded, satisfied. "I thought so. So, it isn't just physical heat that can help, right?"

Frau opened his mouth and closed it again. And here he'd thought they'd gotten safely onto theology and away from disturbingly warm kisses. "That doesn't mean..." He trailed off.

Teito smiled, smugly aware he'd won that point, the little shit. "Yes, it does." And he hauled off and kissed Frau again, more confident this time.

Frau got a hold of the kid's nape to pull him back, which... didn't actually help as much as it should, because Teito made an extremely distracting sound. "Look," Frau said as flatly as he could, "you're too young."

Teito arched both brows, clearly unimpressed. "It's the new year, right? So I'm sixteen." He prodded Frau in the chest with a finger. "What were you doing when you were sixteen, huh?"

From the way the kid suddenly smirked, Frau was pretty sure he'd turned a little red. He considered it evidence of a cruel universe that that still happened to a dead man. "Yeah, and maybe if I were sixteen, like the girls I was, yes, okay fine, sleeping with whenever I could escape the damn robes, that would mean something. So how about we just say I'm too old?" And why couldn't the brat have jumped his partner, like half the baby bishops always wound up doing once the exam heated up?

Teito folded his arms on Frau's chest and remarked. "Funny you should mention that. I asked Labrador-san, you know. Turns out you're only twenty."

Frau closed his eyes, silently cursing Labrador to... to... to an annoying leaf-wilt problem or something. "Teito..." He broke off, breath catching, because Teito had taken the opportunity to press up close against him, skin to skin. The kid really was warm.

"I want you to be warm," Teito said quietly against his ear. "And I want... to know what this is." He rested his temple against Frau's and muttered, "And I trust you, okay?"

Frau gave up and wrapped his arms around Teito, holding him tight and stomping as hard as he could on the stirring interest of the scythe. Sometimes the kid really did remind him so much of himself that it hurt. "You're an idiot."

It was time to deal with this logically, Frau told himself, ignoring the way he couldn't make himself let go. The brat really was sixteen, scrawniness notwithstanding, and that was the age of consent across the Empire. So the rules could shut up. The brat was also world-bendingly stubborn (and kind of unfairly cute when he wasn't growling and snapping like a bear after winter). So Frau needed a good reason, if he wanted to get out of this. Did he have a good reason? Did he want to get out of this?

Only silence answered that question, inside of him. Waiting silence.

Teito finally drew a shaky breath and pulled back enough to grin at him, almost as convincingly annoying as usual. "I mean, aren't you supposed to know all about this stuff? Or do you just talk a good line?"

Just because a man's heart wasn't beating any more didn't mean it couldn't squeeze tight. Frau hadn't loved all that terribly often, in his life, but he knew when someone was getting to him. This one... had gotten to him. His mouth quirked and he slid a hand up to cradle Teito's head. "Brat," he said, just a little husky.

For once, Teito didn't take a return shot. Just looked at him, eyes dark and questioning. Frau didn't know what the question was, or what answer Teito saw, but after a moment Teito smiled a little and leaned forward again. This time Frau kissed back, gentle and careful.

Frau had known from the moment he saw the kid move that Teito was trained, and trained to kill. Teito moved fast and sure and fluid, when he wasn't in a rage, always poised, always ready. The readiness had quieted slowly, over the last few months, and Frau had hoped it meant Teito was relaxing from that edge. Maybe he was, but now, feeling how long it took Teito to unwind as he settled against Frau's chest, Frau thought he still had a long way to go.

Which made him feel ridiculously fucking protective of the little brat.

So he kissed Teito slow and easy, with helplessly exasperated tenderness, until Teito was flushed and pressing close. Maybe it was just the heat of Teito's body against his, skin to skin under the blankets; or maybe it was the way Teito's tongue stroked over his and Teito sighed as he relaxed and stretched out against Frau's chest; or maybe it really was Teito's living heart touching his. Whatever the truth, Frau was warm again.

In fact, Frau might just have been a little flushed himself by the time Teito drew back and tucked his head down against Frau's shoulder. "You okay?" he asked, husky, running a hand slowly up and down Teito's back.

"Yeah," Teito answered softly, not moving. After a moment, Frau felt Teito's lips curve against his shoulder. "I guess you're not all talk. It might be nice to do that some more some time."

Frau snorted, trying to stifle the enthusiastic votes yes from both his cock and the scythe. "Damn brat."

"Now give me half those pillows."

Frau grinned against Teito's dark hair. "What if I say no?"

The fight for the pillows left the room a mess, but Frau had to admit it took care of any awkwardness.

Two

Frau had managed to kick Castor and Labrador out of his room in F3's frozen tourist trap by the time Teito was done with his bath, and had stretched out in his bed, arms folded behind his head. He watched the kid through half-closed eyes as Teito neatly and automatically folded and hung his towel and laid out his clothes for the next day of the race. He didn't look too much the worse for his encounter with the scythe, even though Frau's fingertips still tingled with the sensation of reaching into Teito's chest, stretching out after his bright soul.

Well, Frau had always known Teito was a tough little bastard, and too stubborn to quit.

Every inch of that stubbornness was in Teito's eyes as he pulled on his nightshirt and made for Frau's bed instead of his own. Frau stiffened. "Teito..."

"Shut up," Teito told him, burrowing under the blankets and wrapping around Frau like one of Labrador's climbing vines. "You're an idiot, you know that? The more I think about it, the more obvious it is."

Frau breathed in and out, carefully, holding down the leap of the scythe's hunger. "Are you actually trying to get eaten?" he bit out. "After you saw yourself what can happen..."

Teito pushed himself up on one elbow, glaring. "I told you! I'll pull you out of that scythe as many times as it takes! So quit using it as an excuse!"

"Excuse?!" Frau was glaring now, too. "Listen, brat—" He had to break off, jaw tight, and fight down another surge of hunger from the scythe. It growled silently, nearly drooling in Teito's direction.

As if he could hear it, Teito growled back. His right hand flashed over to clamp tight on Frau's forearm, over the name incised there. "You," Teito said, low and cold and deadly, "back off." A flicker of red shone around his hand for one breath, and Teito's grip tightened. "He's mine."

That was outrageous enough that Frau opened his mouth to protest. His jaw just hung there, though, when the scythe grudgingly settled under Teito's hand. "What the fuck?"

Teito's grip eased a little and he glanced aside. "Mikhail," he muttered. "There's still a connection even when we're apart. I guess I don't have to do anything formal, when I really need him."

That did, actually, explain a few things. Just not the one about why Frau should mean enough for Teito to risk stressing his soul that way. "And you have the nerve to say I'm an idiot," Frau scolded, closing his other hand on Teito's nape to shake him. Teito shrugged and looked up again with a tiny smile.

"It was important," he insisted, completely unabashed.

"Important, huh?" Frau narrowed his eyes, an expression that sent lowlife of all kinds running in terror and had no effect whatsoever on Teito. Damn it. He tried another tack. "And what's this about me being yours?"

Teito lifted his chin stubbornly. "You are. My bishop. My mentor. Mine, not the scythe's!"

Frau let his head fall back against the pillow, groaning. "Fuck. And I always thought Castor was joking when he said God would punish me some day."

Teito pressed close again, arms wound around Frau's shoulders. "I'm sure He'll get to it eventually."

Frau's mouth quirked and he slid a hand into Teito's hair. "Think He has already." He sighed, more or less resigned to being the kid's pillow and just glad that Teito hadn't gotten all metaphysical about warming Frau up again. Castor really would break in and try to strangle him, then.

On the other hand, it was awfully cold out there, and temper was supposed to heat people up too, right? Frau smirked at the ceiling for a moment before reaching down to lift Teito's chin and kiss him, light and gentle. He forgot the part about yanking Castor's chain for a moment as Teito relaxed against him, eyes softening as he smiled up at Frau.

"Go to sleep, brat," Frau said quietly.

Teito made an agreeable sound and snuggled down into the blankets and Frau, and a completely helpless smile tugged at Frau's mouth.

It turned wide and wicked a moment later, when he heard faint, muffled yelling over the sound of the storm outside, rather as if some manipulative bastard of a bishop was losing his grip and being wrapped up in ice roses by his partner to keep him from breaking in.

Frau closed his eyes, still smirking, and composed himself to sleep.

Three

Frau was aware of all the reasons that restoring the Eye of Mikhail to Teito was necessary, both for Teito and for the rest of the world. He didn't exactly regret it.

But the first time he looked down at Teito, curled up against him in bed, to see a pair of vastly unimpressed red eyes glaring up at him, he swore his heart started beating against just so it could stop.

"You," Mikhail declared, as if it were the worst insult possible. "You have been taking liberties with my master."

That was unfair enough to snap Frau out of his shock. "I damn well have not! Do you have any idea how stubborn the brat is? It's all I could do to convince him he's still too small to be fucked by someone my size!"

Mikhail tossed the covers back and looked him up and down disdainfully, which was the kind of thing that could give a man a complex. "Hmph." He settled back against the pillows like they were a throne, crossing Teito's arms sulkily. "Well, since you seem to belong to my master now, I suppose I won't do anything about this." He held up a finger and eyed Frau sternly. "As long as you don't get above yourself!"

And then he was gone, and it was Teito's eyes staring up at him again.

Teito, who promptly dissolved into laughter. "Your face!" he managed.

Frau sputtered. He couldn't help it. "Belong to you?" he demanded, outraged. "The cat-eyed bastard doesn't mind as long as I don't get above myself?!" His voice was echoing off the walls. Teito was still laughing, collapsed among the pillows with his arms wrapped around his stomach. Frau gave him a dour look. "And if you think you're getting anything out of me tonight..."

Teito caught his breath and crawled into Frau's lap, grinning. "Would that count as getting above yourself, if you don't do what I want you to do?" he asked, winding his arms around Frau's shoulders.

Frau growled and flipped them over, pinning Teito to the bed under him. "...show you 'above myself'..." He caught that laughing mouth and kissed Teito deep and hard.

Of course, given the breathy sounds Teito made and the way he arched up against Frau, that might have been the whole idea. "Mmm. Frau." Teito wrapped his legs around Frau's hips and rubbed his ass against Frau's cock.

"Not until you're five inches taller, goddamnit," Frau gasped, and tried not to show his response when Teito growled. If the brat ever realized just how close he was to getting his way, Frau knew he'd be doomed. And the fact was, Teito was way too impatient to keep from hurting himself, so Frau was the one who had to have self control for both of them.

Frau expected a goddamn sainthood out of this, he really did.

Fortunately, Teito was also pretty distractible, as long as you came up a good enough alternative. Frau slid down his body, tracing the hard muscles of Teito's stomach with his tongue by way of suggestion. He grinned when Teito let his legs fall back to the bed with a pleased sigh. Teito wasn't actually unreasonable in bed; he just had a knee-jerk reaction to being told he couldn't do something. Frau actually kind of sympathized, at least when the brat wasn't driving him crazy.

Which was why, when he closed his mouth around Teito's cock, he didn't tease, just sucked wet and hard until Teito's hips came up off the bed. Frau smiled around him a little and flicked his tongue back and forth over Teito's head. Teito moaned, hands working hard against Frau's shoulders, and rocked up into Frau's mouth.

It was always moments like these that made Frau reconsider his "not for five inches" rule. Teito was pretty well developed, and there wasn't an inch of childish softness anywhere on his body. When the weight of Teito's cock was sliding over his tongue it was a little hard to remember why he kept insisting they wait.

"Frau," Teito gasped, body pulling taut. Frau made an approving sound and sucked Teito down all the way, and swallowed slowly around him. The cut-off moan that answered as Teito came undone, shuddering under him, would have made him purr except his mouth was full. So he just thought it.

Well, that and smiled smugly down at Teito once he'd kissed his way back up his body, head propped up on one hand. Teito laughed, breathless. "You look like one of the cathedral cats who just stole fish from the fountain," he told Frau.

"I got you to stop arguing," Frau pointed out. "I think that's pretty damn impressive, myself."

"So why are you reminding me of it again now?" Teito wanted to know, reaching up to trace his fingers over Frau's mouth.

Frau smiled wickedly. "Never said I didn't think the arguing was fun."

Teito growled, and locked one leg around his and flipped them over. Frau smirked up at him, folding his arms behind his head. "Yeah? Something to add?"

"I think so, yes." Teito's eyes glinted down at him, and then he was sliding down Frau's body and pushing his legs apart to settle between them. The look he gave Frau as he leaned over was nearly as wicked as the one Frau'd given him.

Frau managed to stay relaxed and casual right up until Teito's mouth closed on him, and then he had to grab for the headboard. It was the same every time and he never got used to the heat of a living mouth. If fire could be slick and wet, it was like having fire slide down his cock, and Teito took his time about it. Frau moaned, low and open, and rocked up a little; Teito moved with him, lips wrapped just around Frau's head. Frau swore, breathless, and Teito snickered.

Evil little bastard was learning Castor's sense of humor.

When Teito finally slid his mouth further down, Frau shuddered. The heat, the life, the intensity of it were like nothing else, and the strength of Teito's hand working up and down his cock, slick and confident, felt like the only thing anchoring him to the world.

"Teito," Frau gasped, warning. He never lasted long when they did this. Teito drew back reluctantly, tongue flicking over him one last time.

"Mm. Just think what it would be like if you were inside me," he murmured thoughtfully, hand stroking hard down Frau's cock.

Frau couldn't quite help thinking, about heat and tightness, and the headboard creaked under his hands as pleasure hammered through him. "Teito...!"

When he caught his breath, the brat was still laughing. "I'll have to try that again," he grinned, elbows braced across Frau's chest. Frau growled and hauled him down to a rough kiss that Teito leaned into readily.

A fucking sainthood, Frau swore.

Four

It hadn't been Frau's idea, the first time he wound up in bed with Teito Klein. It hadn't been his idea to start sharing a bed, whether they did anything more interesting with it than sleep or not. It had been his idea to teach the kid how to use his hands and mouth, but only in self defense. Because the biggest thing that wasn't his idea was actually fucking someone as slight as Teito with what was, no undue modesty, a damn big cock. He'd held tight to a rule of "not until you're five inches taller" and insisted that he was not going to fuck someone who didn't at least come up to his chin.

Teito had pouted. He'd called Frau a chicken. He'd done some really, really unfair things with his mouth and asked Frau again immediately afterward. And eventually he'd gotten quiet and looked up at Frau all clear-eyed and said, "Please".

Which was how Frau had come to be leaning back against a handful of pillows with Teito straddling his lap and lying against his chest while Frau rubbed slow, gentle fingers between his cheeks. "We're taking this slow, understand?" he murmured against Teito's hair.

Teito nodded against his shoulder, arms tightening a little around his neck. "I know. I won't push."

Frau's lips quirked; he didn't trust that to last very long at all. It was a good start, though. "Okay. Try to stay relaxed, then." He dipped his fingers in the jar of gel he'd wedged against their pillows, because he'd damn well bought economy size this time, and circled his fingers over Teito's entrance, slow and hard. Teito's muscles clenched and gradually relaxed as he breathed out. Frau kept his fingers moving slow and easy, and after a few more breaths Teito gave a soft moan. Frau took a tighter grip on his self-control and pressed a finger into Teito.

Teito's muscles tightened again sharply, and Frau waited for him to relax again before moving. "All right?" he asked quietly, stroking that one finger inside Teito.

"Yeah." Teito sounded a little breathless. "Yeah, it's okay."

"How does it feel?" Frau pressed, because if Teito was uncomfortable with the length of his finger, he'd need to hold himself back hard from thrusting into the kid later.

A breath of a laugh, and another quick clench of muscles. "It feels like you." After a moment, Teito added, "I like feeling you."

Frau closed his eyes and pressed his mouth against Teito's hair. He'd long ago given himself up for lost. Teito had gotten to him, all the way into him, right down to the heart. Just knowing didn't mean it wasn't new and terrifyingly warm, though, every time Teito said something like that. "Glad for that," he said, husky. Teito looked up at him with a small smile and flushed cheeks, and Frau smiled back wryly. "Ready for more?"

Teito nodded and laid his head back down on Frau's shoulder, breathing in and out and deliberately relaxing. Frau gathered him up a little closer and pressed a second finger in. It went easily, and Teito made a low sound that Frau was pretty damn sure wasn't discomfort. He worked them in and out slowly, and Teito stretched against him a little, muscles working around his fingers easily now. He could feel Teito was half hard against him, and spent a moment breathing deeply himself.

"Mmm." Teito pushed his hips against Frau's. "Frau..."

"Yeah, okay." Frau pulled out carefully and scooped up more of the gel. "Tell me if it hurts at all, right?"

"I will," Teito promised, and Frau could just about hear him rolling his eyes. He snorted softly and pulled Teito close, so he could listen to his body as well as his words, and pushed three fingers into his ass. It was tight, and Frau went very slow, listening to each hitch in Teito's breath, waiting out each clench of his muscles. Eventually, though, his fingers were all the way in and Teito was moaning softly against his shoulder.

"Frau, move."

"Pushy," Frau muttered, a bit husky. But he did as Teito asked, sliding his fingers out to the knuckle and then slowly back in. And again. Teito moaned every time his fingers slid all the way home, and Frau was starting to wonder if he was going to have to eat his words because it sure as hell sounded like Teito really liked being stretched open hard. And it felt like he could take it.

"Not pushy," Teito panted. "Just... ohh... want to feel you." He ground his hips against Frau's and they both groaned.

"Fuck, all right, you win, okay?" Frau kissed the start of a grin off Teito's mouth, fiercely, and Teito wound his arms tighter around Frau's neck and kissed back, eyes dark and half closed. Frau groped for the gel again, still kissing Teito, and slicked it over his cock. Teito obligingly slid up a little, and Frau's arm tightened around him. "Slow," he growled against Teito's mouth, guiding his cock against Teito.

Teito huffed, but let Frau set their pace. His head tipped back and he gasped sharply as Frau started to push in. "Ahh... oh..." His arms tightened as Frau hesitated. "Don't stop."

Frau, already breathing hard with the burn of pleasure down his nerves, clenched his jaw and pushed up into Teito bit by tiny bit. And then he was in, sliding in smoothly, and Teito's gasps turned into a throaty moan. The alarming tightness of his body eased and he lay against Frau's chest panting as Frau pressed most of the way in.

"You okay?" Frau managed, husky, holding him tight, lightheaded with the burning heat of Teito's body.

"Mm, yeah." Teito slowly pushed himself upright against Frau's chest, lips parted as he settled down a little further onto Frau. "Oh..."

Frau swore fervently, hands tight on Teito's hips, and Teito grinned breathlessly at him, the little bastard. "I am going to be so glad when you are five goddamn inches taller," Frau growled, "so that I can pound your ass into the mattress like you fucking well deserve." In lieu of that, he flexed his hips slow and hard, drawing back and driving up into Teito again, careful not to push in too far. Teito lost the grin, at least, as he clutched Frau's shoulders and moaned out loud.

"Feels good," Teito breathed as Frau fucked him slowly. "Hard..."

And, yeah, Frau could feel how hard Teito was stretched around him, and it was driving him a little crazy to have all that living, branding heat locked so tight around him. "Teito..."

Teito arched over him and sighed, eyes half closed as he pushed down to meet Frau, and Frau groaned. One of these days, he swore, the kid really was going to kill him.

Today, though, was his first time doing this, and Frau knew going too long would be a mistake. So he stroked a hand down the leanness of Teito's body to wrap around his cock and pump it slow and hard.

"Ahh!" Teito's hands clenched on Frau's shoulders again, and Frau watched him, drinking in the life and brilliance of him, the abandon as Teito rocked wantonly between his hand and his cock. The way his name spilled from Teito's lips made something hot and possessive tighten through him. When Teito's body finally clamped down around him, he growled, driving up into that tightness with short, hungry thrusts until pleasure raked him over the edge.

When the fire finally stopped wringing his nerves out, Frau gathered Teito back down against him and eased carefully out. Teito winced, and Frau rubbed a hand up and down his back. "Okay?" he asked softly.

"Yeah," Teito answered, just as soft. And then he poked Frau in the chest. "And it didn't hurt."

Frau snorted and slid his hand down to cup Teito's ass gently. "If you can ride the damn hawkzile tomorrow and still say that, I'll be impressed." He could feel Teito's face heat against his shoulder and chuckled, threading his fingers into Teito's hair. "I'm a little impressed already," he admitted.

Teito glanced up with a rare, unguarded smile, bright and sweet. Frau held him closer and tried not to self-evidently melt into a puddle of pathetic gooeyness.

Teito would seriously be the death of him, some day. Frau was becoming increasingly sure of this, and not in a metaphorical way, because life was a bastard like that.

For as long as he had, though, Frau would stay close to the pure warmth and insane stubbornness of Teito's heart, and be grateful.

End

Cloud Hands

Hinata has long been inspired by Naruto, and watching his determination helps her find her own. Seeking a way to help her clan and herself, she turns to Hyuuga's history and finds old strength and new thoughts there, courage and hope. In the end, she even finds her way back to an older love. Drama, Action, Romance, I-4

When Hyuuga Hinata was three years old, her playmate Neji-niisan went away for two weeks. When he came back his eyes were darker than they had been. He still smiled at her, though, and tugged gently on her hair, and told her he would protect her, and she loved him more than anyone.

When Hinata was five, she was stolen out of her room in the middle of the night, and woke to darkness and confusion and falling—falling bodies all around her. But her father was there, and took her home again, and everything was all right. It was that year, though, that Neji-niisan stopped smiling at her.

When Hinata was seven, she fainted from exhaustion during training. Her father was frowning when she came back to awareness, groggy and limp-muscled.

When Hinata was eight she entered the Academy and, for the first time, trained with other children who were not Hyuuga. They were loud and cheerful and rude, and never waited long enough to hear her answers when they asked questions. She tried to find Neji-niisan during lunch, to sit with him, but he always vanished as soon as he saw her.

When Hinata was ten, she lost every match in a week to Hanabi, and her father told her she was no longer Hyuuga's heir, and turned away.

When Hinata was eleven, she fell in love a second time, with one of the loud, rude, cheerful boys, because she saw how every back was turned toward him and how, still, he never gave up.

When Hinata turned fourteen, she gathered all her courage in her hands and walked into the training hall while Neji-niisan was working, and asked to train with him. Quietly, face shadowed by the wooden slats of the window, he agreed.

That was the year she began to wonder whether she could change fate, too.

"Chichi-ue?" Hinata hovered in the door to his rooms, nervous. "May I ask for a key to the clan archives?"

Her father looked up, brows rising. "The archives? Why?"

Hinata looked down and murmured, "So that I may learn more of my ancestors. And I thought, perhaps... perhaps there are techniques I might be able to use..."

He sighed, laying down his ink brush. "I doubt there is anything that will help you. But if you wish to search, very well." He rose and went to one of the small boxes along the wall, sliding it open and selecting a small key. "Don't take it out of the house."

"Of course not," Hinata murmured, still cringing from the remark about nothing helping her. "Thank you, Chichi-ue."

"Mm." He had already returned to his writing, and she slipped out silently, clutching the key. This was her chance—her hope.

She stole down the halls, away from the noise of conversations, of training, of food being prepared, toward the still quiet of waiting words.

At first, the sheer volume of the records intimidated her. She'd never be able to get through all of them, at least not quickly; it would take months, years even to read all of these. But she remembered Naruto and his determination. She took a breath full of paper dust, and stood on her toes to take down the scrolls from the clan's founding from their shelf. She would start at the beginning. And she would keep going until she found what she was looking for.

She unrolled the crackling scroll with a delicate hand, only opening a few lines at a time.

...these eyes see to the heart of the world. They may see, also, to the heart of our enemies. My sister is willing, for the sake of our family, to try if we can fix these eyes in our line. We will give the hearts of our enemies into the hands of our children.

And what, Hinata had to wonder, were the children of Hyuuga supposed to do with those hearts once they held them?

She read on, frowning a little, in the steady light of her lamp.

"Hinata? Oi, Hinata! You awake?" Kiba waved a hand in front of her face and Hinata stifled a yawn.

"Of course I'm awake, Kiba-kun." She smiled at him, reassuring.

He hmphed and sprawled next to her in the grass of the hill where they waited for their teacher. "Training is good, but don't do so much of it you're asleep at mission briefings, yeah?" He glanced at her sidelong as Akamaru flopped down between them. "That bastard Neji isn't being too hard on you, is he?"

"No, no, it's nothing like that," Hinata said hastily. Kiba still growled at Neji-niisan whenever they met; even a year later, he hadn't forgiven what happened at their first chuunin exam.

"Well okay, then." Kiba leaned back on his elbows, head tossed back in the sunlight. He looked so much like Akamaru, now flopped over on his back with his paws in the air, that Hinata had to smile. She rubbed Akamaru's tummy gently and he wriggled with pleasure, panting up at her with a dog-grin.

"Kiba-kun?" she said slowly, thinking. "Do you... does your clan breed your nin-dogs? Breed them for the things they are?" She could feel Shino's eyes on her, from where he leaned against the tree at the top of the hill.

"Well we keep track of their breeding, yeah." Kiba reached over and tugged on one of Akamaru's ears, smiling the way he only did for his dog. "But the intensive breeding... that was a long time ago."

"Has your clan mentioned a marriage to you?" Shino asked quietly. Hinata's mouth quirked, a little sad. Of course, another noble would think of that immediately.

"No. No, it's just... I've been reading some of our old records these last couple months. Some of the things that were done to fix the Byakugan in our bloodline were... more than I was expecting." Brother and sister hadn't surprised her, but breeding children to their parents... she was glad she lived in a more civilized time.

Shino just nodded, understanding, but Kiba's eyes darkened. "Hinata..." He subsided with a growl when she shook her head at him. Really, she'd already known that ruthlessness ran in the Hyuuga blood, along with their eyes.

"All right, everyone!" Kurenai-sensei waved at them from the bottom of the hill. "I have the briefing, let's get going! Hinata," she added, as they scrambled up and trotted down to join her, "is everything all right?"

Hinata set aside her reading and the thoughts it brought with a soft toss of her head and smiled up at her teacher, shyly reassuring. "Yes, Kurenai-sensei."

This was a clan matter. She was a daughter of Hyuuga. She would find her own way.

Neji-niisan stopped with his palm against her diaphragm and Hinata straightened with a sigh. "I was too slow blocking," she murmured.

"It isn't speed you need there, Hinata-sama," he said, frowning a little. "You could have avoided that simply by shifting your stance forward and turning your body."

She blinked and ran through the sequence in her head, and blushed hotly. "Oh."

Neji-niisan studied her, head tipped to the side. "You've been missing that more often, lately, and trying to block when you don't need to. I think perhaps you're focusing too tightly."

Hinata clasped her hands together, looking down; even her determination seemed to go wrong when it came to her own clan's techniques. She'd hoped, once, that reading the old records might help her with that also, but after most of a year she understood no better. She started when Neji-niisan touched her wrist. "You're not flinching any more," he said gently. "That's the important part. If you only have the courage to close in, that's when you can use the greatest strength of our art." With a faint smile, he added, "Ignore the hand..."

"Control the space," she recited automatically. Though how a person was supposed to counter a strike by ignoring it she had never understood and no one had ever explained. She sighed softly.

After a quiet moment, Neji-niisan said, slowly, "I think perhaps you were never taught quite what that rule means, Hinata-sama." He beckoned her back in and took up a stance opposite her, nearly knee to knee. She obediently matched him. "Watch my eyes, Hinata-sama," he said quietly. Very, very slowly his hand moved toward her in an open palm strike, and she tensed, arm twitching, ready to strike it aside. "Not my hand, my eyes," Neji-niisan reminded her, and she fixed her eyes back on his hastily.

And started.

She could see his whole body. With her eyes fixed on his, she could see the movement of his whole body—almost as if she had the Byakugan activated!

Neji smiled that faint smile of his again. "There. Now you can see, right?"

Breathless, eyes very wide, Hinata slowly shifted forward. His hand brushed right past her ribs and hers drifted forward through the open space his strike made until it came to rest against his chest. They stood that way for a long moment until she gathered enough of her wits to step back. She was breathing fast.

"That's the nature of our entire art," Neji-niisan told her calmly. "To see the whole space, and to move based on that whole pattern." He held up his hand. "Not just this one part of it."

"Oh." Hinata pressed her clasped hands to her mouth, shaking a little. She understood. She understood! She'd seen! "A..." Her voice broke and she had to clear her throat. "Again?" she asked, husky.

This time, Neji's smile was a full one.

The door to the Hyuuga archives opened and Hinata looked up, blinking in the sudden flood of light. Her father stood in the doorway.

"What have you found today, daughter?"

It was the question he asked every time he came here. She thought he meant it kindly, meant to say to her that what she did interested him as it had not for so many years. But it felt more like a challenge—a cross-examination, to determine whether her work had any worth. She tried to answer anyway.

Hinata looked down and touched the book spread out before her with delicate fingers. "I'm reading the records of the eighth head of the clan. He..." She nibbled her lip. "He took the leadership of the clan from his older brother."

"Ah. Yes, that used to happen, I'm afraid." He came and rested a hand on her shoulder. "Some of this must be very disturbing to you to read."

"It's very different," she said diplomatically. To herself, she thought it had probably worked better. In that day, Neji would have been the clan heir. And wouldn't that have been better for everyone? She certainly wouldn't have fought him for it! And he was just as much Hyuuga blood as she, so shouldn't the strongest lead, if that was what mattered?

And if that wasn't what mattered, why had Hanabi been made heir in her place? Reading the archives made her think of these things.

"Well, it's time to eat soon," her father said, hearing none of her thoughts. "Come."

Hinata nodded obediently and marked her place and followed him out.

The archives made her think. The curse seal dictated much about how their clan lived. But she had found no mention of the seal at all, yet. It made her nervous, and it made her hope. They had lived for so long without the seal. Surely, then, they could find a way to live without it now.

Surely, if she just searched far enough, she could find a way. If she could just see enough of the larger pattern—not the single hand of the seal, but the whole space of their history—surely she would see the space where the Hyuuga could move next.

She thought of Neji-niisan's instruction, and smiled down at the floor of the corridor.

Kiba cursed under his breath. "Lost them again!"

They'd been tracking a group of strange shinobi through Leaf's territory for hours, and the intruders were proving themselves skilled. Kurenai-sensei's mouth tightened with clear annoyance and she paused on a branch. "Hinata."

Hinata nodded silently and put her back to a tree trunk, folding her hands together and activating her Byakugan. "Nothing close," she whispered, and widened her field. Wider. Wider. She was unfocusing, which used to be where she stopped, thinking that was the end of her range. Now she knew to keep going. Wider. There. "Three point two kilometers," she reported, "Northwest, fifteen degrees."

"Can you tell how many of them?" Kurenai-sensei asked.

Hinata took a breath and narrowed her field of vision, pressing back harder against the tree. This always made her dizzy. "Five," she gasped.

Kurenai's elegant brows drew down in a frustrated scowl. "Too many of them for us to take on ourselves without observing more closely. We'll close up slowly, then. Kiba! Send Akamaru back to the village to bring back another team to support us." While Kiba was talking softly to Akamaru, she laid a hand on Hinata's shoulder. "We'll rely on you to track them until we're close enough for Shino's bugs to go on ahead."

Hinata straightened, determined. "Right."

She kept her focus tight on the intruders as they moved, slowly closing the distance between them. She was getting better at this, at holding the Byakugan and even altering her field of view a little bit while moving.

Suddenly, though, the distance was closing a lot faster.

"They've turned around to meet us," she reported, and Kurenai spat a chopped off curse as she landed.

"Kiba, stay up here," Kurenai ordered. "Hinata, Shino, down on the ground. We'll hold them if we can, but if we can't then we'll retreat back toward the village and draw them down our backtrail to meet our support team." Her hands came together in the Monkey and she vanished from sight.

From all sight but Hinata's, that was.

Hinata set herself at the foot of a tree, reminding herself to breathe deep and slow. She could do this. She could. She spread her focus out again, encompassing all of her team, reaching outward. The intruders were coming fast; she let the edge of her range shrink again on their heels, back to a more comfortable two hundred meters. She saw Kurenai's chakra flare and two of the intruders suddenly stumble, wrapped in her illusion. "One on one," she called to Shino and Kiba, and then one of the intruders was on her, dropping from the trees to crouch, poised, in front of her.

She wanted to freeze. She wanted to hide. But she wouldn't do that; this was a mission and she was a shinobi, and she could do this. Watch his eyes, she reminded herself, not his hands!

And she could see. She could see the path of the kunai coming toward her in the shape of her opponent's arm, and swayed aside from it easily. Easily! A breath of excitement joined her determination and she ran forward to close with him.

It doesn't matter how much power the enemy strikes with, Neji-niisan's voice said in her memory, calm and quiet, because you won't be there. That is our defense, Hinata-sama. She kept her eyes on the intruder's, watching the shape of his movements, and slid aside from blow after blow, stepping through the openings his attacks left again and again. Her return blows didn't have great power, but, she reminded herself, they didn't need to. Her enemy was stumbling, now, organs laboring under the jarring shocks of her open palm, chakra sliding out of his control. He was starting to leave himself more and more open.

There!

Before the thought even finished forming in her mind, her hand had closed into a fist and she'd taken one perfect step forward, shifting with all the momentum of her entire body, and driven that fist into his solar plexus. And he fell.

Hinata stood over him for a breath, almost stunned. She'd done it.

Abruptly, she noticed that there were far more chakra signatures in her field of vision than there should have been, and she spun around, looking frantically for her teammates...

Sakura dropped out of the trees beside her, breathless and smiling. "Good job, Hinata! We're just finishing up with the rest of them. Two got away, but we've still got three of them for Interrogation to deal with." More Leaf ninja gathered around them, including Hinata's team. Kurenai had another of the intruders slung over her shoulder and was talking quietly with one of the new team. Hinata only recognized them vaguely; perhaps they were from Intelligence, if Sakura-san was here too.

She squeaked as Naruto came dashing through the trees and landed in a huff. "Lost them. They must have someone who's good at illusion with them." He glanced down at Hinata's opponent and then up at her with a grin. "You got one?"

Hinata just nodded wordlessly, blushing at that smile.

"She did." Sakura put a toe under the man's shoulder to flip him over. Her mouth tightened as she looked down at him. "Hidden Sound. Again." She beckoned to another of the newcomers. "Tie them securely, and we'll take them back right now."

"Is this... is this your team?" Hinata managed, softly, glancing between Sakura-san and Naruto-kun. They were both chuunin, now, after all, and they'd passed last season, only two years after graduation. She wouldn't be at all surprised if one of them were put in command of a new team. Sakura snorted.

"Well, most of them are my team for the moment. That one," she waved at Naruto, "invited himself along."

"Hey, I was bored!" Naruto-kun protested.

"Is that what you're going to tell Tsunade-sama, when she asks why you slacked off your exercises?"

Naruto sputtered for a moment before turning back brightly to Hinata while Sakura gave him a mock glare. "So, hey, you guys are going to take the next chuunin exam, aren't you?" He nudged her with a friendly elbow, making her squeak again. "It'll be a cakewalk this time, you'll see!"

"Course it'll be a cakewalk," Kiba declared, coming up behind Hinata to loom protectively.

"Oh, I know it will be for Hinata," Naruto said innocently. "Dunno about you, though."

Hinata just stood and blushed while Naruto and Kiba's teasing degenerated into wrestling. Eventually, Sakura waded in and pulled Naruto out, rolling her eyes. She was so at ease with him, Hinata thought wistfully, the way Hinata herself never had been. If Naruto-kun took up with anyone, it would probably be Sakura-san or Sasuke-kun. She'd known that for a year and more. But it still felt good to have Naruto smile at her, encourage her. Maybe... maybe he would even be there to cheer her on again, if her team did take the exam again next season.

She would like that. Naruto-kun made her feel like she could do things. Maybe even the things she wanted the very most to do.

Hinata stared down at the page before her with some astonishment. Just when she thought she understood the shape of her clan, something different revealed itself.

The fourteenth head of the clan had been blind.

She'd spent almost two years reading volumes of journals and chronicles from the founding of the clan forward, and the records that filled some of the early pages had been... harsh. For much of their early history, a child who was flawed would have been killed. And, to the Hyuuga clan, blindness was about as great a flaw as one could have. In later years, of course, that had changed. They had become more civilized. The flawed children, if they were whole enough to live, were only... solitary. To be honest, Hinata had wondered more than once if that was to be her fate—to live with neither husband nor lover, that her weakness not be passed to her children.

By all precedent, that should have been the fate of Hyuuga Ririko. Instead, she had risen to lead the entire clan!

She took a breath and sat back. See the space, she reminded herself. This was one more part in the bigger picture. Perhaps...

Perhaps the clan of that day had become too focused, the way Hinata herself had been until Neji-niisan explained things for her. Perhaps Ririko had been the one to step back and broaden their vision again.

Perhaps she had been the one to show that not looking at something helped one to better perceive its movement. Perhaps she had been one of those who had changed the clan.

Hinata leaned over the book table again and turned the page eagerly. Perhaps Ririko could help her.

Hinata shifted her weight on the packed earth of Konoha's arena and ruthlessly stifled a wince as her wrenched knee protested.

The chuunin exam had not precisely been a "cakewalk" but she had gotten this far, along with all her team. The first test, to shadow a chuunin unseen across the fourteenth training ground, had been easy for all of them. They had gotten their 'rescue subject' out of the Forest of Death alive, for the second test, despite Hagane-san's complete lack of cooperation and apparent dislike of Akamaru. Hinata had entertained a faint hope that the last round might actually be the simplest, this time. She had learned a great deal in the past couple years, after all, and even her father seemed to approve of her progress in training lately, though he hadn't said anything. She was starting to actually be good at her clan's arts!

And here she was, facing an opponent that turned those arts into a disadvantage.

The Rain-nin across from her laughed, completely hidden in a shifting mist that fogged both his body and his chakra into an indistinguishable blur. "You should give the match up," he called. "Maybe you'll even get points for knowing when the opponent is too strong to beat."

That annoyed her and she frowned. "That would only be true if my objective were expendable or a distraction," she pointed out sharply. "Neither of those conditions is set, here."

And no un-sealed child of Hyuuga dared surrender, in any case.

The seal, always the seal, and she didn't even know where it came from yet! She gritted her teeth, pushing her Byakugan harder, trying to see past the mist of dispersed and refracted light and chakra. The blur was giving her a headache just to look at. She tensed as it rushed toward her and stepped forward to meet it, spinning on her good leg to catch anything that might be coming. A fist glanced off her arm, and a foot caught her weak knee, and she went down with a gasp, rolling clear to come back up spitting dirt and twice as angry as before.

There had to be a way! Some way to see!

...gift of our clan is not sight alone, or even first. Rather, it is understanding.

Hinata could almost see the page in front of her, the slanting strokes of Hyuuga Ririko's words, of the blind clan head who had written so powerfully of the vision, not the eyes, that Hyuuga passed down generation on generation.

Control the space.

Hinata dodged aside from another rush and chewed on her lip, thinking furiously. She knew the human body, knew it better than anyone but a medic might. She knew where to strike and how, whether she could see or not. If she could just find her opponent in the middle of that fog of...

Her eyes widened.

She could do it. It would work. The plan settled in her mind and she knew it, like she knew the weight of her own kunai. But... Her eyes flicked up to find her father in the galleries, and Hanabi beside him. She was sure he wouldn't approve. Would think it was another failure. What if...

"Hinataaaaaa! Kick his ass! You can do it!"

The yell pulled her gaze over to the next gallery, where Naruto was half standing on the rail, waving his arms as Sasuke-kun kept a casual grip on the back of his jacket to keep him from going over. Determination sparked through her heart again; doubt hadn't stopped Naruto! And behind him... behind him was Neji-niisan, standing still and quiet, arms folded. Their eyes met for a single breath, and he nodded to her, firm and confident. Warmth wrapped around her heart and she straightened with a slow breath.

And released her Byakugan.

A rustle like wind through the leaves passed around the galleries. "Ha! You forfeit?" her opponent called.

"Not at all," Hinata answered calmly. The headache had eased as soon as she released her sight and she let her eyes unfocus too, watching the small bank of mist but not trying to penetrate it.

Merely watching where it moved.

And she'd been right. Without the distraction of details, of seeing the shifting chakra laced through that blind of mist, she could see that it always 'faced' toward her in exactly the same orientation, even as the Rain-nin circled, as if it were a stiff form he pulled along with him.

The sound of his steps, though, said that he was moving to the side of that masked space.

She smiled and kept her eyes open—no sense giving him a hint by closing them. But she spread her attention out to her other senses, just the way she spread her sight out to see the whole field of movement when she and Neji sparred. She could hear the faint scuff of his feet, feel the shift of air as he moved the mist bank, and she stood, stable and relaxed, and waited.

Another rush, and this time she swore she could feel his steps, through the air and the ground, and she turned lightly to meet him. His arm was high, his knee was against hers, and it was so simple to step and turn and strike, hard and sure, hand open and precise as befit a daughter of her clan.

The chakra mist raveled away under the sun and Hinata stood, breathing slow and deep, with her opponent crumpled at her feet.

A roar went up from the galleries, and the referee appeared beside them to turn the Rain-nin over and check him. "Unconscious, but uninjured," he reported to the approaching medic, and glanced up at Hinata. "Smooth." While Hinata was still blushing, he raised his voice and declared her the winner.

She stole a look up at the galleries, at Naruto, who was jumping up and down and waving his clasped hands over his head; at Neji-niisan, who was smiling, faint and satisfied; hesitantly, a little fearfully, at her father. Who nodded to her a fraction, expression cool but not disapproving. She released a silent breath of relief and made her shaky knees support her up the stairs to the examinees' gallery.

Where Kiba caught her up in a hug and swung her in laughing circles until Kurenai-sensei scolded him to let her get a look at Hinata's knife cuts. Hinata was laughing too, though.

She'd done it.

Not even the news, three days later, that she had passed and was promoted could quite compare to that first moment of knowing and triumph.

Hinata sat at the table in the archive room with her head on her folded arms, the last journals spread out around her.

She had her answers now. She knew where the seal had come from and why. She had read from start to finish, from the beginning to the present, and having reached the present she had arrived at the end of other people's words and understanding.

Now she had to make her own.

A shiver ran through her. She had to act, and she was afraid to. Afraid because she knew what she wanted to do but had no idea whether her father would agree. Whether her sister, after him, would agree. Whether this was even possible to dream of.

But she was the one who knew. And so she was the one who must act.

A faint sob caught in her throat, and she huddled closer in on herself. She was so afraid. But the weight of twenty generations was behind her, and she knew them now, felt them. And, set aside or not, she was a daughter of the main house; it was her duty and no other's.

She twitched upright at the soft scrape of the door opening.

"Hinata? It's time to eat soon..." Her mother looked in and frowned, coming across the room to lay a hand on her head. "Hinata, are you well?"

Hinata summoned up a smile for her mother, afraid that it was still rather drawn. "I'm well Haha-ue. I just have a bit of a headache from my reading, I think."

Headache, heartache, it was close enough, surely.

"Well, come out of this close room for a while, then," her mother ordered, chivvying her out the door. "Eat a little and have a walk, and see if that doesn't help. You've been spending so much time here, I'm not really surprised. You have to remember to take care of yourself, even when the research is calling!"

Hinata went meekly, casting only one last glance behind her before she closed the door on the archives.

What she had to do next moved beyond this room.

It took over a week to nerve herself to the only course of action she thought had a chance of working, and another two before she and Neji were home at the same time. She crept through the halls of the compound, tiptoeing around patches of moonlight from the windows, until she reached Neji-niisan's door and could tap delicately on it. She had to tap twice before he heard and came to open it with a small frown.

"Who is... Hinata-sama?" His brows rose. He wore a sleeping robe and he'd taken off his forehead protector and her eyes flickered up once to the seal, clear and dark on his forehead.

"May I come in?" she whispered.

One brow rose higher, but he stood aside and slid the door closed behind her. "Is something wrong?" he asked, eyes lingering on her hands, and she realized she was twisting them together. She took a deep breath.

"Neji-niisan, would you... would you let me try to take the seal off you?"

For the first time since they'd been five or six, Neji completely lost countenance and stared at her in clear shock. "Take the... but... Hinata-sama, what are you saying? That's," he swallowed and finished, husky, "that's not possible."

"It is," she insisted, firm with the surety of her years of research and the copied counter-seals tucked into her sleeve tonight. "I found it, in the archives. Where it came from. Why we used it. It isn't what anyone thinks!" She took a breath and lowered her voice again. "And it was made with a counter-seal that cancels it."

His fingers brushed over the mark on his forehead before he clenched them and lowered his hand. "It's good of you to attempt this, Hinata-sama," he said, very level, "but it would only be re-made."

"That's... I..." her fingers tightened on each other again. "I want this for more than just you. I want it for the whole clan. But I need to know for sure that the counter-seal works, first, that there wasn't anything left out of the records about this." She lowered her eyes to stare at the mats, at his bare feet under the hem of his pale robe. "It isn't just that I know you want to be free. It isn't just that you... you've helped me so much. My reasons aren't that kind or... or good. It's that I know you want this enough to try, even if there's a risk of it not working or going wrong. And if it doesn't work, I'm fairly sure you'll keep quiet while I keep looking." She didn't want him to think better of her than she deserved.

She looked up, startled, when he laughed.

"You still think like the clan heir," he murmured, smiling crookedly, and her face heated with formless shame. He shook his head. "That isn't a bad thing." He looked at her in the half-light for a long, thoughtful moment. "If you're talking of the whole clan, then I imagine you have a plan. Under-thinking a thing has never been your weakness."

Hinata nodded, hesitantly.

Neji-niisan nodded back, looking quite calm. "Very well. If you think this has a reasonable chance, I'll be your test subject. What do you need?"

She swallowed, twice as nervous now that it had come down to the actual technique. "I need to write the counter-seal on you, on your chest." And, having read the records of the eighteenth head of the clan, she had her suspicions why. They would see if she was right. Neji merely nodded and moved over to sit with his legs folded in the fall of moonlight from his narrow window, shrugging his sleeping robe off his shoulders and down to his waist.

Hinata took a deep breath, and then another, concentrating on the movement of her diaphragm, the slow slide of oxygen into her blood, letting the familiarity of it still the trembling in her hands. Slowly and carefully she knelt in front of Neji-niisan, taking the copy of the technique out of her sleeve to read over one more time. She took brush and a slim stone bottle of ink out of the thigh pouch she'd worn under her own indoor kimono and dipped the brush and took one more breath for courage. She rested one hand lightly on Neji-niisan's straight shoulder and bent to trace the counter-seal, character by character, over his heart, careful to keep the radiating lines of it at precise intervals so that they would cross the proper tenketsu in the proper order. Neji was still under her hands, tranquil as if he were meditating.

"All right," she said at last. "Now the activation." She nibbled on her lip and asked again, "You're sure...?"

Neji nodded, eyes dark. "I'm sure."

Of course he was sure. He hated the seal. That was why she had chosen him for this, that and the surviving shadow of trust between them. Hinata laid down her brush on a fold of soft paper and closed her eyes for a moment; this was it. After this there would be no going back. She clung to the knowledge of what she'd found in the archives and brought her hands together in the Ram.

Seal followed seal, Horse and Tiger and Bird and Boar and Bird, on through the full set of thirty-seven. She shaped each one carefully, smoothly, concentrating her chakra on the form of the counter-seal and the building energy of it. And with the final Bird she felt the quick drain on her chakra, like water past a broken dam, and heard Neji gasp. Her eyes flew open, sudden panic breaking past her calm. Had it worked, had it gone wrong, was he all right?

Neji-niisan sat in front of her, eyes wide in the dim room, one palm pressed over his chest. His forehead was unmarked.

"It's gone," she whispered.

"It is," he agreed, husky. "I felt it come undone." They stared at each other for a long moment, neither daring to stir, both maybe a little shocked by how swift and simple it had been. When he did move, at last, it was to gather up her hand and kiss her ink-stained fingers softly. "Whether this works or not, Hinata-sama," he said quietly, head still bowed. "I will always thank you for this moment."

Another time, she might have blushed at such a gesture from Neji, the clan's most brilliant son. In this moment, though, it was all she could do to catch back a tiny gasp of fear at the thought of what she had to to next, stifling it desperately, though she couldn't keep her fingers from clinging to his. "Can you hide it?" she asked, a little shaky. "I want to try to find a good time to speak with my father about this."

His mouth pulled into a crooked smile at the manifest unlikelihood of that that, but he nodded. "I can hide the seal's absence as well as I usually hide the seal itself."

"Thank you." She swallowed, hands trembling as she stuffed her materials back into her pouch. "I... I should get back to my room." He started to say something, one hand lifted toward her, but stopped and nodded silently and escorted her back to the door with a careful hand on her arm. He watched after her, eyes shadowed and thoughtful, as she stumbled down the hall in a daze. Only one thought was clear in her mind.

She was really going to do this thing.

She fell asleep that night praying fervently that the spirits of her ancestors, all the ones she'd spent so long reading and trying to understand, would favor her in what she needed to do next.

It took over a month to find her time. She kept going to the archives every night she was home, partly so no one would ask why she had stopped, but partly to read over the records of the eighteenth clan head again and hold those words to her like a talisman against fear.

Because, of course, what she'd finally realized was that she couldn't possibly speak to her father about this alone. If she did that, he would almost certainly ignore her, and tell himself it was for the good of the clan to keep things just the way they were. No. Not alone. There would have to be witnesses.

Ideally, the entire clan.

So she told over the words of the last few generations to herself and memorized the counter-seal line for line, and waited until the waiting and the secret she carried with her wound together into a hard, dark weight in her chest.

The negotiation of a marriage contract to an outsider involved only the principles and the clan head, but they never went forward until the whole clan had a chance to meet the prospective incomer. The Hyuuga were not as numerous as the Uchiha had been, and small quarrels had torn shinobi clans apart in the past.

And, of course, any outsider must know of the clan's seal, and agree to take it for themselves and their children.

Fushiyama Ran seemed a little troubled by the idea, but had, in the end agreed. And she mingled easily with the rest of the clan. Hinata thought it very likely she would be approved; Hinata's mother, the strongest of the clan in the healing techniques and their best medical researcher, said that Fushiyama's blood carried nothing that would harm a child she bore to Hyuuga.

The hard weight of Hinata's duty to her clan sat behind her breastbone all through the afternoon and evening.

As the welcome feast wound to its close, in bottles of sake for many, Hinata shifted on her cushion at her father's far side. "Chichi-ue," she murmured, "I would speak to the clan of some history I've found in the archives, if you'll allow." When he raised a brow at her, she clasped her hands in her lap so they wouldn't tremble. "I have found some very great things in our past. A time of celebration seems appropriate to remember them."

His expression turned from questioning to tolerant, and he rose. "Very well, then."

She didn't hear a great deal of what he said to call the attention of the clan; she was trying to make the sudden butterflies in her stomach and the tips of her fingers go away. When her father gestured to her, she managed to stand and walk out into the center of the hall on steady legs at least. She raised her head and looked around at the crowd of eyes so like her own, and took a breath.

"I have read in the archives of our clan, and found much pride in the history written there," she started, voice husky despite all her attempts to raise it this once. The rustle and clinking of cups hushed courteously for her, and she took another breath, folding her hands. "We are an ancient bloodline, as all know," she went on more steadily. "This is our twenty-first generation as a noble clan, and our history reaches back even before that. But we have grown and changed over that time as well. In the scrolls and journals, I found that some of our traditions are new." She had to swallow before she could go on. "Indeed, the seal of our clan is only four generations old."

A startled murmur ran around the hall, and her father's mouth tightened faintly. He didn't stop her, though. Hinata held tight to that.

"In my reading, I found the journal of the eighteenth clan head, Akemi. It was she who developed the seal. It was made for times of war." She snuck a quick glance around; some looked startled still, but others were nodding thoughtfully. "It was made to give our clan strength, so that none need fear being forced to give up clan secrets, even in death; so that none need fear betrayal by their own blood, or fear to be turned against their clan and village. It was made to let us fight with our whole hearts and souls, without reservation." The hall was still around her, and she could see shoulders straightening at her words—but she could see that many eyes were also shadowed, in the lantern light.

"This too, I found." Now her voice was husky with something besides nerves. "In that first generation, when peace returned, the seal was removed."

The stillness broke into sharp rustling and muffled exclamations. Even the head table stirred. Hinata avoided her father's eyes and hurried on. "The nineteenth clan head made the decision that war was coming too often to allow the seal to lapse, but Akemi, who created it, wrote this: The bonds of clan are silk, spun from heart to heart. They are strong but not proof against all; when the fires of war threaten, we will wrap them in the steel of this curse seal that the clan may survive anything that comes with whole hearts. When the cool of peace returns, we may strip back the steel and let the silk fly free again, for it is the silk that lets a clan grow strong enough to bear the steel.

"In the archives, I found the technique for releasing the seal," Hinata said into the absolute silence of the hall, and held out her hands toward her father, pleading. "Chichi-ue... we have been at peace for almost twenty years! I beg you, will you not hear the wisdom of the eighteenth head, and undo the steel now?"

Her father laid his hands flat on the table, and his face was stern. "In your own lifetime, Hinata, we have had proof that the seal is still needed to guard our secrets from other villages."

"It was not the seal that protected me," Hinata whispered. "It was my father."

"The seal was what allowed us to avoid war and yet protect our bloodline," her father answered, inflexible. "Even without war, the life of shinobi is one of risk. The seal protects us." A shade softer, he added, "My daughter, you must see how suspect your position is, knowing that you will be marked yourself when Hanabi inherits."

Hinata met her sister's eyes for a moment, and the blank lack of response there made her shudder—no hope, no reprieve, no love showed in Hanabi's gaze, only determination without heart. "How can you not see this is killing us?" she burst out. "My sister's heart is dead! I would have died at the hands of my cousin if not for the intervention of outsiders! All because of that seal!"

"Hinata," her father said, voice flat with denial of her words, "calm yourself and sit down."

The memory of Naruto waving his arms to cheer her on during her exam flashed before her mind's eye. Never give up. She inhaled hard, hands clenched, increasingly wild thoughts of what she might do next circling in her mind.

And then Neji stood. "Hinata-sama." He paced gravely around the end of his table and out into the center of the hall, toward her. "You must calm yourself, Hinata-sama," he said quietly, as he came, and her heart wrenched at that completely unexpected echo of her father.

Until he came close enough for her to see the wicked glee hovering at the corners of his eyes and mouth.

"Calm yourself," he repeated. "You are not alone." He sank gracefully down to kneel at her feet in full salute, and his voice dropped clearly into the utter silence that gripped the hall. "Hyuuga Hinata-sama. I will follow you, and only you."

A roar like surf swept the hall and Hinata's father rose swiftly to his feet. "Neji!" His hand closed and flickered, half hidden by his sleeve.

Nothing, of course, happened, and hush rippled out from the head table, whispers following after.

Neji raised his head and looked over his shoulder with a not entirely nice smile. "You tried to force me, didn't you? It will do no good. Not anymore." He stood and tugged off his forehead protector, and the whispers turned to hisses of shock at his unmarked forehead. "Did you think Hinata-sama would offer such a thing without confirming it?" he asked, mildly. "She has freed me. Even after I attempted, in all sincerity, to take her life, she freed me." His stance shifted and he added, voice darker, "This is the lady who would free our whole clan. I will serve and protect her with my life."

"Neji, don't—!" Hinata gasped. The very last thing she wanted was to see her clan fighting over this, let alone over her.

"Hush, Hinata-sama," Neji told her, and the smile was back in his voice, though he didn't take his eyes off the head table and was still poised in front of her. "I swore to protect you when we were barely walking, before the seal ever touched me. You've simply proven that I was right to do so."

"Silk." Fushiyama Ran stood from the right-hand table, eyes wide as she stared at Hinata. "Your eighteenth head said it. The bonds of silk are what make a clan live, make them strong enough to bear the steel." She reached down and caught Hiroko's hand urgently. "This is true loyalty. This, I can give my life and the lives of my children to!" She and Hiroko exchanged a long speaking look, and even in the midst of tension and anger Hinata wished, wistfully, that someday she might find someone whose heart could speak to hers that way. Hiroko rose slowly and wrapped his arm around Ran's shoulders.

"Sometimes," he said softly, "an outside view sees clearest. Even with our vision," he added, rueful. A huff of laughter answered him here and there, and he met Hinata's eyes for a long moment. "I don't think there's any question that your heart lives, Hinata-sama," he said. "And if Neji will serve you, then perhaps the rest doesn't matter. You have the strength to release the seal. Let that be enough." He led Ran around the table and knelt down in front of it. "Hinata-sama, we will follow you, and our children after us."

"My children..." the whisper was from more than one mouth, and slid around the room like a breeze. One after another, four more women stood and came out into the hall to kneel and bow their heads to Hinata. In fits and starts, their husbands joined them, two with the speed of desperate relief. A knot of the unwed men a double handful of years older than Hinata herself followed. Panic fluttered under her ribs. She'd only meant to convince her father, not start a revolution!

Or a civil war.

Remembering some of the other things she'd read in the archives, of generations split against themselves, she spun back to the head table, hand stretched out in entreaty again. "Please," she whispered. Her father stood staring at the hall, just as shocked as she. It was her sister who slowly stood and came out to face her.

Hanabi's eyes were as shuttered as ever, and Hinata waited, biting her lip, with no idea how this moment would turn.

"You would really never set the curse seal on anyone again?" Hanabi asked, almost without expression.

This, at least, Hinata had already thought on. "Only by consent, and only in extremity," she said firmly. "It was made for a reason, a good one. But never as a weapon against our own clan." She hesitated and added, low, "And if it marked anyone in a team, in a family, in the clan... it must mark all. Including those of the main house. When it was first made, no one went unprotected. Or unrestrained."

"You've thought this out," Hanabi noted, and looked down at her toes for a long moment. "All right." She looked back up and added, "You're still weaker than me. But all right."

Hinata let out a shaking breath, stunned by unlooked for hope, and reached out timidly. "Hanabi... may I hug you? Please?" She hadn't for so very long.

Finally, the flatness of Hanabi's stare broke for a moment, and she stepped hesitantly closer. "I... guess so."

Hinata gathered her up in a tight hug, swallowing hard. "I never wanted you to hurt because of me," she whispered as tears prickled under her lids. "I never wanted to control or rule over you. I swear."

Slowly, haltingly, Hanabi's arms came up to close lightly around her. "You... really want to take care of everyone," Hanabi whispered back.

"Yes. Yes, exactly. Everyone. You too." Hinata dared to stroke Hanabi's sleek, soft hair.

Hanabi sniffed at that. "I expect I'll end up taking care of you. Me and Neji-san." She stayed close for another moment, though, before she pulled away, and she had the faintest of smiles curling up the corner of her mouth when she looked up and added, "Ane-ue."

Hinata had to wipe her eyes hastily. "I'm glad you will." She looked up at their father, feeling a deeper calm in her heart, now. "Chichi-ue," she said, and this time her voice filled the hall, husky as it was. "I beg you again to hear the wisdom of Akemi, eighteenth head of our clan, your great grandmother. The seal is a great strength, but it will weaken us if we let it become a crutch. Please. Let it be released while there is peace."

He swept a glance around the room, at the people who had come forward in support of her, and said dryly, "It appears I have small choice, unless I wish to split the clan." Hinata winced, and he snorted softly. "Very well. I will examine the documents you have found and consider how this might be done. And," he added, more dryly yet as a whisper of excitement spun around the hall, "it also appears that my eldest daughter will once again be our heir. Congratulations, Hinata."

"I didn't mean..." she said in a tiny voice, and he waved a hand as if to brush the words away.

"You did well."

On that stunning statement, he turned and paced calmly from the room.

As some of Hinata's more distant cousins came forward to ask eagerly after how this could be done, whether it was really true, Neji rested a hand on her shoulder and said very quietly. "Remember. I follow you and no other, now."

That support and responsibility settled around her shoulders and she straightened under them. Neji-niisan believed in her. They could never get back the past, the sweetness of their childhood, she knew that, but he had never stopped being her dearest cousin. His support meant something. "I'll remember," she promised.

He smiled and stood at her back as she faced her clan and tried to find answers for them.

Hinata made her way down the hall to the archives, one finger tracing down the lists in her hands. The archives were the right place for these, surely, even if her father hadn't officially decided yet.

Haruka wanted his seal removed, but his partner, Kanon, wanted to keep hers so the seal's trigger needed to be kept from Haruka for now. Arata wanted to keep his, which made perfect sense to Hinata given how much time he spent working at the borders, but he wanted his son's removed immediately until the boy was old enough to make his own choice.

And that brought up the question of when the choice should be made. Hinata supposed it would have to be at twelve, on academy graduation. And under what circumstances should the clan head be able to command it? Only in war? During any mission into non-allied territory? She sighed as she pushed open the archive doors, eyes on her lists.

"Difficulties, daughter?" her father's voice asked.

Hinata looked up, startled. Her father was in the archives, with Akemi's journals spread around him; she recognized them. He was also waiting for an answer. "Oh... well, yes. Or, at least, complications. I suppose that was to be expected." She came and offered him the lists. "This is a record of everyone's wishes regarding their seals. I can see already there will have to be some compromises, and some new policies about how and when the seal is called for." She hesitated, eyes falling. "If... if you approve it, that is."

He sighed and leaned back in his chair, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Sit, Hinata." When she'd pulled up another chair, he waved a hand at the journals. "You made a good point, and Akemi had more. I believe that you spoke for the good of the clan, as you see it." At her soft sigh of relief, he smiled just a little. "Once I calmed down, I remembered how long you've spent in here. Were you looking for information on the seal all along, or did that come to you as you went?"

Hinata nibbled her lip, hands laced together on the table. "I started out looking for the seal. I wanted to know how we came to use it. And as I went on and there was such a long time when we didn't... I started to think perhaps it wasn't nearly as central as we feel it is now. Perhaps it shouldn't be." She nodded at the journals beside them under the amber lamplight. "When I came to Akemi-san's journals, I was sure. But... I was sure because of everything else I'd read before then." She looked up to meet her father's eyes. "We have been many things, over the generations of our clan, Chichi-ue. We have changed, often and greatly. We have bred ourselves and killed ourselves and fought each other for power and for love. We have had leaders of great vision and leaders who were blind. I believe we have become narrow, over these last few generations under the pressure of the great wars. I fear we have turned away from much that we could be."

Her fathers brows had risen along with her voice, as she spoke more and more passionately. "Indeed," he murmured at last. "You are not lacking in vision, that much is clear." He nodded toward the lists. "How, then, would you deal with those?"

Slowly, Hinata pulled her thoughts together. "The seal was made to support us in danger. At war, in enemy territory. I believe it should still be used then. And if any of our clan wish for it, to keep our secrets safe, they should have it." She took a deep breath. "But it must not be the main house's way of controlling the rest of the clan. That's wrong. It creates division, when we need unity!"

"There will always be division," he said, more gently than she expected, "but I understand your point." It was his turn to hesitate, but at last he said, quietly. "There is justice in it." He reached out to touch one of the journals. "Silk as the foundation for steel. Not the other way around. Akemi-san was wise."

There was sadness in the still line of his mouth, the darkness of memory in his eyes, and she reached out impulsively to touch his sleeve. "I'm sure your brother loved you," she said, soft and shy. "Even as Neji-niisan and I still love each other despite it all."

She wasn't sure why that made him chuckle, but at least the sadness was gone. "He's certainly loyal to you." She blushed, and he patted her shoulder and stood. "Keep those lists a while, daughter. Study them. I will wish to hear your proposals for how to address them." He looked down at her with a tiny smile. "After all, you'll be the one who has to deal with the system you come up with."

Hinata stared up at him, stunned by that subtle vote of confidence in her as heir, and broke into a brilliant smile. "Yes, Chichi-ue!"

She had succeeded. And now... now she had to keep going.

For once, the thought didn't make her afraid.

Hinata had been aware that leading the Hyuuga clan involved a lot of training and overseeing the development of their arts. She had known that it involved overseeing every negotiation for marriage or children, consulting the line records and the clan's medics to ensure as few stillbirths as possible. She had even been aware, in a general sort of way, that the clan head was the custodian of a great deal of property held by the clan as a whole.

She hadn't quite realized that there would be so much bank paperwork involved, though.

She added and subtracted carefully down the rows of tiny figures to confirm that the final figure was correct, and cross-referenced with the clan's own paperwork for that quarter, the records of rents and produce. When she was finally sure it all matched, she took the seal her father had left with her and carefully stamped the bottom of the page.

And then it was time for the next page.

She was reasonably sure that her father was not petty enough to have given her this work as some kind of revenge. It was clear that this really was something that had to be done. But she couldn't help feeling that he was getting a certain satisfaction out of teaching her this particular task.

"Ane-ue!" Hanabi pushed the door of the office open and leaned in. "Chichi-ue wants you. He's in the room by the south gardens."

Hinata smiled. "Thank you, Hanabi-chan." Her sister made a face at the pet-name, which Hinata had started using again, despite Hanabi having just graduated from the Academy. Hinata wanted to regain something they'd lost a long time ago, though, and for all Hanabi's face-making, she never told Hinata not to.

Hinata cleaned her brush as Hanabi ran back toward the training hall, and made her way through the dim, quiet corridors to the large room that faced onto the water gardens at the south of the compound.

Her father and Neji-niisan were both there.

"You wished to see me, Chichi-ue?" Hinata asked, sliding the inner door closed behind her.

"Indeed." Her father sounded rather dry as he waved a hand at the cushion beside him. "Neji has something to report about his latest mission, and feels he can only report to you."

Hinata blushed and hurried to settle herself on the cushion. "Neji-niisan," she protested softly.

"You are my lady," he said, quite imperturbable. "I would hardly report to another."

Hinata blushed and stole a glance at her father. He seemed peculiarly amused by this insistence of Neji's; she supposed she was glad for that, but she did wonder why. His glance in return reminded her that this was, in a way, another lesson, and she straightened with a breath. "You have something of significance to the clan, to report, then?" she asked Neji-san.

"I had occasion to speak with your voice, on this mission," he said soberly. "My team was with Kakashi-san's, attempting to retrieve the Kazekage from Akatsuki, and we encountered Uchiha Sasuke's brother." He frowned. "For a madman, Itachi argued like an Elder. First he insinuated that I should be helping him, for the sake of the alliance between Uchiha and Hyuuga. When I pointed out that doesn't apply to outlaws, he said he wasn't; that he couldn't be, because Sasuke was the only one left to pronounce it and he'd never been recognized as the head of Uchiha." Neji-niisan cut a questioning look toward her father, who made a thoughtful sound.

"Indeed, he wasn't. At the time of the massacre, of course, he was too young, but it's true that his confirmation should have come up when he graduated. In the absence of any other heir, Sasuke had the right as soon as he was a working shinobi." He frowned, tapping a finger against his knee. "Perhaps the Third only thought it would be unnecessary pressure, but perhaps..." His lips tightened. "Go on."

"I could tell that point disturbed Sasuke," Neji-niisan continued, pointedly speaking to Hinata. "So, under battlefield exigencies, I spoke on your behalf to recognize him." He shrugged one shoulder. "I don't doubt the Fifth will agree to confirm him, and if she does, and the other noble clans agree, then it will stand. It focused Sasuke again, at any rate, and he declared Itachi outlaw."

Hinata pressed a hand over her heart. "That must have hurt him," she said, soft but sure. Sasuke had always scared her a little, so quiet and so focused, and yet blazing with naked wrath like his clan's own fire. That passion could never have come from an uncaring heart. She looked up at her father. "Chichi-ue, if we are allies with Uchiha, we should see Sasuke-kun confirmed. It's only right, since he's taken up the responsibility, even when it's so heavy."

Her father seemed to come back from his own thoughts, mouth quirking a bit as he glanced down at her. "You do, hm?"

She nodded, trying not to quail at that look.

"Well," he murmured, eying Neji-niisan, "since the motion was made in your name, perhaps you should take the case to the Hokage yourself."

Tsunade-sama couldn't possibly be as intimidating as her father was. Hinata only had to take a single breath before she could nod steadily. "All right."

"There's one thing more," Neji-niisan said quietly. "Itachi said that Uchiha Madara was still alive, and that he is the will behind Akatsuki."

Her father's habitual stillness turned frozen. "Madara," he breathed, after a long moment. "And the Senju's ruling blood too diluted to stand against him again, save for Tsunade-sama."

"There are other bloodlines in this village than the Senju," Neji-san returned, eyes level on her father.

"Indeed." His eyes were distant again. "Hinata. Take the case for Sasuke's confirmation to the Hokage as soon as possible. And then..." he reached over to close his hand on hers. "Then there are some techniques I must teach you, the arts our clan holds against the darkness in the Uchiha."

The very idea that she might have to face Uchiha Madara sent a chill of fear down her spine, but it was countered, here and now, by the warmth and pride that he was willing to teach her like his heir again. She straightened her back and her voice was clear, if low, when she answered, "Yes, Chichi-ue."

Neji-san was smiling, and that warmed her too.

Neji-san was downright smirking two weeks later, when their training session was interrupted by a visit from Uchiha Sasuke.

"Was this your idea?" he asked Neji-niisan as he brushed through the doors of the training hall, waving a scroll marked with the Hokage's seal at him.

"Only in the field," Neji-niisan answered a bit smugly. "If that's the declaration I think it is, you may thank Hinata-sama for it."

Sasuke raised his brows at her and Hinata brushed back long, damp strands of hair from her face. "Chichi-ue suggested I be the one to raise the issue officially," she agreed, still a bit breathless. "You've taken up the work; you should have the title and whatever recognition or support goes with it. The Hokage agreed." She'd agreed so gleefully, in fact, that Hinata now had a small list of questions to ask her father about the political situation between the Fifth and the village Elders.

"The only support I have now is from outsiders," Sasuke pointed out a bit dryly. Considering who his teammates were, Hinata didn't think he was really discounting that fact, so she smiled.

"I'm glad to have been of assistance, then."

Sasuke cocked his head, looking at her frank and curious. "You've changed."

Hinata thought about the past couple years, about the weight of her clan that she felt behind her just about every day now. Suddenly, she wondered if Sasuke felt that kind of weight too, if that was what had driven his burning passion for so long. The shadows behind his eyes and the tension at the corners of his mouth looked familiar, now. It was this that led her to answer, "Hyuuga and Uchiha are still allies."

The long, slow breath he drew looked very familiar indeed, and she met his eyes gravely when he finally looked up again. "Yes," he agreed, quiet and formal. "We are allies, still." He looked down at the scroll in his hand and smiled wryly, the formality dropping away again. "Thanks."

Neji-niisan was giving her a soft, approving look, and Hinata's cheeks heated a little as she smiled back. Her oldest friend believed she could do this.

She was starting to believe she could do this, too.

Rumor had been running through the village for months, among the shinobi and civilians both, stirred up afresh with each new scrap of news. Gossip and tension simmered hotter as Akatsuki attacked host after host, and today Hinata thought both had reached a boil. It seemed to her that half the shinobi of the village were clustered around the mission board in front of the administration building, and she had hung back with her yearmates while Shikamaru-kun pushed through the crowd to get details.

"If this is really a multi-national mission, it must be about Naruto," Ino said, standing on her toes trying to see over the heads of older shinobi.

"Naruto and the remaining Cloud host," Shino corrected quietly. "Most likely."

"I don't see Sakura-san anywhere," Lee put in from the roof above them. "They must have already gotten their assignment."

Finally, Shikamaru hauled himself back out of the murmuring crush in the square, nearly stumbling but for Chouji-kun's quick hand under his elbow. "Air," was the first thing he said, and the whole group joined Lee on the rounded, blue roof of the records office.

"It's the hosts all right," Shikamaru confirmed grimly. "The mission parameters are to provide security for Naruto and Cloud's host in an undisclosed location. Mission time is listed as months, so it probably won't last more than a year, but I'm guessing this could be a long-term one. Risk is listed as very high; it's an A rank mission, even with a dozen or twenty people being called for."

"They must expect at least some of Akatsuki to get through to this mission, then," Neji-niisan said, arms folded.

"Or at least they're preparing for that," Tenten agreed, absently sharpening one of her scythes.

"Akatsuki will get a nasty surprise when they run into us." Kiba lounged back on the roof with a toothy smile.

Shikamaru-kun shook his head sharply. "Not all of us. If the location is undisclosed, they're hoping to hide the hosts, and that means the villages must be hunting Akatsuki in their own territories. Some of us had better stay, too."

Hinata chewed her lip; a hide-out would be in great need of scouts to watch the approaches, but the hunting teams would need them just as badly. "Shikamaru-kun," she asked at last, "where would my team be best placed, in this?"

Kiba leaned up on an elbow, blinking. "Isn't that for Kurenai-sensei to say?"

"Kiba!" Hinata exclaimed. "Surely you've noticed! Or at least Akamaru must have!" She knew her mother sometimes muttered insulting things about men's observational abilities, but surely...

Akamaru panted smugly and Kiba turned a little red. "Well, I mean, of course I have, but...!"

"Even if the medical rules won't take Kurenai-sensei off duty for another month, the long duration of this mission suggests she will be disqualified to go," Shino noted.

"Wait, wait, wait." Shikamaru was looking back and forth between them. "Off duty? You mean Kurenai-san is..." he waggled his fingers in the vicinity of his stomach.

Hinata frowned a little. "Don't gossip about it," she said firmly, in defense of her teacher, "but yes."

"Oh fuck." Shikamaru's elbows thumped down on his knees and his hands fell into his meditative position. "Asuma-san will be totally distracted, and he'll never agree to leave now, that means it's probably Genma-san along with Kakashi-san; there're rumors Genma was kind of friends with the Two-tails' host..." He frowned into the distance for long moments while the rest of them waited quietly. "All right," he said at last. "Hinata, your team should go with Naruto. It will be unfamiliar ground, and you're one of the best scouting teams; we can manage here without you, we've got the territory advantage. I need to stay, and I want Chouji here, but the mission will need as many sharp thinkers and strategists as possible to coordinate a mess like that against Akatsuki. Sakura will be sticking tight to Naruto." He looked up at his other teammate, eyes steady. "Ino. It'll have to be you."

While Ino blushed a little at this vote of confidence from the best mind among them, Hinata traced the thought further along. With Naruto's team gone, much of the village's raw power would be reduced. And the village must still be guarded. She nodded to herself and spoke quietly. "Neji-san."

Neji-san glanced over at her, brows lifted, and she met his eyes levelly. He would have to stay, he and his team with him, to guard everything she was leaving behind. He straightened slowly as their eyes locked, brows drawing down. "Hinata-sama!"

"You must," she said, calm with the sureness in her heart that she was right. It felt good, to know that he wanted to protect her again, the way he had when they were very small; it made her warm again, whenever she thought about it, warm enough not to need her jacket so often these days. But the fact remained that the greatest strength of Hyuuga belonged here, protecting the village, not out wherever she was going protecting only her. She smiled just for him, tiny and soft, and knew he understood when he blew out a sigh.

"Very well," he said quietly, bending his head a little. "I will stay."

"Thank you." And then she realized that everyone was watching them and looked down at her hands, flustered. When she peeked up through her lashes, Ino was grinning and Tenten's eyes were dancing. Shino rested a calming hand on her back and Chouji-kun gave her a small, approving nod. Shikamaru's smile was crooked.

"That was easier than I was thinking it would be," he murmured. "All right, then, that's us. Ino, see if you can put in a few words with Morino-san. Whoever else goes from Intelligence has to have some heavy-hitting techniques along with sharp eyes." He nodded to Neji-niisan. "You're the only jounin among us yet; if you can spread the idea of a lot of small teams hunting in cooperation, here, I think that's our best configuration to find Akatsuki and still be able to lay hold of the strength to fight them quickly. I'll talk to Asuma-san about the same thing."

A chill ran through Hinata as she thought about being on a remote mission for so long, away from her clan, away from Neji-san's reassurance and company. But she would have her team with her, she would be doing good work for the village. Important work. Work that was worth respect.

She clasped her hands tight and thought that maybe the chill was one of excitement.

When Hinata looked back on that mission, months and years later, she found much to be proud of. She had fought well. She had protected her friend, the boy who had given her an example to follow out of the darkness. She knew she had gained the respect of many of the mission's shinobi, and all of that made warm memories to hold in her heart. But the best of them had almost nothing to do with the mission itself, or with Naruto. The best was of one early morning, standing watch over the island's east side, perched up among the cliffs of the Turtle's shoulder.

They took watches in pairs, on the principle that what deceived the senses of one scout might not catch both. Hinata's partner for this watch was Noburu of Hidden Rock, a chuunin a few years older than she was, very strong in Wind techniques. Strong enough to bend air into lenses and listen along it as though the currents of the wind were strands of a spider's web. He was quiet and professional, and Hinata found him a restful partner.

So she was a little startled when he said, out of nowhere, "You're not what I expected."

She blinked "I beg your pardon, Noburu-san?"

He ran a hand through his short, stiff hair, and looked at her sidelong for a moment. "From a Hyuuga, I mean. I suppose all villages that have ever fought have tales of each other's great clans."

Hinata blushed, twining her fingers together. Was it that obvious, still, that she wasn't up to the standards of a clan heir? She'd tried so hard...

"They say Hyuugas are arrogant," Noburu went on, glancing out over the water. "Arrogant and ruthless. But here you are, heir to the clan, and you're not like that at all." He tossed a small, rueful smile over his shoulder at her. "I suppose that's a lesson not to believe gossip."

The cutting edge of uncertainty abruptly blunted. "You... you really think...?" She looked down at her hands, smiling helplessly. "Thank you."

"You've been as good a watch partner to work with as any from Hidden Rock, Hinata-san," he assured her earnestly.

She couldn't help imagining her father's expression on hearing such a compliment offered to his daughter, and then she couldn't help laughing. "Thank you!" She smiled back at him, hands relaxed in her lap as she knelt on their shelf of stone. "Sometimes, you know, Hyuugas are like that. Arrogant, yes. And ruthless. But that's not all that we are. That's not all that we want to be. It makes me very happy, that you see more than that in us."

"Well." He cleared his throat and turned back to their watch over the ocean. "I'm glad, then."

Hinata turned back to the water also. "I'll remember," she murmured. "When I hear gossip about Hidden Rock, I'll remember, too."

He smiled a little, out over the waves. "Good."

She carried away from that watch the increasingly familiar satisfaction that she was accomplishing the mission her Hokage wished to be accomplished, and the unfamiliar excitement of knowing that a shinobi of another village judged well of her. It made her walk a little straighter, to remember it.

She thought was that it would make Neji-niisan smile, to know about it.

The day Hinata and the rest of the Konoha contingent came back from Cloud's Island Turtle, Neji-niisan was away on a patrol. And, despite the busy hours of debriefing and reporting to her father, despite the small, warm glow of being told she would be at his side to attend the council on Shimura Danzou's fate for ordering an attack on the Leaf's own host, she found herself feeling bereft. She hadn't realized how much she'd depended on the thought of getting back to Neji-san's support, how hard she'd come to lean on that. And despite everything, she found herself trailing around the halls of the compound as if she were searching for something lost.

Which was where Neji finally found her.

"Hinata-sama!"

She could already feel the smile on her face as she turned, and it only got wider when she saw him standing on the engawa behind her. "Neji-niisa—" Her breath caught as he strode forward and caught her up in a tight embrace. She clung to him in return, breathless and startled.

"You're all right," he whispered against her hair, and abruptly slid down to his knees, catching both her hands in his and resting his forehead against them. "My lady."

Hinata stared down at him. "Neji...-san?" The intensity of his greeting startled her.

"They said you were back, but I couldn't find you anywhere I looked," he said softly, not looking up. "And the rumors going around about your mission are... rather wild and full of talk about assassination attempts. Against whom varies, but one version said it was you."

Slowly, her cheeks heated. Neji-san had been that worried? For her?

Since he apparently wasn't going to move, she knelt down with him, knees bumping against his. "I'm all right," she offered, a bit shyly. "I wasn't injured."

He finally met her eyes, smiling a little wryly. "I'm glad. I suppose that was obvious."

She blushed a little deeper, starting to feel as flustered as she used to whenever Naruto was around. The thought made her pause, nibbling her lower lip as she met Neji-san's eyes. They were warm; so warm, for her. Suddenly she felt like the day she'd activated her Byakugan for the first time—the world had gotten deeper and she saw what she hadn't before; her hands tightened on his. "I never thought," she breathed, eyes wide and wondering. She'd never thought she could have this again, her beloved cousin, her first friend, looking at her like this. Not like she was the heir, or a good leader, but like she was Hinata and that was important to him.

Neji-san looked torn, hands tight on hers even as he straightened, as if trying to regain his usual reserve. "Hinata-sama..."

"You never said," she whispered. "Neji-san... why didn't you speak?" When they were very little, she'd assumed that of course she would marry her cousin, her protector, her best friend. When they'd gotten older and her failures and Neji-niisan's bitterness parted them, she'd set the little girl's dream aside because it was too painful. If they could have that back again... why on earth wouldn't he have said? Was there something still in the way?

His looked unaccountably hesitant. "Hinata-sama, I don't... It isn't..." He looked away, face still. "It's always been Naruto for you, hasn't it?" he finally asked, low.

She laughed, soft and unsteady. "I like Naruto," she admitted. "I had a crush for a while, even. And sometimes I've thought, if Haha-ue says it's all right and if Sakura-san and Sasuke-kun don't mind, I might ask for a child of Uzumaki blood. But it's not like that. He doesn't love me. It's... he's... he's an example to me. He lives the way I want to be able to."

Neji-san's hands tightened round hers. "Not quite that loudly, I hope," he said, husky.

"No, not quite that loudly." She nibbled her lip for a moment, looking at her cousin from under her lashes. "Just that bravely, maybe."

She took in a startled breath as Neji's eyes flashed and his hands came up to close around her face. "You are that brave," he told her fiercely. "That's why I chose to follow you. That's why..." he trailed off and cleared his throat, and Hinata was startled and just a tiny bit delighted to see faint color on his cheeks. "That's why I love you," he finished, very quietly.

She felt like a flower was opening in her chest, something unwinding, unfurling, something beautiful and delicate. "Neji-san," she whispered, hushed with sudden happiness and a whirl of warm memories from when they were small, before anything went astray.

When he murmured back, "Hinata," the warmth turned into something soft and heated, and she leaned forward willingly as his hands slid into her hair. It was just a little awkward, kissing on the floor with both of them leaning forward over their knees, and she never wanted to stop.

"I suppose," Neji said eventually, stroking her hair tenderly back over her shoulders, "that I should ask Satomi-obasama to evaluate our boodline in consideration of a possible match. To be proper about it."

"I'd like that," she said, completely unable to stop smiling. "I'd like that very much."

Her father's response was, "It's about time; I did wonder when you'd notice the boy was mooning over you again. Though I suppose flowers are a more usual token than noble titles, for most young men to offer."

"Chichi-ue!" Hinata pressed her hands over her flaming cheeks, wishing she could will them cool. Her father's distinctly amused look didn't help any.

But none of that could make her any less happy.

Her mother was openly delighted by the match, and held forth excitedly at the dinner table about the potential benefits of the cross. "Now, I know you won't want to weary yourself with too many children when you have the whole clan to worry about," she told Hinata, hands moving as if to shape a good gene mix out of the air itself, "but you might retire from the field a little early, you know, and have at least one before your father steps down."

"I'll consider it, Haha-ue," Hinata murmured and took another bite of ginger salad. She added, more sternly, as she caught her mother giving Hanabi a speculative look, "Haha-ue."

"I wasn't going to suggest it," her mother said, defensively enough that Hinata knew she had been thinking about it.

"Hanabi-chan is even more dedicated to the field than I am," Hinata said firmly. "It wouldn't be fair at all." She caught the faint relaxation of her sister's shoulders and patted Hanabi's knee under the table. She wouldn't let anything interfere with her sister's chosen career, certainly not clan breeding plans. Her sister gave her a tiny smile.

Her team took the news fairly well, too, though she hadn't quite figured out how to tell them before Akamaru sniffed her over one afternoon and whined inquiringly. That brought Kiba over to take a good scent from her inner wrist, and then there was yelling of course, but it only took him fifteen minutes to stop shouting about all the ways he was going to maim Neji if he hurt her. Hinata shared a tiny smile with Shino; Kiba was clearly happy for her.

"I'm sure this will please your clan," Shino murmured, standing under their meeting tree beside her as Kiba threw sticks for Akamaru and pretended they were Neji's arms. "Will it please you as well?"

"Very much," Hinata said softly, fingers twined together. "I never thought we could come back here, after everything that happened."

Shino touched her shoulder, and a few of his insects danced around his fingers in a secret smile. "I, on the other hand, am unsurprised."

Hinata blushed.

The best part, though, were the times she and Neji met in the training hall and Neji wedged the door firmly behind him with a length of wood and gathered her up in his arms, burying his face in her hair. And proceeded to complain volubly about the fuss everyone was making.

"...and then Shirou pulled me aside to lecture me on how women were different from men! As if I didn't know that already; it's like they think I don't have a woman on my team. I haven't dared tell Gai-sensei yet. Are you laughing?"

"Oh no," Hinata gasped, giggling pink-cheeked against his shoulder. "No, go on."

"Hmph." The fingers that stroked through her hair were gentle, though. "It suddenly makes far more sense to me, why your mother is so determinedly wrapped up in her medical research. I would wager it started as a way to ward off over-enthusiastic friends and relatives who wanted to fuss over the new consort."

Shyly, unable to help blushing a little, Hinata murmured, "You can always come hide from them in my room, if you want."

He held her closer, laughing. "Now that would give them something more interesting to talk about." He kissed her hair and added softly, "Perhaps I will. We can steal mochi from the kitchen, like we did when we were little, and hide under the covers and talk about which missions we want most."

Hinata snuggled against him, smiling brightly; he remembered those times too.

These were the best parts.

Fortunately for her blushes, and the patience of her betrothed, the village was too busy preparing to meet Uchiha Madara to spare very much time on teasing even newly betrothed nobles.

"Your chakra must flow uninterrupted," her father instructed them as Hinata and Hanabi sat, hands pressed palm to palm. "That flow must circle on itself and leave no opening for another's to be imposed."

Hinata chewed her lip and concentrated on the flow of her chakra from palm to palm. She could maintain a closed circle as long as her hands were touching, braiding the two outward flows together, but as soon as she moved her hands apart she lost it. She heard her father sigh quietly.

"Hinata, practice that for a while. Come here, Hanabi, work on holding the closed chakra flow while you move and strike."

Hinata concentrated harder and resolved to ask Neji for help. Neji was, she'd slowly come to realize, a much better teacher than her father.

Of course, that meant she had to show him the technique, and that meant she had to broach the subject that had been on her mind ever since her father started training them in this jutsu.

"Chichi-ue," she breathed softly, trying not to interrupt her chakra flow.

"Hm?"

"If Madara is expected to attack the village, would it not be wise to teach this to as many of our clan as possible? The more people who can defend themselves from his Sharingan the better, surely?"

"This is a technique of the main house," he answered sharply.

Hinata kept her eyes on her hands. "So it is, Chichi-ue."

It wasn't an agreement.

Her father actually huffed with annoyance. "Turning into quite the revolutionary, aren't you?"

"I speak only of practicality, Chichi-ue," Hinata murmured, braiding her chakra together more tightly and slowly standing. "Only of the good of our clan and village in face of a powerful enemy." She breathed in and out in careful, even rhythm, and stepped slowly across the room taking care with every shift of her weight and chakra. There was a heat in her chest, building with every step, and she spoke out of it. "We should be as strong as we can be!"

After a long, silent moment, her father said, "I will consider it."

Hinata lifted her gaze from her intent concentration on the circle of her chakra to see her sister making a tiny victory sign in front of her chest as their father looked away from her. Hinata promptly lost the technique to a burst of delighted giggles. She didn't even mind when her father shook his head with disapproval. Hanabi was smiling.

Hinata knew her sister was fiercer than she was, fiercer and stronger in combat. In the fire and chaos of the night Madara finally struck, it was Hanabi who went with the teams outside the walls, coursing the forest to find their strange, black and white attackers in the dark, tracking them through earth and wood. That had terrified Hinata for her sister's safety, especially once the casualties started filtering back out of the forest.

And yet, she was glad of it now. She and Neji were the ones who'd been sent to the south gate to aid their Hokage against Madara if they could, and Hinata didn't want her little sister anywhere near him.

Neji knelt on the top of the wall beside her, eyes sharp on Tsunade-sama as she fought Madara. "We're not the only ones who discovered how to repel the Mangekyou Sharingan," he murmured, a breath of humor through the cutting tension of the night. "Look at the Hokage's chakra."

Hinata breathed slowly, carefully keeping her own chakra folded in on itself. Which was not, she couldn't help noting, quite what Tsunade-sama was doing, and her mouth quirked a little. "I think that's just because Tsunade-sama is too strong for him."

Neji made a satisfied sound through his bared teeth, at that. "Probably why he's stopped trying to revive his Amaterasu. I think Sakura can let her counter go."

Hinata glanced aside at Sakura-san, kneeling a few arms lengths away on the wall, Kakashi-san beside her. Sakura's chakra was slowly drawing back from the brilliant flood of the technique that had smothered Amaterasu and let Sasuke-kun through to guard the Nine-tails as it fought Madara's demon. "I think she knows."

Just then, though, Sakura flinched and gasped, "Intruder... first!" The strain in her voice pulled Hinata's shoulders taut. Sakura-san sounded like she could hardly speak! But it was a warning worth fighting to give; if the first wave of attackers, the black and white ones, were coming into this area, all of them were in danger. Those intruders would be coming through the very earth itself. Every clan member watching on the walls or ranging the forest had seen that much.

Though often not until too late.

Hinata bit her lip, thinking hard enough that her chakra flow started to unbraid itself and she had to wrestle it back into the proper knot, stream sliding over stream. There must be something they could do to see further, to guard the Hokage and Naruto inside the Nine-tails!

Sakura-san invoked the pure earth again with her jutsu only to gasp, wavering, off balance as if her strike had been dodged on the training floor. The wild life of Konoha and its land, flowing through Sakura's hands, ran faster still, wild as a river in flood.

A river. A stream. Like the streams of chakra Hinata was directing through and over each other right now. Could she do that with the chakra Sakura held? Slide her own through and over such vast power?

Sakura's own chakra was starting to run ragged; there was no more time, and Hinata took a deep breath for courage. "Neji, watch the Hokage," she whispered. He looked at her sharply and she could almost see the protest hovering on his tongue, but he bit it back, only reaching up to touch her hair with silent, desperate tenderness.

"Be careful," he whispered back, and Hinata added the warmth of those words to her courage.

She turned toward Sakura, releasing her chakra from the flowing knot she'd held and reached out to Sakura instead. "I'll try to see them," she said, soft and determined. "Sakura-san, can you hold on?"

Sakura jerked a nod, and Hinata laid her palms over the major tenketsu of Sakura's forearms, sending her chakra flowing lightly over the flood that ran through Sakura-san's hands. It was like sliding down a rope made of lightning, wild and terrifying and beautiful, and Hinata felt for a breath that there was spirit as well as life in it. Not human spirit, but a soul deep and ancient and wordless and new, changing like the colors of the sky and the surface of a river. "Permit me," Hinata begged, terrified and exhilarated by the vastness of this thing. "Life of our land, Will of Fire, permit me..."

And perhaps she was heard, because her awareness and her chakra slipped over and through that wild flow without drowning or burning, and she heaved in hard, panting breaths as her vision exploded outward. She could see a dozen knots in this stream, all converging on them, but the movement... the movement was strange. As if she saw a single hand drawing into a fist. No, two! "All of them," Hinata gasped. "All of them are coming. But they are only two. Only two that we need to find."

She saw the brightening of Sakura-san's chakra, her agreement. She concentrated harder, biting her lip, focusing the way she'd focused to learn this technique from her father, looking for the two centers approaching. "I see it," she whispered. "I see them! Neji! They're coming for the Hokage!" She pulled away from Sakura-san and the land's life with a gasp and would have staggered as she stood but for Neji's hand under her arm.

"Two of them?" he demanded.

"Coming to bracket Tsunade," Hinata gasped, dizzy.

Neji's chakra unknotted from its defensive flow and pressed against hers, steadying her like his hand on her arm. "Can you do Eight Trigrams, Two Mirrors?"

Hinata swallowed and tried to stand upright. It worked. She nodded to Neji, determined, and he smiled, bright and sharp and proud. "Let's go, then."

They sprang from the wall together, turning in counterpoint as they came down to flank the Hokage, and Hinata felt her breath opening up at the feel of Neji on the other end of this technique, sure as sunrise, there for her to lean against as she set her feet on the earth and drew her chakra in, spinning. This time she wasn't out of control or out of rhythm; this time she had someone to mark the correct time, and her chakra flowed up from her feet, through her center, into her hands in perfect sequence.

She and Neji spun together, and struck as one, her hand against the white creature and his against the black. The attackers blasted back from them, broken, and Hinata saw the flare of Tsunade-sama's chakra between them, triumphant and proud. She was smiling as she and Neji sprang back to leave their Hokage room to strike her enemy, and she saw that Neji was, too. They had done it.

Together, the way the Hyuuga clan should be, they had won.

Jiraiya-sama came to the Hyuuga compound, after it was all over, to ask how she'd thought of the possibility of touching Sakura-san's jutsu, let alone dared to act on it.

"I've never seen anyone but a priestess do something like that and not die of it," he said, watching her keenly over his cup of tea as they sat in one of the outer parlors.

Hinata clasped her hands to keep from shrugging helplessly. She felt very young and inexperienced, facing one of her village's legends, reduced to a child's stature again just by contrast to the square power of his frame. "It seemed like a possible application of the technique I was already using, and a reasonable risk at the time. I knew it would be dangerous, but once I'd touched the chakra she held it felt..." She hesitated. "Well, the records of our ancestors sometimes speak of seeing, not just chakra, but the spirit itself. It seemed to me that Sakura-san was touching the spirit of our land, and perhaps that spirit would help us defend it from attack."

Jiraiya-sama's brows had risen while she spoke, and she nibbled her lip, hoping he wouldn't think her foolish. Even her own clan sometimes gave her odd looks when she said such things. "An unusual approach, for one of your clan," he murmured. "I had thought Hyuuga's training emphasized only the reality of what can be seen directly."

At Hinata's shoulder, where he'd insisted on being for this interview, Neji stiffened. "My lady is the vision of Hyuuga," he stated, giving Jiraiya-sama as dark a look as if he'd questioned Hinata's legitimacy. "What she sees is real."

"Neji." Hinata laid a quick hand over Neji's, glancing at Jiraiya-sama. "Forgive us, Jiraiya-sama, I'm sure you didn't mean..."

Jiraiya-sama was smiling. "I see she is your clan's heart, as well," he said mildly, and Hinata blushed while Neji sat back, looking satisfied.

"It isn't truly that unusual, Jiraiya-sama," Hinata said, more concerned with the defense of her clan than her person. "Over the generations of Hyuuga, this is something that rises over and over again. I only took the example of those who have come before."

"And that's the scale of time you think in, hm?" Jiraiya-sama was still smiling faintly, but he was also watching her with sharp eyes. Hinata just nodded; wasn't that the scale any clan head had to think on? Jiraiya-sama set his cup down and rose. "I will be very interested to see what your vision makes of the Hyuuga." His gaze was warm, as it met hers, and he held out a large, square hand to her. "I think it might be something that hasn't quite been seen before."

Hinata rose also, hesitating a moment; she hadn't ever set out to be any sort of revolutionary, honestly! But finally she lifted her chin and took his hand; hers wasn't as lost in his grip as she'd expected, either. "I will do my very best for the people in my care, Jiraiya-sama. Whatever that turns out to be."

His smile broadened. "Of that, I have no doubt whatsoever."

Hinata thought about the smile Hanabi-chan had given her when she'd left two days ago on her first C-rank mission, and the softness of her voice as she'd promised Hinata she'd be back soon. She thought about her father's lack of surprise when he'd come to tell her that one of the Legendary Three was here to see her. She thought about her oldest friend, standing straight and proud at her shoulder. And, at the bottom of her heart, she found that she didn't doubt it either. She had people to stand beside her when she guided her clan, family and even a beloved who believed in her and the future she worked for. She was reviving her clan with her own hands and will. She would succeed.

And when she found herself thinking that, hearing the thought in her own voice this time and not Naruto's, she could only laugh.

When Hinata was fourteen, she wondered whether she was strong enough to change fate, the way Naruto did.

Four years later, looking back, she knew that she always had been.

End

Complement Art: by the lovely and talented Mitsuhachi Follow Only You, and Will of Fire, Permit Me.

Story Notes:

Language

For the etymologically curious: We have almost nothing, in canon, about the internal structure or address used within the Hyuuga clan, so I borrowed from similar situations in other manga and spent some quality time with the dictionary to invent some background for them. What Neji calls Hinata is ç·é ˜ or souryou, a now archaic term for the eldest child who will carry on the clan name; it has the advantage of having, in some periods, been used as a title for the actual clan lord. My theory is that this is not the usual title for the heir; Neji is using it to make a point about his current loyalties. What Neji and everyone else calls Hiashi is å½“ä¸» or toushu, a similarly rather archaic term for the leader of a family or clan. (That actually is canonical for the noble clans.) The connotations of that one are a little less broad and encompassing than those of souryou or, for that matter, soushu. All of this is a little beside the point, because I've translated the terms, but for those who were wondering about Neji calling Hinata "lady", well, this is the background thought that went into that.

Genetics

This is the model of ninja genetics that I came up with with the gracious help of Fer de Lance (all remaining genetic bloopers are my own).

Ninja talents arise from a wide variety of alleles and their combinations. The most "basic" one is the allele that controls the presence or absence of chakra-manipulation ability, let us call it C. CC results in strong ability, C0 in moderate ability, and 00 in none. In addition to this, there are six other alleles whose presence or absence preconditions what elemental affinities a person has. The first five of these relate to the five basic elements of the Naruto world, and the sixth to yin or yang; YiYi results in an affinity for yin, YiYa in either no affinity or a double affinity depending on a different allele completely, and YaYa in an affinity for yang.

Bloodline talents are stable mutations that affect the expression of these seven alleles.

In the case of the Hyuuga, an allele related to the C allele produces their particular chakra-vision. Let us call this modifier H. What we see in the manga is a relatively small clan with a very strong phenotypical similarity (ie, they all look very alike). The phenotype could quite reasonably be the result of endogamy; the clan marries inside the clan whenever possible to keep their talent closely held and as common as possible among them. My supposition to explain the clan size despite the power and value of their talent is that H is next to some important fetal development sequence, and often interferes with it. Further suppose that, in the process of "locking" H into their bloodline, the Hyuuga engaged in some pretty ruthless culling and line-breeding, which means vanishingly few of the clan escaped having genes with a messed up copy of that fetal development sequence. This would result in fairly few live births. The apparent frequency of warfare among the clans, both before and during the hidden villages era, would be plenty of reason to focus on locking in a valuable talent and perhaps not realizing that the frequent miscarriages were directly related until too late. Or perhaps even accepting them at first as the price of doing business. In either case I posit that this connection between the Hyuuga talent and reduced live births, once realized, resulted in a reduction of active culling and an increase in fanatic record-keeping and arranged marriages so as to maximize both live clan members and the Hyuuga talent. Increased sophistication of genetic theory and technologies over time would only have refined this habit.

The next question, of course, is how this results in the Uchiha (note that, in this 'verse, I jettison the Sage descent story completely and return to the earlier hints that the Uchiha descend from the Hyuuga). The Uchiha appear to be a far larger clan, enough to police one of the biggest villages and have a whole subdivision of the village of their own, and not quite as phenotypically similar. I speculate that the mutation that produced the Uchiha talent involved an alteration in H and the addition of modifying allele U, in such a way that they no longer messed up the fetal development sequence as often. I further speculate that one of the reasons for the Uchiha splitting off into their own clan was the founder's disagreement about the intense degree of endogamy the Hyuuga practice. So the Uchiha founder encouraged somewhat more frequent exogamy, and allowed outsider spouses into the clan a bit more often. This both supplied undamaged copies of the fetal development sequence, and greater phenotype variation. It also explains why the fully expressed Sharingan seems to be less common among the Uchiha than the Byakugan is among the Hyuuga. It may even explain why very Uchiha-looking black eyes seem to crop up in Konoha at large, as in Kakashi and Sai.

In all cases of a major bloodline talent, though, I have to suspect that established clans would regard marriage out of the clan as something akin to military espionage. That would be like taking secured blueprints off to a potential enemy. The formalities for gating outsiders into the clan would likely be fairly stringent also. It seems very likely that all noble/ancient clans practice endogamy as their default.

Iron Under Water

Shamelessly anachronistic clubbing fic. Neji and Hinata out dancing. Or sparring. It's a little hard to tell which. Set just after the end of "Cloud Hands". Not Exactly Porn, I-3

Sparring could be a lot like sex, for some shinobi. And there was no question that most ninja out dancing were more or less sparring to a beat. But this was the first time Sakura had ever seen two people dancing, sparring, or having sex so intensely without ever touching.

"Mmm, look at that," she murmured, leaning back against Sasuke's chest.

"Hm?" Naruto asked around Sasuke's earlobe.

"I think she means Hinata and Neji," Sasuke said, husky, gathering her closer on the bench they were all sharing.

Hinata and Neji were on the dance floor, moving around each other just a breath apart, flowing like water, like one person breathing in and out. It was the Gentle Fist, and yet it really, really wasn't. Naruto's breath drew in audibly as Neji twisted his hands around Hinata's outstretched arm, skimming just above her skin, and she turned with it, sinking right down to the floor under the not-force of that move. In the next beat she twisted fluidly on her knees and rose up again inside Neji's arms, hands pressing them open as he gave back a fraction before her palms. The way Neji's lips parted on a silent gasp as he yielded to the not-pressure of her hands and stood for one instant utterly exposed, if only Hinata had chosen to let her hand touch him, made Sakura swallow dryly. She could see the bone-wrenching force of those moves, but perfect control that held them back, made them flirtation instead of threat.

"Wow," Naruto whispered, and she could feel his hand tightening against Sasuke's stomach.

Neji turned to let Hinata's hands sweep past him as she stepped in. She recoiled in a long, whiplash curl from his returning hand not quite against her ribs, bending backward until her hair brushed the floor and his hand passed over her and it was Neji's turn to give way as her arm swept up. They moved fast as the music ran, but never hurried, never touching, utterly aware of each other. As they pivoted around each other, chest to chest, their parted lips were so close Sakura felt like she was watching them kiss. Or maybe something more intimate than that. Those pale, locked eyes were burning in the lights of the dance floor.

Hinata smiled with a flash of mischief as the beat paused, and the quirk of Neji's mouth answered her. On the downbeat, she drove a palm straight for his chest and he swirled around her, fingers striking at her back only to be flung wide by the sweep of her arm as she spun. Every movement was unrestrained, now, full force strikes thrown aside by counters that still never actually touched skin. It was as arrogant a display of power and control as Sakura had ever seen, and heat tightened her stomach as she watched them tease each other with that force, always caught back at the last second.

They didn't touch until the very last, as the music faded. Hinata's hand flashed out and Neji's arms fell to his sides at last, accepting her blow, trusting her control. Hinata's palm hovered a breath away from his chest for one last beat and finally, softly, came to rest against him. Sasuke made a low, husky sound in Sakura's ear and she shivered. Hinata smiled up at her cousin, soft and open, and his rare smile answered her, careless of anyone who might be watching. Neji's hand caught hers as they finally stepped apart a little, and their fingers stayed twined as they left the floor.

"What... what was that about?" Sakura asked softly. "I've never even seen them spar together in public, much less do something like that."

"Well, she's won Neji, hasn't she?" Sasuke murmured. "He probably wanted everyone to know it, and see why."

"I was right the first time." Naruto slid his arms around both of them. "Nobles are weird. But that was really hot."

Sasuke laughed and leaned back against him. "You thought so?" he purred. "Come on, then. Let's dance." He flowed up to his feet, pulling them with him toward the floor, and Naruto's teeth gleamed in the lights as he followed.

Sakura laughed too, as Sasuke pulled her back snug against him, and she pulled Naruto tight against her, feeling the ripple of movement slide from one to another of them. It was good, the open release of just moving together, and all the more so tonight after watching all that passionate not-touching. She caught a glimpse of Hinata leaning in Neji's arms among the tables, hands laced possessively behind his neck, and smiled.

Maybe she'd stop worrying quite so much about Hinata.

End

A/N: The soundtrack for this story is unquestionably Kuroki Meisa's "Wired Life".

Old Wine

A snapshot of Neji's reaction to any disrespect for Hinata among the Hyuuga. Unrepentant clan-kink with D/s undertones. Set after "Cloud Hands", when Neji and Hinata are, perhaps, in their twenties. Drama, I-3

It was over, everything except for collecting the bodies of the attackers. Intellectually, Neji knew that was exactly why Hiroki said it; the wired exhilaration of having survived again did often unhinge people's tongues.

It didn't make the silence that spread through the courtyard any less infuriating, when Hiroki joked with another of the younger cousins, "Hey, almost too bad Neji's so good, huh? He could have moved a little slower and been clan head for real instead of just behind the scenes."

The weight of the silence spoke of years when that hadn't been a joke, however tasteless and disrespectful, and the watchful memory of those years among the adults of the clan. Hinata's mouth was a little tight, but she ordered a courier to be sent to Intelligence, notifying them of the attack and the bodies to be examined, with perfectly level grace. She was going to ignore it.

Neji... couldn't do that. He very much doubted she'd let him give Hiroki the trouncing he deserved for that, but Neji couldn't ignore it.

And that was why he spun on his heel and strode across the courtyard to stand eye to eye with her, his clan head, his wife, the cousin he had once tried to kill.

"Neji," she said softly, reaching out a comforting hand to him.

He sank down to his knees before her and slowly bowed until he could spread both hands out flat against the earth. Far enough that his hair, ends still stiff with the blood of their enemies, brushed the ground at her feet. Little hisses of shock snaked around the courtyard. It was not the bow of a modern shinobi, even one of a noble clan. This was the way one claimant for the clan had surrendered to another, in the days before the seal, when cousin had fought cousin and sister had fought brother to lead the Hyuuga. It was a gesture not used for generations, and then only for the loser of a succession fight to publicly acknowledge his defeat and submission to the victor.

"Neji," Hinata protested. "Stand up. There's no need for something like that!"

"It seems necessary for some," he answered quietly.

"You're my consort, not my opponent," she said more sharply. "You have not defied me. I won't have you bowing to me like that."

Neji kept his hands spread out and still under her eyes, kept his own eyes on the ground. "There was a time when I did," he pointed out.

He could hear her inhale and imagined the flash of will in her eyes that most likely accompanied it. "Very well, then," she said, soft but clear in the absolute silence of the courtyard. "You were given a command by your clan head. Do you intend to disobey it? Stand up."

Neji bowed his head lower for a moment and murmured, "Yes, Hinata-sama," before he rose to stand before her. As he'd rather expected, there was a glint in her eyes that promised trouble for whoever got in the way of her sense of right. It was one of the things he loved her for, even if he did sometimes think it made her too stubborn about realizing what the clan would and would not accept or understand. He gave her a tiny, hidden smile, a reminder; he would protect her, always and from anything, and that included disrespect within their clan. Of course. The glint eased into exasperation. "Honestly," she breathed, just between the two of them, and touched his hand softly.

Neji regretted her irritation, but when he cast a glance around the courtyard there was no doubt to be seen, no careful neutrality. A little shock in places, especially among Hiroki and his friends who were, perhaps, young and foolish enough to be surprised that Hinata truly ruled him. But there was no doubt. He turned to take his place at Hinata's shoulder, calm and blank-faced. The point had been made. The submission that, by all rights, she should have demanded of him years ago had been given, and witnessed by the clan.

Neji watched as the Hyuuga put their compound back to rights and smiled faintly with satisfaction.

End

Twelve Views of Summer

Twelve kisses between Kuroko, Kagami, Aomine, and Kise. Can be read as poly or as six separate timelines. Character Sketch, Light Porn, I-2

Kuroko Tetsuya

When they were together, Kagami wrapped himself around Tetsuya until Tetsuya felt like he might drown, go under the surface of all the Kagami-ness and not come back up. But he kissed gentle and hesitant, mouth moving lightly against Tetsuya's, like he was never sure he was doing it right.

Tetsuya thought he was doing just fine, and reached up to wrap a hand around the back of Kagami's neck and keep him there so they could do it some more.

Kise kissed the same way he looked at people, coaxing and charming, dropping tiny kisses at the corners of Tetsuya's mouth until Tetsuya relaxed against him—relaxed into the hand on his back and arched his spine to tip his head back far enough to meet Kise straight on. Because, of course, that was the other way Kise looked at people, when he was ready to stop playing around: direct and hot. When he kissed like that, Tetsuya relaxed against him all the way.

Aomine twined around Tetsuya like a cat, until Tetsuya wondered lightly if Aomine was trying to mark him. Aomine laughed and purred against his ear until Tetsuya couldn't stay still any longer and batted him away, and he was smiling when Aomine swooped in to catch his mouth. Aomine kissed as open as a laugh, but he tasted as wild as his game had gotten, and as they kissed he slowly pulled Tetsuya tighter and tighter against him.

Tetsuya let him, because Aomine wasn't the only possessive one.

Kagami Taiga

It hadn't taken Taiga very long to figure out that Kuroko's bland expression hid something a little scary. Something unrelenting and fearless. It was still always a shock to actually see it, and it had been just as much of a shock the day Kuroko gave him a long, thoughtful look and then leaned down over the bench and kissed him. It hadn't been an aggressive kiss, but the firm heat of Kuroko's mouth against his had made him go still.

It was a shock every time, in a way, but he kind of liked it that way, and he was careful when he spread his hands against Kuroko's back, careful so he'd stay close.

The first time Aomine had kissed him, Taiga had been in the middle of challenging him to a one-on-one, and now he couldn't actually use the phrase without feeling his ears getting hot. Not around Aomine, at least. Which made Aomine smirk, which meant Taiga had no choice but to haul him closer and kiss it away. It took a little while to get to the actual game, sometimes, but that was okay. Aomine kissed just like he played, hot and wild and pushing until Taiga pushed back, pushed him against the fence or the post itself, which was when Aomine finally relaxed, tension easing away under Taiga's hands. That was when Aomine played a lazy, wicked, drawn-out game, or a bright, fast-flying, laughing one.

Not always on the court, but that was okay too.

Kise should be a relaxing kind of guy to hang out with, as easy-going as he acted most of the time. But he really, really wasn't, not once you saw what was on the other side of the easy-going. Taiga never really relaxed around Kise unless Kise was showing that flip side, the one where his eyes made you think of a fucking sword even when he was smiling.

Well, okay, he also relaxed when Kise was wrapped around him making soft sounds into his mouth, sounds that made Taiga go slow with him the way he never would have on the court. But kissing, he maintained no matter how much Kise teased him over it, was different. He knew he was right, because saying that made Kise's eyes turn as soft as the sounds he made.

Aomine Daiki

The day Tetsuya let Daiki kiss him, something in Daiki that had been wound tight finally eased. It finally felt right, again. Maybe Tetsu wasn't at his side on the court any longer, but this, it was like one of Tetsu's passes. Something burning through the air. Something so heavy and direct it was impossible to catch, but Tetsu trusted him to catch it anyway. So he caught it and held it, held Tetsu to him, and licked at the tiny, familiar quirk in the corners of Tetsu's mouth. The way Tetsu laced his hands around the back of Daiki's neck told him everything was all right again.

Kise kissed like a challenge, and where they went from there was up to Daiki. If he stood firm and kissed back gently, Kise softened and leaned against him and smiled the private smile only friends got to see. If he caught Kise up, spinning him off his feet, laughing over the centimeters of advantage he still had, Kise would laugh with him, bright and happy and true. And if he held Kise hard, kissed back rough and wanting, Kise would turn wild in his arms until they were both wrung out and exhausted.

Sometimes Daiki thought Kise reflected, not a copy, but all the true bits of himself. When he thought that, he wondered a little at how much of Kise there seemed to be.

Daiki liked the way Kagami kissed, though he never said so out loud. He liked Kagami's weight against him, liked how completely straightforward he was. No bullshit, no holding back.

Considering that, he also found it kind of funny that Kagami was so gentle about it. However wild they started, and Daiki liked wild after all, sooner or later Kagami's mouth on his turned slow and hot and wet. And that made Daiki not miss the wildness.

Kise Ryouta

Kuroko was a godawful tease, was the thing.

It kind of got Ryouta hot, because he knew how that game was played, and Kuroko could play it right down to the hilt.

So it was a game to get kisses from Kuroko, to tease him back until he decided to finally respond. To feel him turn lightly aside until Ryouta gave in and turned serious. To feel Kuroko finally turn toward him and open his mouth under Ryouta's.

He was never sure who won those games, but the intentness of Kuroko's kiss made him not care.

There were times when Kagami scared Ryouta a little. Not because of his strength or his loudness or his vast social awkwardness, or any of the things that Ryouta knew probably alarmed other people. Because he never looked away. To Kagami, Ryouta's charm for his fans and edge for his opponents and even his quietness for a friend were all the same. Kagami kissed him the same way, no matter what, always warm and steady. Ryouta loved it, and it freaked him out, and even then Kagami just held him.

What did you do with someone like that?

So far, the answer seemed to be: let him hold you and kiss you quiet.

Aomine kissed like a wind blowing through, no matter what mood he was in, always sweeping you up in itself. Bright and laughing or fierce and wild, it always swept Ryouta up. And when Aomine was holding Ryouta tight against him and whispering, between kisses, just what he was going to do to Ryouta, how hard it would be, how good...

...well, it was easy to say yes. To throw away caution and wondering about what this might do to his image and whether his agency would yell at him over it, and just kiss back. It was like swallowing fire, and he strained into Aomine's arms for more of it.

The satisfied sound Aomine made, when he did, poured heat right down his spine.

This he had won, and he would not let it go.

End

Kantoku Means I Love You

Some possible reasons Kiyoshi calls Aida "Riko" while Hyuuga calls her "Kantoku". Unabashed Fluff, I-2

Hyuuga Junpei could feel all his muscles protesting feebly as he hauled himself up the last step to the pedestrian overpass on his way home. The pain of the killer workout they'd all been put through for the first day of the new basketball club reminded him of other annoyances, and he glanced over his shoulder at his companion.

"And why is Kiyoshi calling you 'Riko', anyway?" he demanded.

Riko rolled her eyes so hard she nearly missed her own first step up to the walkway. "Because he said to call him Teppei, so I said to call me Riko. It would feel weird if he were 'Aida-san'ing me while I called him Teppei."

"So call him Kiyoshi, like everyone else in the school," Junpei argued. Like, for example, he did, and then it wouldn't seem like the too-perceptive, infuriatingly-determined bastard had stolen his childhood friend.

Alarmingly, Riko grinned. "Yeah, but he gets this sad expression whenever I do. It's kind of cute, actually."

Junpei hitched his bag glumly up over his shoulder and stumped down the stairs on the other side. Cute. Great.

"What's the problem with it, anyway?" Riko demanded, elbowing him as they started down the street of little shops and restaurants that led toward home. "You call me Riko, after all."

"Yeah, but..." Junpei stifled the rest of his sentence before but you invited him to could get out of his mouth. Even in his own head, that sounded stupid and childish, and if he said it out loud Riko would probably be annoyed at him. Actually, given how annoyed at him she'd been for most of the past year, she'd probably hit him. It was bad enough that she'd taken to calling him Hyuuga-kun months ago, and still hadn't stopped. "Never mind," he muttered. After a long moment, broken only by Riko's predictable distraction over the Rilakkuma phone straps being sold at the stall beside the bakery, he added, "Besides, if you're our coach, now, the whole team should be calling you Kantoku."

Riko laughed. "I could get used to that, maybe. After all, I'm going to be putting you all through hell like a good coach should."

The brightness of a good challenge lit up her whole face, and Junpei's stomach did ridiculous flip-flops just to see that. "Well then." He cleared his throat and tried to make sure he didn't sound breathless at all. "I'll rely on you. Kantoku."

She grinned up at him, and linked her arm through his for a few steps, and Junpei smiled helplessly back. He had a feeling he was going to be calling her that a lot, just to see this sparkle in her. He was clearly, completely, and totally doomed.

He was maybe kind of okay with that, though.

"So, what are you going to inflict on us tomorrow?" he asked.

The sparkle turned to a gleam, and Riko cracked her knuckles ominously. "Well, I was thinking about that..."

He listened to her planning their death from exhaustion, and nodded along agreeably, and even made a few suggestions for the footwork drills. She teased him about acting all captain-ly already, and he smiled crookedly and agreed. Captain and coach had to work together a lot, after all. No matter how big and infuriating an idiot fate had inflicted on him to drag him back to basketball, and no matter how well Kiyoshi seemed to get along with Riko, Junpei and Riko would have this. For three years, if he wasn't stupid enough to throw it away again.

Yeah, maybe he was okay with doomed.

End

Anemone In Sunlight

Kiyoshi is recovering from surgery and now comes the hard part: making him take it slow. In the process, Riko decides it's time to deal with the things she and Kiyoshi and Hyuuga haven't been talking about. Drama, Romance, I-3

Almost two months after the Winter Cup, Riko gathered her club around her at the end of practice, grim and serious. "All right, everyone, listen up. We have a problem." Hyuuga stood at her side looking equally grim; he'd heard the news already. She didn't honestly think she'd be able to make it through this without his support, and she was grateful for it, but that didn't make telling the club any easier. Riko took a deep breath, meeting the suddenly worried eyes of her boys one by one.

"Teppei's surgery was definitely a success, and he's coming back."

Silence fell over the court for a long moment before it was broken by the first-years, with explosive sighs and little laughs.

"Jeez, don't try to scare us like that!" Kagami told her. "You should be smiling for good news!" He paused, looking around at the second-years, who were all frowning or biting their lips or shaking their heads. "...isn't it?"

"Kiyoshi is impossible during rehab," Hyuuga informed him darkly. "As soon as he sets foot on the floor-boards, he'll be trying to do more than he should." He snorted bitterly. "He'll try to pass it off as 'just demonstrating' but if you let him get away with that he'll be doing moves at full speed before you turn around."

"That's the reason none of you even met him before summer," Izuki put in. "Hyuuga threatened to throw him out of the gym if he showed up before his rehabilitation was complete, and Kiyoshi's therapist agreed."

"And now," Riko finished, "he's sent me this." She held up her phone to show the message she'd gotten this afternoon.

Doctor says light training OK! See you soon! ^_^b

Her year-mates contemplated the screen with dread, and even the first-years were starting to look suitably worried. Riko blew out a breath, stuffing the phone away and staring at the floor for a long moment, hands on her hips. "It would have been easier if he'd had the same therapist as he had last time. She understood what he was like. But now he's gotten the go-ahead to come back, and it's up to us to keep him from tearing his knee up again before it fully heals."

"Oh man," Koganei moaned, flopping back against the stage. "We're supposed to stop Kiyoshi?"

"The down-side of Iron Heart," Izuki agreed, nibbling a thumbnail.

"Which is why it's going to take all of us!" Hyuuga rallied them. "Everyone needs to keep an eye on him, and if he tries something he's not supposed to yet... well, do whatever you have to."

A daunted silence fell until Kuroko broke it, stepping forward and raising a hand politely. "What is Kiyoshi-senpai allowed to do?"

Riko growled with remembered aggravation. "His therapist says that for the next two months he can do light jogging, no sprinting, no cutting, no jumping. He can do the pool exercises and stationary shooting practice, though we'll probably have to nail his feet to the floor for that one. No squats, no lateral exercises." And the stupid man had actually seemed to believe this would be possible to enforce when Teppei was attending practice.

"And we can do whatever is necessary to make sure Kiyoshi-senpai doesn't over work?"

Riko blinked and looked more closely at Kuroko. He looked back, perfectly level and calmâ€”just as calm as he'd been when, now she remembered, he downed Kagami by the ankles to keep him from punching another player and getting thrown out of the game. Riko smiled slowly. "Well, I don't think you want to be quite as rough with him as you are with Kagami-kun," she said thoughtfully. "But yes. Whatever is necessary."

The other second-years were starting to grin, too.

Kuroko nodded. "Of course." He turned to look up at his partner. "Kagami-kun."

Kagami folded his arms, looking down at Kuroko. "You want me to help you assault our senpai." It was a statement, if a slightly dubious one, not a question. Riko reflected with some amusement on how good Kagami had gotten at translating Kuroko's not-quite-orders.

"Just restrain, unless it's really necessary," Kuroko corrected, matter-of-fact.

Kagami snorted, half laughing. "Yeah, sure, why not."

"Good attitude there," Hyuuga approved with a certain glint in his eye, no doubt at the thought of Kagami sitting on Teppei or some such.

Riko clapped her hands. "All right! If we can keep Teppei from doing anything too outstandingly stupid for the next six months, we might be able to have him back on the team for the Winter Cup next year. Let's do this!"

Her club chorused back agreement, and she felt about as good as she could over the whole prospect. Which still meant a lot of worry in the back of her mind. So when Hyuuga nudged her shoulder, while they closed up, and said, "We should go see him now, and let him know he's not getting away with anything," she was glad.

She really didn't think she could do this without Hyuuga. He was better at shouting than she was, and she had a feeling there would need to be shouting.

"This is going to be such a nightmare," she muttered into her coat collar as they left campus, fists jammed into her pockets. "Why couldn't his physical therapist have seen what he's like?"

"Because he looks all laid back and easygoing, even when he's steam-rolling over top of you," Hyuuga answered dryly. His hand rested on her shoulder for a few steps. "Don't worry. The club knows what he's like."

"And thank goodness for that!" She snorted softly. "And for Kuroko-kun being used to dealing with difficult players, I suppose."

It didn't take long to get to Teppei's house, and his grandparents were used to seeing her. Riko chatted politely, keeping an ear out for the sound she was positive they would hear soon. Sure enough, there it wasâ€”a brisk but slightly uneven step outside the little sitting room. Teppei appeared in the doorway and promptly lit up.

"Hey, I didn't expect to see you guys until tomorrow! You didn't need to come by just to congratulate me."

Riko showed him her teeth, not that that ever really worked on Teppei but she wanted him to know she was serious. "Oh, it wasn't any trouble at all. Really."

Teppei's grandmother smiled at them indulgently. "Here's the person you really came to see. Run along, dear."

Riko extracted them with a few more pleasantries, and she and Hyuuga herded Teppei down the hall to his room. She watched closely while Teppei pulled out some cushions for them and gave Hyuuga a taut nod: Teppei's knee was still weak and he was wincing when he flexed it too far. Hyuuga sighed and thumped down cross legged on the cushion to Teppei's left.

"You know what we're here for, so don't give me any innocent-idiot looks," he ordered. "We're going to keep you from overworking that knee if we have to tie you up and hang you from the gym rafters, understand?"

"The whole club is in agreement," Riko put in, "so don't think you'll get away with anything." Still in her uniform skirt, she folded her legs under her and gave Teppei an extra glare to make up for the demure position.

Teppei eased himself down, leg stretched out straight; she approved of that at least, if not the big simpleton smile he gave them. "I won't give you any trouble, I promise! The surgery was a success, after all."

Hyuuga scrubbed his hands furiously through his hair, turning it wilder than usual. "That! That! Don't you dare give me that! Not after the bullshit you pulled during the tournament this year, and do you know how close you came to needing replacement surgery?!" He rocked up onto his knees, pointing a rigid finger at Teppei. "I'm keeping you from doing that again if I have to break your other leg, got it?!"

Riko hoped ruefully that Teppei's grandparents wouldn't mind the way Hyuuga's voice was echoing down the hall. On the other hand, if Teppei's sense of humor ran in the family, maybe they'd just be amused.

Teppei wasn't laughing, though. He was looking up at Hyuuga with a small smile and soft eyes. "Thank you for being worried about me."

Hyuuga's outrage collapsed and he slumped back down, looking away. "I'm not worried, I'm pissed off," he muttered, and Riko just had to roll her eyes. When Hyuuga looked back at Teppei, though, the pain and worry darkening his eyes were so obvious it made her breath catch, and she saw Teppei's hand twitch, starting to reach out before he stopped himself.

Abruptly, Riko decided she'd had enough. She'd watched them dance this dance for two years now, circling around their love of the game, and the friction between their different ways of being serious, and the brilliant liquid flow of their teamwork together on the court—always partners and never saying it, Hyuuga never admitting why Teppei got under his skin, Teppei never pushing. That was more than long enough. "Okay, look," she sighed, "you two are boys, and therefore idiots, so I'm going to help you out here." She leaned over and gave Hyuuga a shove toward Teppei. "Just kiss him already!"

They both gaped at her. Boys; honestly.

"But I... you..." Hyuuga sputtered. "Riko, you're..."

She scooted her cushion across the floor until she could take his shoulders. "Hyuuga-kun," she interrupted gently. "How long have we been friends?"

"Seven years, now, I guess," he answered slowly, frowning at her. She shook him a little.

"You don't honestly think you're going to lose me if you and Teppei finally make this official, do you?"

He looked down at her and asked quietly, "Just friends?"

Riko bit her lip. "I can't be on the court with you." And she's always known that was what would make the critical difference, with Hyuuga, basketball idiot that he was even when he was in denial about it. It was why Teppei had reached him, two years ago, when she hadn't been able to.

"You're our coach, of course you're with me on the court," Hyuuga argued stubbornly. "Riko... you can't tell me we aren't sharing our thoughts, out there."

"As captain and coach, sure, butâ€”"

"Riko, you know I wouldn't get in between you and Hyuuga," Teppei cut in, so earnestly that both she and Hyuuga glared at him.

"You keep quiet!" they snapped together, and Teppei smiled and held up his hands peaceably.

"Definitely sharing your thoughts," he murmured, though.

Riko froze, staring at him. He smiled back, calm and sunny, and she knew perfectly well that he was trying to give this to her, give Hyuuga to her. But his words made her think of something different.

Sharing. Sharing thoughts. Sharing feelings, all right, yes, she admitted she and Hyuuga had been very close for a long time, even if it always seemed to be other players who held the hottest parts of his attention. She knew they'd shared the same feelings when Teppei was hurt. If they felt the same way... If they both felt the same way...

She looked back and forth between Hyuuga and Teppei, thoughtfully. Hyuuga, who she'd known since elementary school, who was passionate about things the same way she was, who thought with her and followed her and looked at her with a hidden smile in his eyes. Teppei, who tried to fit years of living and knowing into months, who burned so bright under his easy smile that he'd drawn both Riko and Hyuuga in, who had wanted her fire, and Hyuuga's, wanted them so much it made her heart hurt to think about. Slowly, Riko smiled.

"That could work," she finally pronounced.

Hyuuga, with years of experience, was instantly wary. "What could work?"

Riko folded her hands demurely. "Sharing."

Hyuuga frowned at Teppei, who blinked back at him, equally puzzled. "Sharing wha... wait." Hyuuga's eyes widened. "Kantoku. You're not thinking what I think you're thinking are you?"

He was actually blushing, and Riko grinned. "Why not?"

"Why not?" Hyuuga waved his hands as if to indicate the enormity of 'why', and Riko reached out to catch one.

He stilled at once.

She took a deep breath and reached out her other hand to lay it over Teppei's. "Why not?" she asked again, softer, looking back and forth between them. The thought unfolded wider and wider in her head until it felt like it was taking over her heart, too. Something that wouldn't make Hyuuga choose. That wouldn't leave her out. That wouldn't make Teppei do anything stupid like sacrificing what he wanted. Teppei turned his hand over to hold hers, and hope leaped up, only to crash headlong into his earnest, understanding smile.

"Riko, you're the one Hyuuga wants, not me."

Riko was pulling in a deep, deep breath to argue, or maybe to scream a bit first, when Hyuuga made an intensely aggravated sound.

"You don't believe in yourself," he stormed at Teppei. "You never believe in yourself! Everyone else in the whole universe, you can believe in, but never yourself! Idiot!" His free hand flashed out, catching a fistful of Teppei's shirt, and he growled, "I told you once that I'd believe for you. Fine. I can do it again." He hauled Teppei to him, or maybe himself to Teppei, and kissed him fiercely.

Riko had to blink back a sudden rush of tears at that, and blotted them with the back of her hand, not letting go of Teppei. "Boys," she whispered. "Such idiots."

She'd been right after all; she couldn't do this without Hyuuga.

Teppei just stared as Hyuuga drew back to glare at him, which did nothing to hide how flushed he was now. "But..." Teppei started, low and hesitant. "Is it really...?" He looked over at Riko, who gave him an only slightly watery smile and scooted closer so she could lean against his shoulder.

"Yeah," she said softly. "Really." The careful way Teppei wrapped an arm around her, and the wonder in his eyes when he looked down at her, nearly made her cry again. So she tugged on Hyuuga's hand, and grinned up at him. "So hey. Where's my kiss?"

Hyuuga turned twice as red, and Teppei stifled a laugh against her hair. But after a deep breath, Hyuuga leaned in with one hand still braced on Teppei's shoulder and kissed her very softly. The tenderness of it made her blush a little, too.

The sight of both of them flustered seemed to bring Teppei back a bit to his normal self, and he declared brightly. "Well then! Let's have an excellent springtime of our youth!" He grinned innocently at their expressions.

Riko exchanged a look of perfect understanding and agreement with Hyuuga, and they both tackled Teppei to the floor, ticking him mercilessly. When his grandmother came to ask whether Riko and Hyuuga would stay for dinner they were in a tangle of cushions, Teppei's hair wildly rumpled, and Hyuuga's glasses knocked askew.

All of three them were laughing.

End

A/N: In hanakotoba, anemone indicate sincerity.

Redoubled Peonies

Imayoshi decides to return Riko's favor by throwing Aomine, Kuroko, and Kagami together in a match. It's a different kind of revelation for each of them. Drama, Character Sketch, Romance, I-3

Aomine Daiki was a cynical sort of guy these days, so he wasn't really surprised when Imayoshi-san started showing up at club practices as soon as the national exams were over. Imayoshi-san was a bit like Daiki, really; he got bored without a challenge. Besides, Wakamatsu seemed happy enough to have his 'advice', so who cared?

At least that was what Daiki thought until Imayoshi-san decided his next challenge would be Daiki.

"We're what?" he asked, really, really hoping he'd heard that wrong.

Imayoshi-san spread his hands, smiling innocently. "It will be the best thing for everyone, don't you think?"

"Wait, wait." Kagami was frowning a little, but not enough yet. "Us against everyone? You mean... me and Kuroko and Aomine against the rest of the whole club?"

"Only the first string," Imayoshi-san assured him, as if that made anything more reasonable. "Probably only ten or so. So they get to practice stopping the kind of opponents you are, and you get a bigger challenge than usual." He had the gall to smile even wider at Daiki and finish softly, "You like challenges, right?"

Daiki very definitely wasn't looking at Tetsu to see what he might think about playing together again after the way Daiki had left him out in the cold their third year. Just thinking about that, about Tetsu's reasons for turning to Seirin and Kagami, made Daiki twitchy, so he'd been trying not to. So much for that plan.

"This isn't your business," he snarled at Imayoshi.

"Whose is it, then?" Imayoshi-san asked, head cocked as if he were genuinely curious.

"No one's!"

Imayoshi slanted a glance to the side, where Daiki knew Tetsu was standing. "No one's?"

The urge to violence surged up in Daiki's veins, like it hadn't since summer, and he took one long step forward, hands curling into fists.

"Aomine-kun." Tetsu's voice cut across his fury like a dash of cold water in the face. "I don't mind." Tetsu stepped up beside him, looking up at him quietly. "Do you?"

"It isn't...!" Daiki took a breath with one last glare at that bastard Imayoshi for pushing them into this. "Are you sure?" Sure it was all right, sure they could even try this after so long with Daiki playing solo, sure Tetsu had forgiven him that much, sure he'd forgiven Tetsu for taking a new partner. He was going to wring Imayoshi's fucking neck for making him ask these things in front of other people, no matter how obliquely.

"We can try." While Daiki tried not to wince at the ruthless honesty of that answer, Tetsu looked questioningly at his current partner. "Kagami-kun?"

Kagami was watching the two of them warily. "I dunno what you two are going on about now, but yeah. We can give it a shot." He eyed Daiki more pointedly. "As long as you're not an asshole about hogging the ball."

"Tetsu decides," Daiki said flatly. Didn't Kagami at least know that much, after playing with Tetsu this long? Well, maybe he just didn't think Daiki had known it, because he was looking more thoughtful. Daiki supposed he couldn't completely blame Kagami for doubting that Daiki would follow Tetsu's passes, considering he'd never seen them play together. He was in a bad enough mood over all this to glare at Kagami anyway.

Kagami just nodded, ignoring the glare. "Okay, sounds good."

Imayoshi-san actually clapped his fucking hands. "Excellent! May I join in for this one?" he asked, turning to Wakamatsu.

"Might as well." Their new captain looked sardonic, like he knew perfectly well this was an Imayoshi-special bit of manipulation, which suggested he had more brain cells than Daiki usually gave him credit for. He raised his voice and yelled, "Okay, first string out on the court; if you ever wanted revenge on Aomine, today's your lucky day!"

Tense as he was, Daiki still snorted disdainfully. As if.

"I don't think we should allow that, if we're playing on the same side for this game," Tetsu said, thoughtfully but with a glint in his eye, and Kagami grinned, cracking his knuckles.

"Yeah, I'm thinking not."

A corner of Daiki's mouth curled up, despite it all, as that familiar merciless attitude wrapped around him like a well-worn jacket. "All right. Let's show 'em, then."

As the three of them strode onto the court, he tried hard to remember how it had felt to play with Tetsu before their opponents had all given up and dropped him into the dark. What he remembered most, right now, was how Tetsu had valued their combination. Their teamwork. Exactly what Daiki was out of practice with. This was going to be more than a little strange, he was pretty sure.

Taiga was getting more and more weirded out, as this odd practice game got going. It wasn't that they had no outside at all, even with Kuroko as their sort-of-point-guard. It wasn't that Aomine was a a ball-hog, because with at least three marks on each of them at all times even he had to pass now and then. It wasn't that half the 'team' against them now knew exactly how Kuroko operated and were a lot harder for him to get past than any other players would be. It wasn't even watching their opponents' double size team trip over each other now and then, though that was really funny and kind of distracting when it happened.

No. It was that Aomine was stumbling.

He kept hesitating in the middle of a move, jerking up short for a split second, which was all it took to get him marked again most of the time. The more he watched, the more Taiga thought Aomine was fighting his own reflexes, hesitating because he was trying to do two things at once. His foot would shift to cut while his hand shifted to pass, and neither happened. He'd already been called twice for holding the ball too long. Touou's pink-haired menace of a manager was chewing her lip as she watched.

And Kuroko was tense.

Taiga knew Kuroko and Aomine had a lot of history to work out. He wasn't throwing stones, not after Kuroko had been so good about him and Tatsuya. But he was getting pretty tired of watching Aomine fight with himself instead of the opponents. When the score was flipped over to show the other side ten points up on them, he finally gave up and stalked over to Aomine.

"Do you want to win this damn game or not?" he snapped, hauling Aomine nose-to-nose by the front of his shirt. "Unless you've lost your mind and decided losing is actually fun get your damn head in the game and trust your team to want to win too!"

Aomine had his mouth open to snarl back, and it stayed that way for a moment. Finally, he broke Taiga's grip absently, looking down at Kuroko. "Interesting partner you found," he said at last, almost mild.

Kuroko was smiling. "I thought so, too."

Aomine blew out a breath and ran a hand through his hair. "So. You want to win too, huh?"

Taiga rolled his eyes; sometimes he thought there must have been something in the water at Teikou. Asshole extract or brainless juice or something. "What the hell do you think?"

"I wasn't asking you."

Something dark flickered through Kuroko's eyes as he looked up at Aomine. Quietly, he answered, "Did you think I wouldn't?"

Aomine winced just a little. "Yeah, okay. Sorry." After another long moment of him and Kuroko looking at each other he said softly, "Trust you to want to win. I can do that, yeah."

Kuroko's shoulders finally settled into their normal line, and he nodded to Aomine like they were sealing a deal.

"You guys still playing or what?" Wakamatsu called, and Aomine bared his teeth.

"Playing."

The word hit the air of the court like a challenge, and Taiga smiled. That was more like it. He grabbed the ball and threw it in to Kuroko as Aomine loped back down the court. Kuroko spun and the ball screamed down the court after him. Aomine caught it, feinted forward, left, passed it fluidly back to Kuroko, cut past two of his markers and caught the ball again.

All without even looking around to see if Kuroko was there.

Taiga felt a little like he had the first time he'd seen Kuroko on the court, from the sidelines. Stunned breathless just because what he saw was that fine. If this was what Kuroko had been used to, with Aomine, no wonder he'd been so furious to lose it, so determined to get it back, so tense when it had looked like Aomine might not be able to get back here himself. Almostâ€”almostâ€”Taiga wanted to hold back, to not break that flow between them.

But Aomine slammed the ball in and Kuroko stepped into the path of the other side's throw in, perfect and inevitable, and it was Taiga he turned to as he spun to pass the ball. As if he'd known already exactly where Taiga would be.

Taiga laughed and ducked past Aomine's screen to drive for the basket.

Many people saw, and remarked on, how Tetsuya supported his teammates, how their strength increased as soon as he was on the court. Tetsuya thought he might be the only one who really understood how the reverse was also true. It was subtler for him, of course, but just as absolute. Without the trust of his teammates, his game was blunted, even if, mechanically, nothing seemed to be changed. His style of play required him to be aware of everyone on the court, to hold them in his mental hands at all times, and he needed his teammates to reach back to him before he could grasp them firmly. If they didn't, if they hesitated, his game broke.

The reverse side of that, of course, was that when they did reach back nothing could break his hold on them. Nothing at all.

He could almost feel the weight of Kagami and Aomine in his hands, the way he could the weight of the ball. This, he knew, was why his game matched so well with Aomine's. This was how Aomine felt the court itself, the space of it and the people in it. Kagami, on the other hand, he matched with because Kagami gave trust the way he needed it, gave it as easily as breathing. Tetsuya had never been more grateful for that than he was today. He was wringing wet and his breath was rasping in his lungs, he could feel the burn in his legs that would turn to watery, trembling muscles soon, and he never wanted to stop. The ball burned through his hands, heavy with the ferocity of his partners, and he gave his own fire to it and sent it back to them. Kagami's teeth were bared as he jumped for the basket, kicking off the grip of gravity.

Aomine was laughing.

Tetsuya didn't want this to stop.

All games stopped some time, though, and this one was only supposed to last twenty minutes. When Touou's coach called the end, Tetsuya braced his hands on his shaking knees, head down, gasping for breath. The corners of his mouth curved up uncontrollably.

They had won by eighteen points.

"All right, there?" Imayoshi-san asked softly, stopping beside him for a moment. Tetsuya slowly pulled himself back upright, hauling himself up by his pride.

"I know how to pace myself with players like them."

"I'm sure you do, when you bother to," Imayoshi-san murmured, giving him a cheerful smile completely at odds with the implied scolding.

Tetsuya lifted his chin a little. "You were the one who started this, Imayoshi-san." He hadn't missed that Imayoshi-san had known Aomine wouldn't want to play like this. He didn't have any problem with Aomine's ex-captain looking after the development of his players, but he didn't think it was reasonable to then object to what Tetsuya had to do to make it work.

"That's why I'm saying something." Imayoshi-san looked at Tetsuya for a long moment and finally shook his head, obviously amused. "More stubborn than both of them put together, aren't you, despite all the polite words? Well, I suppose I can't disapprove. Just use a little of it to look after yourself, too." He patted Tetsuya's shoulder and wandered off to where Wakamatsu-san was talking to the coach.

Just in time for Tetsuya to lose his breath and stumble a step forward under the combined impact of an arm around his neck and a hand slapping his back.

"Tetsu!"

"That was fantastic!"

Tetsuya turned to see both his partners grinning, lit up with victory. More than one kind of victory, today, he thought, just as Imayoshi-san had intended. Perhaps... perhaps he could have one more for himselfâ€”for himself and for his partners. He smiled back at them, and held out both fists.

There was one frozen moment while Aomine wavered again, the way he had earlier in the game, and Kagami glanced between them with sudden hesitation, while Aomine's eyes cut toward Kagami and away, darkening, while Tetsuya told his heart sternly that it was too soon to feel chilled, this could still work out...

The relief when Aomine and Kagami both reached out and bumped their fists against his nearly made his knees give out. He might even have showed it, because there was a flash of worry in Kagami's expression and a flash of what might be shame in Aomine's. Tetsuya straightened his spine, as contained and sure as possible, and let himself feel a softer wave of relief when they both relaxed. As they all turned toward the wall where bags and water bottles were tossed, Tetsuya's gaze crossed Imayoshi-san's, and the impressed arch of his brows added a sharper edge to Tetsuya's satisfaction.

Whatever he and Kagami and Aomine might become to each other now, Tetsuya would make it work out.

Daiki lay on his bed, that night, arms folded behind his head, staring up at the shadows of the ceiling. Playing on a team with Tetsu again, however irregular, had been strange. Hard. It had hurt, trying to remember how they had fit together, trying to move like that again, feeling how far he'd come from that. He'd felt like he was groping for something in the dark, something that he thought should be there but wasn't sure of. Looking at Tetsu's shoulders drawing tighter and tighter, at Tetsu's carefully blank expression, had made something curl up small in his chest. And then Kagami, of all people, had been the one to see it, to see what Daiki was missing, what he hadn't remembered because he remembered too clearly why Tetsu had left.

Tetsu loved to win.

Tetsu wouldn't hold back for any reason, during a game. He would be there.

It had been like a bone, no, like the whole world snapping back into place. And that had hurt, too, but the perfect balance of knowing Tetsu would be there on the court was stronger. It was so good to feel that. So good that, when the game ended, Daiki had wanted to keep feeling it however he could.

He'd almost kissed Tetsu right there in the middle of the gym.

He'd felt Tetsu lean into his arm, too, for one moment; he didn't think Tetsu would have minded. But Kagami had been there, and Daiki hadn't held on when Tetsu stepped free, and Tetsu had held out a fist to each of them. To both of them.

Daiki scowled up at the ceiling. He wanted to keep feeling that bond with Tetsu, but Kagami obviously had to be taken into account. This might take some thinking about.

Taiga watched Kuroko out of the corner of his eye, on the ride home, wondering.

Thinking about it now, he was stunned by how Aomine had opened up in the second half of their game. At the time, in the heat of the moment, it has seemed perfectly natural, but he'd looked so different like that. Not innocent, Taiga nearly snorted at the very thought, but... open. Lit up and laughing, and yeah there'd been an edge of wildness in it but hell, it wasn't any more than Taiga felt in himself when a game heated up. What there hadn't been was the desperation that he remembered from the spring and winter, or the cold containment he remembered seeing off the court. When they'd both pounced on Kuroko after the match ended, Taiga had almost expected that open, grinning Aomine to pull Kuroko all the way against him and mess up his hair or something. And then, again, Taiga had had a moment of wondering whether he should step back a little.

When Kuroko had turned and held out his fists to them, and Aomine had checked so abruptly... then Taiga had very nearly stepped forward instead, to catch his partner. He hadn't quite realized how good he'd gotten at reading Kuroko until he'd seen the hope in Kuroko's small smile, the fear and determination in his eyes at Aomine's hesitation. He'd wanted to whack Aomine one for being such an idiot. He'd wanted...

He'd wanted to hold Kuroko.

Alex had teased him before about being overprotective. He supposed she'd been right. But wasn't it only fair? Didn't Kuroko protect him, all of the team really but Taiga especially, protect his game and his heart from whatever the hell had happened to Aomine?

Now he was wondering. Would Kuroko let Taiga protect him in return?

Tetsuya parted from Kagami with a quiet nod and continued on his way home, thoughtful.

He knew both his partners well, had to know them to play the way he did with them, and it wasn't as though either of them was being especially subtle right now. The way their shoulders had pressed against his as they'd all sat on the sidelines drinking and cooling down before the next drill, the way Aomine had returned again and again to drape an arm around his neck, the way Kagami had stayed close all the way home... it wasn't something Tetsuya had thought much about before, because Kagami was so casual and rough and Aomine had been separated from him. But he thought about it now, about the new layer to his awareness of their bodies next to his. About Taiga's warmth and Daiki's intensity.

Perhaps... yes. Perhaps he would like to hold that part of them, too.

The lights were on when he got home, and he called as he toed off his shoes, "I'm home!"

"Welcome back," his mother's voice answered from the living room, cheerful despite the worn edge.

Tetsuya looked in to see his mother, still in a tailored business suit, leaning back in her arm chair with her slippered feet resting on the table. "Did you just get home?"

She smiled, small and soft and weary, the way she only ever did when they were alone. "Just half an hour ago, yes. My flight out of Shanghai was delayed."

Tetsuya nodded and padded through to the kitchen to pour two glasses of water and a smaller glass of her Yamazaki whisky. His mother laughed softly when he brought the tray out to the table and handed her the small glass. "I have the best son in the world." She ran her fingers gently through his hair. "And you're smiling. Did something good happen today?"

Tetsuya let the smile grow, just for her, looking up from where he knelt beside the table. "Yes. I think it did."

"Aomine-kun?" she guessed. "Today was a Touou day, wasn't it?"

"Aomine-kun... and Kagami-kun," he agreed softly, looking down at his fingers wound around his water glass.

His mother was silent for a long moment. Finally, she touched his cheek, fingers light. "Be careful with yourself, Tetsuya."

He'd known for a long time that he had learned to read people from his mother.

"I will be," he promised, looking up again. "I found them for each other, but... they're both my partners." Personally, he couldn't see any good reason to let either of them go.

A sparkle lit her eyes, at that. "That's my boy." She leaned down and kissed his forehead. "Hold on to what's yours, and never mind the ones who say you shouldn't."

He nodded and slid up onto the couch beside her chair. "So how did your trip go? Your texts had a lot of grimace-faces in them."

She flung herself back in her chair and took a substantial swallow of her whisky. "Every time I have to deal with one of Guotai Junan, it's the same...!"

Tetsuya leaned his chin on his hand and listened. Not that he knew a thing about investment banking or corporate contract law, but this was what he and his mother didâ€”listened for each other. It was also, now he thought about it, what he and Kagami did. Perhaps it was what he and Aomine could learn to do properly, now.

The thought made him smile.

End

A/N: In hanakotoba, peonies indicate courage.

White Camellias Turning Red

Aomine decides that, if Kagami isn't going anywhere, he has to be included. This gives Kuroko a moment of uncertainty, but the direct approach might be the best one after all. Porn, Romance, Fluff, I-4

Aomine Daiki loved a really good game of basketball. As far as he was concerned, it was the best thing in the world, even better than sex.

He actually spoke from knowledge, there. Some people got all starry eyed over anyone with talent, and some people got turned on by anything that looked dangerous. So there had been kisses and groping with girls in school who giggled over it, and there had been hand jobs in the locker room with other boys who weren't sure whether they idolized him or feared him, and there'd been a few women out on the streets who made speculative comments about his height, and there'd been that one guy on a street court who bet a good fuck on their game and he'd been a man and anted up when he lost, even though he'd had to tell Daiki what to do.

Daiki felt he had some basis for saying good basketball was better than sex, but hell, it had been something to try so he had.

What he hadn't thought about until recently was that it might be possible to combine good basketball with sex. He hadn't thought it until the night he'd come to Kaijou to play Kise and stayed so late they were the only ones in the shower. He'd watched the stream of water running down Kise's back and reached out to follow it with his fingers, and Kise had turned and looked at him with eyes still hot and focused from their game. He figured, afterwards, that Kise's experience probably came from a lot the same places his did. It was easy with Kise, and neither of them took the sex for anything but was it was: a way to stay in the place they found when they played.

Tetsu and Kagami, though... that was harder to figure out.

Daiki knew he felt a little differently about Tetsu, his oldest friend after Satsuki, his partner, the one who'd left and come back all to pull him out of the hole he'd fallen down. Tetsu had come back even after Daiki had pushed him down that hole too, something that still made him flinch when he thought about it. Tetsu was... special.

Tetsu, who had a new partner, now.

Tetsu, who welcomed Daiki wherever they met, who smiled at him again, who rested his hand against Daiki's back when Daiki flopped down across his lap during practice. Who scolded him for slacking off in a way that was so familiar it made Daiki's chest clench, made him trail along after Tetsu just to hear more of it. Who smiled at and scolded Kagami just the same way.

And Daiki couldn't damn well strangle Kagami for it, because Kagami was one of his best rivals these days, one of the painfully few who could even begin to call himself that. Daiki thought it might just kill him to lose Kagami again after finally, finally finding someone like him to play. So there was really only one thing to do, and Daiki had decided to do it tonight.

He laughed as he slammed the ball in past Kagami one last time. "Ten! Another game to me, and you pay for food!" He touched down on the cracked asphalt of the little park court and grinned at Kagami, taunting. Tetsu had left them to it half an hour ago, after reminding Kagami of their test the next day with an edge of resignation that said he didn't expect Kagami to listen.

Kagami caught his balance and straightened up, breathing hard, eyes still bright with challenge. "Fuck you! One more time!"

Daiki thought he really might be just a little in love. Well, that made it easier.

"One more time to fuck you?" he purred, showing his teeth. "Yeah, we could do that too."

Kagami paused for a long moment, blinking at him. "...wait, what?"

And it was too easy, really. Too easy to take one long stride that brought him right up against Kagami, close enough to feel the heat radiating from him after their game tonight, and wind his fingers in Kagami's shirt, and catch his mouth fast and hard. The sound Kagami made was startled, but his hands found Daiki right away, spreading against his ribs sure and easy. Daiki made an interested noise at that.

When he finally let Kagami go, Kagami stared at him with disbelief, though he still hadn't backed off either. "What the hell was that?"

Daiki shrugged easily. "Seemed like a logical next step." He watched, entertained, while Kagami opened and closed his mouth a few times, and finally kissed him again to stop him.

"Mmm... Mm! Wait, wait, wait." Kagami pushed him back a little, frowning. "What about Kuroko? I mean, you're... with him... well, it's obvious okay?"

Daiki gave him an aggravated look. Why couldn't Kagami just shut up and get down to the screwing, like everyone else? "That's why, idiot. He's not going to be happy leaving you out of it, so I'm fucking stuck with you. Might as well make the best of it." Grudgingly, he added, "And also it gets pretty heated up when we play like this, though I gotta say you're wasting all of that by talking."

Kagami stared at him for a long, silent moment, and Daiki watched his expression slowly change, through confusion, disbelief, exasperation, sneaking pleasure. Eventually, it settled on a tilted kind of amusement. "What the hell. This I've gotta see." His hands tightened, and he pulled Daiki back against him, tipping his chin up a bit to catch Daiki's mouth in turn.

That was better, and Daiki cheerfully wound himself around Kagami, sucking on his tongue. The feel of Kagami's arms locking around him made him purr, and he slid his hands down Kagami's back, groping his ass. It was a nice handful. He laughed into Kagami's mouth when Kagami growled and pushed a leg between his thighs.

"God, you're pushy," Kagami muttered.

"You're surprised?" Daiki mocked, and smiled when Kagami snorted.

"Fuck no."

Daiki laughed outright at that, amused by the way Kagami's language was sliding even further down the scale than usual, and bent his head to bite at the taut line of tendon running down Kagami's neck. That got him a satisfying thrust of hips against his. Satisfying for now, but not enough, so he closed his mouth and sucked.

"Ngh!"

Daiki smiled, eyes half lidded, at the feel of Kagami's hold on him tightening, hard enough to drive his breath out. Yeah. This was what he wanted. He relaxed into it, flowing with the flex of Kagami's muscles like he'd flow with a game, biting back up Kagami's neck until he found his mouth again, hot and intent against Daiki's. He laughed low in his throat when Kagami turned to push him against the the pole under the basket. He leaning back against it and hooking a leg around Kagami to pull him in tight. The breath Kagami sucked in when Daiki slid a hand down the back of his shorts to grip bare skin was plenty of compensation for the press of the pole's plastic padding against his spine. He slid his fingers between Kagami's cheeks and made a pleased sound when Kagami jerked against him.

"Did you plan this, or was it spur of the moment thing?" Kagami asked against his ear, fingers digging into Daiki's back.

"Mm, pretty spur of the moment," Daiki admitted, rubbing slowly.

Kagami's hips ground against him. "Then that's as far as you go," he gritted between his teeth.

Daiki's brows rose. Kagami knew what he was doing, here. That was good to know.

Knowing didn't keep him from bucking a little with the surprise when Kagami yanked down the waistband of Daiki's shorts, dragging his underwear down with them, and wrapped his fingers around Daiki's cock. "Shit," he gasped, "Kagami..." The pole padding was cold against his bare ass, and he squirmed a little.

It was Kagami's turn to laugh, low and breathless, fingers tightening. "More later, maybe, yeah?" He kissed Daiki again, slower this time, deliberate like his hand was deliberate, stroking up and down Daiki's cock.

A spark of challenge danced up Daiki's spine, hot and excited, and he plunged his other hand into Kagami's shorts too, fondling him from the front and back at once. The way Kagami moaned into his mouth tasted good, and Kagami's fingers felt good wrapped around him, warm in the cool night air and strong in a way that made Daiki's excitement burn hotter.

But no matter how Daiki touched him, dragging his fist up and down Kagami's cock, rubbing his fingers in ruthlessly hard circles over Kagami's entrance, those slow kisses didn't speed up. They just got deeper. It wasn't what Daiki was used to, but it felt good. It felt like Kagami was really paying attention to him. He liked that thought a lot.

Daiki hung on as long as he could, but when Kagami bucked into his fist, when Kagami moaned into his mouth, pressed up full length against him, when Kagami's fingers tightened and stroked down him like Kagami wanted to memorize the texture of him... well, he dared anyone to hold steady through that. He pulled roughly away from the kiss and buried his head against Kagami's shoulder as pleasure wrung out his whole body.

The weight of Kagami leaning against him was actually kind of nice, too, he decided in the floating daze after.

"Hope you have an extra towel," Kagami mumbled against his neck. "Mine's back in the locker room."

Daiki laughed.

Kagami wouldn't quite look at him while they got cleaned up, which had Daiki smirking. "Shy?" he finally prodded.

"Oh shut up." Kagami threw the towel at him, scowling, and added, "You get to explain your own insanity to Kuroko, if that's what the point of this is."

"Won't have to." Daiki balled up his towel and stuffed it into the bottom of his bag, concentrating on his hands instead of what he was admitting. "He knows me. Knows you too, now. He'll see it." And then he'd know he didn't have to choose.

Kagami heaved a vast sigh, and he had his hands on his hips when Daiki looked up. "Yeah, maybe he will, and then what's he going to think? Unless you actually open your idiot mouth and tell him that this is all for his sake and not just you and me hooking up, which is what I'm saying you should do." Not completely under his breath, he muttered, "Miracles my ass, the lot of you are total morons off the court."

"Says the guy getting twelves on his tests?" Daiki shot back, having been at Seirin the day their coach saw some of Kagami's exam papers that he'd stuffed into the bottom of his locker.

"That was in History!" Kagami snapped. "It's different here, how the hell am I supposed to catch up all at once?"

"I dunno, actually knowing how to read, maybe?"

The deflection worked, and they bickered all the way down the road to Daiki's turn-off toward the station. But Kagami's words stayed with him. Maybe, Daiki admitted grudgingly, he was good for something besides basketball.

Maybe.

Sometimes.

So what was he going to say to Tetsu?

Daiki had about a week to think about it, and then he had Seirin's practice hours during which he didn't have much time to think about it, because Aida Riko was a demon in girl-shape.

"Footwork drills?" Okay, he admitted it, he was whining a little.

She folded her arms forbiddingly. "With your style, in particular, you absolutely cannot afford to slack off on exercises to strengthen your lateral movement muscles." She pointed an imperious finger at the tapes set up on one side of the gym, looking like an insane cross between an obstacle course and a hopscotch grid. "Go! Kagami, you could stand to run this one too, but if I catch you trying to do it at Aomine's speed you'll wish you'd never been born."

Kagami closed his mouth on whatever he'd been about to argue, and muttered, "Yes, Kantoku."

The footwork drill was challenging, enough to actually keep his attention, and he had a good laugh when Aida-kantoku scolded Kagami for jumping bits of it, despite his argument that he was practicing his best skill. But all the while, in the back of his head, he was aware of Tetsu's eyes on them, measuring. When official practice was over, and they were waiting for Tetsu's senpai to finish their individual training so Daiki and Kagami could play, he wandered over to hop up beside Tetsu on the stage and sprawled across his knees as usual.

Tetsu hesitated a moment before he rested his hand in its usual place on Daiki's back.

Kagami ostentatiously scooped up Tetsu's water bottle along with his own and sauntered toward the east doors and the sinks to refill them. Daiki sighed; yeah, he got the point already. He was talking. "So, about Kagami," he started.

Tetsu's hand lightened, as if to lift at any moment. "The two of you settled something."

"Well, he's your partner now," Daiki muttered under the smack of balls against hardwood and the echo of Aida-kantoku's orders, resting his chin on his folded arms. "You wouldn't like it if I tried to cut him out. So."

"So?" Tetsu prodded after a long moment. "So... this?"

"So there was nothing to do but include him, if I want to be with you," Daiki said, a little annoyed at having to state the obvious.

After a long, still moment that kind of wore on Daiki's nerves, Tetsu let out a small huff of laughter. His hand rested on Daiki's back firmly, again, and Daiki settled at that. That was better. He watched Kagami coming back with the water bottles with half closed eyes, finally feeling properly lazy again. Kagami leaned against the side of the stage, eyeing them, and shook his head.

"You're both crazy. But, what the hell. Always seemed like it was the crazy ones this kind of thing worked best for." He took a long drink from his own water.

Tetsu cocked his head at his new partner, not minding while Daiki stole his bottle for a drink of his own. "Does that mean you're crazy too, Kagami-kun?"

Kagami's mouth curled up at the corner as he leaned back on his elbows, watching their senpai out on the floor. "Yeah. Guess I might be."

"Thank you," Tetsu said softly, and Daiki watched with a certain glee as Kagami instantly got flustered, looking off to the side with his ears turning red.

Really, it was no wonder Tetsu handled Kagami so easily, if he responded like this every time Tetsu got all earnest.

"Not like it's a favor or something," Kagami grumbled. "You don't have to say thanks."

Tetsu smiled, tiny and obviously amused. "It's something you chose to do that makes me very happy. Shouldn't I thank you for that?"

Kagami turned redder, and Daiki laughed. "Give it up, Kagami. Tetsu always gets his way sooner or later; best to save time and just agree now."

Kagami glowered at him. "Aren't you supposed to be morally opposed to that kind of thinking?"

"Kagami-kun," Tetsu said quietly, hand pressing a little more firmly against Daiki's back, and Daiki had to agree with the pained look Kagami gave Tetsu.

"If you're going to make me be nice to him, we're going to have problems," Kagami pointed out.

"I wouldn't try to do that."

Daiki always knew Tetsu was smart.

"But I don't want to argue about that."

That silenced both of them, and Daiki shifted off Tetsu's legs, sitting up to drape against his back instead. Kagami half turned, one elbow still braced on the stage, and leaned against Tetsu's knees. Daiki could feel Tetsu's shoulders ease under their silent attempts at reassurance.

"So, hey." Kagami nudged Tetsu's leg. "You want to play too, tonight?"

"Hey," Daiki objected. Kagami was getting better, and Tetsu would be a decisive advantage for either of them, now.

Kagami rolled his eyes. "I didn't say 'pick sides'. You remember that one Saturday Kise showed up and we played one-on-one-on-one?"

"And you played so long Kantoku yelled at us all the next day." Tetsu looked down at him, smiling a little. "I couldn't play the way Kise-kun does."

"No, but that could be good," Daiki said, thoughtfully, resting his chin on Tetsu's shoulder. "For us to keep a look out for you, and try to keep the ball. For you to track the game and try to take it while we're distracted with each other." Even as he said it, he could hear the parallels with how they acted toward each other off the court, and Kagami looked satisfied.

"Yeah, like that."

Tetsu nodded slowly. "That does sound like fun." He wasn't smiling this time, but his whole expression lightened at the assurance that, even in matches like these, he had a part.

Daiki exchanged what he was pretty sure was a look of complete understanding with Kagami. Maybe he was still a little jealous, and maybe Kagami still thought he was a jerk, but they both wanted to please their partner, to have those fierce, fearless eyes look at them and approve. Kagami agreed on that, at least.

He supposed there could be worse people to be sharing Tetsu with.

Later, on the way home, Daiki leaned his head back against the vibrating window of the train and stared up at the ceiling, thinking.

Tetsu and Kagami had gone with him as far as the little park Daiki and Kagami had played each other in a week ago. And, at the turn-off toward the station, Tetsu had reached up to curve a hand around the back of Daiki's neck, and tugged him down and kissed him. He could almost feel it again, just thinking about it, the warm, firm pressure of Tetsu's mouth against his. It felt like the way he remembered being Tetsu's friend feltâ€”like support he could lean against, like a demand made quietly.

And then, of course, because Tetsu was Tetsu, he'd given Daiki a perfectly bland, purely evil look and pushed him toward Kagami.

Kagami had been caught just as flat-footed, at least, and they'd stared at each other for a long, frozen moment. Tetsu had just stood there looking calm and expectant. It had been Kagami who'd broken first, scrubbing his hands through his hair with an aggravated sound. "Oh god, fine, just..." The look on his face when he'd closed the distance between them made Daiki expect something like their last kiss, something hard, but when Kagami caught his shoulder and leaned in his mouth had been light, almost hesitant. The word that came to mind, now, staring up at the lights running along the roof of the train, was gentle.

Daiki didn't know whether to be charmed or outraged.

But he thought... he thought there might have been a time when he'd have kissed like that, too.

He didn't know quite yet whether this was the right way to get back to what he'd had, with Tetsu, with his game, with his friends. But as he listened to the hum and clack of wheels on the tracks, he thought he was glad he'd reached out to include Kagami in it.

Aftermath

Tetsuya walked beside Taiga, smiling quietly. On reflection, he was glad Daiki had done what he had. Knowing he and Taiga had been together had given Tetsuya a bad moment, wondering whether he would be excluded from that the way he was from their one-on-one matches. Apparently, though, it had just been Daiki's way of not making Tetsuya choose between them, and in the end Taiga had found a way to close the circle all the way and include Tetsuya in the matches too. It was the happy warmth of being with them like that that had made Tetsuya reach for Daiki when they parted, wanting to give the warmth back again.

It was that warmth that made him pause at the turn-off to Taiga's street and look up at him, head tilted invitingly. It was hard to tell, in the dark, but he thought Taiga was blushing a little, and he had to smile. He reached out to rest a hand against his partner's chest, feeling the quick rise of his breath. "Taiga."

Taiga made a quiet sound, reaching out to close his hands lightly on Tetsuya's shoulders. "I miss hearing people say my name, you know. Nobody does, here."

"No one would take that liberty unless they were very close friends," Tetsuya agreed, and took a step closer. "Intimate friends." Yes, Taiga was definitely blushing, he noted with amusement. When one of Taiga's hands slid up to cup his cheek lightly, he had to smile. "I'm not that breakable, you know."

"I know that," Taiga protested indignantly, though his hands didn't tighten. "It's just..." He huffed, looking aside for a moment. "This... it's something people should take care, when they do."

Tetsuya softened at that. He wouldn't have thought Taiga would be a romantic, but maybe it made sense. He was so pure-hearted; it was why Tetsuya had chosen him, after all. "It is," he agreed quietly, winding his arms comfortably around Taiga's waist. Taiga relaxed and looked at him again, smiling back a little. When Taiga leaned down to him and carefully, gently tipped Tetsuya's head back, Tetsuya let him, let himself rest against the warm support of Taiga's arm around him, let himself kiss back softly.

The wonder in Taiga's eyes, at the corners of his smile when they parted, made Tetsuya reach up, gentle in his turn, to brush back the wild mess of Taiga's hair. The softness in Taiga's voice when he said, "Tetsuya," made something catch in his chest. They stood wrapped up in each other for a long moment.

Finally, though, something occurred to Tetsuya and he cocked his head up at Taiga. "I doubt Daiki let you be careful."

Taiga growled. "He sure as hell didn't. And, okay fine, it's fun that way too, but it's not like this!" His arms tightened around Tetsuya.

"Do you think it should be?" Tetsuya liked that thought; he wanted to see Daiki looking at him, at them, the way Taiga just had.

"Of course it should be!" Taiga was getting indignant again. "Otherwise it's not special, it's just fuck-buddies."

Tetsuya blinked a bit at that, but a smile spread over his lips. "I'm glad he thought of this at all, though."

Taiga looked down at him, quiet for a moment. "He wants you to be happy."

Tetsuya reached up and pulled Taiga down to another soft kiss. "I am."

And he'd be sure to tell Daiki so, too.

End

A/N: In hanakotoba, camellias indicate love and longing. In particular, white camellia indicates waiting for a beloved while red indicates current love.

The Tang of Hibiscus

It's the end of the year, and Kise gets another shock from his captain, this one considerably more pleasant. Fluff, Romance, Porn, I-4

Kise Ryouta was feeling absolutely pathetic.

What else did you call a team captain who, instead of going directly to practice when classes ended, loitered around the doors waiting for one particular senpai so that they could walk to the school gates together, before the captain in question sprinted back to make practice on time? At the beginning, Ryouta had had excuses: a question about the mountain of DVDs Kasamatsu-senpai had left him to watch, a question about club policies, about how to handle this or that club member. It was all perfectly plausible; he was still a first-year, after all! Over the weeks of January and February, though, he'd gradually run out of excuses and just showed up, two or three times a week, and hoped that Kasamatsu-senpai wouldn't tell him to get lost.

Kasamatsu-senpai never had yet, and Ryouta was grateful for that. Grateful that the one person he'd had the most support, the most guidance, from was still there for him, at least a little. So he still waited, and still walked to the gates with Kasamatsu-senpai, and now they talked more about exams and college fees and whether the B-Corsairs would make it into the bj League play-offs this year.

Today Ryouta waited by one of the clumps of trees that edged the main walk, as unobtrusively as he could manage, and fell in quietly beside Kasamatsu-senpai when he finally emerged from the classroom building. "So," he said after a few steps. "Enrollment lists came out today, right? Did you find anyone to go look at Toukai's?"

Kasamatsu-senpai shuddered. "No. In fact, I turned my phone off all during class. I don't think I could stand to get that news and then have to pretend to pay attention to history review." He hunched one shoulder under the strap of his bag. "I'm going to go see for myself now."

"I'm sure you'll make it in," Ryouta said encouragingly, and ducked as Kasamatsu-senpai swatted at his head.

"As if you know anything about it, yet. Toukai is a top school; even these days they can afford to be choosy." They were nearly at the gates, and Kasamatsu-senpai straightened up and took a deep breath. "All right. Here I go."

"Good luck, senpai." Ryouta waved him out and watched for a little while before he had to sprint for practice to keep the coach from yelling at him. University, he thought as he dashed down the campus walks. It was March, and Kasamatsu-senpai was heading for university, was almost gone.

He pushed the faint panic of that thought aside and ran faster.

Ryouta worked hard, that practice, pushing himself harder than he had for a while. Their coach had kept an eye on him ever since Aida-san started throwing words like "overstrain" and "bone damage" around. Today, though, he needed this, needed to work until his muscles and nerves had the tension worn out of them.

Which meant he only jumped a little when someone spoke from behind him, as he was closing the outer door of the sports complex.

"Do you always stay this late?"

Ryouta spun around, startled. "Kasamatsu-senpai!" It took him a moment to realize he'd been asked a question and shrug sheepishly. "Not always."

Kasamatsu-senpai pushed away from the wall where he'd been leaning, with an unimpressed grunt. "Maybe I should have been keeping a little closer eye on you."

"You don't really have to," Kise mumbled, perfectly well aware this was a social denial, not a real one, and probably sounded like it; then he remembered and perked up. "Hey, did you get in?"

Kasamatsu-senpai grinned at that. "Yeah, I thought I'd come tell you instead of making you wait for tomorrow. I got in."

"That's fantastic, congratulations!" And Ryouta meant it, really he did, he just couldn't help the little twist inside at the thought that it was really real. Kasamatsu-senpai was leaving.

Kasamatsu-senpai cocked his head, looking up at Ryouta steadily. "That wasn't the only thing I figured I should tell you, now," he said, finally, and jerked his head down the walk. "Come on, before we get locked on campus."

Ryouta trailed along, curious. Surely there wasn't anything left to tell him about the club; his various excuses earlier in the year had covered everything he could imagine, sooner or later. They turned toward the little shopping district Ryouta passed through every day on the way to school, quiet and dark at this time of night, except for a restaurant here and there.

"So," he finally said, unsure what to do with all this quiet and searching for something to fill it with, "I guess you won't be my senpai for much longer."

Of course, there was never a guarantee that what he found would be any better than the quiet.

But Kasamatsu-senpai sounded genuinely amused when he snorted. "Just because I'm graduating before you?" He had his eyes fixed on the sidewalk in front of them. "Didn't stop me last time."

Ryouta blinked, trying to make sense of that a couple different ways before he gave up. "Um. It... didn't?"

"You entered the middle-school club your second year," Kasamatsu-senpai said quietly, almost musing to himself. "And it's not like I played every game. No reason for you to remember, and I don't think we ever even met." He heaved in a breath. "I was at Teikou too, though."

It wasn't until Kasamatsu-senpai looked back and turned around that Ryouta realized he'd stopped walking. "You..." He couldn't quite get past that first word.

"Mm." Kasamatsu-senpai shoved his hands into his pockets, watching Ryouta with dark eyes. "First string. So I met Akashi, his first year. That's... kind of why I didn't say anything."

"But..." Ryouta seemed to be stuck with single words today.

Kasamatsu-senpai sighed and came to grab Ryouta's arm. "Here. Get out of the middle of the sidewalk." He pulled Ryouta over to the concrete planters beside the sweets shop on the corner and pushed him down to sit on the edge. He thumped down beside Ryouta, looking down at his crossed arms. "I could see it, even then," he said, low. "Akashi... he was different. And he kept pushing the captain and coach for more reckless policies. Perfectly polite about it, but... you could see he didn't really think about the idea of losing. After the Cup this year, I'm pretty sure of itâ€”he didn't understand losing, or what it does to people, or how losing is part of the game itself. So he didn't care." He glanced up at Ryouta, mouth tilted ruefully. "In case you ever wondered just why I was so pissed off when you said that practice match with Seirin was the first time you ever lost."

"It... I... the first time I'd lost a game," Ryouta specified, dazed. "I lost all the time to Aominecchi." Kasamatsu-senpai's smile un-tilted, and he nudged Ryouta's shoulder with his.

"Yeah, when we played Touou I got that part." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, clasping his hands between them. "So. I didn't like what I saw of Akashi, and I didn't like what I heard after I graduated. When Kaijou recruited you, I wasn't sure what to expect. But I knew I wanted to show you something different. Something I didn't think you'd be able to associate with the name 'Teikou'."

"Something different...?" Ryouta echoed softly, still a little lost in the idea that he'd had a... a... a double-senpai at Kaijou.

Kasamatsu-senpai was quiet for a long moment. "It's not like Teikou wasn't always strict. It was. Screwing up bad enough always got you dropped down a rank. Competition to actually play was always fierce. But all that was so we could win. Not so we could win, if that makes sense." He glanced sidelong at Ryouta. "Even if I hadn't met you, you were still my kouhai. I wanted you to see what that was like."

Ryouta felt like he couldn't quite catch his breath. "I have," he said, husky. "I really have." Because, yes, what Kasamatsu-senpai said made perfect sense. And, no, Ryouta probably wouldn't have understood before this year, before his new team, his new captain. "Thank you," he finished, finally.

And then it hit him all over again, that he was about to lose this, and he pulled one knee up to his chest, leaning his chin against it so he could bite his tongue without being obvious about it. If he concentrated on that little pain he could push back the bigger one.

"Oh, not the puppy-dog eyes, come on," Kasamatsu-senpai groaned, and pummeled his shoulder. "I told you already, graduating ahead of you didn't stop me from looking after my kouhai last time, and it isn't going to stop me this time either!"

"But... you'll be gone." Ryouta's voice was unsteadier than he'd wanted it to be, and he looked away, embarrassed. He heard Kasamatsu-senpai heave a put-upon sigh.

"Idiot. Why do you think I waited to tell you this until I knew I was in at Toukai? The Physical Education program is based on the Shounan campus. I'll be right next door."

Ryouta stared down the empty street, not seeing it. That sounded... like Kasamatsu-senpai thought he might visit. That would be something, at least. "Okay."

Another sigh, softer this time, and Kasamatsu-senpai's hand settled on his hair, much more gently than usual. His voice was gentler, too, when he repeated, "Why do you think I waited to tell you? After you spent nearly three months trying to keep me from really leaving the club, I didn't want to say anything unless I was sure I wouldn't just be leaving the city right after."

Ryouta's face was hot, and he was inescapably aware that, yes, he really had been that pathetic.

"Hey." Kasamatsu-senpai's hand slid down to his nape and shook him a little. "Didn't say I minded."

Ryouta peeked at him sidelong, positive that he was completely red. "...really?"

Kasamatsu-senpai was watching him with a faint smile. "Come here." He tugged Ryouta down to him, and Ryouta's breath drew in quick and shaky as Kasamatsu-senpai kissed him. "Really."

Ryouta leaned against him, feeling how wide his own eyes were. "Senpai."

"Twice," Kasamatsu-senpai agreed, mouth quirking. "So relax a little, okay? I'm not leaving."

Ryouta swallowed, a little shocked by how relieved he felt to hear that. How much he'd wound himself up in Kasamatsu-senpai without admitting it to himself. He managed a tiny smile, still feeling the warmth of that brief kiss on his lips, and agreed softly, "Yes, senpai."

Kasamatsu-senpai's hand tightened on his nape for a moment, perfectly reassuring. "Good." And then he stood, pulling Ryouta with him. "So let's go get some food. I was too freaked out to eat before I went and looked at the admission lists."

On cue, Ryouta's stomach growled, and he laughed. "Yeah. Okay." He ducked his head and gave Kasamatsu-senpai his best winsome look as they started walking again. "Senpai pay for their kouhai, right?" It probably said something about them, that getting kicked for that settled his nerves.

"Of course they do, so quit looking at me like I'm one of your damn fanclub!"

It took a few moments for Ryouta to realize that Kasamatsu-senpai had actually agreed, and then he couldn't help the way his grin softened, how shy the sidelong look he gave his senpai was.

Or how red he turned when Kasamatsu-senpai told him, eyes gleaming, "And that look you should save for somewhere more private."

Ryouta floated through the next day in a bit of a daze, forgot all the answers on the History test, and started rumor galloping through his fanclub when someone spotted him doodling versions of the first characters of Kasamatsu-senpai's name and his own in the fanciest style he could manage.

Kasamatsu-senpai was rolling his eyes and trying to keep a smile under control when Ryouta met him after classes. "It's a good thing it is almost the end of the year, or you'd have the whole school in a panic." This said with the cheerfulness of a captain who would never have to deal with Ryouta's fanclub during practice again. "I could hear the shrieking two floors up."

Ryouta ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "I'll have to figure out how to let Ryuu-chan down easy. She's the front-runner in the rumors."

"You're way too nice."

"I was trained to be!" Ryouta protested, remembering the constant murmurs from agency minders about Smile, now, Kise-kun, nice and bright. "It's just for show, and most of them know it too. You know I wouldn'tâ€”"

That was when the memory of something he hadn't thought about at all last night, or today, dropped on his head, feeling very much like a brick.

"Of course I know, don't be ridiculous," Kasamatsu-senpai was scoffing, but he paused when he glanced over at Ryouta. "Kise?"

"I should have said before, I just didn't think of it." Ryouta resisted the urge to chew on his lip, something else he'd been pretty strenuously trained out of and hadn't even felt the urge to do in years. "Aominecchi... we... it's..." He made a frustrated sound at his inability to find good words for what was between them.

Kasamatsu-senpai was wearing a tiny smile. "Aomine, hm? I like the fact that he didn't occur to you sooner, actually."

Ryouta was coming to the conclusion that Kasamatsu-senpai enjoyed making him blush. "It's just... well, after Aida-san and Momocchi set it up so we could get some matches in, it just... spills over sometimes."

"Since I'm not actually blind, and have in fact seen you two play," Kasamatsu-senpai said dryly, "that doesn't surprise me at all."

Ryouta took a deep breath. "It's just... today is one of the days Aominecchi is allowed to come here for a match after practice is officially over."

They stopped by the school gates, and Kasamatsu-senpai looked up at Ryouta thoughtfully. "So do you need me to warn him off, or do you need me to tell you it's all right?"

Ryouta gave him an indignant look. "I don't need anyone to warn anyone off, I can do that perfectly well myself!"

"So you want it to be all right," Kasamatsu-senpai said softly, watching him, ignoring the slowing stream of other students walking past just a meter or two away. One of the things that drew Ryouta to Kasamatsu-senpai was the way he could see past some of the faces Ryouta wore, some of the things he didn't say. But sometimes Ryouta wished he couldn't.

Ryouta bent his head, studying his toes. "I know it's a selfish thing to want," he said, low. "I know... what that's usually called. I just... when we play one-on-one, there's so much, and it's Aominecchi, he's the one who opened this whole world up for me, and he's coming back to us now, and..." He trailed off because Kasamatsu-senpai's hand was on his wrist, light and warm.

"He's important to you. I can understand that." Kasamatsu-senpai's hand tightened for a moment and let go. "All right. Play Aomine as much as you want. Even," a corner of his mouth curled up, "if it spills over."

Ryouta knew he was staring and couldn't help himself. "It's really all right?"

Kasamatsu-senpai's crooked smile became a smirk. "Aomine isn't the one you just spent three months trailing around after."

Kasamatsu-senpai definitely liked to make him blush.

"I'll make you a deal," he continued, lower. "Go ahead and play with Aomine tonight. Come home with me tomorrow."

There was not, Ryouta thought, enough air out here. At least, it didn't seem to be doing him any good at the moment, because he couldn't quite catch his breath. "Yes, senpai," he said, husky, feeling how wide his eyes had gone.

Kasamatsu-senpai smiled. "I've seen the two of you play," he repeated, "and you don't look at him like this, even then. It's fine, Kise." And then he hitched his bag up over his shoulder and strolled out the school gates, leaving Ryouta wondering how on earth he was supposed to keep his mind on practice, now.

"Come on in."

Ryouta stepped into the small, quiet house after Kasamatsu-senpai, toeing off his shoes and glancing around at the dimness. "Your parents aren't home yet either?"

"Tou-san works late a lot." Kasamatsu-senpai shot a small smile over his shoulder as he led the way up the stairs. "And this is Kaa-san's mahjong night with her friends."

Definite anticipation curled in Ryouta's stomach, shivery and warm, as he followed Kasamatsu-senpai up to his room. His own mother, of course, had understood immediately why he wanted to stay over at his senpai's house, and that it had nothing to do with watching match videos. She'd stood on tip-toe to kiss his forehead and told him to enjoy himself. Ryouta had smiled and nodded reassurance to the shadow of a question in those bright eyes so much like his. She'd relaxed, then, and said how good it was that he had a proper senpai to take care of him, and they'd giggled together while his father just shook his head indulgently over how flighty they could be.

Kasamatsu-senpai's room was very like he was himselfâ€”spare and compact and stuffed with basketball. There were rows of magazines and videos on the book case, several shoe boxes stacked neatly in the corner, and he dropped his bag in what was clearly its proper place, beside the desk next to a larger bag that had one end rounded around a basketball.

"Going to stand there all night?"

Ryouta started a little, realizing he was still in the doorway. Kasamatsu-senpai was sitting on the edge of his bed, watching him. "I... no, of course not."

Kasamatsu-senpai held out a hand, looking rather amused. "Come here, then."

Unaccustomed nerves fluttered in Ryouta's stomach as he stepped slowly across the room. Kasamatsu-senpai's brows rose, but his smile softened. He caught Ryouta's wrists and tugged him down until he was kneeling between Kasamatsu-senpai's legs, and gathered him close. "Sure you've done this before?"

Ryouta leaned against him, enjoying the hand running up and down his back. Softly, not looking up, he said, "I have. It's just never been quite like this."

"Is that good?" Kasamatsu-senpai's hand slid up into his hair, and Ryouta let his head drop to rest on Kasamatsu-senpai's shoulder, hands linked behind his back.

"It is. I... hope it is." After a moment, putting his words together carefully, he went on. "You don't like how I have to be for work. I mean, it was kind of obvious. So I was mostly serious, for you, unless I just forgot. Or unless I was trying to wind you up," he admitted, and laughed at his senpai's growl. The fingers cradling his head stayed gentle, though, and he relaxed under them. "This isn't just being serious, though." Serious was pretty easy, actually, especially in the middle of a game. Being not-serious and also not-joking made him a little nervous, uncertain how he should be acting. It felt good, though, being held like this.

Kasamatsu-senpai's breath gusted against Ryouta's neck as he sighed. Instead of the briskness Ryouta was used to from his captain, though, his voice was quiet when he said, "It's okay. I'm your senpai, right? That means I'll take care of you. So quit worrying so much."

Ryouta shivered a little at that assurance, at the reminder of how clearly Kasamatsu-senpai saw him and understood him. "Even like this?" he asked, a bit hesitant. It wasn't like he had much basis for comparison, never having had many senpai except in the technical sense, but this seemed a little above and beyond the usual call.

A huff of laughter was warm against his neck. "Like this is special. But I'll still take care of you."

Ryouta was laughing a little himself, with nerves and happiness. "Okay." He lifted his head and leaned in, parting his lips willingly when Kasamatsu-senpai caught his mouth. The warm slide of a tongue over his made things easier, easier to just feel instead of worrying. The question of how to act would answer itself, like it always did, as a reflection of the world around him.

...he just hadn't expected it to answer itself quite this way. With each kiss, with each button Kasamatsu-senpai undid, with each slide of fingers over skin, Kasamatsu-senpai's touch turned gentler. Instead of holding Ryouta harder, he held him more carefully. By the time he'd gotten rid of the last of their clothes and tugged Ryouta up onto the bed and settled over him, he was cradling Ryouta's face in his hands, kissing him slow and coaxing.

And Ryouta felt himself answering the only way that felt right, by relaxing more for every gentled touch until he was lying under Kasamatsu-senpai flushed and open and shaking a little with it. He didn't do this, didn't let his games and smiles and teasing all fall away. Never before, at least. It had never felt so right to do it, but now Kasamatsu-senpai's careful touch was brushing those things away and Ryouta was letting it happen. "Senpai," he whispered against Kasamatsu-senpai's mouth, husky.

Kasamatsu-senpai raised his head and looked down at him with a little smile. "Under the circumstances, I think you can use my given name if you want."

Ryouta swallowed, looking aside from those clear, dark eyes, shy in face of their steadiness. He felt exposed and sheltered at the same time, and the combination made him dizzy. "Yukio-san," he said softly.

Kasamatsu-senpai turned Ryouta's face back to him and kissed him, soft and easy. "Ryouta."

The intimacy of his name, spoken like that, made Ryouta's breath catch hard. "Senpai," he gasped, a little pleading, and Yukio-san gathered him up tight.

"Shh, it's okay." A hand settled, warm, on the back of his neck, rubbing slowly. "It's okay. We'll go slow."

Ryouta turned his head into Yukio-san's shoulder, face a little hot. What he'd said earlier was turning out to be truer than he'd known. He never had done it like this before. Not with someone who saw him.

Not with someone he let see him, opened himself up for and offered himself to.

The irreverent corner of his mind observed that it was a good thing Yukio-san was prepared to treat him like a virgin. He seemed to be one after all, in a way he hadn't even known. Somehow, the thought made it easier; easier to understand why he felt so shaky. He took a slow breath and looked up at his senpai. "Thank you, Yukio-san."

Yukio-san brushed his thumb over Ryouta's lips, looking down at him seriously. "I told you I'd take care of you."

Ryouta closed his eyes for a moment at the rush of warmth that sent through him, and turned his head to kiss Yukio-san's palm. Against it, he murmured. "Thank you, senpai."

Yukio-san's weight over him was comforting, and when he caught Ryouta's chin and kissed him again, Ryouta let himself relax into the rising heat without resistance. Kiss after kiss, as Yukio-san's hands stroked down his body, over his ribs, cupping his ass, Ryouta let himself answer openly, let his arms wind tight around Yukio-san to anchor himself against the way those gentle, steady hands on him made him shake. "Yukio-san," he gasped at last, husky. "Please..." He felt Yukio-san's mouth curve against his.

"Yeah. Now is good, I think." Yukio-san's weight eased off him and he nudged Ryouta's hip. "Here."

Ryouta let Yukio-san turn him over, heat and want curling together as he stretched out on his stomach and Yukio-san leaned over him to rummage in the small, square set of drawers beside the bed, where the alarm stood. The feel of slick, cool fingers pushing into him made him moan against the sheets. It was the slide of Yukio-san's mouth against his nape that made him shudder with a rush of hot response, though. "Please..."

"Shhh." Yukio-san's lips brushed his skin. "I've got you, Ryouta. Easy."

That care, that support, the quiet, serious warmth of Yukio-san's voice, pulled a whimper out of him. The words worked his heart open the way Yukio-san's fingers opened his body, and it felt so good, so very good. When Yukio-san finally pulled him up onto his knees, Ryouta was panting and hard and more than ready. He would have pushed back into the slow stretch of Yukio-san's cock pressing in, would have taken him in faster, if Yukio-san hadn't held him firmly. "Yukio-san!"

There was a flash of Yukio-san's usual temper in his voice, softened by amusement. "I'm not letting you hurt yourself, and damn you're tight, Ryouta. Do what your senpai says, already!"

Ryouta laughed, breathless and unsteady with the slide and stretch of Yukio-san pushing in. "Yes, senpai." But he still wriggled in Yukio-san's grip and moaned openly when he sank all the way home. Softly he pleaded, "I can take it harder than that, please, senpai..."

Yukio-san snorted, and his voice was getting husky too. "Pushy aren't you? All right, then."

When he pulled back and thrust into Ryouta hard and deep, heat poured down Ryouta's spine like lava and he couldn't be embarrassed by the sound he made. His hands closed into fists on the sheets as Yukio-san fucked him breathlessly hard, holding him steady for every stroke. It was so good to let himself fall down into the pure sensation, and his whole body flexed wantonly in Yukio-san's hands, eager for this, for more. Good as that was, though, it was the sound of Yukio-san's voice that wrapped heat around him until he was a little crazy with it. That voice, softened for him, whispering things like Easy, I've got you and I'll take care of it all, just let me and Let go, Ryouta, it's okay.

It was that last one that undid him.

He moaned out loud as pleasure burst through him, shaking him senseless with the thought that he was safe, it was all right to let himself go, to feel this as much as he wanted. The hoarse gasp above him assured him that Yukio-san was with him, felt this as much as he did, but those hands were still holding him steady. Not letting go. When the heat finally faded a little and Yukio-san let him down to the bed again, he kept on holding Ryouta close and steady, and Ryouta turned and clung to him shamelessly.

"Shh." Yukio-san's hand spread against his back, warm and sure. "It's still okay."

Ryouta nodded wordlessly where his head was buried in Yukio-san's shoulder. He hadn't felt like this even when it really was the first time he'd had sex. He'd never felt like this before. Never let anyone open him up like this. "You're really staying," he said, low, just to say it out loud and reassure himself.

"Yeah, I am." There was maybe a smile in Yukio-san's voice when he said, "So are you, after all." His hand slid over the arms Ryouta had locked around him. Ryouta looked up at him, still flushed and shaky, more open than he remembered being in years.

"Yes, Yukio-san."

Because Yukio-san brushed aside all the charm Ryouta met the world with and still wanted him, saw Ryouta's selfishness and wanting and still sheltered him, because of these things Ryouta would stay here in Yukio-san's hands. The gentleness of those hands when Yukio-san tipped up Ryouta's chin and kissed him said that this was where Ryouta belonged.

More than anywhere else, right here.

End

A/N: When Aomine calls Kasamatsu "senpai" during the Kaijou v Touou game, it's pretty clear that's just Aomine offering a typically sarcastic token of respect for Kasamatsu's guts in setting Aomine up for a foul. But I couldn't help thinking, what if it had meant something more, what if Kasamatsu had been at Teikou and seen the beginning of all that craziness? I couldn't resist using the idea.

In hanakotoba, hibiscus indicate gentleness or delicacy.

Trust in the Palm of Your Hand

The story of how Kagami wound up willing to be submissive for Kuroko. D/s, Porn with Characterization, I-4

"So, I know how I got here," Aomine remarked thoughtfully, shifting a little against the bed. "But how did Tetsu talk you into this?"

Taiga grumbled against his bare shoulder. "You pick the weirdest times for long, meaningful talks."

Aomine flexed his arms a bit, where they were draped against the pillows over his head, emphasizing the soft cuffs around his wrists. "Got nothing better to do until Tetsu decides what he's going to do with me."

Tetsuya smiled a little and dropped a kiss on the soft skin of Aomine's inner arm, sending a faint shiver through him. "You're fine where you are."

"So, there you go." Aomine nudged Taiga with his hip. "What's the story?"

Taiga sighed and wrapped himself a little more snugly around Aomine's perfectly relaxed sprawl. "He didn't talk me into it. It... just kind of happened. I guess, really, it'd been happening pretty much since we met." After a moment's though, he smiled against Aomine's shoulder. "I think the first time I knew about it was after the Cup final last year. Tatsuya waited, after, to talk to me. And Tetsuya was waiting for me after that."

Taiga stopped short on the steps of the Metropolitan Gymnasium, startled. It was late. Almost everyone who'd come to watch the Winter Cup finals was gone, including the teams who'd played. But Kuroko was still sitting on the steps, bundled in his coat. "What are you doing here?"

"Waiting for you."

Taiga opened his mouth and closed it again. When Kuroko sounded that matter-of-fact there was no getting anything else out of him. "Fine, come on, then." He stuffed his hands in his pockets and turned toward the subway station. Kuroko fell in quietly beside him. He didn't say another word except 'excuse me' until they were on the train.

"Is it all right?" he asked, at last, low enough that the neighboring passengers three seats down wouldn't hear.

"It's... yeah, it's... okay." Taiga still wasn't quite sure what to make of the things Tatsuya had said, the apology for being jealous, the scolding for ever holding back, the assurance they were friends. The insistence that he was not, now, and could not be any kind of role model or guide to Taiga. Taiga touched the ring he still wore, a tiny weight on its chain, remembering what might have been the line of a matching chain under the neck of Tatsuya's sweater. Or might not.

"I see." That was all Kuroko said, but when he shifted with the curve of the tracks, his arm pressed against Taiga's and stayed there.

It helped. It settled Taiga, to know Kuroko was there, made the part of him that still felt raw and strained relax a little. It was... comforting.

And that was the first time that Taiga thought, all the way up in the front of his head, that he might be thinking of his partner as more than just his partner. Well. They were friends, of course. They did... friend things. Ate lunch together, studied together. Walked home together. Went for dinner together. Stayed out late and slept at each other's houses. Called old friends up for loans of clothing...

Okay, maybe not just friend things, now he thought about it.

By the time they got to their own station, Taiga was wondering whether he was really a complete idiot, and whether he could excuse himself by Kuroko not having noticed either. Or had he? Taiga could read Kuroko's game like book, by now, but other things were still harder to figure out. He studied Kuroko sidelong as they climbed the stairs to the street, until Kuroko glanced over and raised his brows questioningly, apparently perfectly at ease and not concerned in the least by having possibly acquired a boyfriend without noticing. Taiga shook his head vigorously to dislodge that thought, which just made Kuroko look amused.

"What is it?"

"Nothing." Taiga held out for almost a block before he finally gave in and added, "Hey. Do you... I mean, are we... Um."

Kuroko waited patiently.

Taiga raked a hand through his hair with an aggravated sound. Screw it. It wasn't like the two of them used words all that much in the first place. He stopped on the sidewalk, in the shadow between street lights and reached out to touch Kuroko's cheek. "Do you... ever think about this? For us?" he asked, low.

Kuroko's eyes widened a little, and for a long moment Taiga had a sinking feeling that he'd just embarrassed himself. But then Kuroko's lips turned up in a faint smile, and he lifted a hand to rest over Taiga's, turning his head just a little into the touch. "You've been thinking a lot, tonight."

Okay, so maybe Taiga had been the only completely oblivious one, fine, whatever. "I was just... thinking, yeah," he finished a bit lamely.

That tiny smile was laughing at him. "I like Kagami-kun, too."

Heat rushed to Taiga's face and he tugged his hand away again. "You just come out and say things like that!" he complained.

Kuroko held him for a second. "How else are people going to know, if you don't say?" He smiled a little wider when Taiga stilled, unable to argue with the justice of that one, and finally let him go.

They were quiet until they reached Taiga's turn-off, and then he hesitated, looking down at Kuroko. "So. Um."

Kuroko was laughing at him from behind that little smile again. "Come here, Kagami-kun." He reached up to thread his fingers into Taiga's hair, and Taiga, rather relieved, leaned down to a light kiss, just a brush of lips against each other. "Good night," Kuroko murmured.

"Yeah," Taiga answered, finding his voice just a bit husky. "See you tomorrow."

There was an extra bit of warmth wrapped around the raw places inside him, as he walked the rest of the way home.

It didn't take Taiga long to realize that that first kiss was part of a pattern. For someone whose strengths were strategy and timing, Kuroko was very aggressive. He was always the one who rested a hand on Taiga's shoulder while they were changing for practice; the one who was suddenly watching Taiga thoughtfully in the showers; the one who pulled Taiga down to increasingly thorough kisses when they met or parted by the park court at night. Even when he was completely wrapped up in Taiga's arms, head tipped back to meet his mouth, it was Kuroko who was setting their pace.

Eventually it got obvious enough for Taiga to say something, one night they'd stayed so late practicing that even the captain had given up and gone ahead, and told them to just turn off all the lights behind them. Kuroko came to him while Taiga was sitting on the bench to tie his shoes and stepped lightly between Taiga's knees, sliding his fingers into Taiga's hair to tip his head back for a kiss. The slow, soft force of it made Taiga's breath catch, and he looked up at Kuroko after, hands linked behind his legs. "You seem different, when we're like this."

Kuroko cocked his head, fingers still running through Taiga's hair. "I don't think it's that different," he said thoughtfully.

Taiga shook his head a little. "You're a lot more... well, I can't say more forceful." This being the same guy who had slugged Taiga one to get his head back in the game. "Just... you lead a lot more, like this. Well," honesty forced him to add, "a lot more openly anyway."

"Do you mind it?" Kuroko asked after a long, quiet moment, eyes steady on Taiga. Taiga blinked.

"I... don't exactly mind it, no. It was just kind of noticeable."

Kuroko sighed and leaned against him, arms sliding around Taiga's shoulders and resting there. "I think this is something I need," he said softly against Taiga's hair. "To lead, like you say."

Taiga was quiet himself for a moment, wondering. "Why?" he finally asked, resting his forehead against Kuroko's chest. "I mean... yeah, you're the one who leads already in a lot of ways. You're the one who kept me away from whatever the hell hole it was that Aomine fell down. You're the one who doesn't quit. But we've always been partners. Part of why I needed to be stronger was so you could rely on me, back."

"I've always relied on you," Kuroko said, very softly. "You're why I could stand on my own, and find my own game. But I'm still me; I play with people, not alone, it's what I do. That's why I need to know you trust me, even more like this than when we're on the court. I need to know you trust me completely."

Taiga went still at that. "Completely?" he echoed, cautiously. Kuroko laughed a little against his hair, fingers stroking through it again.

"Completely," he agreed. "You're my partner. You trust me. I trust you. That's how we play the way we do, and I love that, but this is more personal." There was still that touch of rueful amusement hovering in his voice. "For one thing, there aren't any other teammates or opponents; just us. So it's more intense. Can you trust me that much, Kagami-kun?" He pulled away from Taiga gently, until only his hands were still resting on Taiga's shoulders. "Or should we just stay partners?"

The jolt of protest in Taiga's gut answered part of that question for him right away, but he still hesitated. He knew Kuroko pretty well, at least he'd thought he did, but there were ways 'complete trust' could go in a personal relationship that he really wasn't into. "What do you want me to trust you to do?"

Kuroko's hands were back in his hair, gentle and soothing. "Nothing that would hurt you. Nothing you don't want. Just... to lead you."

Taiga looked up at him, leaning into Kuroko's hands without even thinking, but still hesitating. The last person he had trusted to lead him... He touched the chain around his neck and took a breath. "Let me take it slow," he said quietly, meeting Kuroko's eyes. "The last time I trusted someone like that... didn't end real well."

A spark of rare anger lit in Kuroko's eyes and he stepped close again, arms closing around Taiga's shoulders. "I'm not Himuro-san. We're partners. Whether you can do this or not, that won't change." His hands drew Taiga's head back and Kuroko kissed him again, deep and possessive. It made something hot flare down Taiga's veins, feeling the fierceness in Kuroko's mouth on his, in the arms wrapped around him, supporting him. When Kuroko finally drew back, he said, softly, "Go as slowly as you need."

The perfectly earnest words, set against that fierce kiss, made Taiga laugh, wrap his arms tight around Kuroko and laugh himself breathless. "Yeah," he said at last. "Yeah, let's try it."

The pleasure lighting up Kuroko's face, when Taiga looked up, made the warmth in Taiga's chest settle in deeper.

There was, Taiga learned, a particular way Kuroko touched him, when he wanted to have control. It was slower, more deliberate than their casual touches, a flex of fingers that let Taiga feel some of Kuroko's strength of grip. Never bruising, but very... definite. When Kuroko touched him like that, hand sliding down Taiga's neck or up his arm, he wanted Taiga to give way to him, to let himself be directed. Taiga found he didn't mind.

Actually, it was pretty damn hot.

Which was why he was currently stretched out naked across his bed with Kuroko kneeling between his legs, watching him intently while he fondled Taiga's cock until Taiga was panting for breath, hands clenched in the pillows over his head.

He was harder than he thought he'd ever been in his life.

It wasn't just Kuroko's hand on his cock. It also wasn't just that he was spread out wide for Kuroko to handle. It was the way Kuroko was watching him, so closely, so carefully. Every time some particular stroke of his fingers drove a gasp out of Taiga, he noticed and did it again. Every time Taiga's body started to pull taut, Kuroko's grip softened, easing him back down a little. Kuroko was paying attention to him the way Taiga had only ever felt in the middle of an especially intense game, when Kuroko's awareness of the team, and of Taiga in particular, started to seem like magic. The attention felt like being fondled inside. Kuroko ran his thumb up the underside of Taiga's cock, slow and firm, and Taiga bucked up, gasping.

"Kuroko!"

His partner smiled faintly. "Under the circumstances," he rubbed his thumb gently over Taiga's head, illustrative, "I think you can call me by my given name."

"I..." Taiga wasn't a formal kind of guy, not nearly as much as Kuroko, who was still calling him 'Kagami-kun' for god's sake. But he hadn't wanted to use Kuroko's name. It was too close to Tatsuya's name, and wouldn't that feel weird? Kuroko's other hand slid up his thigh to fondle his balls gently, and Taiga shuddered, hands clenching tighter in his pillow as the name was nearly pulled out of him. "Tetsuya!"

And it wasn't weird. He wasn't thinking of Himuro, of anything at all that wasn't his partner's eyes and hands on him, sure and intent and melting his brain out his ears. His partner, smiling and pleased and scraping the edge of his nail very delicately behind Taiga's balls. "Fuck, Tetsuya!" Taiga came undone all at once, bucking wildly against the bed while heat wrung him like a rag, over and over. Tetsuya's hands stroked him firmly through it, until Taiga dropped back against the twisted up sheets, panting and dazed.

Tetsuya leaned over him and kissed his forehead softly. "Taiga." The simple sound of his name sent another shudder through Taiga. It sounded intimate. It sounded like Tetsuya laying a claim on him.

"How the hell do you do that?" he asked, husky, finally unclenching one hand to reach up and run it through Tetsuya's soft, rumpled hair. "It's like you put a mark on me just by looking at me, when we're in bed. It almost feels like we're on the court, only..." he snorted with some amusement, waving a hand at their current naked, sweaty, sticky condition, "different."

Tetsuya settled on one elbow beside him, resting a hand on his chest. "It's similar, I suppose," he agreed quietly. "I... reach out to know who I'm playing with and against. To find you, especially. I suppose it's a mental trick a little like Izuki-senpai's, but for me it's all about who's paying attention to who, who's looking where, where each player's body says they're going to turn next. So I can move behind or around the thing they'll be looking at." He was silent for a long, thoughtful moment, stroking Taiga's chest slowly. "It's a mental trick, but... how you respond matters too. If know you trust me, if you reach back to me, it's easier to find you. Easier to keep holding you as the game moves. And you're easier to hold than anyone else. I like that." He leaned down and kissed Taiga, slow and deep and so rawly possessive Taiga's breath caught in his chest. "I want to hold you this way, too."

"Tetsuya..." Taiga reached up and wound his arms around Tetsuya, pulling him down and wrapping himself around his partner. Tetsuya let him, relaxed against him in a way that made Taiga have to swallow hard. It wasn't one-sided trust he was giving Tetsuya. He closed his eyes and took a slow breath. "I trust you," he said softly. "Completely. Whatever you want to do."

And if that thought made heat tingle along his nerves again... well, that was nobody's business but his. And Tetsuya's.

The pleased sound Tetsuya made put a little curl of anticipation down Taiga's spine, and he smiled up at the ceiling.

Sometimes, Taiga wondered exactly how he'd gotten himself into his current situation. And then, sometimes, he remembered it was Tetsuya and didn't actually have to wonder.

"So what is this idea you said you had?" he asked Tetsuya, wrapping his arms comfortably around him as Tetsuya slid down to straddle his lap on Taiga's tiny couch, forearms resting over Taiga's shoulders. "And, incidentally, that was a really evil thing to say to me right before practice."

Tetsuya's smile was tiny and secretive. "Was it?" The smile widened when Taiga growled, and he slid his fingers into Taiga's hair, pulling his head back so Tetsuya could nip delicately down his throat. Between quick, soft bites, he explained, "I want to tease you for a while, tonight."

Eyes half closed, breath hitching with each sharp little nip, Taiga managed, "Tease me how?" He shivered as Tetsuya's tongue stroked up the line of bites, wondering if there were going to be marks there later. Tetsuya had only marked him once before, but it had been very distracting having the whole team stare at his neck during practice. Distracting and arousing, to know he was walking around with the mark of Tetsuya's mouth on his skin, which might have been the point. That had been the day Tetsuya had jerked him off in the shower, eyes heavy and hot on him as they listened to the rest of the team's horseplay over drying off, just across the hall. Taiga shivered, remembering, and tipped his head back further.

Tetsuya drew back and ran his hands down Taiga's neck and over his chest, slow and firm. "I want you to watch me. And not do anything else, until I say you can."

Taiga's face turned rather hot. "Watch you?"

That tiny planning-something smile flickered over Tetsuya's face again. "Yes."

Tetsuya obviously had something in mind, which... actually did more to convince Taiga than anything else. Tetsuya was the strategist, after all. He laced his fingers with Tetsuya's. "Okay."

Tetsuya looked pleased and pushed up off the couch, tugging Taiga with him toward the bedroom. "Come here, then."

It was a little weird, Taiga thought as he followed along, how much this felt like their partnership on the court. On the face of it, the two were totally different. On the court, they both made their own choices, for all they watched each other and worked together. Here, he gave the choices to Tetsuya, let Tetsuya's word be the one that moved him or held him still. And yet... maybe Tetsuya was right, and it really all came down to trust, for the two of them. He trusted Tetsuya to play his own strengths, on the court, and to choose well for the team. Here, undressing at Tetsuya's soft prompting, lying back against the head of his bed as Tetsuya's hands urged him down, here he trusted Tetsuya to be with him all the way, and to choose well for the two of them. He trusted Tetsuya to hold him, even closer than he did on the court, and the feeling of being held like this was hot and secure. And that was something he wanted.

He watched as Tetsuya undressed and folded his clothes neatly on Taiga's desk. It was easy to overlook, on a high-powered sports team, but Tetsuya was solidly built. Compact, yes, but leanly muscled, and those muscles sharply defined. The flex of them as Tetsuya slid up onto the bed and knelt there, facing Taiga, held his gaze.

And then Tetsuya reached down and wrapped a hand around his own cock, and Taiga had to swallow. He hadn't really thought it would do much for him, just to watch, but... the slow, deliberate stroke of Tetsuya's fingers up and down his cock, coaxing himself harder, made him think about that hand on him.

Tetsuya smiled and closed his eyes. "Taiga," he said softly. He slid a thumb up to circle over his head, and his breath pulled in, and he tipped his head back a little. "Taiga..."

A husky sound caught in Taiga's own throat. Tetsuya sounded... he sounded like it was Taiga who was touching him. When Tetsuya moaned, faint and breathless, it sent something hot through Taiga's chest and down into his guts. He didn't think he could have looked away from Tetsuya's hand working over himself, from the way Tetsuya spread his knees wider against the bed, if he'd tried. Without thinking, he started to press one hand between his own legs.

"I didn't say you could move." The words caught Taiga like a hand on his wrist, and he swallowed and curled his fingers in the rumpled sheets under him. Tetsuya smiled, slow and clear, head still tipped back. "That's good."

Taiga was breathing faster himself, now, flushed from watching the way Tetsuya touched himself, listening to the sounds he made, all the while pinned down by Tetsuya's order to stay still. The stillness made the rest of it twice as hot.

There was something wicked at the corners of Tetsuya's smile, now, and he rocked forward to take Taiga's little bottle of lube from where it lived tucked against the blinds on the window ledge above his bed. Taiga was prepared for Tetsuya to squeeze some into his palm, for the sheen of it as Tetsuya stroked a hand down his cock. What shocked him, and sent a jolt of blinding heat through him, was seeing Tetsuya turn one shoulder to him, seeing him slide slick fingers down behind himself to press between his cheeks. "Tetsuya," he gasped, hoarse.

"Mmm. Taiga." Tetsuya's wrist flexed, pushing a finger into himself, and a flush climbed up his throat. He drew a slow breath, fingers sliding back and forth over his cock, and murmured, "Be still."

Taiga thought he could almost feel the grip of Tetsuya's will on him, like another hand, and he shivered under it. When Tetsuya pressed another finger into himself, a little moan tugged free from Taiga. "Tetsuya..."

"Shhh." Tetsuya's voice was gentle, even as his body pulled taut between his own hands. "Watch, Taiga. Think about it being your hands, here."

He pressed in another finger, slow and careful, and Taiga swallowed hard. His cock was standing hard and flushed against his stomach, now, and his clenched fingers were about to put holes through his sheets. "Tetsuya... please." Just saying it put another shiver through him. He'd never begged for anything in bed, never been pushed far enough that he wanted to. He hadn't expected how hot it would be to beg Tetsuya, and trust that Tetsuya would allow what he needed.

Tetsuya finally looked over at him, eyes bright and hot. "Yes. I think we're both ready." He drew his hands back slowly, a husky little sound catching his his throat as he slid his fingers free, and Taiga nearly moaned.

"God, yes Tetsuya, please..." He reached out as Tetsuya slid up the bed to him, and relief made him dizzy when Tetsuya let him, let Taiga gather him close and hold him tight. When Tetsuya's fingers wrapped around his cock, still slick, and slid down him, Taiga shuddered. When Tetsuya shifted up on his knees and pressed Taiga's cock against his ass, slowly sinking down onto him, Taiga couldn't do anything but cling to Tetsuya's hips and pant for breath. Leaning back against the headboard like this, with Tetsuya's weight over him, he couldn't push up much; how fast or slow that brain-melting tightness closed around him was up to Tetsuya.

He almost came just from realizing that.

Tetsuya was panting against his shoulder as he settled all the way down, and when he said Taiga's name the breathless note in his voice made Taiga close his eyes. He wanted so many things. He wanted to let go and just feel Tetsuya ride him. He wanted to wrap himself around Tetsuya and fuck him. He wanted to hear more breathless sounds like that, because he was inside Tetsuya. "Tetsuya," he managed, low, "some time... let me do this. Please."

Tetsuya leaned in, making Taiga gasp with the shift of muscles around him, and kissed him soft and open. "Some time, yes," he promised, and there was a glint in his eyes. "But not tonight."

Taiga moaned out loud with that combined promise and denial as Tetsuya rocked up and back down, and he gave himself up to whatever Tetsuya chose for them. "Yes."

"Mmm. Yes." Tetsuya smiled and did it again, slower, more deliberate, grinding down onto Taiga. Pleasure climbed up Taiga's spine, twist after twist of it as Tetsuya moved over him, hands braced on Taiga's shoulders. Half of it was the pure rush of sensation every time Tetsuya's body shifted, but half of it was something else completely. Something that wrung out parts of him that weren't his body, left him warm and shakingâ€”the knowledge that Tetsuya wanted him this much, this way.

When it all spilled over, he just let it, let Tetsuya have him however Tetsuya wanted him.

Tetsuya gasped as Taiga bucked up under him, one hand sliding down to wrap around his cock again. And just when the rush of heat was easing, his body tightened hard around Taiga and raked another wave of pleasure through him.

They leaned against each other for a while, after. "Thank you," Tetsuya finally said, straightening up a little to look down at Taiga, touching his cheek lightly. Taiga caught his hand and turned to press his mouth to Tetsuya's fingers.

"What for? Isn't this what I agreed to?" To let Tetsuya lead him when they were together like this.

Tetsuya smiled softly. "Yes." He traced Taiga's lips with his fingertips. "That's why I'm saying thank you."

Taiga looked aside and finally said, low, "It's what I want, too."

Tetsuya's kiss caught him by surprise, hot and sudden and ruthless enough to make him gasp for breath. "Then even more," Tetsuya murmured. "Thank you."

"Yeah. Okay," Taiga whispered back and they stayed where they were for a while longer, wrapped around each other quietly.

Most of life went on the way it always had. There were classes, which were still half incomprehensible but only half, which was an improvement; there was practice, which was satisfyingly grueling; there was shopping for groceries and cooking for himself, and increasingly cooking enough that he'd still get a full meal when his senpai begged or snitched bits of his dinner; there was fielding occasional visits from Aomine, when he got too fed up with his new captain's hovering watchfulness and skipped to visit Seirin, just to show he could.

But now there was also this. There was lying on Tetsuya's bed, draped over a pile of pillows that raised his hips high enough in the air to make him blush, feeling Tetsuya's hands kneading slowly down his back and over his ass. "Tetsuya..."

"Shh." Tetsuya's thumbs spread his cheeks open slow and firm, wide enough to make him gasp for lost breath at how exposed he felt. "It's all right."

Just the fact that Tetsuya was telling him, not asking, put a complex little shiver down his spine. It felt good, good to relax and trust that Tetsuya had things in hand; but there was always that adrenaline-edge of letting someone else say what would happen. Especially when what was happening was Tetsuya's fingers rubbing against him, slick with lube, making slow, hard circles against the muscles of his ass until he felt warm and relaxed back there.

"That's better," Tetsuya said softly, dropping a kiss at the small of his back. "I'll make sure it doesn't hurt, Taiga. That's why I wanted to go first, after all."

And there it was, the care that Tetsuya took that undid him every time. Taiga closed his eyes and took a slow breath as Tetsuya's fingers pressed into him. It felt goodâ€”completely unfamiliar, but every bit like Tetsuya touching him always felt, slow and intimate and sure. "Tetsuya..." He could hear how husky his own voice was.

"Be still," Tetsuya told him, gentle and firm. "Just feel." He slid his other hand down Taiga's back, kneading those muscles loose too as he worked his fingers in and out of Taiga's ass until he was panting, breath catching every time the press of Tetsuya's knuckles stretched him a little more open. That was what he felt most, right now, spread ass-up over Tetsuya's pillows with his muscles going laxâ€”so very open for Tetsuya. Open, and sure he'd be taken care of.

His own protective streak nagged at him, sometimes, to take care of Tetsuya instead. But... he did a lot of that. It was good to turn it around, to have someone else do it for him. And Tetsuya had been doing it from the first match they played in together. Tetsuya was good at it.

He trusted himself in Tetsuya's hands.

Those hands shifted on him, strong fingers twisting slowly inside him, and Taiga's thoughts unraveled again in the wash of sensation down his nerves. Tetsuya's fingertips rubbed slowly inside him, and he moaned with the surge of pleasure that answered.

"Mm. That sounds good," Tetsuya murmured to him, free hand stroking Taiga's ass.

"Tetsuya..." A shudder stroked down Taiga's spine as Tetsuya's fingers slid free.

"Be still, Taiga," Tetsuya said again, low and soothing. His hands closed on Taiga's hips, and there was a blunt pressure against Taiga's entrance that made him hot with anticipation.

"Yes, Tetsuya," he said, husky, lying still and lax in Tetsuya's hands, waiting. Tetsuya pushed harder against him and Taiga's hands closed on the sheets, tight with the breathless pressure of Tetsuya's cock pushing slowly, slowly into him. He gasped at the sudden easing and the slide of Tetsuya inside him, thick and hard, holding him stretched open. "God..."

Tetsuya's voice was breathless, too, as he leaned against Taiga, holding still. "Relax, Taiga; relax for me."

"I..." Taiga's breath shuddered in his chest. "I... yes..." He let the sheets go and let his breath go and nearly moaned with how it felt as his body eased more around the hardness of Tetsuya's cock. "Fuck..."

A soft, husky laugh answered him. "Yes. But slowly."

Taiga moaned openly as Tetsuya slid a little back and in again, a little further, and in again, slow and easy. The sensation stroked down his nerves, soft and intense. "Yes, Tetsuya," he whispered. Slow was just fine, yeah.

He'd always had a good opinion of Tetsuya's control, but it was getting better now as Tetsuya fucked him slow and sure. Tetsuya's hands worked gently over Taiga's back, easing him into the pleasure that was rising through him like a tide coming in. He trusted that control now, like he'd trusted it for almost a year, and let Tetsuya's hands guide him. He moaned against the sheets with the heat of Tetsuya's cock working in and out of him—did as Tetsuya said and just felt the heat curling tighter and tighter inside him. When Tetsuya's hand slid under his hip to wrap around his cock and stroke him firmly, he gasped and bucked, taken by surprise by the fresh twist of pleasure. "Tetsuya!"

Tetsuya's fingers tightened, and there was a smile in his voice. "Just feel, Taiga."

He couldn't do anything else, spread out like this with no leverage, and he shuddered as Tetsuya shifted over him, fucking him harder, hand working around him slow and demanding. It was so good, Tetsuya had made it so good for him, and he surrendered to Tetsuya's control, moaning as Tetsuya drove him higher and higher, and finally drove him right over the edge. Pleasure raked down his nerves and wrung him out around the hardness of Tetsuya's cock. The way Tetsuya gasped and pushed deeper sent an extra shudder through him.

When he finally came back down, muscles limp, throat dry from panting for breath, Tetsuya was leaning against him. His hands stroked over Taiga's back and shoulders gently, carefully, and a soft sound caught in Taiga's throat. This. This was why he gave himself to Tetsuya, gave Tetsuya controlâ€”so that he could feel this care. So he could do nothing but feel it, just like Tetsuya said.

He'd believed for a long time that his partner knew what he needed, after all.

So he lay quiet and let Tetsuya clean them up, let Tetsuya ease him down to the bed and wrapped his arms around Tetsuya, and bent his head under the gentle slide of Tetsuya's fingers through his hair.

He trusted Tetsuya's choices.

Taiga knew perfectly well why Aomine had started descending on Seirin after practice was officially over. He wasn't actually complaining, either; he loved the fast, wild matches they played, one-on-one with each other. That did not, of course, stop him from calling Aomine a needy bastard or asking whether Touou was boring him, just like it didn't stop Aomine from calling him a one-trick jumping idiot. That was just the kind of relationship they had.

Besides, it made Tetsuya look like he wanted to laugh at them.

Aomine waved casually over his shoulder as he turned toward the station, and Taiga stood with Tetsuya for a minute, watching him go. At least, Tetsuya watched him go, and Taiga watched Tetsuya, and the wistful look in his partner's eyes. "You guys okay, these days?" he finally asked, quietly.

Tetsuya turned back, beside him, and started on their way home. "Better than we have been in a long time."

That wasn't exactly a yes, but Taiga knew things were a little complicated between Tetsuya and his old partner.

"He's better, now he has people he has to work against," Tetsuya added, eyes distant under the slow shift of the streetlights as they walked. "You. Kise-kun. I always knew that was important to him, to have someone to push him. Sometimes I wonder..."

"What?" Taiga asked, as the silence drew out.

Tetsuya still hesitated. "I'll tell you later," he finally said.

"Sure," Taiga agreed easily, making a mental note to ask, if 'later' took too long. Sometimes, Tetsuya got a little too quiet about things that bugged him. "Oh, hey, food." The lights of the convenience store down from the park called to him, reminding him that he hadn't had his evening snack yet.

Tetsuya's eyes were laughing again as he followed along, and Taiga nodded to himself with satisfaction. Whatever Tetsuya was thinking about, whatever 'later' involved, it didn't look like it could be too serious.

'Later' arrived the next evening, just when Taiga was considering bringing it up again. They'd ended up at Tetsuya's house after practice, ears still ringing with the coach's orders to study for the year end exams. Taiga studied infuriatingly complex kanji for as long as he could stand before he gave up and stalked downstairs to get them both drinks just so he could move something besides his pencil. When he got back, Tetsuya smiled at him from where he sat on the edge of his bed, and held out his hands. "Leave those for a second and come here, Taiga."

Taiga set the two cans on the desk and came to him, curious. Tetsuya never called him by his given name unless they were both alone and intimate. He hadn't expected that so soon, tonight. Tetsuya caught his hands and tugged Taiga down until he was kneeling between Tetsuya's legs, close enough to wrap his arms around Tetsuya. Which, of course, he did. "What is it?"

"What I was thinking about, yesterday..." Tetsuya ran his fingers slowly through Taiga's hair, eyes searching his face. "I was wondering whether I should have held Aomine-kun tighter; whether that would have been what he needed." His hand drifted down to touch Taiga's cheek. "You make him feel normal again. I was wondering what I might be able to do for him, now."

"It's already you who did that." Taiga looked down, trying to put what he saw between them into words. "You're the one who knew what he needed, along with what you needed, and didn't stop until you got it." A corner of his mouth curled up. "Or after."

"And you were the one who believed I could," Tetsuya said softly, arms sliding around Taiga's shoulders. "It all connects."

True enough, but weren't they getting off topic? They'd started with Tetsuya saying he'd been thinking about holding Aomine tighter. Like he held Taiga now, Taiga supposed. And then he went very still, staring past Tetsuya's shoulder as those thoughts settled together.

All connected.

"You want to hold him, too," he said, low. "Like this. Hold him like this now."

Tetsuya gathered him closer. "Not if it will upset you," he said firmly. "Not if you don't want him to be with us like this."

With us. All connected. And Tetsuya had said Taiga was the one who made Aomine feel normal. Slowly, Taiga leaned against Tetsuya, wrapping himself tighter around him. "You really think it could work?" he asked against Tetsuya's shoulder. "Aomine's pretty possessive of you whenever he gets the chance." Of course, all the damn Miracle-types were possessive of Tetsuya, but Aomine was the one who still showed it, even after getting his ass kicked by Seirin.

Tetsuya's hand slid gently up his back and closed hard on his nape, holding him in a grip like steel. "Possessing me isn't a choice I would give him."

Taiga made a breathless sound, head bent against Tetsuya's shoulder, reminded of exactly what kind of relationship they were talking about and very hard from the reminder. "Yeah... okay." He'd been thinking something else, too, before Tetsuya turned his brain to mush... ah, right. "You think Aomine will want this that much?"

Tetsuya's hold gentled, stroking Taiga's nape until he shivered, head still bowed. "Aomine-kun always kept going until someone stopped him. Sometimes that person was Momoi-san, but the longer we worked as partners the more it was me. When he said we didn't agree on anything but basketball, it was because he always pushed until I told him to stop. And then he did, at least until he lost faith in the game and I couldn't make him stay serious. Or, at least, I didn't. I think I just didn't go as far as he needed me to, to make him."

Taiga thought about the kind of partner Tetsuya had been to him, right from the start. Demanding and fearless and very strict about Taiga's attitude toward their team and the game. He remembered Tetsuya clotheslining him repeatedly, with a perfectly immoveable look each time that said he refused to let his partner screw himself up. And he laughed against Tetsuya's neck. "I don't think that will be a problem any more."

He could feel how Tetsuya's lips were curved when Tetsuya dropped a kiss under his ear. "I don't think so either."

Taiga was quiet for a moment, thinking about Aomine, his most annoying and brilliant rival, his partner's ex-partner, the one whose edge made his fists itch sometimes. The one who always came back to him, as well as to Tetsuya. "Yeah," he finally said, quietly. "Yeah, let's try."

The way Tetsuya's arms tightened around him made him smile and hold Tetsuya closer.

"...and that got us here." Taiga paused and poked Aomine lightly in the ribs. "And why do you want to know so much, anyway?"

Aomine squirmed away until Tetsuya, laughing, rested more weight over him. "Hey, you were right here for it when Tetsu caught me, and you got to see the whole thing. Fair is fair."

Taiga thought about the things Tetsuya had said to him, about Aomine, and snorted. "I think Tetsuya caught you a long time before that. He just didn't make you know it until now."

Aomine stilled at that, eyes turning dark and heated as he looked up at Tetsuya. "Yeah, I guess he did."

Tetsuya stroked Aomine's hair back, smiling faintly. "I didn't realize myself until you," he told Taiga. "But... yes. Maybe so." He looked down at Aomine, fingers tracing down his jaw as Tetsuya tipped Aomine's head back and nipped lightly at his throat. "Maybe things would have been different, if I'd known sooner."

"Some things," Aomine said, soft and husky with the arch of his neck. "But some I think we'd still have needed Tai for."

Taiga found himself caught between sputtering over the nickname and turning red over Aomine, of all people, actually admitting that. And then he found himself just plain caught by the brightness in Tetsuya's eyes as he reached over to touch Taiga's cheek.

"Yes," Tetsuya agreed, eyes holding Taiga's. "We would."

Taiga gave way to that perfect assurance and turned his head into Tetsuya's hand, pressing his mouth to Tetsuya's palm. "Guess things turned out pretty well, then," he said, glancing down at Aomine'sâ€”at Daiki'sâ€”smirk, and watching how the edge of it softened.

"So there's that taken care of," Daiki murmured, slanting a sidelong look at Tetsuya, deliberately provoking. "Now. Thought of anything interesting to do with me, yet?"

Tetsuya had the gleam in his eye that always made Taiga look for something to hold on to. "Maybe I have." He stroked a hand up Daiki's arm to finger the cuffs, and slowly, deliberately, unsnapped them. Daiki's brows rose. "Taiga," Tetsuya said, quiet and firm, not looking away from Daiki, "hold Daiki down for me."

Taiga nearly moaned with a completely unexpected rush of heat, and he could see the way Daiki flushed, eyes widening. "Yes, Tetsuya." He could feel the tension in Daiki's arms as Taiga ran his hands up to grip his wrists and pin him down, the way Daiki never let himself be pinned on the court, the way Tetsuya demanded he submit to now. Daiki's eyes were already a little glazed.

"Kagami," Daiki breathed. "Tai..."

Taiga smiled wryly, a little breathless himself. "Only what Tetsuya allows, right?"

"Fuck," Daiki moaned as Tetsuya held his hips against the bed and leaned down to lap at his cock, light and teasing. "Yes."

Taiga leaned on Daiki's arms, holding him for Tetsuya to drive half out of his mind, and thought that he'd never been more right than he had been when he gave Tetsuya his trust. Tetsuya had seen how they fit together, how they could all have a place with each other, and Taiga didn't think this was a place he would outgrow. So maybe this was someplace he could stay.

When he leaned down and kissed Daiki, soft and questioning, Daiki kissed back.

End

A Good, Free, and Unconstrained Will

Kuroko wants a tangible marker of his committment to Kagami and Aomine, and of how they belong to him, and that's when other people start noticing what's going on. D/s, Romance, Porn, Drama, I-4

Cause

It was Daiki who mentioned it first, stroking his thumb along the line of Taiga's collarbone one afternoon when they were all tangled together in Tetsuya's bed, still a little sticky but catching their breaths again.

"You've stopped wearing that necklace all the time."

"Mm." Taiga shrugged a little, trying not to shove anyone off the bed, or scrape his shoulder blades against the wall, or show how the observation made him twitch. "I still have it. Just seemed like it was maybe time to take it off and put it away."

Tetsuya turned, where he was lying between them, unfairly graceful and not elbowing anyone in the stomach. Taiga concentrated on that, and not the question in Tetsuya's eyes. "Did something else happen between you and Himuro-san?" Tetsuya asked quietly.

Taiga sighed, giving in; he obviously wasn't getting out of this conversation, especially since he was the one up against the wall and couldn't make easy excuses to get up. "Nothing new," he said, low. "Just, the more I thought about it, the more I realized Tatsuya was right. He's not my nii-san any more."

"Yousen's Himuro Tatsuya?" Aomine asked, sliding a hand up to drape over Taiga's hip, casual in contrast to the way he was watching Taiga.

"I knew him back in the States. He was the one who got me into basketball." Taiga snorted at the way Daiki perked up. "The rings... it was a little kid's pledge, I guess; he didn't... he's not..." He sighed and turned his head into the curve of Tetsuya's shoulder, frustration bubbling up fresh. "I can understand if he doesn't want to claim something he doesn't feel like he can hold up his end of. But basketball wasn't the reason he was my big brother! It didn't have to be the only thing between us!"

Tetsuya's fingers threaded through his hair, holding him closer. "He took care of you." Taiga nodded silently. Yes, Tetsuya understood that.

"And now that you're a better player than he is," Daiki said slowly, thumb rubbing over Taiga's hip, "he doesn't think he can any more. What a moron," he added, thoughtful.

Taiga snorted a pained laugh against Tetsuya's shoulder. Yeah, Daiki, with his passion for people who didn't give up, wouldn't think much of Tatsuya's choices. "I'm not mad at him. Not really. It... doesn't change how he did take care of me, back then. It's just different now." If Tatsuya wouldn't see that he could still be Taiga's nii-san, no matter who won on the court, then it was time to put the ring away with the rest of his memories.

"Hmm." Tetsuya's fingers rubbed slowly over his bare nape. "Taiga. If you've taken off that necklace, would you let me replace it?" he said at last.

Taiga lifted his head and blinked down at Tetsuya. "Replace it?"

Tetsuya smiled and squirmed out from between them, sliding off the foot of the bed. "Here." He padded across the room and took a small box out of his desk drawer, sliding back up onto the bed as he opened it. He laid the open box between Taiga and Daiki and sat back on his heels, watching them.

There were two slim, dark necklaces in the box, just a little longer than choker length, much shorter than the chain Taiga had kept his ring on. He fished one out, curious, and ran it through his fingers; it was finished leather cord, soft under his fingertips. He glanced up at Tetsuya. "You want to..."

Wait.

This couldn't be a simple pledge among the three of them, like the rings. There were only two necklaces, not three. And Tetsuya had set them very precisely in between Taiga and Daiki. Taiga could feel his face turning hot at the implication, and his voice was a little more strangled when he corrected himself. "You want us to wear...?"

Tetsuya was watching them quietly, not demanding anything, but there was a glint in his eyes that made Taiga hot in a different way.

Daiki lifted the second necklace, running it through his fingers and glancing back and forth between them. "You want the two of us to wear these?" he asked, toying with the slim cord. "For you?" When Tetsuya nodded, Daiki gave Taiga a thoughtful look and smiled slowly. "I will if you will."

Taiga glared. That was playing dirty.

The corners of Tetsuya's mouth were curled up in a silent laugh as he leaned forward and laid a hand on each of their wrists. "Only if you want to," he said firmly. And then his fingers stroked the back of Taiga's hand gently. "But I would like very much to be able to replace that necklace, for you."

To replace the necklace. To replace what it meant. To take care of him. Taiga felt the curl of warmth through his chest that was becoming very familiar; it happened whenever Tetsuya made it clear how close he held them. And Tetsuya would never, ever give up his hold on someone just because they were stronger. Taiga had a year and more worth of proof of that.

"Yeah," he said, a little husky. "Yeah, I'd like that too."

"Good," Tetsuya said softly, and lifted the necklace out of his hand. "Lift your chin."

Taiga had to swallow against a sudden flutter of response low in his stomach as Tetsuya slid up the bed to straddle him, leaning in as he wrapped the slim cord around Taiga's neck. The tiny snick of the clasp fastening, more felt than heard, sent a spike of heat right down Taiga's spine. The delicate stroke of Tetsuya's fingers over the cool line of leather made him shudder. "Tetsuya..." God, was he ever going to get used to the way it made him feel, when Tetsuya took control?

Daiki laughed beside him, husky. "Hey, no getting ahead of yourself. It's my turn."

Taiga opened half closed eyes to see Daiki hand Tetsuya the other length of cord, smiling. He turned over, bending his head down against Taiga's shoulder, offering Tetsuya his bared nape, and Taiga wound an arm around him more or less by reflex. Daiki looked so vulnerable like this.

"Yes, it's your turn," Tetsuya agreed, voice gentle, and passed the soft leather carefully around Daiki's throat and closed the catch firmly. Taiga felt a little shiver run through Daiki. He thought Tetsuya did, too, because he leaned down and pressed a kiss to Daiki's nape, just over the clasp. Daiki practically purred, relaxing against Taiga, and Tetsuya leaned against them looking satisfied.

A thought nudged at Taiga, one that made his face heat a little once again, but he wasn't going to lie to himself. He knew perfectly well what they were doing, what it meant that Tetsuya had put this on him rather than let him do it himself. It wasn't like he objected, but that kind of meant he should ask Tetsuya about taking it off, too, right?

"I don't think we should wear these on the court," he said, touching the necklace. "They aren't very heavy; they could get broken too easily."

Tetsuya smiled, reaching up to stroke his cheek. "Of course. I want you to be sensible about them. Whatever you think is necessary."

Taiga turned into that touch, mouth tilted ruefully as he acknowledged how it relaxed him to have Tetsuya's agreement on that. His permission. Daiki stirred against his shoulder, looking up.

"I think I might be a little not-sensible." Daiki's eyes were dark, on Tetsuya, and Tetsuya's smile turned darker as he met them.

"That's fine too," he said softly, reaching out to hook a finger under the thin cord and pull it taut. "I'll put one of these back around your neck as many times as it takes."

The sound Daiki made, husky and wanting, sent Taiga's blood rushing to his cock. Tetsuya, still straddling him, laughed. "Come here, Daiki. Take care of Taiga for me." He slid to the side, nudging Taiga into the middle of the bed, and pulled Daiki down by his necklaceâ€”his collarâ€”until he was kneeling between Taiga's legs, bent over to nuzzle against Taiga's cock. "Yes. Like that."

Taiga slid his hands down Daiki's arms and over his shoulders, hands working against the sleek muscle there as Daiki licked his cock teasingly. "Daiki..." He loved the way Tetsuya drew them to each other, and it never stopped getting him hot, watching Daiki submit to Tetsuya, but Daiki could be a little disconcerting in bed. He teased even more than Tetsuya. Daiki glanced up at him, smirking a little but gently, and wound his arms around Taiga's hips, long fingers spreading against his back.

"Shut up and enjoy it, Tai," he murmured, and closed his mouth around Taiga, hot and slick and sure. Pleasure tightened on Taiga like a knot closing, and he gasped, trying not to rock up too hard while Daiki's tongue stroked over him enticingly.

And then Daiki gasped around him, abruptly flushed, hands tightening on Taiga's back. Taiga looked up and realized Tetsuya had settled behind Daiki, hands kneading over his raised ass. Tetsuya smiled just a little as he spread Daiki's cheeks wide and rubbed slow fingers over his entrance. Tetsuya had not, Taiga realized, flushing a bit himself, reached for the lube yet. He knew Daiki liked Tetsuya to be rougher with him than he ever was with Taiga, but was Tetsuya really...? Tetsuya pushed a finger in, and the way Daiki moaned around Taiga sent a shudder of pleasure right up his spine.

"Tetsu," Daiki gasped, head tipping back as he arched on his knees to push his ass up higher.

Tetsuya smiled slowly. "I told you to take care of Taiga," he reminded Daiki, working his finger in and out of Daiki's ass with short little thrusts. Taiga could watch it, from where he lay, and see how Daiki's eyes went darker at the quiet command in Tetsuya's voice.

"Yes, Tetsu," he murmured, and lowered his head again, wrapping his lips around Taiga's cock and lapping at him quick and firm, just like the movement of Tetsuya's hand. When Tetsuya pushed two dry fingers into him, Daiki shuddered and sucked on Taiga like he could coax Tetsuya's fingers deeper that way. It felt incredible, like Taiga was part of what Tetsuya was doing to their lover, and maybe that was why he whispered, "Tetsuya, please..."

Tetsuya looked up, holding Taiga's eyes as he twisted his fingers deep in Daiki's ass. "You think I should give him more?"

Taiga shuddered softly with the vibration of Daiki's moan. "Yes!"

Tetsuya laughed softly, drawing his fingers back and reaching for the bottle still tangled in Taiga's sheets. "Very well."

Taiga swallowed, throat dry as he watched. He knew how it felt, knew so well how it felt to have Tetsuya's hands wrapped around his hips, holding him while Tetsuya's cock pushed in slowly, slowly, opening him up. So he knew exactly why Daiki was making those husky sounds and why his hands were clutching at Taiga's back and why Daiki's mouth was desperate against him. He was pleading for both of them when he moaned, "Please, Tetsuya, harder..."

And when Tetsuya shifted, leaning over Daiki and driving in deep and hard, it was Taiga who came undone under the slide of Daiki's mouth all the way down his cock. He lost track of watching Tetsuya, but he could feel everything Tetsuya was doing in the pressure of Daiki's mouth on him as he clutched at Daiki's shoulders, gasping with the pleasure wringing him out. "Tetsuya...! God, Tetsuya, please!"

By the time he came back down, Daiki was sprawled across him, just as messy and breathless as he was. Tetsuya was arched taut behind him, buried deep inside Daiki, flushed and gasping softly. The sight wrung another moan out of him, and when he looked down Daiki's eyes were fixed on him. "I can see it," Daiki told him, husky. "I can see how he looks in how you look right now."

"Mmm." Tetsuya slowly opened his eyes again and released Daiki's hips to stroke down his back. "Yes. Just like Taiga could tell what I was doing and what you needed." He eased free of Daiki and pushed him gently down against Taiga, keeping a hand on Daiki's back as he settled beside them. "We're doing this together, and there's no competition between you. Remember that, all right?"

Daiki froze, staring at Tetsuya with wide eyes. "I..."

Tetsuya smiled and cupped his cheek, stroking a thumb over the sharp line of his cheekbone. "You think I wouldn't see it, when you were my partner for so long and you're my lover now? I want both of you," he told Daiki softly, touching the cord of leather around his neck. "Never doubt that."

Slowly, Daiki nodded, relaxing against Taiga, eyes lowered. "Yes, Tetsu," he said, more subdued by Tetsuya's quiet words than Taiga had ever seen him, even when he was tied up. Taiga wrapped his arms around Daiki, holding him close. He knew how that felt, too. It was, he thought, exactly why both of them were willing to walk around wearing the delicate collars Tetsuya had clasped around their necks, and he smiled against Daiki's hair.

They were all together in this, all right.

Effect

Izuki Shun had always watched the people around him; it was one of the habits that made him a good point guard. And his teammates were always worth watching, for the amusement value if nothing else. So he'd noticed a few months ago that Kagami had stopped wearing the ring on a chain around his neck that used to always be there, even during practice. And he'd noticed about a week ago that Kagami had started wearing a simple leather necklace, the kind that you could find at any accessory stall in any shopping district. That, though, he carefully removed and tucked away whenever he changed for practice or a match.

Which was, perhaps, why it took so long for anyone else to notice. Shun had laid a tiny bet with himself on who it would be, and he won it the evening Koganei looked up from tying his shoes and suddenly grinned.

"Hey, Kagami." Koganei's tone was as good as a knowing nudge in the ribs. "You've got a new necklace these days. Is there someone who wants you to wear her present, instead of your old girlfriend's?"

Kagami promptly turned red and sputtered. "It's not like that!" Shun had expected that kind of response, because Kagami really was awfully innocent in some ways. The surprising part was the way Kagami hesitated as he fastened the necklace, looking aside, and added, "Not exactly."

Of course, that was as good as waving a feather in front of a cat. "Not exactly?" Koganei pressed, sidling up to throw an arm around Kagami's shoulders despite the height difference. "So there really is a girl, isn't there? Come on, you can tell senpai all about it..."

Kagami was sputtering again, and Shun was preparing to take pity on the poor guy and intervene when Kuroko beat him to it.

"Koganei-senpai," he said, sharper than Shun had ever heard him speak to any of his seniors, "that's private. You shouldn't tease Kagami-kun about it."

The entire club fell quiet for a moment, staring. Kuroko tugged down his cuffs and stood, looking back levelly. It wasn't quite the way Shun had seen him stare down opponents, but it was close. He didn't blame Koganei for stepping away from Kagami, hands raised.

"Just kidding around."

And quick as that, Kuroko was back to his usual self, calm and at ease, giving Koganei a very proper little bow. "Of course, senpai. Excuse us, please." He slung his bag over his shoulder and led the way out, and Kagami followed him.

There was, Shun noted, predictable relief at being rescued on Kagami's face, but there was also something soft along with it. As unusually soft as Kuroko had just been sharp. He considered that thoughtfully, as he pulled on his jacket.

Maybe this was something he'd keep a particular eye on.

Junpei had separated from the rest of the team in the wake of the first winter preliminaries, and was walking home beside Riko and Teppei, when Riko finally spoke up.

"So. Did you see Aomine when we passed Touou, on our way out?"

Junpei winced. He'd foolishly hoped she hadn't noticed. "It's none of our business," he said firmly.

"What isn't?" Teppei blinked at them.

"Teppei!" Riko huffed, obviously exasperated. "Didn't you notice that Aomine was wearing a necklace just like the one Kagami wears these days?"

"Well sure," Teppei said calmly. "I'm glad those two seem to be getting along so well."

Junpei buried his face in his hands, groaning. As if Riko wasn't bad enough! "It is none of our business," he repeated hopelessly.

"I wonder if Kuroko set the two of them up," Riko speculated with gleaming eyes, completely ignoring him. "Maybe that's why he was so defensive when Koganei was teasing Kagami."

Teppei made a thoughtful sound. "I have to admit, I always expected all three of them to be together, but maybe you're right. At any rate, he doesn't seem to feel left out, and that's good."

Junpei wondered wistfully if putting his hands over his ears would drown them out.

"Oooo, if they are all together, maybe that's what it is!" Riko clasped her hands in front of her mouth, eyes dancing. "Maybe those are actually Kuroko's necklaces they're wearing."

"Kantoku!" Junpei finally yelled. "Quit talking about our players' love lives!"

From the way she broke down giggling, he figured she'd just been trying to get a rise out of him anyway, and sighed. And swatted at Teppei's hand when it landed on his head and rumpled his hair 'comfortingly'.

"Oh, don't worry." Riko bumped her shoulder against his arm and grinned up at him. "It's not like I'd say any of this in front of them."

"Although, you know, I wouldn't be surprised if Kuroko had it in him," Teppei started, and Junpei cut him off sternly.

"Both of you shut up about this, or so help me I'm going home alone tonight." Which, since his was the only house at which the three of them could reasonably spend an evening together out of reach of paternal death-threats or grand-parental ears, was a significant enough threat to make them stop.

That didn't stop him from remembering the conversation, every time he saw Kuroko smile while Kagami fastened that necklace on after practice, but he'd already become resigned to the fact that being a boyfriend to Riko and Teppei did bad things to a man's brain. He figured it was worth it.

Takao Kazunari had never really been surprised by how often Shintarou wanted to visit his ex-teammates in Tokyo. For all his quirks, Shin-chan was pretty much born to be a team player, and Kazunari actually had no trouble believing he'd been the voice of reason on the Teikou team.

Considering who else had been on that team, after all.

So, even before Kagami and Aomine started sneaking out to see each other, Kazunari had been driving his partner back and forth across central Tokyo at least once a month to give Kise or Kagami or Kuroko very backhanded advice, or to trade insults with Aomine. It was unquestionably good muscular and cardiovascular training, and some days, like today, it was good entertainment, too.

"The two of you have no discipline whatsoever," Shintarou sniffed, adjusting his glasses as he gave Aomine and Kagami unimpressed looks. Admittedly, they both looked pretty scruffy at the moment, wringing wet and gasping for breath.

"Oh, come on Shin-chan," Kazunari called, bouncing the ball easily and keeping a sharp eye on Kuroko. "How long were they been playing for before we got there?"

"That," Shintarou said in arctic tones, "is exactly my point. Both of them should have the strength to go for longer, if they ever bothered to pace themselves properly." He swept back his hair, sweat-soaked for all his breathing was still disgustingly easy, and gave the two other aces a thoroughly disgruntled look.

Kazunari was hard-pressed not to laugh at the way both Kagami and Aomine seemed torn between glaring at each other and glaring at Shintarou. "Give 'em a break, Shin-chan. We can go bug Kise, if you want more of a work-out." That suggestion focused both glares firmly on him, and he smirked back at them. He was pretty sure they'd be pacing themselves more carefully, after having to hear something like that from him; never let it be said he didn't look after his partner's interests.

"Midorima-kun is right, that's enough for today," Kuroko put in, and Kazunari blinked, finding his hand abruptly empty of the ball. Kuroko was getting sneakier every month, he swore. But that little coup seemed to be enough to settle Kuroko's own partners, and they all trouped off the court together. Kazunari stretched his calves thoughtfully as they fished out water and towels, wondering if he'd really make it to Kaijou and back without his legs giving out. Which wasn't a problem in and of itself, but Shin-chan would lecture him just as mercilessly as he did his ex-teammates. From the look in his partner's eye, though, Kazunari really didn't think Shintarou would be satisfied with this game alone, today. He'd been restless all morning, and looking forward to a hard game.

Sure enough, Shintarou was tetchy enough that even watching Kagami fasten a plain and unassuming necklace on was enough to rouse his ire. "You've always been careless, Aomine," he snapped. "I notice you didn't even bother taking your frivolous decorations off while you played."

Huh. Now Shin-chan mentioned it, Aomine did have on a necklace a lot like Kagami's, a plain leather cord number. In fact... it looked almost exactly alike. More to defuse Shintarou's temper than anything else, Kazunari grinned and asked, "What, are you two married now, as well as rivals?"

He blinked when they both turned red and sputtered.

"It's not..."

"Definitely not..."

"I mean, not like that..."

"Seriously, well okay, not exactly like that, but seriously..."

Kazunari's eyes widened with delight at every jumbled denial. "You are, oh that's so beautiful." They nearly gargled at him, at that, reduced to non-verbal protests, and he laughed.

He'd never claimed that he didn't have an evil sense of humor.

Before he could wind them up any more, though, Kuroko straightened up from zipping his bag and said firmly, "Enough."

The command in his tone was a little startling, but Kazunari had seen Kuroko play hot, and he'd seen Kuroko angry once or twice. He knew Kuroko had a cutting edge under that smooth expression. What was a lot more startling was the way both Kagami and Aomine fell quiet at that one word.

At that order.

It all fell together at once, the matching leather necklaces, the way Aomine kept his on and Kagami had flushed just a little deeper putting his back on, the way that one word had pulled them up short. Kazunari pursed his lips and whistled quietly. "Well, well. Congratulations, then," he told Kuroko, perfectly in earnest. He was impressed.

When Kuroko just dipped his head, accepting it as his due, Kazunari had to grin.

"In that case, we'll just be off and let you three get on with things," he said cheerily, slinging an arm, or at least a hand, around Shin-chan's shoulder and tugging him toward the corner of the court where he'd left the bike and cart.

Shintarou frowned down at him in obvious puzzlement. "Takao, what--?"

"Shh." Kazunari laughed under his breath. "Tell you later." Aomine and Kagami were both red in the face. "Not that I'm actually all that surprised," he added as he unlocked the bike and wheeled it around. "I mean, it's always the ones you wouldn't expect, right?" He paused, struck by an enticing thought as Shintarou gave him an exasperated look. "Hm. Speaking of which, what would you say to going straight home instead of visiting Kise?"

Shintarou looked down his nose. "And why would I agree to that, when Aomine and Kagami were barely a challenge today?"

Kazunari leaned against the seat of the bike, crossing his legs, and fished a coin out of his pocket. "I was thinking there might be a form of exercise you'd like more, today." He tossed the coin lightly from hand to hand, smiling up at Shintarou. "What do you say, Shin-chan? Heads, you let me suck your fingers while I fuck you. Tails, I let you fuck me wherever and however you please." The corners of his mouth curled a little higher as Shin-chan's eyes widened behind his glasses. "How's your fortune looking today?" he purred, and flipped the coin into the air for Shin-chan to call. Past the flash of metal, his partner's eyes gleamed.

It was always the ones you wouldn't expect.

Himuro Tatsuya was not expecting to hear his name called. He'd put his back against a nice, sturdy brick wall and was just keeping out of the way as the howling packs of shoppers swept past. But when someone called, "Tatsuya!", he recognized the voice and looked up with a smile. A tilted smile, because he expected Taiga to give him a certain amount of hell for his current errand, but a smile.

"Hey."

Taiga forged awkwardly through the crush, obviously still not used to how close people pressed. His clothes fit into the crowd down here well enough; the sneakers weren't exactly stylish, but when you were built like Taiga a pair of jeans and a shirt thrown on over a tee were all you needed to make people look around for the photo-shoot. No one did, though, because Taiga was so completely unconscious and uncaring of how he looked in the middle of crowds bent on buying things to look prettier. He always had been, and Tatsuya had shaken his head over the fact for years. The only hint of fashion on Taiga, as far as he could see, was the necklace Taiga wore, no longer the chain and ring Tatsuya had gotten him but a leather cord. Even that probably wasn't on purpose. He wondered, a little wryly, whether Taiga had just gotten that used to wearing something around his neck.

Taiga finally fetched up against the wall, a little breathless. "You didn't say you'd be in town this weekend."

"I didn't know I was going to be until extremely early this morning," Tatsuya said, dry. "Atsushi wanted to come buy some new kind of candy that's being sold starting today." He waved at one of the mammoth lines down the street, where one very tall figure could be seen looming over the competition. "First time I've ever seen him get up early." He cocked his head up at Taiga. "So what are you in for?" He'd never known Taiga to willingly go out shopping for anything but groceries.

"New shoes."

Tatsuya started at that quiet voice right at his elbow, and eyed Kuroko, who had appeared there. He was starting to suspect that Teikou's old 'invisible man' got a kick out of doing that to people.

"At least this time I know they've actually got my size," Taiga added, unsurprised. Maybe he'd gotten used to the jack-in-the-box act. "This time I ordered them ahead of time."

Tatsuya could sympathize, especially after the coach put him in charge of ordering Atsushi's supplies. No one stocked shoes that size. He'd finally resorted to online stores with direct shipping. Some of the other team members made jokes about baby-sitting, but Tatsuya didn't actually mind. God knew Atsushi was pretty much at sea anywhere except a basketball court. Someone had to look after him.

Taiga had never needed looking after that way. Not really. He'd always had a solid core in him that held him steady. If it seemed weird for someone to be anchored by wild enthusiasm for life, well it had also been fun to be around. At least, it had been fun until he'd realized that Taiga didn't need him. That Taiga had grown so much that he'd started trying to protect Tatsuya. That... that had been more than he could take.

That wasn't something they could really talk about, though. It wasn't something a person like Taiga would ever understand. So instead he laughed. "First time I've even seen you laying plans to get any kind of clothing, even for the game." He added, teasing, "Though maybe you're getting stylish in your old age." He lifted a finger to flick at the cord necklace that had replaced his chain. Taiga rocked back from the gesture, almost a flinch, and a moment of remorse nipped at Tatsuya. There was no need to be cruel, just because Taiga had grown beyond him.

That wasn't what stopped the gesture, though.

Tatsuya's brows lifted as he looked down at Kuroko, who was abruptly standing between him and Taiga with an iron grip on Tatsuya's wrist. "You have no right to touch that," Kuroko said softly, every polite ending sharpened to a cutting edge.

"I think that's Taiga's to say, don't you?" Tatsuya wasn't going to stand for Kuroko trying to protect Taiga when Tatsuya couldn't. It was ridiculous to imagine.

Kuroko's gaze didn't so much as flicker, and his voice was as hard as his grip. "This is mine to say. And you will keep your hands off it." He nearly threw Tatsuya's hand aside.

Tatsuya snorted. "Taiga, are you seriously going to tell me..." he trailed off, staring at Taiga. Taiga, who was watching Kuroko with suddenly wide eyes, whose hand lifted to touch that necklace lightly. Taiga who glanced briefly at him and then aside, color sneaking over his cheekbones.

"This is Tetsuya's to say," Taiga admitted.

For a long breath, Tatsuya's brain flatly refused to put the pieces together, but they fit so very clearly that he couldn't hold it off for long. That wasn't just a necklace.

And if this was something Taiga wanted, then maybe... maybe they could have...

"Muro-chin?" Atsushi loomed out of the crowd, brightly colored candy bag already open in his hand. "And Kuro-chin."

Tatsuya took a slow breath. No. Maybe if he'd known sooner, but it certainly wouldn't work now. He had Atsushi to take care of, and judging by the narrow look Kuroko was still giving him he didn't think Kuroko was the sharing type. "Well, good luck with those shoes, then," he said, as easily as if nothing had happened. "I'd better get Atsushi back up to Akita before anyone misses us."

"Probably wise, yes," Kuroko murmured, and Tatsuya's mouth quirked. Yeah, that was one possessive little bastard.

"We'll see you at semi-finals, then," Taiga added quietly, watching Tatsuya with shadowed eyes.

"Quit looking like that, Taiga," Tatsuya told him easily. "It'll be fun." Probably more fun for Taiga than for him, but he was used to that. "Come on Atsushi, be thinking about what kind of station bento you want to get; if we miss another train because you couldn't decide, I'm taking the cost of changing tickets out of your wallet." He waved goodbye and led his teammate back out into the crush.

He was used to wanting things he couldn't have. It was always best to just set it aside.

Result

Daiki pretty much took Tai's apartment as an extra home, these days, so he didn't bother knocking before breezing in the unlocked door. "Hey, guys, up for a..." he trailed off, startled. Tetsu and Tai were on the couch; well, Tetsu was a least. Tai was on his knees, head buried in Tetsu's lap, holding on to Tetsu like the last branch in a flood. Tetsu had his fingers buried in Tai's hair, stroking it slowly, while his other arm stayed wrapped around Tai's shoulders. He looked up at Daiki, eyes serious but not dark, and beckoned Daiki closer with a tilt of his head.

Daiki came and knelt behind Tai, pressing close against his back, and wound his arms around Tai. "Hey," he said again, quieter. Tai made an acknowledging sound, but didn't move, and Daiki looked up at Tetsu, questioning. "What happened?"

True anger sparked in Tetsu's eyes, though his hands stayed gentle, stroking Tai's hair. "We ran into Himuro-san today. He took notice of Taiga's collar."

"He let go so easy; he lets everything go so easy," Tai finally said, voice rough and muffled against Tetsu's lap.

Daiki thought about that. "Well," he said at last, "it's a good thing you're with Tetsu, then."

Tai finally lifted his head to blink at Daiki over his shoulder. "...huh?"

"That went by a little fast." Tetsu was smiling, though, and he set his other hand in Daiki's hair.

"Well, think about it," Daiki pointed out, leaning into Tetsu's fingers with pleasure. "Tetsu doesn't let anything go. I mean, I'm here aren't I?"

Tai blinked a few more times and finally looked up at Tetsu. "Not anything?" His voice was still husky, but it was starting to sound like Tai again.

There was fire behind Tetsu's calm smile, the fire that Daiki had always seen in him, always loved in him. "Not anything," he confirmed with absolute certainty. "Not Daiki. Not you." He trailed his fingers down Tai's neck to rest on the leather cord of his collar. "Not ever."

Tai took a slow, shaky breath and let it out. "Okay."

Daiki could feel Tai relaxing, between them, and pulled him closer with a little smile buried in Tai's wild red hair. That was better. It just didn't feel right when Tai freaked out; he was the steady one.

Tetsu slid his fingers through their hair, slow and gentle. "I don't let go of what's mine," he said softly, and Daiki made a satisfied sound against Tai's shoulder. That was the way it should be. He brushed his lips over the cord of Tai's collar and purred at the feel of Tai relaxing some more.

They were together in this, and that was enough.

End

Wrapped in Honeysuckle

Aomine, Kuroko, and Kagami finally all wind up in bed together. Aomine thinks he knows how this will work, but when there are actual emotions at stake he's probably the one with the least idea what's going on. Romance, Porn with Characterization, I-4

"So." Daiki flexed his foot and stretched his leg over the length of Seirin's changing room bench, working the threatening cramp out of his calf. "New school year. Seems like the kind of thing we could stand to celebrate a little."

Tetsu hesitated for a moment before he finished scrubbing his towel over his hair and nodded. "I suppose we could." Daiki softened into a smile. Tetsu was the one of them who went at the most deliberate pace. If he agreed, then he was sure of himself, and a Tetsu who was sure of himself was unstoppable. It was something Daiki really wanted to get to see, in bed.

Kagami, on the other hand, was just looking resigned. "I knew this would happen once I let on I was living alone," he grumbled. "First the senpai, now you. Fine, but if you spill any beer on the floor, you're the one cleaning it up."

Daiki blinked. For a perceptive guy, Kagami could be stunningly oblivious sometimes.

"Actually, I think it would be better to do this at my house," Tetsu said, so calm and earnest that Daiki was instantly suspicious.

"Why?" Kagami asked, looking puzzled as he finished buttoning his shirt and scooped up his water bottle. "Your place is further from the station, isn't it? More carpets to clean afterward, too."

"Because we have enough spare futons to spread a double bed that all of us will fit in," Tetsu explained, perfectly matter-of-fact.

The mouthful of water Kagami had just taken nearly hit the opposite wall and Daiki flopped back across the bench, laughing. Also a little flushed, because Tetsu had gotten to him with that mental image, too, but mostly laughing his ass off.

After a few seconds of coughing into his towel, Kagami rasped, "You know, when I came back they told me I'd have to adjust to how much more reserved everyone was in Japan."

"Don't tell me you're just now figuring out Tetsu is evil," Daiki snickered.

"Oh, I knew that as soon as he came after me with that damn dog." Kagami glowered at Tetsu for a second before light suddenly dawned. "Hey, wait. Are you serious?"

Tetsu wore a tiny smile, now. "Yes."

"Oh."

Daiki felt an urge to wave his hand in front of Kagami's face just to see if that would break the way he was staring at Tetsu. He suspected it might not, which was kind of cute and also a little embarrassing to watch. "Stop blushing and say 'Yes, Tetsu'," he prompted.

"If you want to," Tetsu added firmly.

"He's upright and breathing," Daiki felt called upon to point out. "You expect him to say he doesn't want to have sex?" Then he had to duck as Kagami swatted at him, glowering.

"I don't know why he puts up with you," Kagami growled. "I don't know why I do, either."

"Because I'm just that good." Daiki lounged back on the bench, smirking. "Don't forget to actually give us an answer, here."

Kagami glowered at him some more, but it softened when he looked back at Tetsu. "Yeah," he finally said, quietly. "I'd like that."

Daiki grinned. Now they were getting somewhere.

Four days later, Daiki sprawled in Tetsu's desk chair and considered their set-up. There was a double futon spread on the floor, taking up most of the open space in Tetsu's room, with enough pillows for everyone. There was a pump-top bottle set neatly by the top of the bedding that Daiki was pretty sure he recognized the brand of, even though half the lettering was worn off the white plastic; that wear sent his mind down very distracting paths, thinking about Tetsu lying in the bed under the windows, strong slim fingers moving over himself.

The room was also furnished with Kagami, still a little damp from the shower and just about clutching a towel around his hips. Daiki was deeply tempted to tease him over acting like a nervous virgin, but before he got any further than smirking across the futon the faint sound of running water across the hall shut off. They were both looking at the door when Tetsu came in, rubbing a towel through his hair. Like Daiki, he hadn't bothered with another, and Daiki grinned, anticipation curling through him. "So," he pushed up out of Tetsu's chair, "how are we going to do this?"

He had some ideas, of course, but he figured it was polite to at least ask.

Tetsu made a thoughtful sound, letting the towel drop. "There do seem to be some ways for three people at once," he mused, "but they looked complicated for beginners."

Daiki snickered helplessly while Kagami flushed from that towel right up to his hairline. "Of course you looked into the options."

Tetsu gave him a reproving look. "I want this to work."

Daiki softened at that and came to rest his hands on Tetsu's hips, leaning down to kiss him. "I do too," he admitted, low. He smiled wryly as he straightened, looking down at Tetsu. "So? Who gets to be first?" He didn't think either he or Kagami was dumb enough to think that was anything but Tetsu's call.

Tetsu's brows quirked up a little and his eyes got the glint that made Daiki wary. In the same perfectly polite forms he used for everything from fighting with his teammates to answering questions in class, Tetsu told him, "I'm sure Kagami-kun wouldn't mind if you'd like me to fuck you first."

Daiki froze.

"You didn't even think about it, did you?" Kagami asked, leaning back against the wall and finally letting go of his towel to cross his arms.

"Oh, like you did," Daiki snapped, because it was a lot easier to glare at Kagami than at Tetsu right now. He actually hadn't thought about it at all, he'd just... well everyone else let him do what he wanted... this wasn't actually sounding very good even inside his own head.

Kagami just snorted and gave Tetsu a sidelong look. "Actually, considering the number of falls I've taken from him, yeah I did think about it."

Daiki blinked and stared back down at Tetsu, startled.

"It was necessary," Tetsu said firmly, as if they were talking about keeping up a training regimen instead of him downing his own partner. He'd thought what Tetsu had done during the match against Hanamiya was the exception, not the rule!

"So," Daiki said slowly, "when you said, that one time, that you'd learned how to keep your partner away from the edge..."

Tetsu just looked back at him, calm and level, with such world-bending determination that Daiki nearly took a step back. "Okay, maybe I see why you thought about it," he told Kagami, ruefully.

Kagami smiled, a bit crooked, and came away from the wall to stand at Tetsu's back, arms wound lightly around his waist, above Daiki's hands. "It's Tetsuya," he said quietly against Tetsu's hair. "So why are you so surprised?"

Daiki winced slightly; he had to admit that he probably shouldn't be, and he sighed, pulling his thoughts together. "Give me a little while to get used to the idea?" he asked Tetsu, running a thumb along his cheekbone. Tetsu smiled, small and warm.

"Of course. If it's really something you don't like, that's different of course."

But he didn't get to get away with just assuming, Daiki finished the thought wryly. Yeah, he got it.

"So how are we going to do this?" Kagami asked, and Tetsu laughed softly.

"I don't actually mind receiving." He leaned back against Kagami and ran his hands up Daiki's chest, slow and exploratory. "This time, anyway."

Daiki and Kagami glanced at each other; Kagami's eyes were dark and serious, and Daiki felt knocked for enough of a loop right then that he said, quick and impulsive, "Let Kagami."

Kagami's brows jerked up. "Are you sure?"

Daiki drew himself up. "Of course I'm sure." Not like he was insecure about Tetsu or anything. Much. He caught Tetsu's hand and lifted it to press his lips to the inside of Tetsu's wrist, murmuring to his old partner, "But let me get you ready?"

Tetsu's eyes were half closed. "Yes. I'd like that."

Kagami shifted forward to support him at the same moment Daiki pressed closer, and they both stilled for a moment, eyeing each other over Tetsu's head. But the way Tetsu relaxed between them, the soft, pleased sound he made, drew both their eyes right back down. Daiki was just a little careful as he bent his head to kiss Tetsu again, careful not to knock into Kagami's shoulder, and they both slid their arms more firmly around Tetsu. This had been a lot easier to deal with when he'd only had to think about one of them at a time; then he hadn't had to worry about how it would look if he ragged on Kagami to settle his nerves or let Tetsu pet his hair until he was just about purring. But both of them was obviously what Tetsu wanted. It wasn't like Daiki disliked Kagami at all, just... they were too alike.

Alike in wanting Tetsu, in responding to him, to the warmth of his mouth against Daiki's. Alike in being what Tetsu wanted, apparently.

On the bright side, Daiki realized as Tetsu wound his arms around Daiki's shoulders and pulled him down more firmly, that meant Tetsu probably wouldn't want one of them over the other, wouldn't favor his current partner over his ex-partner who'd screwed up so thoroughly by breaking their game. Probably.

Maybe?

Daiki pressed closer, kissing Tetsu deeper, hot and wanting. And maybe Tetsu understood, because he kissed back just as hard, hands kneading over Daiki's shoulders until he quieted a little, soothed by the feeling that Tetsu wasn't going to let go. "Bed?" he asked softly.

"Bed," Tetsu agreed, a little flushed.

It took a little arranging, but finally they were all stretched out on the futon pretty much the same way they'd been standing, back to front to front, with Kagami pressed up against Tetsu's back and Tetsu's leg sliding up to hook over Daiki's hip and pull him closer. "At this rate, maybe we didn't need the double futon after all," Daiki laughed against Tetsu's neck.

"I don't think it would make anyone any less nervous to be worrying about falling off the edge of the bed," Kagami said a little dryly.

"What's to be nervous about?" Daiki asked softly, reaching for Tetsu's bottle of lube, gaze fixed on the way Tetsu closed his eyes as he leaned his head back against Kagami's shoulder. He glanced up at Kagami's silence to find Kagami watching him as Daiki squeezed cool, thick gel into his palm. Kagami's eyes were dark and thoughtful.

"No reason," he said, finally, gathering Tetsu closer against him.

Daiki relaxed a little; at least Kagami had the good sense not to spook Tetsu with his own nerves. He kept holding Tetsu close as Daiki slid slick fingers down between Tetsu's cheeks, but that was all right. Daiki wanted Tetsu to relax. He wanted Tetsu to keep making the soft, pleased sounds he was making right now, as Daiki's fingers pressed slowly into him, and if having his current partner holding him helped, then that was how they'd do this. Because he didn't want to have to stop touching Tetsu like this, feeling the heat of Tetsu's body and the shift of his muscles around Daiki's fingers, seeing the way Tetsu's pale skin turned flushed and his lips parted.

"Daiki," Tetsu sighed, tugging Daiki down to a kiss, and the sound of his bare name from Tetsu sent a little shiver of response up his spine. He kissed Tetsu slow and deep, fingers working inside him, and swallowed the little hitches of Tetsu's breath. Part of him suddenly wanted to pull Tetsu closer, away from Kagami, say that, no, Tetsu was his, only his, but... he knew that wasn't what Tetsu wanted now. He knew, it was just... He buried his head against Tetsu's shoulder, touching him slow and careful. So careful.

He started a little when a large, warm hand settled gently on the back of his neck. "Easy," Kagami told him, low and quiet. "It's okay, right? No one's going anywhere."

Daiki had a hard time not lifting his head to stare at Kagami; how the hell had he known? The goal here, though, was to not spook Tetsu, so he just took a breath and nodded a little. "Yeah." He kissed Tetsu's bare shoulder and murmured, "Think you're ready?"

Tetsu's hand on his cheek coaxed his head up again, and Tetsu met his eyes with a thoughtful look for a long moment before he smiled. "Yes," he said softly, like it was the answer to more questions than Daiki had actually asked, and kissed Daiki again. It was a gentle kiss but with a hint of fierceness; it was so much Tetsu it made him shiver. With that taste of fierceness in his mouth and Kagami's hand still resting warm and steady against his back, it was easy to reach for more lube, to stroke it over Kagami's cock and make a pleased sound that Kagami was hard for Tetsu already. Daiki fondled him, considering. He was definitely a nice handful, too.

"Fuck," Kagami gasped against Tetsu's hair, rocking up a little into Daiki's hand, and Daiki had to laugh at the slow smile on Tetsu's face, the glint in his eyes.

Tetsu wound his arms around Daiki's shoulders and pressed up against him, murmuring, "Taiga. Come on."

Kagami's eyes were dark. "Yeah," he said, husky, "all right." He slid up tighter against Tetsu's back and let Daiki guide him against Tetsu's entrance. As he started to press in, Tetsu's breath caught against Daiki's shoulder, and Daiki had an unexpected flash of panic. Would this be all right, would Tetsu be all right, was this going to work? He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the curve of Tetsu's neck, hands sliding up to knead against Tetsu's back, and whispered, "Relax, just relax, it's okay..."

And then Kagami made a low, husky sound in his throat, and Tetsu did relax with a slow sigh, and a little shiver ran over Daiki as he stared at them. Tetsu slowly leaned his head back against Kagami's shoulder, flushed, lips parted. Kagami was curled around him, eyes half closed with obvious concentration, big hands spread against Tetsu's stomach. They were gorgeous together, and it wasn't making Daiki jealous right now. It was making him hard.

"Daiki," Tetsu murmured, tugging at his shoulders, and Daiki swallowed.

"Yeah. Yeah, okay." When Kagami looked up at him with a smile, Daiki remembered that was almost exactly what Kagami had said to Tetsu, and couldn't help smiling back, crooked. Yeah, maybe Kagami was on to something when he'd thought about Tetsu being on top. Daiki ran his hands slowly down Tetsu's body, tracing the sleek hard lines of his muscles, and thought seriously about tracing them with his tongue too. That would be awkward right now, though, so maybe later. Instead he caught Tetsu's mouth and slid his tongue between those parted lips, and wrapped still-slick fingers around Tetsu's cock. The way Tetsu moaned into his mouth, low and breathless, rocking against him with the flex of Kagami's body, pulled a wordless answering sound out of Daiki.

It turned hoarse and half-shocked when one of Kagami's hands wrapped around Daiki's cock. He looked up to see Kagami watching him with hot, hungry eyes as he moved against Tetsu. "Come on," Kagami said, husky, tightening his other arm around Tetsu and rocking in deeper if the way Tetsu gasped was any clue. And then Kagami smiled, a little challenging and a little laughing, and finished, "Daiki."

Tetsu laughed, between them, pulling Daiki closer, and a little shudder of want and nerves and excitement ran through him. Tetsu wanted this. It seemed like Kagami wanted this. So maybe it was okay. "Kagami..."

Kagami's fingers on him were slow and coaxing, flexing a little in time with the way Kagami rocked against Tetsu.

Daiki took a breath and tried the name out on his tongue. "Taiga." The way Kagami's smile softened startled Daiki a little, and he responded to it without thinking, reaching up to bury his free hand in that wild red hair. "Tai."

Kagami... Taiga closed his eyes, leaning into Daiki's hand a little. "Yeah."

Heat was starting to unravel Daiki's brain, the heat of all of Tetsu's skin up against him and Taiga's hand on his cock and Tetsu's arms around him tightening when Daiki stroked Tetsu's cock harder. In the middle of all that heat, it made perfect sense to lean in and kiss Tai, and perfect sense to let Tai's tongue fill his mouth slowly, so slow and thorough and wet that he had to moan with how good it felt.

When Tetsu bucked between them, gasping, cock pulsing in Daiki's hand, it made Daiki's own body tighten, sudden and hot.

"Fuck, Tetsuya," Taiga groaned into Daiki's mouth, and Daiki could feel how he shuddered, how his thrust drove Tetsu harder against Daiki. Just thinking about that made the pleasure building low in Daiki's stomach tighten sharply, and feeling it happen was hotter than he'd thought it possibly could be. He wrapped his sticky hand around Tai's fist and held it tight around him as he rocked into Tai's grip hard and fast.

One panting breath, another, and Tai tore his mouth away from Daiki's and buried his head against Tetsu's shoulder as his whole body jerked taut. Tetsu gasped again, soft, and pulled Daiki down ruthlessly against his mouth, kissing him hot and hard. Daiki moaned as Tai's grip tightened a little more and one last thrust spilled him over the edge, breath cutting short and sharp as pleasure burst through him.

In the dazed, sticky warmth after, before any of them started to try to untangle themselves, Daiki thought about how unexpected most of that had been. How unexpected it was that Tai's hand was still on him, just as easy resting there as Tetsu's arms were around his shoulders. Or his hand in Tai's hair.

Daiki hadn't really thought he'd be a part of them being together. Not like this. He'd thought it would be him and Tetsu, and Kagami and Tetsu, and maybe him and Kagami too when they were warmed up by a good game. He hadn't thought about something like Taiga kissing him and fucking Tetsu and Tetsu holding him and Daiki fisting off Tetsu and Tai's hand tightening around him. It was a thought to make a person dizzy trying to follow it around. Dizzy and warm.

Tetsu's fingers stroked the back of his neck, and Daiki realized Tetsu had been watching him all this time. "Is this what you want?" Tetsu asked quietly.

Daiki opened his mouth and closed it again. "It is now," he finally said. Now that it was a possibility in his head.

Tetsu's brows creased just faintly at that, but Taiga looked up with dark, thoughtful eyes. His hand finally loosened from around Daiki, slid out from under the grip Daiki hadn't let go yet, and rested on his shoulder. "Hey," he said softly, "come here for a second." When he tugged, Daiki leaned in, only a little wary, and let Tai kiss him again. This one was a quiet kiss, slow and gentle, and it almost made Daiki twitch with not knowing what to do about it. "It's okay," Tai told him, thumb rubbing along the muscle of his shoulder. Tai's mouth quirked. "You're a complete idiot sometimes. It's okay."

Daiki glared a little at that, though he couldn't get much force behind it because Taiga did seem to know what to do with all this. He looked back down at Tetsu, instead. "It's what I want now," he said again, low, and Tetsu's whole expression softened and lightened. He leaned up to kiss Daiki, warm and open.

"Okay."

Daiki wound his arms tight around Tetsu, head pressed against his shoulder again, and didn't protest when Tai's fingers ran gently through his hair. It felt good, in a way that made his stomach a little shaky with unfamiliar warmth deep enough to close over his head. Maybe, he decided, sex could be better than basketball, after all.

Some of it, anyway.

In hanakotoba, honeysuckle indicates generosity or devotion.

End

Evening of Primroses

Three moments in the developing relationship of Kagami, Aomine, and Kuroko as they all try to find a balance with each other. Romance, Fluff, I-3

One

Taiga had resisted for a long time, because there was such a thing as going down fighting, but the plain fact was that Aomine was cute when he was snitching food off someone.Â  Taiga wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t seen it, but Aomine did that thing where his eyes got brighter and he laughed while he made grabby hands at his target’s bento.Â  The thing was, he let himself be elbowed off, and only sidled back in for another try when he knew his target was watching.Â  It was a game.Â  At first Taiga had thought it was just to make Tetsuya pay attention to him, but then he’d started doing it to Taiga too, and that look Taiga kept seeing on Aomine's face when he went to snitch another of Taiga's meatballs wasâ€¦Â

Okay, fine, so he was probably just a sucker; Taiga admitted it.Â  He sighed as he forked noodles into the extra layer of bento boxes that he’d gotten new this week.Â  He was starting to have a lot more sympathy for Momoi, lately, seriously. And if this had only been more of Aomine's competitive streak then he'd have been more than happy to fight it out to the death over the last croquette.Â  It was justâ€¦

The way Daiki looked at him, sidelong and uncertain under the laugh, made his chest ache.

Two

Daiki liked sitting against Tetsu’s knees.Â  He liked being able to rest his head in Tetsu’s lap and feel Tetsu’s fingers run lightly through his hair.Â  And this way he could feel Tetsu laughing silently whenever Daiki made disparaging remarks at the television.

(Seriously, not even Daiki took risks that dumb; none of these guys should last ten minutes, let alone the whole hour and a half of an action movie.)

What was still a little stranger was to feel Kagami’s arm draped over his other shoulder from where he was sprawled out on the couch behind Tetsu like some kind of extra pillow.Â  Kagami was actually the one who’d suggested movie night in the first place, and he just seemed to take it for granted that there was no reason for him not to lean against Daiki, or smack him on the shoulder when he talked over the dialog, or stroke a warm hand down Daiki’s neck when he got up to get more drinks.

It feltâ€¦ good.Â Â

And if, sometimes, Daiki pressed back a little into Taiga’s arm and maybe even purred a little at the way Taiga’s thumb rubbed over his nape, well that was just a natural reaction, wasn’t it?Â  Really, Tetsu had no reason to be smiling down at them so softly.

He turned his head a little further into Tetsu’s lap and tried not to think too hard about why the warmth of Taiga's hand made his shoulders relax.

Three

Tetsuya would never admit it out loud, but he actually kind of liked how big his partners were, how completely he was enclosed when they both held him. It felt warm and secure, and he was more than willing to cuddle shamelessly down into that feeling.

Though he did have to roll his eyes, sometimes, at the way they bickered over his head.

"We are totally going to win this round, and you’re going down," Taiga declared firmly, at complete odds with the gentle way his hands were kneading up Daiki’s back.

"Already did that once today," Daiki smirked back.Â  "That’s all you’re getting."Â  The smirk was lazy, though, and he leaned into Taiga’s hands, snuggling Tetsuya closer into the curve of his body.

If it wasn’t so cute, Tetsuya might give them both a good jab in the ribs to remind them that they weren’t just playing a one-on-one, this weekend.Â  But it really was that cute, so he reached up to slide his fingers into Taiga’s hair and tug him down to a kiss, instead.Â  It worked just as well, in the end, and Daiki made a soft sound and bent his head to press a kiss to Tetsuya’s shoulder.Â  When Tetsuya reached back to stroke his fingers through Daiki’s hair as well, Daiki settled comfortably against his back, and Tetsuya smiled softly against Taiga’s mouth.Â  This was good, having both of them here, solid and warm, wrapped around him as close as it was possible to get.

He wouldn’t let this go.

End

A/N: In ikebana, primrose is used to indicate hope.

Ring Led

Kuroko decides to push Aomine a little further, and offers to spank him for breaking his collar (again). Aomine is perfectly pleased, but Kagami needs a bit more reassurance. D/s, Porn, I-4

Daiki remembered that he'd asked Tetsu once, years ago after actually meeting Tetsu's mom, whether he minded that his mom was away so often, traveling for work. He'd been curious. She'd seemed like the kind of parent a person could actually miss having around. He remembered that Tetsu had smiled and said that she was such a good mother when she was there that it lasted him through the times she wasn't. At the time, Daiki had wondered if it could actually work that way, but he knew kind of what Tetsu had meant, now. Daiki's collar was like that for him. (Even though he'd nearly sprained his neck trying to shake the idea out of his head when it first occurred to him, because he really didn't want to be thinking about any parents at all in connection with collar-stuff.)

In any case, he was glad that Tetsu's mom was off traveling tonight, because that meant that he and Tetsu and Taiga were all staying over at Tetsu's house, and he needed that more than usual tonight.

Daiki fidgeted a little, on the walk from the station to Tetsu's house, the way he'd been fidgeting all day, having to hold himself back to keep from walking faster the closer they got. He didn't think the other two had noticed that, but as soon as they hung up their coats in the front hall Tetsu's eyes narrowed at him. Daiki wasn't surprised; whenever the three of them were together, their necks were the first place Tetsu's eyes went to.

"Where is your collar?"

Daiki fished it out of his front pocket and held it up, snapped ends dangling. "The chain broke."

"Again," Tai muttered, scuffing his house slippers on more firmly.

"It's not my fault if they're flimsy enough to break during practice," Daiki pointed out, looking down his nose. "I like having it on all the time." He really liked it a lot, which did mean a lot of wear and tear, he'd admit.

Tetsu would be rolling his eyes, if he were the sort to do that, Daiki was pretty sure. "It's a good thing I keep spares for you." He plucked the broken necklace out of Daiki's fingers. "Come on." He led the way up the stairs to his room. Daiki grinned a bit, to see that two spare futons were already spread on the floor; fitting the three of them into a regular bed meant a lot of being careful not to elbow anyone in the stomach, and sometimes it was nice to do something more energetic. He could do with something energetic, after having the broken collar itching at him all day. Tai promptly claimed the bed as a seat, stretching his legs out and bunching the pillows up at his back, so Daiki leaned in the doorway while Tetsu rummaged in the lower drawer of his desk. Finally, he straightened, a new necklace of slim leather cord just like the old one hanging from his hand.

"Come here." Tetsu crooked a finger at Daiki and then pointed to the floor before him. Familiar heat locked around Daiki, the heat of being with Tetsu like this. He took two long steps away from the door and sank to his knees at Tetsu's feet, lifting his chin to bare his throat. Tetsu smiled, and his fingers slid briefly through Daiki's hair. "Good." The cool of the leather settling lightly around Daiki's throat made him shiver, and he had to close his eyes for a moment.

"You know," Tetsu murmured, fingers stroking over the line of Daiki's new collar, "sometimes I think you let them break just so I'll put another on you."

Daiki looked up at him, relaxed by the feeling of being collared again. "You did say that you would, as often as necessary."

The corners of Tetsu's mouth curled up faintly, and he set his fingers under Daiki's chin, keeping his head tipped back. "I did, and I will. Though I'm starting to wonder if I should punish you, when you break another one, for putting me to the trouble."

Daiki's eyes widened at the sharp thrill of heat that sang through him. He liked it when Tetsu pushed him, and also when Tetsu showed him a limit and made him mind it. He had to swallow, and when he spoke his voice was husky. "Punish me how?"

Tetsu made a thoughtful sound and was quiet for long enough that Daiki bit his lip, starting to be a shade nervous. There were things Tetsu could do that really would hurt, but... he didn't think Tetsu would do them. He didn't think. Tetsu pushed him physically, but never denied him, never pushed him away. When he felt Tetsu's thumb sliding along his lower lip, coaxing it free of his teeth, his breath caught and he looked up to see that Tetsu's eyes had turned gentle. He relaxed again on a flood of warm relief and settled on his knees, waiting.

"Perhaps I should spank you," Tetsu murmured. "Do you think that would punish you suitably, Daiki? If I put you on your hands and knees and spanked you until your ass was hot under my hand?"

Heat rushed through Daiki again, and he was sure he was flushed. That was exactly the kind of thing he loved to take from Tetsu, and something more intense than they'd tried yet. "Yes, Tetsu," he managed.

Tetsu smiled slowly, thumb brushing back and forth over Daiki's mouth. "Then maybe I'll give you your first spanking tonight, while Taiga watches."

Daiki nearly moaned at that thought, at the idea of being watched while Tetsu punished him. At least until a strangled sound from the bed made them both look around. Tai's hands were locked tight in the blankets and his shoulders were taut.

"Tetsuya," Tai started, sounding a little strained, "I don't think I... I mean..."

"Taiga." Tetsu squeezed Daiki's shoulder and murmured to him, "Come." He went to Tai and straddled his lap, wrapping his arms tight around Tai. Daiki did as he was told and stretched out beside Tai while Tetsu held him, fingers stroking through that wild red hair. "It's all right," Tetsu told their lover softly. "If you don't want to watch, or be present, that's fine." He leaned back just a little and cradled Tai's face in his hands as Tai looked up at him, uncertain. "But if you're worried, perhaps it would be better if you did stay. So you can see for sure that I would never do anything to hurt either of you."

Daiki could feel the shudder that ran through Tai, and the way he slumped back against the headboard with a faint sigh. "Hey." He nudged Tai's ribs, gentler than usual. "You were watching all of that, weren't you? I want it, Tai." He smiled, slow and dark, and leaned in to nibble on Tai's earlobe and murmur, "I want it a lot. I want Tetsu to push me to the edge and hold me up against it."

Tetsu reached out and tugged Daiki's collar taut with a finger hooked under it, eyes dark and sharp. "I will hold you there. I'll hold you safe."

This time, Daiki felt Tai gasp and relax at exactly the same time he did, and he'd bet money that Tai felt the same wave of want and security. It was just the way Tetsu made them both feel. Tetsu smiled and tipped Tai's chin up with a finger under it. "Just think of it," he said softly. "The sounds Daiki will make, the way his breathing will hitch with every stroke. The way he'll spread his legs wider when his ass starts to turn red under my hand. The way he'll beg for more."

Daiki moaned against Tai's shoulder. "Fuck, Tetsu, you don't have to wait for that. Please spank me, spank me hard..." His cock was hard already, just listening to this.

A quick glance down showed that Tai's was, too.

"So." Tetsu leaned in and kissed Tai's forehead gently. "Do you want to watch it, or would you rather not?"

"I..." Tai swallowed and took a breath. "I think I want to stay."

"All right. Tell me if you need to stop."

Tai nodded, shoulders finally softened into their usual line when they were with Tetsu this way, relaxed and trusting. That was better; Daiki liked seeing how Taiga trusted Tetsu. It made things feel right.

Tetsu tugged on Daiki's collar again, making him shiver. "If you need to stop, beg me for it."

That would come easy, if he really did need it, and Daiki leaned bonelessly against Tai, smiling. "Yes, Tetsu."

"Good." Tetsu eased back down the bed and pulled his shirt off, swift and easy. "Take your pants off, then."

While Daiki hopped off the bed to strip off his jeans, and socks and underwear because anything else would just feel silly, Tetsu pulled Tai to his feet and led him to one corner of the futons.

"Here." Tetsu laid his hands on Tai's shoulders and pushed him down, following to kiss him slowly. In the middle of the kiss, he reached down and undid Tai's jeans, and Daiki made an appreciative sound. Tai was definitely hard. Tetsu laughed low in his throat as he pulled away, leaving Tai breathless, and looks back at Daiki. "As for you..." He scooted into the middle of the futons and pointed in front of him. "Down on your knees and bend over."

Daiki did as he was told, cock jumping a little at hearing such a brisk order from Tetsu, something that made it very clear who was in charge. He spread his knees wide against the cotton blanket and bent down, feeling his tank top, the only thing he was still wearing, slide up his back a little. Tetsu's hand stroked over his bared ass, slow and warm, until Daiki sighed and rested his forehead on his crossed arms, relaxing.

"That's better," Tetsu murmured. "There's no reason to be tense, Daiki. You're all mine, and I'm going to spank you until you don't have any questions at all about who you belong to."

Daiki moaned soft and wanting, and arched his back a little to offer Tetsu his ass. "Yes, Tetsu..."

Tetsu's hand lifted and came down again firmly, spanking him across one cheek and then the other. One and then the other. Again and again, firm and steady. The feeling of it set Daiki gasping. The smack of every stroke was sharp in the room, and Tetsu's hand on his ass stung every time, but it felt good too. His ass felt warm and full, and the knowledge that it was Tetsu spanking him, Tetsu's hand punishing him, made Daiki's cock throb.

"Your skin is turning red and hot," Tetsu murmured to him, pausing to rub his palm over Daiki's stinging bottom. "Do you like that, Daiki?" He slapped Daiki's ass again, sharply.

"Yes, Tetsu!" Daiki gasped, fingers closing in the sheets under them.

"Good." Tetsu's hand turned a little heavier as he started spanking Daiki again. "Remember that this will be your punishment whenever I have to put a new collar on you."

Daiki moaned into the sheets, panting for breath with the heat building under Tetsu's hand, making his ass throb in time with his cock. It almost really hurt, now, except that Tetsu's hand lingered, giving his ass a little rub after every sharp blow, easing the bite of it into a slow burn, deep and intense. "Yes Tetsu, please," he gasped, spreading his legs wider, arms thrown out along the futon. It was so good, feeling Tetsu's control of him, Tetsu's control of what he would feel and how. And knowing he was being punished made him hard and breathless.

"You definitely like this, don't you?" There was a smile in Tetsu's voice, and his other hand slid between Daiki's legs to stroke his cock. He spread Daiki's burning cheeks apart and rubbed a finger over his entrance. Daiki nearly came right then and there.

"Fuck, please Tetsu!" He whined when Tetsu rubbed his entrance a little harder, and then gasped when Tetsu drew back and gave his ass a ringing smack. "Tetsu!" It was good, so good, like being fucked really hard. Tetsu's other hand stayed wrapped around Daiki's cock, fondling him as Tetsu spanked him hard and sure, every stroke making Daiki jerk on his knees and moan with the burst of sharp heat across his ass. "Tetsu, Tetsu fuck, please!" Tetsu's hand tightened on his cock and one last punishing stroke across his ass sent fireworks down Daiki's nerves. He groaned as he came, shuddering in Tetsu's hands.

Taiga hadn't been entirely sure about this, at first, even though Daiki had sounded so turned on by the idea. It was no secret Daiki was into more extreme things than he was, after all. But he did trust Tetsuya, and seeing Daiki spread out waiting for Tetsuya was undeniably hot.

And... it sure didn't sound like Daiki was in pain.

By the time Tetsuya was spanking Daiki hard enough to have made Taiga wince before this he was also fondling Daiki's very hard cock, and God the sounds Daiki was making. He sounded, he looked like he was being fucked. Fucked hard. And really liking it. Watching Daiki's ass turn red under Tetsuya's hand and hearing Daiki begging hoarsely for more was enough to set Taiga panting himself. It was hot, just as hot to watch Daiki being taken this way as it was to watch Tetsuya drive Daiki out of his head any other way. To watch Tetsuya so focused on Daiki, so in control of his body and responses.

Even in the middle of that intent focus, though, Tetsuya gave Taiga a warm little glance every now and then, checking on him, checking that he was all right. That alone was enough to ease Taiga down into the familiar heat of following Tetsuya's lead. And that was what kept Taiga's hand off his own cock, even when Daiki finally came, sprawled open under Tetsuya's hands, so perfectly, wantonly sensual that Taiga had to curl his fingers into the cotton under his knees. Tetsuya hadn't said he could touch himself yet.

So he watched, breathless and hot and really hard, as Tetsuya eased Daiki down to the futon, murmuring to him that he was very good, that everything was all right, that he'd done just as he should. Daiki relaxed under those words, curling up on his side and watching Tetsuya and Taiga with dark, sleepy eyes, flushed and smiling. Tetsuya leaned down and pressed a kiss to his temple.

And then he rose and came to Taiga.

Taiga looked up at his lover, lips parted with how quickly he was breathing. "Tetsuya..."

Tetsuya smiled for him and ran slow fingers through Taiga's hair. "Yes." He knelt between Taiga's spread knees and pulled Taiga down to a kiss. Taiga moaned into his mouth as Tetsuya's hand closed on his cock, wrapping his arms tight around Tetsuya and holding on.

"That's good," Tetsuya told him, voice soft and sure, hand working slowly up and down. That hand was warm, far warmer than skin-heat, and Taiga's breath caught as he realized. That was the hand Tetsuya had been spanking Daiki with—but it was gentle on him, so gentle, and Taiga had to bury his head against Tetsuya's shoulder, moaning.

"Shh." The fingers of Tetsuya's other hand slid through his hair, cradling his head. "I have you, Taiga, I have you safe. It's all right. Just feel."

Heat swept him down, deep, so deep he couldn't do anything but shudder as long waves of pleasure raked through him. That soft assurance that Tetsuya saw the differences between Taiga and Daiki, would hold Taiga the way he needed to be held, undid him so completely he was almost sobbing for breath against Tetsuya's shoulder. Tetsuya held him until he quieted, fondling him gently until Taiga was wrung dry.

When Tetsuya finally coaxed Taiga down to the bedding, he willingly settled against Daiki, lying quiet as Tetsuya sat by them and petted them gently. It was Daiki who finally stirred and looked up at Tetsuya.

"You haven't..." he started, suggestively, and Tetsuya laughed and set a light finger against his lips.

"I've had both of you trust me and give yourselves up to me completely, tonight. I have what I want."

Daiki colored a little and ducked down against Taiga's shoulder, and Taiga huffed a bit of a laugh, holding him closer. Daiki was the one who would try anything, who loved the edge, who wanted to be pushed, but he got all shy whenever Tetsuya laid out the emotional stakes in so many words. Taiga rested his head on Tetsuya's knees, reassured that Tetsuya knew how completely he held them both.

Tonight had reminded Taiga of why he did.

He let his eyes fall closed and relaxed against the futon with Daiki in his arms, feeling the slow slide of Tetsuya's fingers through his hair. This was where he belonged.

When Tetsuya's fingers stroked lightly over the slim cord of his collar, Taiga smiled.

End

Sun-warmed

Kagami and Aomine have a quiet moment together--so quiet that Kagami wonders a little how they got to be like this. Fluff, I-2

One of the things that had come as a surprise to Taigaâ€”and this was saying something considering that he’d never, ever expected to be in a B&D relationship, let alone a threesome of the sameâ€”one of the things was that Daiki was a cuddler when they were together.Â  At first, he’d used the couch as an excuse; it was a good excuse, because Taiga’s couch was only two cushions while Daiki’s couch sagged in the middle.Â  But it hadn’t taken long before the only excuse Daiki needed was for Taiga to be in arm’s reach, and pretty soon he’d be wrapped around Taiga like a blanket.

Taiga liked it.Â  It was just unexpected.

If he’d expected anything, it was that they’d be kind of like they were on the court, where they pushed each other until they were both swaying on their feet and gasping for air.Â  It was wild and hot and intense, which seemed to be what Daiki liked best.Â  That was how they were in bed, a lot of the time.Â  It was out of bed and off the court that Daiki turned quiet and cuddly like this.

Taiga stared up at the ceiling of Daiki’s room, running his fingers slowly through Daiki’s short, sleek hair, and finally decided he would ask.Â  “Hey.”Â  He spoke softly in the afternoon quiet of the room.Â Â

Daiki stirred, only to wind tighter around him, like a cat who wanted to keep Taiga right where he was, and made an inquiring noise against his shoulder.

Taiga smiled a little helplessly and cuddled Daiki closer, breathing out a sigh at the warm weight of him.Â  “I never thought you’d be this relaxed around me,” he murmured against Daiki’s hair.

Daiki shrugged a lazy shoulder.Â  “Easy to relax.Â  You didn’t let me down.”

Taiga’s smile turned wry.Â  “Yeah, but you usually relax by dragging me onto the nearest court and trying to beat me until we’re both falling over.”

Daiki roused long enough to poke him in the chest.Â  “Hey.Â  What do you mean ‘try’?”Â  He flopped back down heavily, driving Taiga’s breath out, and wrapped back around him.Â  After a moment, he added, “You’re Tetsu’s.”

Well, okay, yeah, that made some sense.Â  Taiga settled under Daiki, hand sliding up to rub his back.Â  “Anything he wants, hm?”

"Well, that too."Â  Daiki tilted his head back to look at Taiga, so perfectly serene that Taiga’s breath caught.Â  "Tetsu makes things happen right.Â  Whatever it takes."

"Yeah," Taiga said quietly after a few seconds.Â  "Yeah, he does."Â  As Daiki curled back up with a satisfied sound, Taiga held him close, deliberately setting down his doubts and expectations and just accepting Daiki’s warmth against him.Â  He had his answer, and it was a good one.

Tetsuya did make things happen right.Â  But maybe he also needed his partners to help him do it.

Taiga smiled up at the ceiling and held Daiki closer.

End

Fitting to the Crime

Kasamatsu and Kise play bed games, and Kise gets the punishment he deserves. (And, more importantly, the spanking he wants.) D/s, Porn, I-4

Kasamatsu Yukio liked to think that he was a straightforward kind of guy. He could blindside opponents as well as any other point guard, and better than most in fact, but that was different. That was just good strategy. Friends and classmates and, for that matter, lovers, weren't a matter for strategy. So it took him a few minutes, especially in the afterglow of pretty damn good sex, to realize what Ryouta's little sidelong glances meant. When he did, he couldn't help laughing, pulling Ryouta tighter against him and ruffling his already rumpled gold hair. "You're just insatiable, aren't you?"

Ryouta's cheek heated against Yukio's shoulder as he ducked his head, but he was smiling, shy and hopeful. And since Yukio didn't have to be Ryouta's captain any more, and it wasn't one of Ryouta's infuriating pretend ploys, Yukio let fond indulgence curl warmly through him and cuddled Ryouta comfortably against him. He didn't mind playing their other game, today, if Ryouta wanted it. "So," he murmured, carding his fingers through that bright hair, "were you good for your senpai at practice today?"

Ryouta made a tiny, gleeful sound at the question, and the offer in it, before composing himself appropriately. "I'm afraid not, senpai." The way he bent his head would have looked genuinely contrite except for the sparkle of his eyes as he looked up under his lashes.

"No?" Yukio gave him a stern look, setting his fingers under Ryouta's chin to tip his head up and meet Yukio's eyes. "What did you do, Ryouta?"

"Well, Hayakawa-senpai was trying to beat his own record for successful passes after a rebound." Ryouta already sounded a little breathless, eyes wide under Yukio's steady gaze. "And I just mentioned that maybe it would help if he kept his energy up longer, and that I had a spare bottle of Yunker Fanti. Nakamura-senpai said that really wasn't the problem, but Hayakawa-senpai had already drunk the whole bottle."

Yukio had to bite his tongue hard to keep from bursting out laughing; he suspected Ryouta deliberately thought up answers to that question that would make him laugh, and Yukio just hoped he wasn't actually putting them into practice. Honestly, if Ryouta was really doing half the things he said he did when they played like this it was a wonder Nakamura hadn't strangled him yet. The thought of Hayakawa after even one slug of an energy drink didn't bear thinking on, and a whole bottle was downright terrifying to contemplate. When he thought he could control his voice again, he frowned at Ryouta. "That definitely wasn't being good for your senpai. You know what it means when you misbehave, don't you?"

Ryouta lowered his eyes and wet his lips as a flush slid up his fair skin. "Yes, senpai," he said, soft and husky.

Yukio sat up, sliding back until he could ball up a pillow against the headboard at his back, and tapped his outstretched thigh meaningfully. "Get in position, then, and take what's coming to you."

Ryouta was a little breathless with anticipation by the time he'd laid himself down over Yukio-san's lap. Sometimes they did it differently; sometimes Yukio-san made him bend over with his hands on the wall, or kneel on the seat of the desk chair and hold on to its back. This was how he liked it best, though, so that he could relax with Yukio-san's hand on his back steadying him while the other hand rubbed his obediently presented ass slow and sure. Yukio-san was always careful about preparing him for a spanking, and that always made Ryouta hard, feeling the slow slide of Yukio-san's palm and not knowing when his punishment would start.

In fact, sometimes Yukio-san took long enough for Ryouta to get a little impatient.

"Senpai," he lilted, and then yelped when Yukio-san smacked his ass once, sharply.

"Be quiet, Ryouta," Yukio-san told him sternly, squeezing the faintly stinging spot.

Ryouta shivered and subsided as he was told, waiting while anticipation wound tighter. And tighter. When Yukio-san finally lifted his hand and brought it down firmly, he yelped and jumped even though it didn't hurt very much at all. This time, though, Yukio-san wasn't stopping, and each smack of his palm against Ryouta's bare ass was a little harder than the last. Ryouta's breath came shorter as the slowly growing sting of the blows built to a hot burn across his bottom. He was gasping with each firm stroke, and still Yukio-san held Ryouta down over his lap and spanked him steadily, until he lost count of the strokes, until he felt like his whole body was suspended from that slow burn, all his attention focused on how briskly Yukio-san's hand met his upturned ass. He was moaning a little by the time Yukio-san paused, running his warm hand up and down Ryouta's thigh.

"Are you sorry for what you did, yet?" Yukio-san asked sternly, and Ryouta blushed against the cool sheets under his cheek. Most of him was swept up in the heat of being punished by Senpai, but part of him was also warmed that Yukio-san was so good to him, so careful with him.

He didn't want it to end yet, though, so he answered with perfect truthfulness, "No, Senpai."

"Tch. Of course not."

Ryouta bucked, eyes widening as Yukio-san spanked him ten times, fast and hard. By the end of it he was draped over Yukio-san's lap, legs spread, panting for breath against the sharp burn throbbing in his ass. And also in his cock.

"You are naughty today," Yukio-san murmured, and that hint of a purr in his voice as his hand rubbed circles over Ryouta's bottom made Ryouta moan.

"Yes, Senpai," he agreed, breathless, forehead pressed to the sheets, eager for his punishment to continue.

He didn't have to wait long. Yukio-san's hand on his back spread, holding him down, and the hand on his ass lifted. When it fell again, it came down with a crack of skin against skin and a fierce, hard sting across his burning cheeks. And again. And again. Ryouta whimpered, hungry for the intensity of those blows, for the certainty of being punished by Senpai.

"Look at you," Yukio-san told him softly. Crack. Ryouta bucked over his lap at the sharp bite of Senpai's hand on his ass.

"This is how a naughty boy should look." Crack. Ryouta's toes were curling up with every stroke.

"Bent over his senpai's knee with his ass turning red from getting the spanking he deserves." Crack. Ryouta whined, mouth open as he gasped for breath. His ass was on fire, and he was so hard, hard from the things Yukio-san was saying, hard from how much he was feeling. Two more of those punishing strokes, though, and he could feel his shoulders tightening, feel himself pressing up against the edge of too much. "Please, Senpai!" he gasped out.

Yukio-san brought his hand down one more time, hard and merciless. It was perfect, the perfect reminder that Yukio-san was the one in charge, the one who would choose how Ryouta was punished. All in a breath, Ryouta was over the edge, coming hard as he shuddered over Yukio-san's lap and Yukio-san squeezed his burning bottom, slow and firm. For long, endless moments, Ryouta's whole body was wringing out with the heat Yukio-san had spanked into his ass, and Ryouta just clutched at the sheets and moaned with it.

When he finally relaxed, draped across Yukio-san's lap and dazed, Yukio-san told him softly, "Good, Ryouta. That was good." His hands were gentle, now, as he rubbed Ryouta's back slow and sure, grounding him again, and Ryouta sighed a little, eyes closed. Those words reminded him there would be arms to catch him and hold him as he came back down, so he let himself drift.

Yukio watched Ryouta carefully as he rubbed Ryouta's back slow and easy, and nodded when Ryouta finally stirred and stretched a little. "Come here, Ryouta," he coaxed quietly, guiding Ryouta up off his lap and back into his arms. "That's right. Everything's all right." He leaned back against his pillows, ignoring the mess across the sheets and his thighs for now, and drawing Ryouta down against his chest so he could lie without any pressure on his rear. He held Ryouta close, running slow fingers through his hair, until Ryouta finally sighed and looked up, smiling. "All right?" Yukio asked, touching his cheek.

Ryouta nodded and snuggled closer. "It's good. Thank you, Yukio-san."

Yukio kissed his forehead gently. "My pleasure. You know that."

"I meant..." Ryouta started, and Yukio laid a finger over his lips.

"All of it is my pleasure," he said, firmly. "Including watching over you and taking care of you."

Ryouta turned pink and ducked his head against Yukio's shoulder. Yukio smiled softly, stroking his hair again. It was true; he liked knowing Ryouta would submit to punishment from him, and he liked just as much knowing that he could take care of Ryouta.

This care, this charge, this responsibility, he had succeeded in. Without question.

He cradled Ryouta closer, satisfied.

End

Long, Like Memory

Four moments when Miyuki actually thinks about his hair, often to keep from thinking about something else. Drama with Angst and mild UST, I-3

His mother always combed his hair for school.

"Kazuya! Breakfast!"

He thumped down the stairs, dragging his book bag behind him by one strap. "Coming!" He scrambled up into his chair at the table, across from his dad who had the morning paper folded beside his plate, and grinned up at his mother as she set his smaller plate in front of him. Her eyes danced when she laughed.

"Oh, Kazuya." Cool fingers smoothed back his hair, which he'd splashed water on this morning to try to make it lie down flat. It had... kind of worked. "Hold still for a moment, sweetheart."

He stuffed a piece of toast in his mouth first, but then held obediently still while the comb tugged gently through his hair, smoothing the top down and the sides back so they didn't fluff out. He could never figure out how she did it. Even his dad couldn't do it; the time he'd tried, when Kaa-san had been too tired out to get up one morning, Kazuya's hair had stuck up all over, and they'd both had exactly the same helpless look in the mirror, and his mother had laughed and laughed when he'd gone to say goodbye before leaving, even though it made her cough.

So he sat still every morning while she combed his hair and finished with a pat. "There you go! Eat up, now, so you have energy for the whole day."

Kazuya promptly shoveled rice into his mouth. "Thank you, Kaa-san!"

"Swallow before talking," his dad directed, completing the final morning step with a shake of his head and a tiny quirk at the corner of his mouth. It got a little bigger when Kazuya swallowed and smiled back at him, wide and happy.

Kazuya liked mornings.

(He never did figure out how his mother had made his hair so neat, and eventually he stopped trying. Maybe it really was the pat that did it.)

The first time Kazuya put on a catcher's skull-cap, it flattened his hair right into his eyes.

"You're going to need to push your hair back as you put it on," the coach said, and Kazuya could hear the laugh the man was holding down under the faint wobble in his voice.

A few tries to swipe his hair back fast enough to get the helmet over it and the coach was coughing unconvincingly into his fist, so Kazuya relieved the poor guy by laughing himself. "I'll practice at home!" he promised, reaching for his water bottle. Water was pretty much the only way he'd ever gotten his hair to lie down, even a little.

He ignored the stares on the train home. The older kids had already had a good laugh over how his hair was sticking up, after practice. At home, he carefully followed the directions in his mother's old cookbook to make dinner the way she couldn't any more, standing on the step-stool and pinning faintly stained and heat-stiffened pages under two cups. After eating, he carefully wrapped his dad's portion for when he finally came in from the workshop. And then he took the odd, brim-less helmet upstairs to practice in front of the bathroom mirror. The helmet was a lot heavier than his cloth cap, and he couldn't duck into it quite the same way. His forehead was a little scraped up by the time he thought he had the hang of it. But that was okay. He'd learned how to doctor his own scrapes lately, and he thought he was getting pretty good at it.

After a few months of having the catcher's mask get caught in the hair sticking out the sides of the skull-cap, he asked Fukuda-san, the barber, if he could make the sides shorter and answered the man's jovial comments about growing up and paying attention to his looks with a wide grin. It kept most people from wanting any more of an answer. Frankly, he thought the way Fukuda-san trimmed and fussily shaped the hair in front of his ears looked a little silly, but it did get rid of the clumps over his ears when he was wearing the catcher's equipment, so that was fine.

(He only thought once about how brightly his mother would have laughed to see, and then he made himself not think about that again.)

"You should do something with your hair," Kuramochi said out of the blue on afternoon, as they waited for the math teacher. He had turned around in his chair and was squinting rather judgmentally at Kazuya's hair. Which, admittedly, was probably sticking up a bit from where Kazuya had his fingers shoved into it while he leaned his head on one hand and tried not to fall asleep. Batting angles and distances were doodled in the margins of his notebook around last week's far more boring details on how to calculate the missing angle of a quadrilateral.

"Mm." He turned the area equation around to calculate diameter and made a face. What good was this to know, anyway? What really mattered was the angle and spin of the ball as it came in...

"Seriously, you look like an upside-down mop most days," Kuramochi prodded, and Kazuya finally slouched back in his seat with a snort.

"You're the last one I want to hear that from, Hair Cream-san."

"Hey!" Kuramochi ducked the class rep's dirty look and hissed, "I do not use hair cream!"

"Not anymore," Miyuki agreed sunnily, and stifled a laugh at Kuramochi's growl. The guy should know better than to play this game with Kazuya, especially considering the photographic evidence passed around by Kuramochi's third-year roommate and foresightfully secured by Kazuya. "Besides," he added, more to the point, "why should I bother when I spend all my time with my hair mashed down under one helmet or another?"

"There are some times we're not playing," Kuramochi said, but only half-heartedly and Kazuya didn't dignify it with an answer. They both knew that time boiled down to class hours and not much else. It was one reason Kazuya was at Seidou, after all.

The math teacher finally slid the door open and the class rep called "Stand!" Under the scrape of chairs and shuffle of feet, Kuramochi muttered, "You look like a little kid, still, as long as no one can see your eyes. It's just weird."

Kazuya was distantly glad that Kuramochi was sitting in front of him, and not behind. He had sharp eyes, and might have wondered about Kazuya's stillness before Kazuya could get it under control again.

(He hadn't even tried to comb his hair back for almost four years. Three years, ten months, and twenty-three days, actually, but who was counting?)

The first-years were gathered around one corner of their usual table, whispering over something, and Miyuki craned his neck for a look as he went past with his dinner tray. It was always good to know what they were up to, especially given Sawamura's moments of amusingly bizarre behavior. Kazuya knew there was no way on earth the boy had been raised in a dojo, but sometimes Sawamura acted like he wanted to have been, or had maybe been raised on the movie set of one. There were really times that Sawamura's dramatics reminded him of Mei, and he was saving up that observation to tell them both, so he could see what kind of fits they both pitched over it.

"...he looks so young!" Haruichi was saying.

"Well, it is from when he was in middle school," Kanemaru pointed out, but trailed off at the end as if he too were struck by the apparent youth of whoever they were talking about.

"And he was amazing even then!" Sawamura sounded vastly enthused, but Kazuya didn't put much weight on that. Sawamura usually sounded enthused over whatever he was talking about, including dorm chores. More usefully, his expansive gesturing made several other first-years duck and Kazuya caught a glimpse of the old paper they were gathered around. There was a large picture of Chris-senpai on the front of the section, looking very much as Kazuya remembered him from two years ago. He smiled a little to himself and strolled on. No harm in a little hero-worship now and then; if it weren't Chris it would probably have been one of this year's MVPs or something.

"What are the first-years up to?" Kuramochi asked as Kazuya sat down across from him.

Kazuya cast a quick eye over the third-year tables to make sure Chris wasn't there yet before he smirked and said, clearly enough to carry to the first-years, "They're discussing how cute Chris-senpai was in middle school."

Sawamura's outraged protest rose over the snickering, and even Kuramochi's cackle, and Kazuya took a composed bite of his dinner. Every now and then he wondered if maybe getting a rise out of Sawamura was beneath him as too easy, but the kid's reactions were great. It was like sugar candyâ€”no nutritional value at all but still tasty. It was probably a doubly good thing Kazuya had turned Mei down, now he thought about it; he'd have gotten metaphorical cavities for sure, in a battery with Mei, who rose to the bait just as easily.

Chris' entrance provoked another flurry, this time to hide the newspaper, and Kazuya snickered some more.

As dinner conversation turned to classes and practice, though, the image of a younger Chris stuck in the back of his head. Chris-senpai was actually looking a lot more like he had back then, now; aiming Sawamura at him had definitely been a good idea. The memory of Chris from their middle school match, of all that sun-bright talent and brilliant game-making, was so clear in Kazuya's mind that it was actually startling to look up and see Chris pass their table, taller and broader, still with that shining presence but more dignified now, all his edges sleek and tucked-in.

The thought that Chris-senpai was the only one Kazuya would trust to comb his hair back, smooth and neat like it used to be, was so unexpected, sneaking past the things Kazuya didn't let himself think about, that its arrival was like a shock up his spine.

He must have shown it somehow, because Chris-senpai paused and glanced down at him, questioning. "Miyuki-kun? Is something wrong?"

Kazuya shook himself and grinned up at Chris. "Nope, all good!"

Chris' eyes held his for a suspended, breathless moment before he nodded quietly and moved on to the third-years' tables.

"Guess the first-years aren't the only ones with crushes, huh?" Kuramochi asked, grinning wickedly.

Kazuya rolled his eyes and flicked his hand dismissively. "Like anyone in this whole club, yeah." He swallowed another bite and gave Kuramochi a toothy smile. "Not always on Chris-senpai, of course."

Kuramochi glared, but they'd been holding Chris-senpai and Kominato-senpai over each other's heads for more than a year and Kazuya knew neither of them would actually rat the other out. In his more honest moments he admitted, ruefully, that they were both obvious enough there was probably no point in doing so. They were probably lucky the senpai remembered their own little crushes and were relatively kind about such things, for values of "kind" that could be "not very" in Kominato's case, and sometimes he really did wonder about Kuramochi's taste. Youthful days of high school in a sports dorm, he supposed. It probably made them all a little crazy.

So he kicked Kuramochi lightly under the table and said, "Anyway, about batters for fall, has Zono noticed anyone new who's a good contact hitter, besides Toujou?"

Kuramochi scowled at his rice. "Not really, and that's going to be a pain. Asou might be a decent power hitter if he doesn't drop out during summer training, but it's going to be a weaker line-up at this rate..."

They traded names around mouthfuls of stew, and badgered Zono for more when he came back from getting seconds, and Kazuya settled back into dealing with things he knew were possible.

(He took the thought of Chris-senpai's fingers moving through his hair and closed it carefully up in a mental box, and put the box on a mental shelf beside his mother's.)

(Just because he didn't think about some things didn't mean he forgot them.)

End

At Your Fingertips

Miyuki spends some time contemplating Chris' hands. Drama with Romance, I-3

Miyuki Kazuya tended to watch people's hands. He watched their whole bodies whenever they were throwing, of course, but especially their hands. It was the hands that told you exactly where the ball was going. And, of course, he watched his pitchers' hands still more closely, looking there to see the first signs of strain, of exhaustion, of confidence, of nerves. You could just about read a pitcher's mind by watching his hands, if you knew what to look for.

So it wasn't as though it was strange that he should find his attention taken up by Chris-senpai's hands, even if he was another catcher. Chris' hands were as impressive as the rest of him, broad and limber and strong, fingers always so certain in their grip on a ball or in the quick flash of signs. Watching Chris handle the ball sometimes sent Kazuya's thoughts wandering down rare paths of what-if.

What if Kazuya had chosen differently, all those years ago at the start of his baseball days? What if he'd followed after the power of his arm and shoulder, instead of his eye and mind? What if he'd come to Seidou as a pitcher, instead of a catcher?

Admittedly, he wasn't at all sure he'd have ever mastered the prima donna grandstanding that so many pitchers seemed to feel it was their positive duty to cultivate. But he'd always had the flexibility and strength to be a very good pitcher, and if he'd followed that path he knew he'd have relentlessly pursued the control required to be excellent. He didn't believe in holding back, once he'd made a choice. He doubted it would have made any difference in his middle school team; a pitcher couldn't carry a mediocre team all alone, any more than a catcher could, and he doubted he'd have been much more loved on the mound than behind the plate. Focusing on the batters from the front wouldn't have blunted his perception of his own team, or the edge of his tongue any. He'd never had the least patience for half-hearted play. But if he'd been a pitcher, then he thought he'd have seen Takigawa Chris Yuu in a different light, when they'd met.

He'd still have followed Chris to Seidou, but not as his rival or his goal. No. Chris would have been a potential partner. His catcher. The sharp eye and mind he could trust to make the game. The strong hand he could trust to catch and hold even him.

The thought made him smile as he traced his fingertips along the tendons of Chris' hand where it rested on his hip, just above the white line of the sheets.

"You're smiling," Chris murmured, catching Kazuya's chin and stroking a slow thumb along his lower lip. "What are you thinking about?"

Kazuya let his tongue dart out to lap softly at Chris' thumb, coaxing it back so Kazuya could wrap his lips around it and suck on it softly, watching Chris' eyes darken in the golden, late afternoon light. When Chris pressed his thumb deeper, sliding over Kazuya's tongue and pressing down to hold it still, heat twisted low in his stomach and he couldn't help a soft, wordless moan. He enjoyed Chris' control, even now. As Chris' pitcher, he might have pushed enough to make Chris prove himself, but he knew he'd have given way in the end, given himself and all his strength into Chris' hands. Chris was the only one he thought he could have trusted enough, and they would have been unstoppable. "I was just thinking about your hands," he answered, husky, when Chris finally drew his thumb back.

Chris smiled, tracing slow fingers up the bare length of Kazuya's spine to slide into his hair. "Ah? Anything in particular about them?" He drew Kazuya's head back, gentle and relentless, and kissed him very thoroughly. Kazuya was a little light-headed with the heat winding through him by the time Chris let him go, and maybe that was why he answered with what was uppermost in his mind.

"How much I trust them."

Chris' smile softened, and he gathered Kazuya closer against him, leaning back against the headboard of the bed. "Thank you for that honor," he said, so quiet and so sure and so gentle that Kazuya couldn't do anything but curl into his arms and bury his head against Chris' shoulder.

They stayed like that for a while, and Kazuya slowly settled under the steady warmth of Chris' hand on his back. The only hands strong enough to hold him.

End

Cool, Clear Water

Chris finally notices just how much Miyuki has been seeking him out and decides it's his turn to speak with his actions. Romance with Physiotherapy and Fluff, I-3

Kazuya's first physical therapy appointment made him wonder if maybe it would have hurt less to just keep playing injured.

The stretches weren't too bad. Lying with his spine on the foam roll actually felt kind of good, at least along his shoulders. Finding out how far he could rotate his lower body wasn't the best time he'd ever had, but Maki-san, the steely-eyed trainer he'd been assigned, had watched carefully and then moved his knees herself, stopping them just before the point of pain on each side, and ordered him not to stretch a single centimeter further without her say-so. A little daunted by her resemblance to an annoyed Rei-san, he'd promised, and promptly had more foam blocks shoved under his knees to make sure. He couldn't help wondering, a little self-consciously, if she had a lot of troublesome athletic patients. He was trying to be good, now the fall tournament was over, really!

It was a little hard, though, when she was working over the muscles of his uninjured side, hands just as merciless as her eyes.

"Take a deep breath." She drove a thumb into a knot just under his ribs. It felt like she'd driven in a spike.

"Ngh! Trying..."

"Yes, you've definitely been straining these muscles to compensate." She looked disapproving as she pinched something tense at his waist between thumb and first knuckle and twisted slowly.

"NoticING... that," he finished on a gasp, eyes watering.

"Definitely do supported side stretches on the left every day," she directed, running a heavy palm down his hip and flank, unerringly following the line of greatest pain. He gritted his teeth and made a wordless sound he hoped she took for agreement.

When she finally let him go, he curled up on his side on the bench, panting for breath and a little light-headed. His whole body felt shaky.

"Rest for a little while, and then drink more water," Maki-san ordered, patted him briskly on the shoulder, and strode off. Presumably to her next victim. Kazuya stayed right where he was as the sounds of the gym filtered back in and started making sense again, the slow clanks of the weight machine Animal-san had his current client working on, the steady thump of someone else on a treadmill.

Eventually, when he was sure his voice would be suitably mild and ironic, he remarked, "Ow." It still came out more heartfelt than he'd intended.

"Are you doing all right?"

Kazuya was pretty sure his body tried to start, but all he managed was a twitch before carefully craning his head back to look up at Chris, who was standing over him with a small, wry smile and a water bottle.

He wasn't sure whether to kiss Rei-san or curse her for carting him off to Chris' father's gym for his physical therapy. He thought there might be discounts involved. Either way, there was Chris involved, and he was very aware of how pathetic it was to want to show off via physical therapy, thank you, he just... couldn't quite stifle the impulse. He'd never been able to completely stifle that particular impulse, around Chris.

Which was why he pushed himself upright with a smile, and if the smile had a bit of gritted teeth as his ribs twinged viciously no one had to know but him. "Yeah, I'm fine! Thanks." He took the water Chris offered with his left hand, so he wouldn't wince when he lifted it, only to nearly drop it when his even his good arm wobbled alarmingly.

"Easy." Chris slid a fast hand under the bottle, the other settling on Kazuya's shoulder. "You aren't going to bounce instantly back from your first round of therapy," he said quietly, and there was a dark enough shade of knowledge in his voice that Kazuya lowered his eyes and just nodded. A second try got the bottle to his mouth without mishap, and he was counting that as a win.

"Sore?" Chris asked with a knowing tilt to the corner of his mouth that made Kazuya wonder if he'd worked with Maki-san too.

"A little," he admitted. "Mostly not where I'm injured!" He chalked up another small win when Chris laughed quietly.

"Chiyo-san is very good with soft-tissue injuries, but she's pretty strict." He slung a leg over the bench and slid down beside Kazuya. "Here?" He settled one broad hand against Kazuya's lower back, on the left, and just that little pressure woke a few sparks of protest from roundly abused muscles. Kazuya tried not to wince.

"Yeah. In absolute terms, I'm glad she caught it; I certainly don't want a compensation injury. Still." He grinned, tilted, and repeated with proper insouciance this time, "Ow." Though actually, the warmth of Chris' hand through his thin T-shirt was kind of soothing. He chased that thought to the back of his head where it belonged and took another drink.

Chris was frowning thoughtfully when he looked again. "Yes. I can feel how these shake when you lift something. It's probably just the hypertonic release, on this side, but... here." He slid off the bench to crouch in front of Kazuya, and Kazuya froze, eyes widening helplessly as Chris' hands nudged up the hem of his shirt and curved around his lower ribs on each side, warm and sure and oh he really needed to stop thinking about that right now. He barely heard it when Chris said, "Lift both arms for a second."

His brain only kicked in again when Chris glanced up at him, brows drawing down in concern. "Miyuki? Are you all right?" The light pressure of his hands let up quickly. "Does even that hurt?"

Kazuya shook himself and forced a bright laugh, even if his ribs did protest it. "No, it's fine, sorry, just spaced out a little, there! Maki-san really wrings a person out."

Chris' expression relaxed back into a faint, commiserating smile and his hands settled firmly again. Kazuya tried very hard not to let his breath hitch. "She does. Lift your arms for a moment."

Kazuya did, watching as Chris' eyes turned a little distant, as if listening for something. "I'm not nearly the kind of expert she is," he said, finally, "but it doesn't feel like anything's strained on the left, yet, and you're not pulling unevenly as long as you're not lifting any weight. You'll probably be sore all day, but the tremors should fade soon." His hands slid away from Kazuya's ribs, gentle, and Kazuya swallowed back the tiny sound of protest that wanted to escape. Chris stood and smiled down at him, sympathy giving way to an amused glint in his eyes. "So it's probably about time to stand up and start moving around again."

Kazuya groaned theatrically, but did as Chris said and let himself be chivvied over to the treadmills, relieved to have escaped without giving himself away. He could take Chris' sympathy over the pain of rehab, and Chris' wicked humor too. But he thought the quiet, gentle way he knew Chris would let him down over his forlorn little crush would probably break him where nothing else could. So he paced along at an easy walk and tried to forget the feel of large, warm hands against his skin.

Chris closed his literature notes and leaned back in his desk chair, stretching until his spine popped. He let his lightly clasped hands fall behind his head and stared up at the ceiling thoughtfully. Literature was usually one of his best subjects, but he was distracted tonight. The memory of Miyuki's expression this afternoon kept popping up and nudging his thoughts for attention.

Rather, now that he was thinking about it, the way Miyuki himself had ever since he arrived at Seidou.

Now that he was thinking about it, a whole collection of little moments was coming to mind, spread out over the last year and a half: Miyuki grinning, Miyuki intent, Miyuki quiet and watchful, Miyuki bright and excited. Each time, Miyuki coming to him. It was a commonality that made his analytical sense itch, because when he looked back on it, the only people he'd observed Miyuki going to regularly were his pitchers.

And Chris.

And this afternoon... Miyuki hadn't looked spaced out. He'd looked flustered for just a breath, before he'd buried it under a grin. Chris' memory, now he consulted it, suggested that when Miyuki grinned like that it was usually to misdirect attention. But he was reasonably sure Miyuki hadn't been trying to cover up discomfort. Just possibly, in light of Miyuki's gravitation toward him and considering how flushed Miyuki's face had been, possibly quite the reverse.

Chris tilted his chair back on two legs and frowned a little to himself. If he was right... well that was the catch, wasn't it? If. And given Miyuki's deflection, he obviously wasn't about to make things easy by confessing.

The very idea of any love-confession Miyuki Kazuya might come up with made Chris laugh out loud, open and rueful, because if there was anyone more emotionally elusive on Seidou's team... Ryousuke, maybe. The very idea.

And, really, tracking back through his interactions with Miyuki over the past few months was far from conclusive. Miyuki had come to him several times, but mostly to ask for help pulling Sawamura into shape. It was always possible that Miyuki's willingness to go to Chris was simply an extension of the care he took of his pitchers. For values of "care" that did often look like "merciless hounding" Chris allowed with a smile at his ceiling; he'd been able to appreciate that more in the last few months. Ever since Sawamura...

Chris straightened abruptly, letting his chair fall upright as the connection drew itself in his mind, sure and solid, from Sawamura back to Miyuki.

Miyuki often came to him about Sawamura, which had made sense to Chris at the start because of course the second-string catcher would work with a second-string pitcher, and goodness knew someone had had to drill Sawamura in the basics. And later it had been fairly obvious that Miyuki had cast Chris as the good guy, the one who would help Sawamura after Miyuki had wound him up sufficiently. But maybe that hadn't only been about Sawamura.

He remembered, now. It had happened while Sawamura was still throwing tantrums over his basic training menu. And the time Chris was thinking about, he hadn't just complained that Miyuki was too busy with Furuya to work with him.

I don't know why that bastard's making me work with you when you won't even catch for me!

It had been, at the time, a typically self-centered complaint and Chris had ignored it. Sawamura had made similar complaints often enough, and when Chris thought about them at all he thought Sawamura had been complaining about the coach making him work with Chris. But even at his petulant worst, Sawamura had never called the coach names. It was Miyuki that Sawamura said things like that about. Miyuki, who had never treated Chris like second-string or like he was retired. Who had, from what Sawamura had said, been the one to suggest Sawamura work with Chris when Chris was giving even his own yearmates the cold shoulder and shutting down his kouhai with quiet viciousness. Viciousness that hadn't stopped until Sawamura had run right over top of it, the only one both bull-headed and good-hearted enough to ignore it.

The one Miyuki had, apparently, aimed at him.

Chris' smile spread slowly wider and wider as he contemplated that, until he just had to chuckle. It was such a typically Miyuki maneuver. He was so rarely straightforward about anything except the game itself.

And if that was the case then all those moments when Miyuki had tracked him down to ask for his advice, for his help, for his presence at a game, took on a different aspect. It was Miyuki's actions Chris needed to be looking at, not his words. And Miyuki's actions sought him out, reached out for him, hung near him even when Chris had been relentlessly turning away.

Chris sobered at that, remembering how harshly he had turned Miyuki in particular away at times. Small wonder that Miyuki only approached him with a cast-iron excuse in hand, lately. Which meant Miyuki might behave... unpredictably if Chris tried to talk to him about this. No catcher Chris knew liked being caught unprepared, and Miyuki moreso than most. Chris picked up his pencil and turned it through his fingers as he thought, tapping the end against his notes. Perhaps what he needed to do was answer Miyuki's actions with actions, until Miyuki understood that he was welcome.

And then he paused, pencil suspended in mid-air.

I do welcome him, don't I? he thought, a little wondering. That hadn't been a question in his mind at all, as he thought about this. Only how to be sure, and how to let Miyuki be sure. Chris laughed softly to himself; however covert it might have been, Miyuki's campaign for his attention had worked very well indeed.

Well, then, perhaps it was time he followed Miyuki's example and acted on that.

Kazuya thought he was maybe getting used to this whole physical therapy thing. It didn't feel like quite such a failure just to walk in the doors any more, at any rate.

And he could feel guilty that a lot of the reason for that was getting to talk with Chris at PT, or he could concentrate on enjoying getting to talk with Chris, and between the two he knew he was going to indulge in the latter for as long as he could. If that was a little pathetic, well so be it. There was a significant part of him that rolled over and basked in Chris' attention every time he came over to check on Kazuya, and Kazuya felt he had come to terms with that. It wasn't even about the feeling he couldn't win against Chris, now, it was that... well, he wasn't sure if winning was what he even wanted right now. Maybe it would be again some day. He was pretty sure it would, actually. But right now, when it was just the two of them...

"Did Chiyo-san let you increase the angle of your stretches, today?"

Kazuya looked up, completely unable to help how bright his grin was as Chris came and leaned against the weights beside his mat, looking quietly pleased. "Yeah, she did. She said if I don't do anything stupid in the meantime she may let me try to lift some weight next week."

Chris chuckled and held a hand down to him. "She thinks it's possible you won't do something stupid; that's quite a concession. Congratulations."

Kazuya reached up and let himself wrap his fingers around the corded strength of Chris' forearm, and let Chris pull him easily up, and did not let his hand linger on Chris'. Much. Noticeably. He hoped. "I've been good!" he proclaimed. "I haven't tried to practice at all." Despite how completely unnatural that felt.

Chris clapped him gently on the shoulder, eyes steady on him. "I know."

That understanding always made Kazuya's jaw tighten, made him fight to keep his gaze level, because Chris had done this for a year. Having tasted just a few weeks of it, thinking about that made Kazuya feel something uncomfortably close to tears and just as close to awe. The hand on his shoulder tightened just a little, gave him a tiny shake, and Chris' quiet smile turned grave, acknowledging, for a breath. And then it was just a smile and Kazuya could breathe again.

"Is one of the coaches picking you up, or are you on your own today?"

"Nope, I was allowed out all on my own," Kazuya grinned.

"I'm sure Takishima-san needed the break," Chris paused just long enough to be noticeable before continuing, perfectly straight-faced, "from so much driving." A tiny smile curled his lips when Kazuya clutched his chest in exaggerated injury. "Not Ochiai-san either, though?"

Kazuya snorted softly, remembering the looks Ochiai-san had been giving him latelyâ€”sometimes thoughtful, sometimes exasperated, sometimes almost wistful in a way that made Kazuya wonder what kind of teams the man had had before them. The exasperation was a lot easier to understand, of course; Ochiai had obviously been thinking of Kazuya as one of his own kind, before they'd actually talked. Well, it wasn't like Ochiai-san was the first to mistake his strategic sense for actual cool-headedness, and if he was staying on at Seidou as the voice of experience it was probably best that he learn now just how much Kazuya favored aggressive tactics. "He's pretty busy still, seeing what everyone can do," was all he said, though.

Chris' eyes still narrowed thoughtfully at that, but he let it pass, which Kazuya was grateful for; he knew perfectly well he wouldn't be able to hold out if Chris questioned him. He'd gotten so used to just talking with Chris, here, and... it felt really good. Just to talk. "I'll see you back to school, then. Let's go get changed."

"Sure thing!" Kazuya grinned, firmly quashing a completely ridiculous rush of happiness at the thought of walking back to the dorm with Chris. Of riding the train back, with Chris. He made for the gym's changing rooms, determined to stick his head under some cold water and hopefully stop being so absurd.

It really didn't help that Chris followed along to change back into street clothes himself. As if it weren't enough to be kind and talented and stoic, Chris was also nearly the platonic ideal of a catcher, all broad shoulders and powerful arms and heavily muscled thighs, big and solid enough to give anyone thinking of charging the plate pause and flexible enough to make any catch and fire the ball straight back, and Kazuya really needed to stop looking, before he embarrassed himself. Honestly, he'd made it through nearly two years of communal baths and living one thin wall away from Chris, and it was only now he was having trouble controlling himself. This was ridiculous. He towelled off briskly and hauled on his jeans, studiously keeping his eyes on his hands. It was harder than it should have been

He'd gotten used to having Chris near, these last few weeks. Maybe more used than he should have let himself. Before this, before he'd actually talked much with Chris, it had been easier. Not easy, not when the one he'd counted on competing with and honing himself against had vanished just as Kazuya had thought he'd caught up. But he'd been used to distance, really, he'd known how to deal with that. Having Chris smile, having him come over to see how Kazuya was doing, having him sit and talk after they'd both finished their exercises... that was actually a lot harder. Kazuya stuffed his feet into his sneakers, trying to ignore the warm feeling in his chest that came from just thinking about this.

"Ready to go?"

Kazuya looked up with an all-purpose grin to meet Chris' small, easy smile and grabbed his sweatshirt to knot around his waist. "Sure thing, Chris-senpai." He added the way the v-neck of Chris' light sweater framed his throat and collarbones firmly to the list of things he was not going to think about and followed Chris out through the lobby.

The light was moving towards evening, starting to be cut off by the taller buildings and become an indirect glow. The flow of people was ebbing out toward that low point after the homeward rush and before people emerged again for food and entertainment. It felt a little strange to walk through that familiar flow of people, now; living in the sports dorms had put him out of step with the city's rhythm. He felt a little separate from it, as if he and Chris were moving inside some kind of bubble, apart from the thinning crowd.

And maybe Chris felt it too. Maybe that was why he walked close, shoulders brushing now and then. This part of town was Chris' own, as Kazuya was reminded when Chris steered them into the small arcade between two buildings, a glassed walkway overhead and tall bushes nearly hiding a couple vending machines.

"Here. I think I want a drink after today's session."

"Yeah, sure. Don't blame you." Kazuya followed the light press of Chris' arm against his and leaned against the wall out of reach of the slightly overgrown shrubs while Chris fed coins to the drinks machine, settling deeper into not thinking about anything.

So he started a little when Chris tossed him a bottle. "Oh. Thanks."

Chris gave him a wry smile. "I do remember that I'm your senpai, past evidence to the contrary aside."

Kazuya's attempts to not think collapsed in a rush of memory: Chris silent and stiff-shouldered, Chris turning away, Chris's eyes resting on him only briefly, dark and flat. And he'd been holding on so hard to not-thinking-about-all-this that he wasn't ready, and flinched. "Does this mean I get to make you buy dinner at the station?" he joked, trying to cover it.

Chris, unfortunately, had a catcher's perception and attention to detail, and he stepped over to rest a hand on Kazuya's shoulder. "Yes," he agreed, quietly, "among other things. I know that will probably take a while for you to believe, after the last year and a half."

"Of course it won't, Chris-senpai," Kazuya said, lower than he quite meant to, eyes on the bottle in his hands. "I mean, it's you."

He could feel the weight of Chris' eyes on him, nearly tangible, thoughtful when he darted a glance up before looking back at his drink. When Chris spoke, his voice was soft, just between the two of them, as if the slowing traffic beyond the bushes and vending machines didn't exist at all. As if the rest of the city didn't exist. "Will you trust me, then?"

That startled Kazuya into looking all the way up, startled the words out of him before he managed to bite them off. "I've alwaysâ€”" Chris waited for him, when he broke off, not pressing but... inviting. With his quiet, with the ease of his whole stance, with his grave attention to Kazuya. Inviting him to go on. It shook him like no words of encouragement could have, and he swallowed hard.

"Let me ask something simpler, then," Chris said, finally, as gentle with Kazuya as he was with the first-years. "Will you trust me now?"

Kazuya laughed, because he couldn't help it, voiceless and unsteady. He'd never had anyone make it simpler for him, never had anyone make allowances, never needed it, and he'd always taken a hard pride in that. But this was Chris, and that bit of generosity and care made something in him yearn forward helplessly. "Yes, Chris-senpai," he answered, half rueful, inviting Chris to share the irony of it all with a tilted smile.

Chris just smiled back, eyes warm. "Good."

And then Chris leaned down and kissed him.

Kazuya's thoughts just stopped, ploughing into a wall of blank white, because... there was no plan for this. No contingency. No response at the ready, because this was never going to happen. But it was definitely Chris leaning over him, Chris' fingers gently nudging his chin up so Chris' mouth could fit against his more firmly. And... that was his voice, wasn't it, making those breathless little sounds, and his fingers curled in the soft knit of Chris' sweater. When Chris let him go, he could only lean back against the bricks and stare up at him, at a thorough loss for words.

"Trust that I see you, now, and that I'm paying attention," Chris told him, quiet and certain.

"I..." Kazuya wasn't actually sure what to say about that, and wound up falling back on a husky, "Yes, Chris-senpai."

Chris brushed another, lighter kiss over his lips and pressed a softer one to his forehead. "Come along, then, and I'll take you back to campus."

Kazuya just nodded and walked silently beside him, back out onto the sidewalk and toward the station, trying to sort out the rather dazed tangle of his thoughts.

It took him until they were on the train to even remember his drink.

Chris let the quiet between he and Miyuki linger as they walked from the station back to campus. He'd ambushed Miyuki a bit, and while Miyuki reacted superbly well under pressure, a counter-attack wasn't exactly the kind of response Chris wanted from him. So he let Miyuki think things over silently until they reached the school-buildings. In the shadow of the south wing he finally laid a hand on Miyuki's shoulder, halting them, and murmured, "Will you be all right on your own, the rest of the way?"

Miyuki blinked and shook himself a little. "Yeah, of course."

Chris' mouth quirked at that obviously reflex answer. He still didn't want to push Miyuki, though, not tonight, so he contented himself with a soft, "Good." He smiled, gentle and encouraging, and added, "Remember that you can come to me without needing an excuse anymore, all right?"

Miyuki nodded, but Chris still had a hand on his shoulder and could feel the faint tension that threaded through him. He shook his head ruefully; he should have known Miyuki would still be uncertain. "Miyuki. Come here." Miyuki stiffened more, eyes going rather wide as Chris pulled him close, gathered him in and held him.

"Senpai?" There was a lost note lurking in Miyuki's voice, and it roused an unexpected protectiveness in Chris. He let the feeling guide him, let his arms tighten until Miyuki was settled firmly against him, hands coming up in fits and starts to close on Chris' back.

"Will you mind if I start coming to find you, too?" he murmured, against Miyuki's hair.

Some of Miyuki's tension eased, the deeper tension Chris thought. "No," Miyuki said, very quietly against his shoulder. "No, I... I won't mind." Chris smiled as Miyuki's body relaxed against his, little by little.

"Good."

This time he gave Miyuki more time to respond to him, sliding his fingers into the softness of Miyuki's hair and tipping his head gently back until Chris could kiss him, slow and sure. And this time Miyuki answered him, hesitant but not hiding anything as he opened his mouth under Chris', pressing closer. He was flushed when Chris finally drew back, and Chris had to restrain a suggestion that they retire to Miyuki's room right now. He rested his forehead against Miyuki's and repeated, voice lower this time, "Come and see me on your own account, Kauzya. You are very welcome."

Miyuki wet his lips, and the curl of heat that sent through Chris made him remind himself sternly that he was going to give Miyuki time to get used to this. The softness in Miyuki's reply spoke of lingering uncertainty, for all his willingness. "I will, Chris-senpai."

Chris nodded, satisfied, and held him closer in the shadow of the tall class-room building, smiling a little wryly when Miyuki's forehead came to rest against his shoulder, hiding Miyuki's expression. "You don't have to trust easily," he murmured against Miyuki's ear, holding him fast when Miyuki tensed again. "Only believe what your own senses tell you. That isn't too hard, is it?"

An unvoiced laugh shook Miyuki, but his arms tightened around Chris. "I'll try," he whispered.

A rush of tenderness wound through Chris' chest, warm and light. "Then I have no doubt you will." He had Miyuki's stubbornness to thank for this very moment, after all. "I'll demonstrate that for you as often as you need."

Miyuki finally lifted his head and smiled up at Chris, crooked and ironic as ever, but with a slow, cautious happiness behind it. "Okay."

Chris kissed him one more time, chasing away the tilt to his mouth, and smiled down at him. "Good."

They would be well; he was sure of it, now. Their shared time, these last few weeks, was already witness to how far both of them would go to keep from losing, when it was important. The lean, quiet strength of Miyuki in his arms, the slow, shy relaxation of Miyuki's body against his... this was important.

So this, he wouldn't lose.

End

Basically Three

Wako has an epiphany and decides it's time to break the deadlock between her boys in a way neither of them anticipated. Drama, Romance, I-3

Wako leaned her elbows on the sill of one of the school's wide windows and stared out over the dusty courtyard between the classrooms and the dormitory. Normally she'd be spending lunch with Ruri, or maybe Sugata and Takuto. Ever since Watanabe-san had dropped her little surprise on them, though, Wako had been avoiding all three of them a little, so here she was in one of the quiet back hallways instead. Thinking.

She'd known practically all her life what a miko was; she lived at a shrine, after all. She'd spent most of her life also knowing that she was a slightly different kind of miko—her "kami" were a bunch of machine-creatures, and just possibly aliens. But that hadn't changed the basics. The old basics. She protected and purified and interpreted for those who didn't have such a strong ear for their local kami-robots. And she was marked. She was given to her kami, and forbidden from giving herself to anyone else. That was just how it worked.

Only apparently it didn't. The cybodies, according to every piece of data Kate had dragged out of Okamoto-sensei, weren't jealous of their mikos the way kami were supposed to be. If the miko drivers wanted to take human lovers, there was nothing stopping them. The morning after Kate had come back, dazed, to tell her it seemed true, Wako had spent her morning ritual meditating on all the memories of Wauna she still held in her heart. It felt true; at least, the only memory of anything resembling jealousy was in the faint, confusing memories of Samekh's nature and purpose, and Wako didn't think purity, ritual or otherwise, would matter at all to the consuming hunger of Samekh.

All of which meant that Ruri's teasing about choosing either Sugata or Takuto had a new point on it.

It was a painful point, because Wako understood, with the clarity that believing you or someone you loved was about to die brought on, that she loved them both. Very much. And that they might just both love her back. How was she supposed to choose? She folded her arms on the sun-warmed metal of the sill and buried her head in them with a sigh. It seemed as though, whatever happened, and whoever finally broke the triangle, someone was going to have to be hurt. She hated that.

Voices drifted up, indistinct, from the courtyard below and Wako glanced up. Students weren't really supposed to go back to the dormitory during school hours, when there wouldn't be any school officers to supervise.

It was Shinada-senpai down in the courtyard, though, and Wako supposed wryly that the residential advisor was allowed. She was less sure about Honda-senpai and Gouda-senpai, who were both with her. Wako doubted anyone would say anything, though. Those three had been inseparable since middle school. She remembered them, a little, from back then, and they'd still all been together when she'd caught up again in high school.

Why couldn't she and Sugata and Takuto be like that?

Wako stifled a groan at the thought. Was that what they'd have to do, to stay together? Not let anything be romantic or... or anything, between them at all? Because, for all Shinada-senpai teased their schoolmates sometimes, none of those three had ever dated anyone. Certainly not each other. Wako jammed her chin on her folded arms, glum, and watched while Gouda-senpai explained something vigorously to the other two, hands shaping and slashing the air. Honda-senpai seemed skeptical about whatever it was, arms folded firmly over his broad chest as he leaned back against one of the courtyard trees. Shinada-senpai was listening, though, head cocked, hands on her hips. She lifted one hand to wave in a circle at the three of them, asking something, and Gouda-senpai nodded sharply.

Wako wondered what they were talking about. She could hear a little of their voices from up here, but no words. They seemed pretty intense about it, though, and the thought niggled at the back of her mind that Kate had identified these three as the ones who'd kidnapped her earlier this year. Surely they weren't planning anything else like that, though...

Her thoughts broke off and her eyes widened as Gouda-senpai gestured briskly at Honda-senpai, as if waving Shinada-senpai toward him. She could see Honda-senpai stiffen against his tree, even from here, and there was a smile on Shinada-senpai's red lips as she went and rested her hands against his chest. Wako thought she asked him something.

After a frozen moment, slowly, Honda-senpai nodded.

Shinada-senpai leaned against him, standing on her toes to wind her arms around his neck, and Wako clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a squeak as they kissed. Gouda-senpai was just standing there, arms crossed, every line of him looking... vindicated maybe? Had he stepped aside, the way Sugata had tried to when he still thought he was going to die? Wako chewed on her lip, eyes clinging to the three of them even though she knew this was private and she shouldn't be watching. If these three could make it work, somehow, and still be friends then maybe...

Her eyes stretched wider when Gouda-senpai strolled up to Honda-senpai and Shinada-senpai, and clapped a hand on Honda-senpai's shoulder. She could see the flash of his teeth, as he grinned, from two floors up. Shinada-senpai hooked her hand around the back of his neck, and he smirked as he leaned down to kiss her too.

When he drew back, Wako caught Shinada-senpai's expression for just a moment, and it was full of fierce satisfaction.

Gouda-senpai cocked his head up at Honda-senpai, thin mouth tilted in a wry smile as he asked something. Wako thought Honda-senpai was a little redder than usual, but he nodded just a little and leaned in to meet the light kiss Gouda-senpai offered.

Wako spun away from the window so she could put her back to the wall beside it. She was breathing fast and light, above the hand still pressed to her mouth. Three of them. All three of them. Not just Shinada-senpai with both the boys. In fact, it had looked like Gouda-senpai's idea, to be with Honda-senpai too!

Wako peeked back out the window. The three of them had settled against each other under that tree. Shinada-senpai was snuggled into Honda-senpai's chest, fingers fisted tight in Gouda-senpai's uniform jacket as she held him close. Gouda-senpai had his arm around her as he rested against Honda-senpai's shoulder, eyes closed. Honda-senpai had wrapped his arms around them both and turned his head to press his lips to the wild brush of Gouda-senpai's hair.

The sight of them like that made Wako's chest ache. She wanted that, she knew, abrupt and sure. She wanted that for herself, with Takuto and Sugata. She wanted it for Takuto and Sugata. She wanted it to work, without anyone having to make the faces both boys had made when they talked about visiting her after she married the other one!

She slid down to sit against the wall, knees pulled up so she could rest her forehead on them. Could it happen? Could it work? The boys were important to each other, she knew that. Takuto had been just as determined to get Sugata back as she had been. Sugata had trusted Takuto with her happiness. They'd saved each other, more than once. Could it work?

In the silence of the hall, she whispered out loud, maybe to the cybodies she'd served for so long or maybe just to fate, "Please let it work."

Sugata eyed Wako down the length of the table as she prodded at her fruit salad with a fork. All of them who had grown up together made jokes about Wako's appetite, but the truth really was that if Wako didn't want to eat, something was very wrong.

"Wako?" Takuto asked, looking across the table at her, forkful of omelet poised but suddenly ignored. "Everything okay?"

Sugata hid a wry smile in his napkin. He was the one who noticed first, but Takuto was the one who would come right out and ask first. It was their relationship to Wako in a nutshell.

Expecting Wako to say it was nothing, he was startled when what she actually said was, "It's just... Well." She fidgeted with her napkin, not looking at either of them. "You know how Ruri teases me about you two?"

Sugata did indeed know, and had to repeatedly stifle the urge to strangle the girl for pushing things when, honestly, he would be perfectly happy if Wako took her time making that decision. "Did she say something that upset you?" he asked quietly.

"It's not... it's just..." Wako put her fork down with a sharp tap and looked up at them, one after another. Her eyes were bright and her mouth was in a determined line. "I don't want to make that choice."

Sugata sat back with a soft sigh. She'd decided on neither, then. He supposed, this way, it meant neither he nor Takuto would be closed out. Even if neither of them really got what he wanted either. "If that's what you want, of course."

"Wait," Takuto said slowly, looking back and forth between them. "Wako said... that choice. Is there something else you want to do?" he asked her softly, hopefully.

Wako was folding and unfolding her hands, now, but her eyes were still steady. "Yes. I don't want to have to choose between you. I don't want one of you to do anything dumb," she shot a momentary glare at Sugata, "like trying to 'give me up' to the other. I want it to be the three of us." She finished, lower, starting to be a little uncertain, "The three of us together. If... we can?"

Sugata realized he was staring at her.

"You want... um." Takuto was slowly turning red. "Both of us?" His voice was a little weak, kind of the way it got when Watanabe was entertaining herself by making him blush.

Wako was a little pink too, by now. "It's just... I know the two of you are important to each other, too. Right?"

Takuto looked over at Sugata, wide eyed. He didn't, Sugata reflected distantly, look like anyone's steadfast defender, or like someone who would get into a knock-down drag-out fight to pull a friend out of a funk, or like someone who would unleash a monster and then chase it into space and nearly kill himself destroying it, just to save a rival. But he had done all of that. Sugata's voice was a little rough when he finally answered.

"Important. Yes." He swallowed the roughness down, looking down at his plate. Takuto was important to him, probably more so than anyone he'd only met this year had a right to be, but that didn't mean he'd ever thought about this kind of relationship with him! "Wako, I... are you really...?"

"I'm just asking if it's possible," she said softly.

"All right."

Sugata's head jerked up and he stared at Takuto, shocked. Takuto's blush had gone down, and in its place was that earnest clarity, that rock steady look he always seemed to wear when setting out to accomplish completely unreasonable things. Learn the sword in mere months. Defeat a whole organization of other star drivers. Enter a threesome with his best friend and rival, and their mutual romantic interest. Sugata closed his eyes for a moment, fighting a sudden urge to laugh. "Nothing has ever complicated my life like you have," he murmured.

When he looked up again, Takuto was smiling, bright and open and just a little challenging. "Well, maybe that'll be a good place to start."

Sugata gave in and laughed.

They got through the rest of breakfast with amazingly little awkwardness, considering what they'd just agreed on. It didn't trip Sugata up again until they were leaving, and he offered Wako his hand down the front steps. She squeezed his fingers a little, smiling up at him with such relief and hope that his heart turned over. He hesitated, looking down at her and finally offered his other hand to Takuto.

Takuto looked back at him, thoughtful in the way that was always a bit startling in someone as guileless as Takuto was. When he smiled this time, it was small and true, and his hand closing around Sugata's was warm. It felt... good. Perhaps, Sugata thought, this could work after all.

They had a place to start, at least.

He and Takuto still walked on either side of Wako, on their way to school that day, but when Ruri met them at the stairs and immediately teased Wako for keeping both of them dangling, Wako only laughed, bright and clear. The sound lit up the morning, and for once Sugata didn't hesitate to catch Takuto's eye over her head. They shared a smile and Sugata let himself hope. Maybe. Maybe it really would be all right, after all.

He tipped his face up to the morning sun, and smiled at the future.

End

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).

Black Turns to Blue

Lin Shu survives, and, with a certain amount of salutary brow-beating, finds a purpose in doing so that moves him to enter the world again, seek out his loved ones, and start walking a meaningful path forward with them. Drama with Adorable Romance, I-3

One

When Liu An had come to be examined for betrothal to the new Crown Prince, she had been a little nervous, but mostly excited. She was not one of the great beauties of the realm, had never even imagined appearing on the List, but she was thoroughly schooled in managing a household, was a reasonable musician with a flute, was even judged fairly deft at body services. She represented quite a good political alliance. And, her own close-held secret, she had actually met Prince Jing. She knew better than to place too much weight on that, but being rescued from bandits certainly made more of an impression than anyone else her parents had spoken of betrothing her to!

So she'd bowed deferentially under the cool, lovely eyes of her prospective mother-in-law, answered her questions softly, and hoped. And, indeed, fate seemed to favor this chance of hers. When she heard she was the one chosen, she'd been nothing but excited, delighted, holding her mother's hands and laughing at the news.

It wasn't until she stood before her newly betrothed that she felt a faint shiver of alarm up her spine.

She had not expected to be particularly noticed, that day at the monastery; he'd been seeing to his men, speaking to the priests, had spared no more than a glance to be sure she was not injured. Everyone knew Prince Jing was a man of action, so she hadn't been surprised. But even here, in the outer rooms of the Eastern Palace, somewhere that should be a place of repose and even triumph for him... he was so stern. His eyes saw her when he looked at her, yes, but he only looked for a moment before turning away again—courteous, but so distant. Intimidated, she spoke only formal words of pleasure, and he spoke brief, equally formal words of welcome, and then he was gone, striding out the doors like someone shrugging off a cloak, and An bit her lip.

Consort Jing's arm settled warm around her shoulders, and when An looked up, the Lady wore a small, rueful smile, so she dared to ask, "Mother, is my husband-to-be displeased?"

"Not displeased, child. Simply... distracted."

Men of the military families were taught to track the movements of armies, but women who were meant for the courts were taught to track other things: the flicker of an eye, the passing word, the shift of weight that could say where thoughts marched. Liu An had learned her lessons well; she heard the delicate emphasis Lady Jing placed on her words, and her heart sank. She looked down at her clasped hands and murmured, "Is there another?"

This close, she could feel her mother-in-law's sigh. "He is Crown Prince, and likely to be Emperor; much of his attention will always be given to his people. As for his heart... even I did not realize how much of that was given to his young cousin until xiao-Shu was gone." She held An a little closer and murmured into her ear, "If you can be here for him and not reproach him, and accept how much of him is given to his kingdom, his people, the brother of his heart, then it will be well. I believe you can do this. It's why I chose you."

An took a breath, heartened by that; it was not another woman she would need to contend with for control of the household. Rather, from what Lady Jing said, it was only that her husband-to-be was a man of duty and... and, perhaps, of grief, if his heart's brother was gone. "I will, Mother," she answered stoutly.

It was not difficult, to start with. Her husband-to-be was stern, yes, and reserved, and focused on many things that were not her, but he was courteous when they met, and she started to know how to look for the little easing in the straight line of his mouth that meant he was pleased. An attended closely to her mother-in-law's quiet directions and demonstrations of what made her son's relentlessly straight shoulders relax a little. And the Lady was very kind to her. She started to find that Lady Jing's gentle smiles, when she succeeded in some small thing, like the first time she made hazelnut pastries that the Crown Prince liked, made her almost as happy as they made the Lady's son. The first time she and her husband-to-be smiled at each other, awkward but sweet for all that, was when Lady Jing kindly complimented her tea brewing in the Prince's hearing, and An looked away, delighted and a little flustered, only to catch his eye.

Though she had no idea why the Lady's remark that they both disliked strong tea so, perhaps An would let him have as much water as he really liked should make his gaze turn distant again.

As the days passed, she found herself increasingly in awe of Lady Jing, her knowledge of the court, the graceful calm with which she spoke to this maid, that eunuch, another consort, and thereby opened the way before her son and his advisors, broad and smooth with the good will or self-interest of everyone around them. She attended to these subtle lessons, also, though she doubted she would ever be the master Lady Jing was. And the day Lady Jing laid a quiet hand on her shoulder and murmured in her ear exactly who her long-time nurse was beholden to, An clasped her hands tight together and smiled.

"I will take the utmost care in choosing my attendants," she murmured. "And I'm sure my house's guards can secure everything that needs to be brought here to the Palace." The tiny, satisfied smile the Lady gave her at her faint emphasis on 'everything' made her heart nearly burst with pride.

Making her first moves in the game of court, rather than waiting for another to move her, making a successful move, she understood a little better how some people let themselves be drawn so very deeply into that game. She understood it, but she could not entirely approve of where that so often led (only look at where it had led the Empress and Lady Yue!), and she thought her husband felt the same. And, once the wedding was past and she began to take hold of the Eastern Palace as her household, she began to wonder at how often she saw the scholar Mei Changsu visiting her lord. She knew the whispers of him, of course; who didn't, after the past few years? The genius strategist, the Qilin scholar, the one behind the rise of the old Crown Prince, of Prince Yu, and then of her husband.

Thinking on what had become of the first two men, she couldn't help but feel some trepidation. Was her husband only the most recent in some longer game? Would he go down the same way, dropped from this man's hand when his use was done? Eventually, unable to tell for herself what Mei Changsu meant to do, this man who walked so softly and casually through her house, who smiled at her, faint and distracted, and nodded courteously, but whose glance was so sharp it felt like it should slice her skin each time it fell, even glancingly, on her, she went to Lady Jing.

"Mei Changsu?" The Lady blinked at her, hand actually paused on her cup, seeming genuinely startled.

"I'm probably being foolish," An murmured, looking down at the delicate, celadon pot as she set it down, carefully aligned in its corner of the tray. "You must surely have thought of all this already. I just... my lord..." Gentle fingers touched her cheek, and she looked up to find her mother-in-law smiling, affectionate and yet sad. So very sad, and An caught her breath on the sudden understanding of how deep that melancholy that often hung around Lady Jing like an old, faint scent must truly run. "Mother...?" she whispered.

"Be at ease, child," Lady Jing said, softly. "There is nothing in that man that is capable of betraying Jingyan."

An nodded slowly, still uncertain. She knew Lady Jing had greater understanding of the situation than she did, but this was so counter to everything she had ever heard of Mei Changsu. Her mother-in-law's smile lightened a little with amusement, and she patted An's hand. "Here." She called one of her ladies to bring her a stacked, lacquer box, and set it on the table before An. "Bring them some sweets, today, and watch a little. I think you will see."

An straightened; this was a lesson, then. "Yes, Mother," she murmured, gathering her robes to take her leave, taking the box of sweets with her.

Sure enough, Mei Changsu was announced that afternoon, and she waited until her husband called for tea, minding her breathing to hold down her nerves. Both men looked up with some surprise when she accompanied the tea in, but as soon as Mei Changsu's eye fell on the box in her hands he smiled, faint but knowing. An tried not to feel like a transparent screen as she bowed and answered her husband's raised brows with, "Your lady Mother sends these, my lord."

As she knelt to unpack the delicate sweets and lay them out, Mei Changsu's smile deepened at the corners, and he slid her husband a sidelong look. "Still no hazelnut. Are you going to perish from the lack, yet?"

A sudden smile, albeit half stifled, broke over her husband's face, startlingly bright, and only years of training kept An's hands moving smoothly as he elbowed Mei Changsu without looking at him, and Mei Changsu elbowed him back, both of them positively grinning. She stood in a bit of a daze at this sudden, so very clear friendship between them, holding on to her countenance with her fingernails, and bowed herself out. Her husband's nod was kind but thoroughly distracted, all his focus on the man beside him.

"I'm sure Mother simply doesn't want to deal with xiao-Shu complaining over having to spend a week in bed after encountering them," he said as she turned to go, clearly teasing. That, in itself, was a sufficient shock, coming from her stern, reserved husband, that she didn't register what he'd called Mei Changsu until she was nearly at the door.

Xiao-Shu?

A relation, her social training supplied in calm reflex, regardless of the disorientation of her thoughts. One he was close to, perhaps had grown up with. Genealogies unfolded before her mind's eye, the families connected by marriage to the royal line: Yan, Xie, Lin, though no one spoke aloud of that now, of the disgraced family that had seemed so secure and so gifted with talent...

Lin Shu.

She had to catch herself against the edge of the room's open screens at the shock of that name surfacing. It shouldn't be possible, the whole family had died, but that was the only Shu she could think of that Xiao Jingyan would speak to so familiarly. And hadn't Lin Shu been hailed as a genius? She glanced over her shoulder at them, and got another shock; Mei Changsu (Lin Shu?) was looking back at her.

He held her eyes for one long moment, and then gave her a tiny smile and a deliberate nod, and yet another shock ran through her.

He had let her see this.

It had been he who started the teasing exchange in her presence, showed her how close he must be to her husband, possibly (probably!) even known that would prompt him to use that old, familiar name. And had, apparently, judged her accurately enough to know she would be able to unravel the name. And had confirmed all of this in no more than a nod. She clutched the screen's frame, feeling a little faint, the way she had the first time she'd truly understood the reach of Lady Jing's influence and control, in the Palace.

It was the memory of her mother-in-law that steadied her, though, because she heard again the Lady's quiet words, in her mind. There is nothing in him that is capable of betraying Jingyan. She clung to the memory of those words, even as the scope of what her husband might be planning started to expand alarmingly, in her mind, and drew herself up, resettled calm around her like a fine robe. When she dipped another bow to the man watching her, straight-backed, she thought she saw a glint of approval in his eyes before he turned back to her husband.

So there were two masters of this deadly game who stood behind her husband, she thought as she walked away. So be it, then.

It wasn't until she'd gone to bed, that night, settling herself under the summer-light coverlet, that she remembered where she'd heard the name "xiao-Shu" before—it had been when Lady Jing was telling her of her husband's beloved cousin, who had been lost, and her mouth tilted ruefully in the darkness. No wonder he brightened so, when Mei Changsu teased him. Well, at least this answered her unvoiced question—whether the Crown Prince truly intended to force the issue of the Chiyan case. He almost certainly did, if the one Lady Jing had called the brother of his heart had returned from death itself to stand beside him and demand justice. She turned over, pulling the cover closer around her shoulders. It would be dangerous; she remembered whispers of what had happened to those who tried to defend Lin or Prince Qi, and death had been the kindest outcome. She couldn't deny the fear that wrapped around her throat, when she thought of that. And yet...

Wasn't justice right? Wasn't the bright, unyielding conviction of that one of the things she admired in her husband? And hadn't she thought, just this afternoon, that two masters had both bent their thoughts and skill to this end, supporting him? Very well, then; so would she, as was only right and proper.

Her husband's unbending integrity was a measure she thought she could willingly raise her children to, and, thinking that, she smiled into the darkness and returned Lin Shu's quiet nod, firmly.

Liu An stood in the entrance of her husband's rooms, watching over him quietly.

She didn't know what else she could do.

They had triumphed so greatly, politically and personally, and she had rejoiced with them—her husband, her mother-in-law, her cousin by marriage. Even now, the rest of the country celebrated their military victories, the successful defense of their borders. In these rooms, though, and in the rooms of the Lady Jing, there was grief, grief so heavy in the air she could nearly taste it.

Lin Shu was dead.

Her husband sat quietly, staring straight ahead with a still face, and a casual passer-by might only think him deep in his own thoughts. But he hadn't moved for hours, and his eyes... she tried not to look too closely, because when she did she had to step back into the shadows of the pillared hall and wrestle back her own tears.

"My lady?" It was Zhao Fang beside her, one of the attendants she'd brought from home, hand hovering under her elbow. She must look in need of it, An supposed.

"I'm well," she murmured, and a tiny smile tugged at her mouth, at the frankly dubious look on Zhao Fang's face as she bowed acknowledgment.

"My lady..." Zhao Fang hesitated but finally rushed out, very softly, "My lady, have you told him? It might... it might comfort him."

An laid her palm against her stomach, biting her lip. They'd only been sure this month, and already the flurry was starting among her attendants, to ensure the harmony of her surroundings and the well-being of her developing child. But the news from the border had come before she could tell her husband. Would this news help, here and now?

She found herself thinking of the man she'd only met a few times, of how his spirit had burned in him, a cloak of fire laid over shoulders that had always been bent under the weight of illness. Even without Lady Jing's great learning in medicine, An had seen that weight, and honestly been a little frightened by the force of will that drove forward despite it. And yet, even in the midst of all that burning will, he had still teased his cousin, reassured her, been mindful of the hearts around him.

Liu An did not yet have the knowledge or skill of Lady Jing, to match the scope of Lin Shu's strategies, nor did she have the strength of arms to win victories in war, like Duchess Nihuang. But Lin Shu's mindfulness, that she could carry on, here and now, with nothing but what already lay in her hands. "Leave us for a while," she told Zhao Feng, and drew a long, slow breath for calm before she turned and walked into her husband's rooms, steps sure and steady.

It wasn't a memorial. The time for that would be later, after clean-up had been done and they'd returned to the capital. Tonight was a different kind of tradition—soldiers still in the field, gathering to mourn the fallen at least enough to put the grief aside in the morning and go on.

"Was he always like that?" Jingrui asked, low, eyes on his cup. A ripple of something fond, if too subdued to be laughter, ran through the tent where the northern army's officers had gathered.

"The entire battlefield at his fingertips, even when he's in the middle of it?" Zhen Ping asked, with a faint smile. "Yes."

"Always sure, in an instant, what you should do?" General Meng added, and tossed back his own drink. "Yes."

"And really thinking about, well, the long term?" Yujin asked, looking around at the older men. "I felt like he wasn't just looking at the battlefield. He was thinking, the whole time, about all the next steps, and getting everyone home, and..." He broke off, blinking hard, and took a long drink, himself.

"Yes," Li Gang said, simply, reaching over to pour again. "Those of us left, we didn't just follow him because we survived together. It's that he never stopped being our Marshal. And our Marshal was always like that."

Jingrui closed his eyes and took a deep breath, and when he let it out he felt a twist of pain he'd never been able to let go before ease a little. "I'm glad of the chance to know him, this way." Maybe it was just the change in his own perspective or expectations, but with Lin Shu as his commander, he'd never felt that he'd been set second to anyone or anything, even when it was his unit used as bait or ordered to hold, even when they lost men doing it. Rather, he was an indispensable part of the whole that Lin Shu commanded and cared for. He was grateful for that knowledge, to hold in his heart, the last gift from the brilliant cousin who had pulled he and Yujin into manhood this past year, like it or not.

And it was Yujin who held up his cup and said, softly, "To Lin Shu, Marshal of the Chiyan Army and commander of the Northern border."

Everyone in the tent drained their cups, and Jingrui thought that maybe his cousin's spirit smiled at them, wry and affectionate.

Nihuang had expected the letter.

Of course she had. The words on which she had parted with Lin Shu were not words spoken by a man who thought he would return.

Even so, it took a few breaths before she could force herself to reach out and take the letter held out to her by the girl at her feet, hand shaking. Both their hands were shaking.

She opened the letter only long enough for the characters "is dead" to make sense to her, and then her hand clenched on the thin paper, crushing it, and she closed her eyes against the burn of tears, trying to breathe past the pain sawing at her heart.

She had expected this, hadn't she? Why did it hurt so much?

It wasn't until the girl whispered, "I should go," that she managed to regain a small grip on her composure, swallowing hard and wiping half-angry palms across her wet cheeks.

"Rest the night here, at least," she offered, husky. "You've come a long way." And then she looked down, really looked, and saw the wet tracks on the girl's own cheeks, the trembling of her mouth, even when the girl's teeth closed on her lower lip, obviously trying to conceal it. Softer, remembering Lin Shu's rather plaintive complaints of how determinedly a young woman followed him, even to battle, Nihuang asked, "Are you Gong Yu?"

The hint of trepidation in her eyes, when the girl glanced up answered the question, even before she nodded slowly. Nihuang took a deep breath and smiled down at her. "Stay a while, mei-mei," she said gently, laying a hand on Yu's shoulder. "We can talk."

The helpless widening of those eyes was reward enough for pulling herself together, as was the quick hand Yu dashed across her face before looking up again and answering, hesitant and hopeful and maybe even a little awed, "Yes, jie-jie."

Nihuang knelt down and gathered Yu close, laughing a little with soft, painful recognition when Yu buried her face in Nihuang's shoulder, armored as it still was, and sobbed. Yes—this she recognized very well. She stroked the loose hair falling down the girl's back and let her own tears fall into the dark braids wrapped around Yu's head.

The sun was almost down before they got around to speaking in words, but that was all right. They both knew all the words already.

At the top end of a northern mountain trail, a man in flamboyant layers of white shook his sleeves back, eyes sharp and determined. "All right. Let's see what we can do."

Fei Liu nodded, holding tight to Su ge-ge's hand to keep him from trying to leave again.

Su ge-ge wasn't going anywhere without him.

Two

For a long time, or what might have been a long time, he was afraid he'd failed, each time he woke. He woke weak, groggy, never able to rouse to full awareness, and he knew that sensation from a decade worth of illness, fought stubbornly against it, as he always had, to push his thoughts past the fog to grip on the world again.

This time, though, he could never force himself past the cloudy uncertainness of almost-dreams. And what did that mean, if not failure, to fall ill again before his last task was done?

As it happened again and again, though, he started to wonder, in the fuzzy way that was all that was available to him, if perhaps it was all a dream—he'd never been so ill for so long. He'd have thought, if he really was this ill, he'd be dead. Or perhaps he was dead, and this not-quite-existing was what came next, for him. He'd been resigned to hell for years, really, and this was surely his personal hell. The one time he actually recognized one of the vague voices around him, it was Lin Chen saying, furiously "If you die, after all my hard work, I'll revive you just so I can kick you down this mountain."

An eternity of Lin Chen's idea of beside manner. Most likely hell, then.

Eventually, though, he started to see things, lost in that fog of half-thoughts. He saw them very clearly, though he was almost sure his eyes were closed. Perhaps this was the vision of spirits?

Green grass, and a sky bluer than he'd thought was possible, and a white sun shining down—not scorching, but gentle.

A carriage with soft, gauzy orange curtains. He could hear every crunch of the wheels over a dirt road, but couldn't feel the jolts, so he must not be inside it. Somehow this made sense to him.

A red streamer, blowing in the wind. Or a scarf? It moved like silk.

The tiny curve of Jingyan's mouth that said he was amused, and he felt that curve pull on his chest like drawing a bow, felt the weight of that faint smile so viscerally he tried to speak to it, but he couldn't move his mouth and no, no, he can't be back to this again, he didn't have the strength to start over a second time, no.

Air choked him and someone's voice exclaimed "Idiot!" and he sank down into darkness again with relief.

Feeling returned first. He was lying down on something cushioned. Something heavy was draped over him from chin to toes. Slowly, it came to him that there was soft light on the other side of his eyelids. That he knew what the sounds around him were—not one vast cloud of noise any more, but the rush of running water, the brisk song of mountain birds, the rustle of cloth nearby.

There was a reason all of this should not make sense, but he couldn't quite grasp it in his head. He tried to open his eyes, hoping sight would spark thought.

His lids were heavy, and slow to rise, but after a few tries he finally kept them open for more than a fuzzy flash of lightness. Half-drawn shades of bamboo hung from above. White screen paper was bright against the smooth, dark wood all around. Slanting sunlight made a glowing bar on the pale quilt laid over him. The fabric was soft under his hands when he finally managed to stir.

Lin Chen was sitting beside him, and lifted his head at the faint motion, brows rising when he saw his patient was awake.

That was the sight that sparked, not just thought, but memory, knowledge, panic, and Lin Shu tried to jolt upright, made a hoarse sound of frustration when he could barely move. Lin Chen rolled his eyes and pushed him firmly back against the bed.

"Of course your very first move would be to try to leap to your feet and gallop off. It's fortunate I know exactly what kind of fool you can be, or I might have let you wake up before this and then we'd probably be stuck chasing you through the woods until you fell into a river and drowned of stupidity. You really do have a death wish, don't you? You want to absolutely ruin my reputation as a healer, don't you? Don't bother denying it!"

He ignored this, as one was always well advised to ignore Lin Chen once he got going, and finally managed to rasp out of a desperately dry throat, "The border?"

Lin Chen gave him an exasperated look. "The border is secure, of course. You saw to that, before you got yourself stabbed in the side and tried to bleed out on the last battlefield."

The relief of that was dizzying, and for long minutes, he just lay back and tried to breathe through it. Lin Chen snorted and picked up his discarded scroll again. Eventually, though, enough sense returned that he realized why this all seemed so very strange, and cleared his throat as much as possible to ask, roughly, "Why am I alive?"

At that, Lin Chen threw down the scroll and positively glowered at him. "Did you become stupid, just because you were surrounded by stupidity, in the capital? What did you think I signed up with the army for?" When Lin Shu only blinked at him, not quite able to gather his thoughts enough to explain that this was insufficient information, Lin Chen sighed and leaned over to pick up a cup and feed him water, a sip at a time. More quietly, he said, "I'm not you, so I didn't think to switch the pills until after you'd already badgered the bottle out of me. And then I had to follow after you anyway, to adjust the doses and make sure you didn't just collapse because I was using less deadly measures to increase your strength." His mouth twisted, and he added, rather sourly, "And if those hadn't been sufficient, I have no doubt you'd have gotten the more deadly measures out of me; I only hoped a little, and certainly not enough to say anything to you about it." A haughty look. "Which you can hardly complain about, now can you, Su Zhe?"

A faint huff of laughter shook him. No, he probably couldn't. Still. "How?"

Lin Chen smiled at him, sunny and glinting in a way that made him reflexively check the distance to the room's exits. "You have assisted the study of medicine, Changsu, be proud. Since you were already going to need transfusions anyway, I took a chance."

Horror crept through him, freezing his lungs, his heart, his blood...

Lin Chen thumped him irritably with a knuckle to the hollow of his shoulder, sending a jolt down his arm and air flooding all the way down in his lungs, and snapped, "Don't be ridiculous!" The air cleared his head enough, at least, to nod an apology for thinking his friend would use what they'd both agreed was a rightly forbidden procedure, even in extremity. Lin Chen resettled his sleeves, like a bird settling ruffled feathers. "You have your genius, I have mine." At Lin Shu's raised brows, though, he sat back a little and expanded. "I know you read the records on how Bingxu grass can be used; did you understand why?" Lin Shu shook his head and looked inquiring, which worked on Lin Chen about half the time. Fortunately, this seemed to be a day for it to work. "It increases your yin energy."

Lin Shu blinked at this, because... well, he knew medicine wasn't always intuitive to the lay-person, but still... Lin Chen smirked at him, good humor apparently restored.

"To put it simply, Bingxu grass dramatically increases your absorption. It poisons the system because we are not made or meant to indiscriminately absorb the influences around us. A body that suffers serious enough depletion will benefit from this, briefly, but without any way to filter or balance what is absorbed, any body will collapse into irrecoverable disorder in a few months. I gave you many strengtheners during the campaign, at very dangerous doses, but I didn't give you Bingxu until I had you back here in Langya, where I could control your surroundings."

All right, that made sense enough. "And transfusions?"

"Mm." Lin Chen looked out the propped open windows over the new spring green spreading over the gray mountain slope outside, eyes distant. "Your followers are mostly fools, but even a fool can be correct sometimes. Zhen Ping asked me, during the campaign: if it would take the lives of ten to let you recover, would a tenth of the lives of a hundred not also serve? I had to delegate more of the selection process than I really like, but Yan did an adequate enough job." He looked back down at Lin Shu, gaze dark and steady in a way that held him still under the flow of words. "We found a hundred. And then I suppressed your mind and stimulated your instincts as intensely as possible for seven months, while they came, one after another, to offer a year or two of their health to you. Your instincts, at least, want to live, so there's a small part of you that isn't an idiot, I suppose. Enough to accept their gift, at least."

He still didn't like the sound of that at all. "Chen—"

Lin Chen snatched a fan out of his sleeve and smacked him over the head with it. "Their health, not their lives! They will all recover with a little care, which is something you made possible for most of them in the first place! Shut up and be grateful!"

"I am grateful," he protested mildly, rubbing his head with a trembling hand. He held it up to regard the tremors thoughtfully, but had to let it fall after a breath or two, unable to keep his arm lifted longer. His hands were thinner than ever.

"You'll probably have to re-learn how to walk, after this long bedridden," Lin Chen supplied. "Perhaps I'll make a harness for you and give the leads to Fei Liu, to keep you from falling every other step."

His mouth quirked, and he murmured, "You'll have to leave off teasing him, then, or he'll take me flying when he runs from you."

He hadn't realized quite how stiff Lin Chen's shoulders were, until they relaxed, and then he wondered just how close to death he'd been, all this time. Lin Chen, of course, ignored his sharp look and only prodded him playfully with the end of his fan. "It might be good for you. Get your blood flowing properly. For now, though, let's see how much you can eat without getting sick." He pushed himself to his feet, shaking his robes straight, and swept out of the room, head high.

It seemed likely he'd been very, very close to death, given that kind of flamboyance. Lin Shu laid quietly, watching the shadows of the ceiling move, and wondered rather tiredly whether he was to find himself carrying the weight of other lives yet again, albeit smaller bits of them.

He didn't know if he could do that, again.

The answer to how much food he could keep down was "almost none." It prepared him a little bit for the answers to several other questions, such as how far he could walk (he passed out the first time he tried to so much as stand up) and could he even bathe himself (no). After having even a few months of something approaching his normal strength, again, it was galling. He quickly learned that Fei Liu haunted his rooms, and that waking up when the boy was gone had been very much an exception to the normal state of affairs, which now included Fei Liu being the one to put up his hair, on days Lin Shu was awake enough.

He was reasonably certain, as he ruefully patted at the knots that resulted, that this was a bit of Lin Chen's revenge for worrying him.

Slowly, as days passed into weeks, he re-learned how to stand, how to hobble, at least, and sent Fei Liu out onto the mountain's darkening green slopes to cut staffs for him to support himself on. Slowly, as the pines put out soft, new needles and the air warmed, things other than rice started to appear in his rice porridge. Slowly, as the white and pink lotuses bloomed on the verges of Langya's river, his hands stopped shaking when he tried to hold up even the lightest book.

So very slowly. And for what was all this effort, now?

"You've done this before," Lin Chen scolded him, when he was slow to get up and go for his excruciating hobbles around the broad stone flags of the plaza outside his rooms. "Last time, I had to keep you from breaking your neck by pushing too hard. Never thought I'd miss that," he finished in a mutter.

Lin Shu rolled over on his back and stared up at the grimly familiar ceiling. "A year of recovery, again, for how much life left? You said it yourself: the body can only take so much." Lower, he added, "The soul likewise, I think."

Lin Chen crossed his arms, leaning against the room's open screens. "True enough. You don't have any reserves at all. Your tissues have lost almost all elasticity. You'll fall ill easily. But," he held up an admonishing finger, "the Poison of Bitter Fire is purged. You may live like a man over twice your age, but you can still live."

"How long?" Lin Shu asked calmly, having long since learned to listen for what his friend didn't say.

"Perhaps ten years."

A crack of laughter escaped him, then, though it wasn't amused. He hadn't lied to Nihuang after all. It was no comfort. "Ten years of what kind of life? Should I go back to my loved ones and lay that kind of fate on them, to fret over me for years and then grieve me a third time?"

"I take it all back," Lin Chen snapped. "You have no understanding of women at all. I think we shall have to reduce your rank on the gentleman's list."

The reminder of the other half of his place in the world outside jolted him up on one elbow. "Chen...!"

Lin Chen rolled his eyes. "Oh calm down. Your name hasn't appeared for two years, and right now you wouldn't even make the top fifty, let alone the top ten. I'd rank you just below a drowned rat, at the moment."

"What a relief," he shot back dryly, propping himself fully upright and trying to catch his breath. Lin Chen eyed him for a long moment and then smiled, smugly.

"There, you see? You didn't even cough once."

He snatched up and threw the only thing in reach, which was his staff. Lin Chen slid aside, laughing, and caught it, spinning it deftly up and over to rap him, very delicately, over the head. Lin Shu swept a hand up to deflect, reawakened body memory taking over, however futile it had been for years now, and had to stop still when it actually worked. He could feel the pressure Lin Chen was putting on the staff, but his arm didn't give way under it. That was what the angle of a deflection was for, of course, but still...

"You see?" his friend repeated, quietly.

He slowly closed a hand around the still-extended staff, taking it back. His grip trembled, and the staff wobbled. But he could still feel the force of actual strength, however small, that had been behind that single, unthinking move. "I could never really go back, though, could I?" he asked, low. "A man over twice my age would be retired long since."

"Do you think you're the only one?" Lin Chen shot back. "Your Crown Prince will never take the field again either, will he? Do you think him less for it?"

Lin Shu opened his mouth and then had to close it again to order his suddenly scattered thoughts. "Of course not," he murmured, distracted by the new constellation those thoughts had fallen into in the wake of Lin Chen's jarring question. "The work he has now is even more demanding, and..." He trailed off, remembering an empty throne room, and the empty remains of his uncle jabbing a finger at the throne.

Anyone who sits on this throne will change.

And perhaps... perhaps that was true, though he'd bet on Jingyan's stubborn integrity against the weight of any throne. But change... yes. Jingyan would have to change, had already had to change, was already trapped in the Capital as much as Lin Shu was trapped in his body most days. But he knew Jingyan would already be reaching for new footing, a new place to stand strong. He knew Lin Chen's point was that he should not be less, should not let himself fall to despair either, but there was another thought linking itself ever so softly to the end of that chain.

Was it possible that he and Jingyan, shifting to each find his new footing, could stand in the same place, once again?

The thought spread through him like a fire catching from a spark, one slow lick at a time until it finally flared up in a burst of wanting that stole his breath. If he hadn't already been sitting, he'd have fallen, dizzied by the very possibility. He would never, could never, ask Nihuang to abandon the field, would never permit another to suggest she open her fingers and release the martial brilliance she was born to, not for any man. But Jingyan... Jingyan was fighting a new kind of battle, now, and it was one Mei Changsu knew the ways of. To serve his dead he'd walked even the most shadowed turnings of that way, but to serve Jingyan, now, what was needed was to find the brighter tracks, the ones that would not consume his heart. And perhaps, just perhaps... Lin Shu could walk those ways with him.

He only realized he was gasping for breath when Lin Chen took his shoulder and shook him a little, frowning. "What idea have you gotten into your head now?"

Lin Shu laughed out loud, for the first time since he'd woken, and smiled up at his friend's startlement. "Help me up. I need to walk."

Startlement faded into a rueful twist of Lin Chen's mouth, and he sighed. "I suppose I should know, by now, to be wary what I wish for, around you. Come on, then." He hauled Lin Shu upright and handed him his staff, standing on the veranda with folded arms and a wry smile as Lin Shu made his way, with slow determination, around the plaza, staff clacking down firmly on the stones.

Recovery with no goal to work toward had been soul-killing, but recovery that still dragged on once he had a reason to fight through it was infuriating. He'd actually managed to forget just how frustrating it was when he knew he could be better and simply wasn't yet. It had been quite a long time since he'd had any hint of "better" to look forward to, after all. Fei Liu brightened, though, and started perching in the trees again, to watch over him, instead of huddling stubbornly in a corner of his rooms, never budging outside unless it was to help him walk somewhere, and then refusing to move further than arm's length away. Li Gang, when he visited, looked less like a man attending a very extended memorial service, and more like a man visiting a sick friend, though he still had a certain air of resignation about him.

Lin Chen had it, too, and finally said, one day while helping him get dressed like a civilized person and not an invalid, "You're still going to leave your life with us, aren't you? I can barely call you Changsu, these days."

He tugged his sleeves straight, slowly, eyes on the soft layers of blue. "My life with you was only ever borrowed."

"Oh, don't be more of an idiot than you can help!" Lin Chen yanked his outer sash snug enough to drive a tiny grunt out of him. "You lived by the laws of our world without fault or hesitation for twelve years. You led Jiang Zuo with strength and care, and protected those who had obligation to you. Of course you had your own reasons for it, but what moment of that time was false?"

"No moment, perhaps," he allowed, quietly, "but the reasons and intent that drove me do not weigh nothing in this. As you say, I am not, now, Mei Changsu."

Lin Chen sniffed, stepping over his scattered books and scrolls to take a seat at the low table, graceful as he only ever was when he fought—or when he had a point to make. "Lin Shu isn't completely intolerable, I suppose. Except when he's moping." He stabbed a finger at Lin Shu's tiny snort of amusement. "But he does not make Mei Changsu a falsehood, any more than Changsu makes Lin Shu false."

The words rang in the air, in his head, the way true things did. He stepped slowly over to the table, lowering himself down on the other side to watch his friend, who watched him back, sharp-eyed. "So, as you say, I have had two lives," he finally answered, softly. "I will count myself fortunate for them. For you. For my people. But it's true, isn't it, that I can only live one at a time?"

For a long moment, he thought Lin Chen would not answer, or would turn aside with a jest. Instead, Chen sighed, propping an elbow on the table, loose hair sliding over his shoulder as he turned to look out at the brightening sky. "You weren't wrong, you know; Lin Shu is a friend. I will visit him now and then, perhaps, to make sure he isn't undoing my hard work, and I expect to see him visit here and mock with me all the foolish questions Langya receives. But no—you cannot live as both at once. No man can live in two worlds at the same time."

It felt like release, like absolution, and Lin Shu took a long breath in. "Thank you." His smile tilted wryly, but it was still true. "My friend.

"I would be a poor physician if I couldn't see what my patient required to be strong again," Lin Chen grumbled, not looking at him. "So? Who have you been grooming to take Jiang Zuo after you?"

It was, Lin Shu had to admit, refreshing to talk with someone who took his foresight and forethought entirely for granted, sometimes. He leaned against his backrest and offered the future a tiny, satisfied smile. "Nie Duo."

Lin Chen's head snapped around, and he stared for a breath. "Nie Duo? The brother of that hairy General of yours who married the investigator girl?" Lin Chen was the master of Langya, and almost as good at keeping track of affairs as Lin Shu; he could see the connections linking together, one after another, in those sharp eyes. Nie Duo was a man from a well-established military clan, one who'd grown up learning tactics, troop movements, how to plan a battle at the knees of his elders, who had connections to the military via his brother, to the intrigues of the capital via his sister-in-law. Nie Duo was the one who'd been sent beyond Liang's borders bearing messages to the further flung members of Jiang Zuo, who was known and trusted by entire networks, who had laid the groundwork for the gambit in Yunnan, years ago, and would be recognized—though not for who he was—by Mu Qing. In short, Nie Duo was a man to make anyone hoping to take advantage of Mei Changsu's disappearance regret the thought, swiftly and sincerely. Nie Duo was also the brother of a Chiyan General, and would never forget his debt to either his chief or a revived Lin Shu. And when that last piece fell into place, Lin Chen threw back his head and laughed, open and delighted as he'd ever been with Mei Changsu.

In a softly-lit room of Liang's Inner Palace, the woman who had become the Palace's de facto mistress sorted through her day's correspondence as little Lan put up her hair. Letters from the agents she'd finally been able to spread outside the Palace went to the side, to go over with An later, once Jingyan's son was taken off for a nap. Inventories, she glanced over and passed to Li Mei, who would see they came to Lady Hui. The few notes from officials she set firmly in the "not until after I have had tea" pile. That left...

"Shall we use the blue enameled hairpiece today, my lady?" Lan asked, and Jing smiled a little at the sparkle in the girl's eyes. She'd chosen Lan as one of her dressers exactly because she delighted in achieving the proper harmony of fabric and jewelry with the day's work, rather than simply piling ostentation atop display. It was one less thing to worry about.

"Yes, that will do." She frowned down at the last letter, though, as Lan carefully settled and pinned the gold and blue hairpiece in place, turning it over in her fingers. It had the seal of Langya Hall.

She had considered, on more than one occasion, sending inquiries to Langya, especially regarding the balance of power beyond the borders, but every time the value of keeping her own counsel and questions close had weighed more heavily. And now they wrote to her? Perhaps... perhaps there was some last request xiao-Shu had left with them? She broke the seal and unfolded the delicate paper, running her eye down it as Lan brought over a pair of long but simple gold earrings on a tray.

"Will these suit, my—my lady!"

The tray clattered to the floor and Jing clutched at her table, trying to steady her breath, her heart, unable to tear her eyes from the few, simple characters on the paper in her hand, even as her attendants caught her arms to hold her upright.

Your nephew lives.

"Call for a physician, quickly," Li Mei was snapping, kneeling beside her to feel her hands, her brow. "My lady?"

"I will be well," she tried to reassure them, though she was ruefully aware of how unsteady her voice was, and that she would undoubtedly have ordered herself to bed, dosed with heart-strengtheners, were she her own attending physician. Actually, that was a fine thought. "Bring me my red medicine chest."

Li Mei frowned, but did as she said, and brought a cup of water to help her swallow the two pills she extracted from the upper layer of boxes. She counted breaths out, slowly, and finally felt the easing of her own pulse. "I'm well," she reassured the girls clustered around her. "There's no need to trouble the physicians."

Li Mei's mouth tightened for a moment, at that, but she dutifully shooed everyone back to their places.

"Are you sure, my lady?" little Lan asked, picking the earrings she'd brought and laying them back on the tray with fingers that trembled just a little. Jing patted her arm, kindly.

"Quite sure. And those earrings will do nicely." She sat, calm and poised, while the last of her jewelry was placed, and drank her first cup of tea with hands that were perfectly steady.

She had, after all, many more years of practice than Lan did.

"You look like a housecat in a patch of catnip."

Lin Shu took another loving breath of the steam rising from his cup and ignored Lin Chen.

"Are you actually going to drink that or not?"

"Good tea deserves to be savored." Finally, he took a slow sip and nearly sighed with pleasure at the rich, delicate flavor.

On the other side of the room's low table, Lin Chen held the letter he was reading a little away from him, brows raised. "You know," he said, slowly, "your noble aunt has quite the vulgar turn of phrase on her, for a woman of the Inner Palace."

Lin Shu nearly passed the first mouthful of real tea he'd been allowed in months through his nose. Fei Liu, looked up from the paper menagerie he'd been creating with a worried frown, and only settled back slowly at Lin Shu's waved assurance. "You wrote to Lady Jing?" he gasped, once he'd finished coughing, sleeve pressed to his mouth. "Chen...!"

"What? You are planning to go back, aren't you?" Lin Chen gave him his most infuriatingly cheerful smile.

"Yes, but—!"

"She is your Prince's other strategist, isn't she?"

Lin Shu took a long breath, reminding himself not to argue on Lin Chen's own terms, and set his cup down with precise fingers, which he was finally, thankfully, able to do. "I was hoping to manage the news of my revival in a slightly more graceful manner than driving a Noble Consort to swear at you in letters."

His friend smirked at the letter. "Not a problem, really. I'm actually a little impressed."

After a long moment, Lin Shu decided firmly not to ask. "Does my honored aunt have anything to say, aside from pointing out your lack of manners?"

Lin Chen fanned the letter through the air, looking more smug than ever as he leaned an elbow on the table. "She admonishes you to attend her in the capital with all due haste."

"Do I take it, from this maneuver, that you think I'm fit to make the trip?" Lin Shu asked rather dryly.

Lin Chen looked him up and down, piercingly, and finally nodded. "You're recovering more according to normal rules, this time. It will continue to be slow, and you will reach a limit, but that limit will be far less a matter of looking constantly over the edge of death and more a matter of... well, of simple age."

Lin Shu dared another sip of his tea, this one rather more satisfactory. "Twice my age, hm?"

"That's how much wear you've put on your body, yes. A man of sixty, who's lived his whole life in war. He may be perfectly well, but he will often ache, he will be slow to recover from any illness, and he won't be able to bear great stresses on his body." Lin Chen leaned forward, slapping the table for emphasis, "Because he's already borne as much as he can!"

"I heard you the first time," Lin Shu pointed out, mildly, mouth quirking at the snort of disbelief he got.

"At any rate, yes. As long as you go slowly, you've reached the point where it would be good for you to be out traveling. I might even let you on a horse." At Lin Shu's startled look—this was the first he'd heard of any such possibility—Lin Chen flapped an impatient hand. "You're recovering better than I expected, actually, and working on practice forms has smoothed your qi considerably. Provided you don't do anything too very stupid, I'm starting to think you might live as much as twenty more years."

Lin Shu had to set his cup down, feeling like his hand might start shaking again. Twenty years? That was... it was almost a life. His voice was a little hoarse when he asked, "How is that possible?"

For a long moment, Lin Chen didn't answer, gazing instead out the open windows at the first flashes of autumn gold, dancing as wind swept through the bamboo on the mountain's flanks. "The will of those who came to help and heal you is still with you," he said at last, quietly. "It's as if the tiniest seeds of a hundred benevolent ghosts gather around you." After another moment, he shrugged off the sober mood and slanted a smile at Lin Shu. "When I write this procedure up, I'll have to make very clear that the circumstances and intentions of the donors appear to weigh very heavily on the results."

"Of course." Lin Shu folded his hands together, more shaken by this news than he had been by the last two seasons of slow, painful recovery. He was used to slow and painful. Hope was what bewildered him, now. Even he could hear how tentative his voice was, when he said, "I suppose I should write to Meng da-ge to start arranging things, then."

"Excellent idea!" Lin Chen pushed himself up from the table in a flurry of robes and smiled down at him, sunny and ruthless. "You can think about what to say while you work through your afternoon training form."

With a glance of wistful regret at the teapot, Lin Shu levered himself upright as well. "As if your standards of proper form leave the slightest space for thinking about anything else."

"You'd have plenty of mind left for it if you weren't wasting so much on complaining. Ingratitude!" Lin Chen gestured broadly at Fei Liu, who promptly edged around Lin Shu's other side. "Just look how pleased Fei Liu is that his Su ge-ge finally knows how to do something useful!"

That got him a very dark look from Fei Liu, who declared, "Fine!"

Lin Shu smiled wryly. He'd insisted as much, himself, for twelve years, flying in the face of all evidence. And now, past any point he'd ever thought to even imagine himself alive in, he seemed to finally be fine again—and barely knew how to deal with it. But perhaps, if all went well, he'd find out soon.

He'd know, when he saw Jingyan again.

Jing descended from her closed carriage, passing from the assistance of Li Mei's hand to Jingrui's and smiled quiet acknowledgment of his greeting. "Her Highness is gracious to receive me," she murmured as Jingrui led her up the stairs of Grand Princess Liyang's elegant house. "I was worried when we didn't see her for the Moon Festival. Is she quite well?" Without waiting for a reply, as the doors shut behind them, she added, "Is she truly willing to have this meeting here?"

"I don't think she's happy about it, but she's appreciated your visits and care, this past year," the young man answered, level. "If it's true, I think she will be glad for you, at least."

Jing could well believe that. Princess Liyang had, in the end, loved her husband, but "complex" did not even begin to describe that love. She nodded silently and let Jingrui guide her through the courtyards to Liyang's outer receiving room, dark wood lightened today with the pale rose her attendants wore, and the soft green of the tea set waiting. Liyang herself, as she rose to exchange greetings, was still in her dark, mourning blue; Jing thought she would probably wear it the full three years, and not for her husband alone. At least one of the agents she'd been able to send out into the world had gone to quietly add Liyang's gifts to the ones Jingrui sent to the Zhou family.

"Do you think this is for real?" Liyang asked, as they sat, reaching for the tea set.

Jing folded her hands tightly under cover of her sleeves. "I hope so. From what the Master of Langya sent me, it seems... possible."

Liyang's mouth twisted a little as she poured. "I think the heavens must have a purpose for that man, that they return him so persistently to this world." She looked up, eyes sharp. "Have you told the Crown Prince?"

Jing held back an indelicate snort with the ease of long practice. "No. Not until I'm sure." There were few things that could break Jingyan as surely as lying hope of his beloved cousin, and that she would not permit.

"They're coming," Jingrui said, from the door, nudging it open and beckoning his younger brother in, along with Meng and a tall, hooded figure. Jing rose, eyes fixed on them, taking in Meng's open excitement, Jingrui's slowly brightening face. Thin hands rose to fold back the hood, and Jing had to breathe through a wild rush of emotion—joy and shock and disbelief and a thread of hope that slowly strengthened as the man who stood there smiled, small and wry the way he seemed to have learned to in his second life.

"Xiao-Shu." It came out husky, and his smiled softened a little as he bowed greeting to her.

"Aunt Jing." That made her have to blink back tears for an instant; he used to call her that when he was much younger, careless of the protocol of court.

"Come here and let me see," she ordered, as she had when he or Jingyan or Nihuang had managed to injure themselves training. He smiled for real at that, and came to hold out his wrist, obediently. She nearly held her own breath, setting her fingers over the pulse point, hope and fear of what she might feel tangling together, but long habit composed her to quiet attention.

And his pulse beat, sure and steady under her fingers, no hint of the stumble and catch that would tell of poison, of a body on the verge of collapse at any moment. It was weaker than it should be in a man only just past thirty, but it was steady. "It's true," she whispered, for the rest of them, for herself, for xiao-Shu, because she suspected he needed to hear it again, too. The laughing and shoulder-clapping among the men gave her a chance to re-gather herself, and she added, more calmly as she tugged his sleeve back down, "Perhaps I won't do anything too very dreadful to your friend after all."

He turned a little red at that, but only asked, "Does Jingyan know?" The rest of the room quieted, Meng looking hopeful, as if he might volunteer to carry the news. She gave him the same look she gave overexcited young maids, their first time serving in the Palace.

"He does not. And I believe this is news you should bring to him in your own voice." Her nephew looked, perhaps, a shade nervous at that, which she honestly felt was to the good. She never wanted to watch her son collapse at her feet again, and one of the only people in the world who could either cause or avert that was standing in front of her right now, hands vanishing into his sleeves as he clasped them.

He'd probably learned that from her.

"If you think it best," he agreed, quietly.

She gave him a nod of approval and gratitude, and hid a smile when he ducked his head a little; yes, for all he'd learned in twelve years focused on vengeance and death, he was still their xiao-Shu. "I'll arrange for the meeting. General Meng, if I could trouble you to bring xiao-Shu to the Eastern Palace at the appropriate time?"

"Of course, Lady," Meng agreed, clearly delighted by all this, and she had to wonder whether xiao-Shu had told him, yet, that actually staying here would likely have to wait on the Emperor's death.

"Very well. If the Grand Princess will permit," Jing looked a question at her, and Liyang nodded slowly, eyes flicking between xiao-Shu and her son, whose whole body was turned and focused on xiao-Shu, nearly as firmly as Meng's. "Let us sit and talk a little," Jing finished, gently.

If Liyang's son had been captured by Lin Shu's brilliance, the way the boy's subordinates so often had been, they would need to speak, later. Liyang would need reassurance that xiao-Shu returned loyalty given to him without stint—which the events of a year ago should bear abundant witness to, but mere bonds of friendship had been harshly strained to keep that dire loyalty and the heart often needed these things explained.

Even xiao-Shu's heart, which was another reason she wanted him to bear this news to Jingyan in person.

Jing took up her tea cup and smiled over the edge, satisfied.

Lin Shu felt distinctly like the lover, in some tale of romantic adventure, being smuggled into the Palace. Except that, instead of going to meet a Concubine, he was being led through the shadows and back stairs to meet the Crown Prince. His sardonic amusement, every time the senior palace lady they followed hissed at Meng to walk more softly, was undercut by a certain amount of nerves. Last time he'd come to the capital and sought out Jingyan, he'd had a very clear idea of what would need to happen. This time, all he had was the understanding that both of them were standing at the start of new lives, and the hope that they could lean on each other while finding their way.

Hopes could always fail.

He'd been the one to push Jingyan into this position, though, and if he had honor left after what he'd done to restore the names of his family and his men, it had to lie in supporting the Prince he'd placed here in the Eastern Palace.

Finally, they cleared the maze of gardens and back walks, and the lady waved them across the plaza in front of the Eastern Palace, blue robes vanishing into the shadows as she slipped away. Meng escorted him across the lantern-lit space, nodding approval at the alert guards, and Lin Shu had to stifle another chuckle at the whole affair. A young eunuch let them in, the slightly wide-eyed expression on his face suggesting that someone, likely Lady Jing but possibly Lady Liu, had had some firm instructions for him regarding what he was to do and questions he was not to ask. In any case, he led them down the halls and deposited them just outside one of the few brightly lit rooms, and took himself off without a word. To them, at least; Lin Shu had no illusions that this whole trip would not be fodder for gossip at once, at least within the Eastern Palace.

He nodded to Meng, who nodded back, nearly grinning, and stepped into the light. "Your Highness? I brought that visitor your Noble Mother mentioned." Following behind Meng, Lin Shu could see the tired look that crossed Jingyan's face, as he folded and set aside one of quite a stack of report folios on the low table before him before pushing himself to his feet, not even looking up yet.

"Very well. Come in."

"You'll like this interruption, Your Highness," Meng promised, holding out a hand to usher Lin Shu in. He stepped forward with the gesture, refraining from rolling his eyes at Meng's obvious glee.

"I suppose it will be a change at least," Jingyan started to say, but as he looked up, Lin Shu stepped fully into the light, and for a moment it seemed as if time had stopped. Jingyan stood as if frozen, only his widening eyes telling that he knew what he was seeing. Lin Shu took another step forward. "Your Highness..." started to fall from his lips, because he had drilled that habit into himself as deeply as he could. It hadn't been deep enough, of course; he knew perfectly well, looking back, when Jingyan had known in his heart, if not his head, who Mei Changsu was, and it had been the moment when he'd called Jingyan by his name. And so, knowing that, he closed his eyes and took another breath, and said, instead, "Jingyan."

He could see the simple name go through his friend like a sword, and when Jingyan stepped forward it was almost a stumble. "Xiao-Shu?" Another step, and another, faster, and then he had hold of Lin Shu's shoulders, holding them tight, as if he were truly afraid it was an apparition in front of him. The shock on his face, and the open, breathless hope cracking through Jingyan's iron reserve shook Lin Shu down to the heart of him, that his mere existence should be the cause of this.

"How?" Jingyan breathed, voice breaking for one instant on the word, and Lin Shu's hands came up in automatic response, to close on his arms.

"Lin Chen." He shrugged a little, as much as he could under the hard grip of Jingyan's hands. "He tricked even me, this time."

A voiceless shade of laughter escaped Jingyan. "He had to trick you into living?"

"Well..." Lin Shu's breath caught as Jingyan shook him a little.

"Be quiet." Jingyan closed his eyes for a long moment, head bent down, and finally managed, in something closer to a conversational tone. "Of course he did. But—" he looked Lin Shu up and down, hands working a little on his shoulders, and finally asked, hope fragile in his voice again, "you're well?"

"I'm well," and it turned from assurance to promise, in his mouth, pulled from him by the tiny shivers of reaction he could feel running through Jingyan, under his hands. "Lin Chen said at least ten years. Perhaps even as much as twenty." Jingyan's hands tightened until he could feel his bones creak, and the open relief that swept Jingyan's face clean wrenched another promise from him. "I will be with you, here."

The smile Jingyan gave him then stopped the breath in his throat, so bright for such a faint curve of lips that he could only tighten his hold on Jingyan's arms and let it be what it was.

Eventually, reluctantly, Jingyan released him, and Lin Shu was grateful because he didn't think he could have pulled himself away and Meng was still standing by the entry, positively grinning at them both. Jingyan straightened and gave the General a grave nod. "This was a very welcome interruption, General Meng. Thank you."

"It was my honor, Your Highness." Meng gave them a parting bow and strode briskly back down the hall, as if the thanks had been a dismissal.

Lin Shu was starting to suspect that Lady Jing had managed and directed this meeting in far more detail than he'd at first thought she would. And that led him to wonder why she should trouble that much, and to think about how Jingyan had looked at him when he'd stepped into the room, and then he had to stifle a wince. He hadn't the slightest doubt that his aunt was delighted and grateful for his return, but she was probably upset with him at the same time. He'd done his best to hold his loved ones away from him, when he'd thought he would have no choice but to leave them within months. Jingyan...

Jingyan turned back to him, and if Lin Shu had been the sort to ignore the world around him, he might have thought he'd imagined the tiredness hanging so heavy on his friend mere moments ago. There was no sign of it, now. A year ago, he'd thought there was no help for it, had done his best to surround Jingyan with others who could stand behind him and support him, even as he himself withdrew. Now, it was painfully clear that those efforts hadn't been enough.

Well, perhaps he could do something about it, now.

"Come." Jingyan beckoned him through to the inner room. "Tell me what happened."

They wound up sitting by his bed while Lin Shu recounted his recovery, and then had to go further back and explain how Lin Chen had made off with his body from the final battlefield, with, from what he'd heard, Meng's grief-stricken permission, and then Jingyan asked his perspective on that battle and the cushions wound up serving as placeholders for the army's regiments while the covers were pressed into service as mountain geography.

Lin Shu wasn't really surprised when he woke up with his head pillowed on Jingyan's bed and Jingyan on the floor beside him.

He wasn't surprised, but he did have to stop and breathe carefully for a while, so as not to wake Jingyan with the burst of grief and hope and pain that memory shook out of him—heart memory and body memory of so many mornings like this. His life had come full circle, in a way, but how much had he lost on the path to return here? He buried his face in the bed, concentrating on keeping his breath even, again.

"Xiao-Shu." Jingyan's hand was warm, resting on his head, deep voice still rough with sleep, and Lin Shu made an annoyed sound, not looking up.

"You were supposed to stay asleep."

"I always woke up, when you woke up."

At that, he smiled a little, lifting his head. "Yes. I did, too."

Jingyan smiled back, more peaceful than Lin Shu had seen him in a very long time. All he said, though, was, "It will be time for food. Come eat."

Liu An had been as shocked as anyone else, when her mother-in-law had told her, very quietly, who would be visiting her husband in the night. She'd had over a year under Lady Jing's tutelage, though, and as she prepared for bed, herself, she'd turned the thought of Lin Shu's return over in her mind, examining the angles of it. She had little doubt that her husband would wish to bring the man into her household; she approved of Lin Shu's support for her husband, and did not object to the idea. But Lin Shu (Mei Changsu, as was) had been instrumental in forcing the Emperor to face truths and duties he had not wished to face. If Lin Shu entered the Crown Prince's household, now, she could not see any way to prevent a very sharp downturn in the Emperor's already brittle relationship with his current heir.

With that in mind, she brought her son to breakfast with her, a wordless reminder of the dynastic stakes still in play within the Palace.

And, indeed, Lin Shu's first sight of the boy made him stop in his tracks, but she was fairly sure politics weren't the cause. The flash of shock that broke his faint smile was unmistakably a personal response. She thought, though, that the tangle of melancholy and thoughtfulness that followed might mean his thoughts turning in the direction she wished.

She was quite sure that the flicker of amusement in his eyes when he greeted her meant he knew exactly what she'd been doing. So she dipped a graceful bow of acknowledgment and waited quietly to see how he would answer her.

They had barely started when Lin Shu looked over at her husband and said, "I won't be able to stay for long, not yet." Jingyan's head came up sharply, and Lin Shu raised a hand, holding his eyes. "That was the deal I made with the Emperor. That Lin Shu would not return to the capital. But to be of the most aid to you, I need to be Lin Shu again."

"Do you think I care how much aid you can be?" Jingyan asked, quiet and fierce, and a rueful smile tugged at Lin Shu's mouth.

"No. But I do." He met her husband's dark look with perfect equanimity, and An had to hide a smile. "So, there are two ways to do this: the safe way and the fast way." He waited for Jingyan to sit back, arms crossed but not interrupting, and continued. "The safe way is to wait for the Emperor to die, and return then."

"The Lady Jing believes that will be within the next four or five years," An put in, softly. "His health was already not the best, and it took a blow, a year ago."

Lin Shu nodded, and the faint light of approval in the glance he gave her lifted her heart so that she understood, abruptly, how this man might inspire such unending loyalty in the men he led, and why an Emperor might, indeed, fear him greatly.

"Five years, then," he said, turning back to Jingyan. "It's longer than I like, of course, but I could, at least, visit discreetly during that time."

"And the fast way?" her husband prompted. The sparkle that put in Lin Shu's eyes made An brace herself.

"Well, I should go south and see Nihuang in any case, at least if I wish to continue living. The fast way is for me to return to her openly, as Lin Shu, and let the Emperor order us to the capital so as to keep us under his eye."

"The Marshal of Chiyan and the General of Yunnan, united," Jingyan filled in, rather dryly. "Yes, that would likely get very fast results."

"There's a certain amount of risk in it." Lin Shu took a sip of his tea and, for some reason, gave her a look of deep amusement before turning back to the matter at hand. "He will understand quite well that I'm forcing his hand, and if I then stand openly in support of you, his fear may overcome his good sense. Again."

Her husband's face turned set and cold, at that. The reminder of Prince Qi's fate made An think of something else, though. Of a certain memorial tablet, and what her mother-in-law had never quite admitted to doing, to secure it. "Perhaps," she said, words falling softly into the quiet between the two men, "that need not be a great concern." At Lin Shu's raised brow, she lifted her chin, hands clasped tightly in her lap. "You should consult with Lady Jing, who often has such influence over him."

She didn't think her husband knew what she was saying, but Lin Shu went very still for a long moment before nodding slowly. "A wise suggestion, Lady Liu. My thanks."

She nodded back, trying not to show the tiny shivers running through her at the enormity of what she'd just said might and should be done. The warmth of her husband's hand covered hers, though, and the small, quiet smile he gave her slowed the quick beat of her heart again. This was her rightful work and duty, to do all in her power to safeguard her husband and children, and if her husband did not yet know all she intended, still he approved of her joining this effort. An drew a long breath and bent her attention to the plans her husband's brother in heart was setting out.

Three

Nihuang sighed, exasperated, as she sorted through her letters. The Emperorâ€™s tournament for the right to marry her had started a positive flood of ongoing proposals, some subtle and some rather less so. She was starting to recognize some of them by the writing, and those she crumpled and tossed aside.

â€œIs the Da Yu envoy still bugging you?â€ Qing asked. â€œHeâ€™s so annoying! I should challenge him, next time we have to host him.â€

â€œDonâ€™t challenge envoys just because theyâ€™re annoying me.â€ Sometimes Nihuang wondered whether she should move her daily work into an office of her own, if only to keep her little brotherâ€™s nose a bit further out of her business. The rustle of paper from his table caught her ear and she added, absently, â€œRead the whole thing, Qing-er.â€

He gave her a hang-dog look and pulled back the report of crop plans that he hadnâ€™t spent nearly long enough on to be finished with. Nihuang smiled down at her own table, which had almost certainly been her brotherâ€™s goal. Heâ€™d gotten more subtle about teasing her, this past year. Perhaps she would move to her own office some year soon, but there were compensations for staying here, for now. She picked up the last letter and almost crumpled that one unread, too; she was almost sure she recognized this writing from somewhere also. But it had no name or seal on it, from the sender, which the diplomatic proposals always did. She frowned at the characters of her own name and title, thoughtfully. Where had she seen this writing before, then?

â€œItâ€™s almost time for training, my lady,â€ a soft voice interrupted, and she looked up to see Gong Yu, looking a bit like a shadow in the dark greens sheâ€™d worn all year, hovering by the entrance. â€œShall I help you change?â€

Nihuangâ€™s smile gentled; she was glad the girl had agreed to stay with her, and not only because it was pleasant to have another woman versed in the arts of war to accompany her. Without some kind of task to accomplish, and one she could tell herself would have pleased her Chief, Nihuang thought that Gong Yu might not have survived the year. And she couldnâ€™t deny that it had helped her, too, to have some living piece of Lin Shuâ€™s life to look after. â€œYes, just let me see who this last letter is from, and we can go.â€

Gong Yu turned white as snow.

â€œYu!â€ Nihuang started to her feet, hand outstretched, wondering if the girl was going to faint.

â€œThatâ€™s the Chiefâ€™s writing,â€ Gong Yu whispered, one hand clutching the frame of the screen beside her, knuckles white. Nihuang felt she might need to hold on to something solid, herself.

â€œAre you sure?â€ Her voice rasped in her throat.

Gong Yu hurried across the room and slid to her knees beside Nihuang, eyes fixed on the slip of folded paper, wide and devouring. â€œYes. Yes, Iâ€™m sure.â€ She looked up at Nihuang, entreating. â€œJie-jie, you knowâ€¦â€ Nihuang nodded silently; she knew what it was to recognize something of Lin Shu, to know, at once and without doubt. She took a slow breath and reached out to take Gong Yuâ€™s hand, wondering if her own fingers were as cold as Yu's.

â€œLet us see what this is, then, mei-mei.â€

Qing had come to hover over her shoulder, anxious, as Nihuang unfolded the letter. Her heart caught as she scanned down the page; if Gong Yu recognized the writing, she recognized the turns of phrase. â€¦truly ridiculous plansâ€¦ â€¦cannot leave him surrounded by foolsâ€¦ â€¦thought I had betterâ€¦

â€œJie?â€ Qing-er asked, softly, and she realized there were tears on her cheeks. She wiped them away with a quick palm.

â€œHeâ€™s coming back.â€ She lifted her head and smiled at Gong Yu, laid a hand over Qingâ€™s, on her shoulder. â€œI suppose weâ€™d better get ready.â€ After all, the one thing her betrothed had always brought with him was actionâ€”often action that no one else would have dreamed or dared.

It was one of the things she loved in him.

Lin Shu had debated whether it would be best (and even, now he had that luxury, kindest) to send a letter ahead or not. In the end, heâ€™d chosen to write, hoping the shock would be a little less; he had no wish to be mistaken for his own ghost, however briefly. And, once he started writing, heâ€™d found himself explaining at some length, writing of his exasperated gratitude to Lin Chen, his concern for how Jingyan could handle the burden Lin Shu had dropped on him, his worry for her. It was when he finished that last, that he had to stop and rest his head in his palms and laugh at himself. Heâ€™d spent over ten years winding himself ever deeper into the mindset of a strategist, of a revenger, of one who would do whatever it took to drive a plan through to completion. And where was all that icy focus, now?

Apparently, heâ€™d only ever managed to close Lin Shu up (briefly) in a box that turned out to have the flimsiest of latches.

When he was shown into one of Mu Palaceâ€™s inner receiving rooms, he knew heâ€™d been right about that, because he couldnâ€™t make himself turn his eyes away from the hand Nihuang pressed over her lips, the water-brightness of her eyes. The habit of long years still froze him in the entrance until she strode across the room and threw her arms around him, but the warm press of her against him broke that habit and discipline like thin ice snapping in spring, and he caught her close in return, laughing low and helpless into the darkness of her hair until they were nearly giggling together, unstrung by the long, long release of grief and tension.

She balled up a fist and hit him in the shoulder. â€œYou said ten years!â€ she accused without lifting her head from his chest.

â€œI was actually right, though I didnâ€™t know it then.â€ He smiled down at her as her head jerked up and she stared, disbelieving. â€œPerhaps as many as twenty.â€ Softer, as her hands closed desperately tight in the fabric of his sleeves, he added, â€œI will stay as long as I can; you have my word.â€

She smiled back, slow and brilliant. â€œDonâ€™t think I wonâ€™t hold you to it.â€

â€œI hope you will.â€ They finally managed to step back a little, only hands still clasped, and Lin Shu looked up for her brother, wryly aware that he was probably in for some exuberant congratulations and teasing. His attention caught on the completely unexpected presence beside Qing, though, standing with clasped hands and wide, dark eyes. â€œGong Yu?â€

â€œShe brought me the news, and I convinced her to stay with me.â€ Nihuangâ€™s smile turned a little wicked, and he automatically braced himself. In the past, that was the look that had accompanied challenges to climb the city walls or race each other across the roofs. â€œMy younger sister's company has been a great comfort.â€

He might, Lin Shu thought distantly, have preferred the roof race to the open gratitude in Gong Yuâ€™s face, quickly replaced by shy hope as she glanced up at him under her lashes. Even in his current condition, it would have been less trouble. â€œNihuangâ€¦â€

â€œThey train together,â€ Qing supplied, grinning, clearly in on the whole conspiracy. â€œGong Yu is the only one of her ladies who can keep up with her, riding.â€

That was no small thing, Lin Shu had to admit, but stillâ€¦ â€œWe can discuss that later,â€ he said, firmly.

Nihuangâ€™s cheerfully unyielding expression made his heart sink a bit. â€œYes, we shall.â€

He sighed quietly; apparently, he had better start planning for a larger household, in the capital.

Gong Yu had spent her whole life in the pugilist world, and a mere year as a palace ladyâ€”especially lady to the General of Yunnanâ€”was not nearly enough to wear away the responses sheâ€™d absorbed from the time she was big enough to walk on her own. In her bones was the knowledge that Mei Changsu was her Chief, even with a new name and a new, or old, life.

Names were changeable things, in her world, at need.

So when the evening meal ended, and he caught her eye, she followed him out without question, without even glancing at Nihuang. She probably should have looked to her lady, she realized, pacing down the dark walks of the palace behind him, for approval orâ€¦ or direction? But, then again, perhaps not, if Nihuang meant her for his concubine. The thought sent a flutter of excitement and hope through her, which she tried to restrain, clasping her hands before her and hoping the chill of the winter night would cool the heat in her cheeks. When her Chief paused, at last, resting fine hands on the rail of the palaceâ€™s smaller water pavilion, she stood quietly at his shoulder, waiting for orders and hoping, deep in her heart, for acceptance.

â€œNihuang has already fallen prey, once, to the politics of the Inner Palace.â€ His words fell into the evening quiet like petals falling onto the water. â€œThe thought of someone beside her to watch her back does set me at ease.â€

â€œMy lady has a very ardent heart, and does not always guard herself,â€ she agreed, cautious. It was clearly something he already knew, but the heart was not always sensible. She had no wish to sound jealous, especially of the one who had been so good to her, a goodness she had almost forgotten the taste of over the years of pursuing her revenge.

â€œYou must know that I do not love you.â€ He did not look at her, so she dared to look up and watch his face, still in the faint glow of lamps across the water. â€œDo you wish this, even so?â€

His bluntness stole her breath like a blow, and yetâ€¦ he was not denying her. â€œIf I can continue to serve you, I will be satisfied.â€

His hand snapped up and caught her chin, not cruelly but very firmly, and dark eyes bored into hers. â€œDo not ever lie to me,â€ he said, very softly.

Gong Yu swallowed, heart beating fast, not daring to move, in his hold. â€œIt is not all I wish,â€ she admitted, voice a little ragged with nerves, â€œbut itâ€™s not a lie! Yes, I would wish you toâ€¦ to look on me kindly, but if I can still serve you I will be satisfied! And Nihuang jie-jieâ€¦ sheâ€™s sheltered me. She found a place for me. I would willingly live under her, and guard her from her enemies.â€

For a long moment, he only examined her, searchingly, but at last he granted her a slow nod and let her go. â€œVery well, then. You should know, I have never stood in the way of what my people wish to doâ€”only used those wishes. If that will truly content youâ€¦â€ his hand lifted to rest lightly on her head, â€œthen I will accept you into my house.â€

She bent her head, shaking, by now, hard enough that he could probably feel it. â€œIt will content me, my lord,â€ she whispered. He sighed, quietly, and patted her head, gentle and absent.

â€œVery well, then. Let us go in and speak to Nihuang.â€

She was still shaking a little, when they came to Nihuangâ€™s outer rooms, and when Nihuang gave them both a look of rather smug satisfaction and held out an arm, Gong Yu was more than willing to hurry over and bury her wildly vacillating mix of triumph and shock and hope and fear in Nihuangâ€™s shoulder. Nihuang jie-jie gathered her in and stroked her hair gently. â€œThere, mei-mei, donâ€™t worry. You get used to him, in time, and Iâ€™ll protect you.â€ Gong Yu couldnâ€™t help the tiny sound that jerked out of her, half giggle and half protesting gasp.

â€œI beg your pardon.â€ He sounded amused, though.

â€œJust like I used to protect Yujin,â€ Nihuang continued, clearly teasing, and Gong Yu started to relax against her side.

â€œI donâ€™t recall you ever protecting Yujin,â€ Lin Shu pointed out, robes rustling as he seated himself on the riser beside them. â€œIt was Jingrui that Yujin always hid behind, which was very wise of him.â€ He was smiling when she dared to look up from Nihuangâ€™s shoulder, wry and affectionate, and when his glance fell on her, curled in the circle of Nihuang jie-jieâ€™s arm, it was gentler than before. â€œWell. How shall we do this, then?â€

Nihuangâ€™s smile turned a little vicious and a little dreamy, and Gong Yu perked up to listen. She recognized that kind of look; she saw it often, in her own world. â€œPerhaps we can write to the Emperor asking his blessing, since he was so very concerned with my marriage prospects, recently.â€

Lin Shuâ€™s smile nearly matched hers. â€œOr perhaps Qing should write to notify him, since itâ€™s technically Qingâ€™s blessing you want, now. Iâ€™m sure heâ€™d write very enthusiastically of my return from â€˜exileâ€™.â€

Nihuang laughed out loud. â€œOh, I like that!â€ She sobered again quickly, though. â€œShu ge-geâ€¦ how much of Jingyanâ€™s position will we risk, provoking the Emperor that way?â€

â€œWe run a risk now in order to reduce it later.â€ He turned a hand palm up. â€œAnd, too, I have Lady Jingâ€™s assurance that the risk can beâ€¦ minimized.â€

â€œThe Emperor never struck me as that susceptible to his Consorts,â€ Nihuang said skeptically.

â€œNo. I believe she intends to take more direct action; she's a physician, after all, and knows very well what would calm him.â€ His eyes narrowed, thoughtful. â€œIn fact, itâ€™s quite possible sheâ€™s already taken direct action and merely needs to modify what sheâ€™s already doing.â€

Gong Yu was, frankly, impressed. Sheâ€™d never thought noble ladies could be so iron-nerved and dare such consequences as would come from drugging the Emperor. Nihuang shivered, though, perhaps remembering her own close call, and Gong Yu wrapped a shy arm around her, nestling closer. Jie-jie didnâ€™t need to worry about that, not while she was here. Nihuang gave her a quick smile and dropped a light kiss on her hair. â€œAll right, then. Let us hold the banquet on the next suitable date, and send the letter.â€

Lin Shuâ€™s smile at her made Gong Yu catch her breath, so soft, and a little wondering. â€œI never thought this would be possible, you know.â€

â€œIt was never yourself you made wonders possible for.â€ Nihuang reached out a hand to him. â€œBut now it can be.â€ The simple clasp of their hands made Gong Yu blush to watch.

Yes. She thought she could be content with this.

Chief Eunuch Gao had lived quite a long time in the Palace, and knew its moods. He knew the hushing of everyday sounds that meant the ministers would spend the day glancing nervously at each other, watching for where trouble or change might come from. He knew the sharpening of the palace ladies' graceful gestures that meant the balance of power had shifted, in the Inner Palace. He knew the sweetening in the air that meant everyone was thinking of the new year celebrations. All those shifting moods focused on or stemmed from the Emperor, which made many people think they were caused by the Emperor. Gao, however, had served the Emperor himself long enough to understand that, far from weaving all the threads of the Palace's fabric himself, the Emperor was as enmeshed in them as anyone else, influenced by his ministers, his family, even the shadow of his parents.

And, of course, by the officials like Gao.

Gao had been a young man, working his way up the hierarchy of the imperial messengers, when he'd first seen those threads pull tight and start to snap, yanked in two different directions—one the old Emperor, pulling toward governance and empire by brute force, the other the then-Crown Prince, pulling toward policies of strategy and diplomacy. He'd watched the fabric of the Court tear, then, taking with it the life of the Emperor, the guiding hand of the Dowager Empress, and the soul of Xia Jiang. He'd seen how long it took to reweave even a little of the fabric's sturdiness. And he had seen how the smallest word of comfort to the new Empress' ladies, or a calm smile to a nervous minister could help.

It was those small words and smiles that had made him Chief Eunuch by the time he was forty.

The second time he'd seen the threads of the Court fabric pull dangerously tight, he'd been new to his position as the one who watched over and minded the Emperor, and perhaps he'd been too cautious with his words, his smiles, his gentle nudging of the Emperor toward one concubine or another. Or perhaps there had simply been no help for it, whatever he'd done. The only one gripping and tangling the threads, then, had been the Emperor, afraid of his own reflection in the mirror of his mind, but they'd snapped all the same.

Gao had still been at work patching that tear when he'd heard yet another shift in the mood of the Palace, heard the name Mei Changsu whispering down the halls like the scent of plum blossoms through winter air. When that name had flared to life, in the Capital, like fire reaching down the threads of the Princes' rivalries, Gao had braced himself to preserve what he could, attempting again and again to calm and amuse the Emperor with the stable, everyday foibles of Palace life.

To little effect.

When Prince Jing had seemed to finally lose patience with the resulting tangle, himself, and reach out to lay his hand on the threads of the Court's fabric, Gao had blessed the chance and willingly steered the Emperor into Lady Jing's arms. She was another who understood the power of a gentle word and a calm smile.

In retrospect, he could only salute the Lady; the fabrics she wove from the threads of the Court ran soft and subtle and untorn from end to long end. Which was why, after the crisis had passed, he had come at once when she requested his presence.

"Chief Eunuch Gao," she'd greeted him, serene as a lily pond, and extracted a small, black bottle from her sleeve, setting it on the table between them without so much as a click, as she spoke. "I believe you know how harshly the Emperor has used his own heart and health over the years. Before any others, the palace officials must be aware of how his care for the Court and the Princes must wear on him." She'd looked up at him, dark eyes as deep and inexorable as the sea. "I know you must surely wish to ease his way. I beg that you will let me know if there is any way I can assist His Majesty."

In her words, he'd heard a promise—the promise of an Emperor to come, who would not rip the fabric of the Palace over and over, in his care for nothing but playing one Prince, one faction, against another. The promise of an Emperor who was, in so many ways, already there, doing the work of a ruler with an iron integrity Gao had not seen through the reigns of two Emperors before him.

So he'd taken the bottle with him, when he'd left, and measured a careful three drops into the Emperor's tea every morning, and he'd watched the sharpness leach out of the Emperor's eyes with regret. But not enough regret to throw away that little black bottle. Not when it had been months since the Emperor's temper last exploded, longer than that since he'd done more than nod upon reading one of the Crown Prince's meticulous weekly reports, or wave a dismissive hand over Duchess Mu continuing to lead the southern army in the field. Gao had begun to hope this Emperor might even manage to die in bed, instead of at his desk, of heart failure.

...though today's letters looked like they might set that hope back a bit.

Gao stepped cautiously closer, watching the Emperor's face twist and redden as his eyes sped down the paper. "Majesty? Is anything—"

"Yunnan?!" the Emperor exploded, fist clenching on the letter. "I tell the damn boy he can't return to the capital, so he goes to Yunnan instead?! To get married?!" He banged the desk furiously with his free hand, waving the letter in Gao's direction while Gao patted the air with both hands, trying to get a word in edgewise. "Does he think I'm a fool? Does he think I'll let this stand?"

"Majesty," Gao put in in his most soothing voice, "who is this from?"

"Lin Shu!" the Emperor raged, pounding the desk again. "Back from exile, Qing says! Sister delighted, he says! The Marshal of Chiyan and the General of Yunnan both on the south border in the Mu princedom? I won't have it!"

"Then surely all Your Majesty need do is order Lin Shu elsewhere," Gao said reasonably, hoping that Lady Jing's drug would take hold again soon enough for reason to actually work. "As Lin is exonerated, Lin Shu is legitimately under your command. And if the Duchess has finally married him, then she is bound to go with him."

"I wouldn't trust the pair of them anywhere!"

Gao sighed to himself, seeing exactly how this was to go, and in his mind he offered 'Mei Changsu' a rather weary salute; the man did plan well. There seemed to be no way around it, so he obediently laid out the next move. "Perhaps the best place is under your own eye, then, Majesty," he 'jested' with a small chuckle.

"Ha! That's probably exactly what he wants!"

"Then surely he will give you no trouble?" Gao suggested, watching closely, and nearly sagged with relief when he saw the fire in the Emperor's eyes begin to dim, losing the struggle against the soft haze of Jing's drugs. "Surely you'll feel better with them here under your eye," he repeated, gently.

"Mm. I suppose." The Emperor leaned back wearily in his throne, and waved a hand at him. "See to it. Lin Shu and Mu Nihuang are commanded to present themselves before their Emperor..." he rattled off the language of an official order, seeming to lose interest even as he did, and regret nipped at Gao. Relief was still stronger, though, watching that alarming red fade to a healthier color. Gao gently tweaked the offending letter off the desk and into his sleeve, and bowed.

"I will see to it, Majesty."

Jingyan had just presented his weekly report on the affairs of Court and the Ministries to the Emperor, wondering as always whether his father's wordless grunt as he glanced over it was approval or pique, when the announcement was called from the door, the one something at the base of his spine had been waiting months for.

"Marshal Lin Shu and Duchess Mu Nihuang request permission to enter the Emperor's presence!"

The Emperor snapped the report folio closed and tossed it aside on his desk. "About time. Bring them in."

Lin Shu swept through the room's pillars, Nihuang at his side. He'd laid aside "Su Zhe's" muted colors, and looked so very familiar, in brilliantly embroidered white over rich, dark blue, that Jingyan couldn't keep his fingers from curling into fists, as if he could physically grab hold of this new-and-familiar Lin Shu and keep him. Nihuang held her head high, matching his stride, hair swept all the way up for the first time Jingyan had ever seen, and her smile was as fiercely delighted as Jingyan felt. He tried to catch his breath, and calm, as they knelt and bowed to the Emperor, only to have it stolen again by the direct look, straight as a sword, that Lin Shu gave the Emperor as he straightened.

"You called for our attendance at the Capital, Majesty?"

The Emperor considered them for a long moment and finally shook a finger at Nihuang. "Finally found someone you'll deign to marry, hm?"

Nihuang gave him the sharpest smile Jingyan had ever seen out of her, and another short bow. "The one promised to me, yes. Thank you for your concern, Majesty."

The Emperor snorted and eyed Lin Shu in turn. "Fine, then. You might as well be useful. So you can keep him," he jabbed his finger at Jingyan, "from upsetting all the diplomatic channels I spent so much trouble creating. That should keep you busy."

Jingyan didn't think he was that bad at it, but the thought slipped away when his friend, his brother, turned his head and gave Jingyan Mei Changsu's tiny smile with Lin Shu's fire blazing in his eyes. "As my Emperor wishes," he stated, never looking away. Jingyan couldn't manage to look away either, and it was to Lin Shu that he spoke when he said, "I will be most grateful for the assistance." And then common sense gave him a jolt and he turned hastily to give his father the bow that went with the words.

The Emperor leaned back with a tetchy sound. "The two of you make me tired. Go away."

Gao stepped smartly forward. "His Imperial Majesty's audience is ended!" he announced, and flicked urgent fingers at Jingyan. Jingyan took the direction, as his mother had firmly instructed him to always do, and bowed along with Lin Shu and Nihuang, backing two formal steps before making for the doors. They only made it as far as the stairs before they all three stopped and stared at each other.

"You did it." Jingyan still couldn't believe it had been this easy.

"I always do. Pay attention, Jingyan." Lin Shu kept a mostly straight face until Nihuang swatted his shoulder, and then he was laughing, soft and bright, throwing an arm around her and leaning against Jingyan for balance as she elbowed him, and Jingyan found his own arms around their shoulders, all three of them ignoring the raised brows of the Palace guards, laughing together in the slanting sunlight.

The leaf buds were barely starting to unfurl, here in the Capital, but it finally felt like summer in his heart, again.

End

Red Heart and White Sword

Lin Shu and Nihuang settle into life at court, in the field, and in Jingyan's home while Lin Manor is repaired. The rest of the court may need a few stiff drinks to recover from the process, especially once a complex political scandal breaks in the middle of it. Drama with Politics and Porn, I-4

One

"I suppose I should see if the Lin manor can be reclaimed and repaired," Lin Shu mused, hands clasped behind him as he, Nihuang, and Jingyan walked slowly through the palace complex's roofed walks toward the Eastern Palace and Jingyan's waiting work. Jingyan was the one walking slowest, he was rather amused to note.

"And perhaps beg some staff from someone," Nihuang put in ruefully. "We came on so fast we left almost the entire rest of our train and escort a day or two behind, and we don't keep more than a handful of people at the Mu house here, regularly."

Jingyan nodded to a small herd of ministers who crowded out of their way and bowed—and started whispering as soon as they'd passed, Lin Shu noted. "Go to my house in town, then. It's almost fully staffed." His mouth quirked at the corner, the quieter relative of that irreverent grin Lin Shu had always loved to pull out of him. "Since none of my officers really wished to enter the ranks of the Palace officials at this point in their lives."

"Jingyan! You didn't actually suggest that to them, did you?" Nihuang asked, eyes dancing.

"No." Jingyan's smile faded. "I wasn't in the mood for laughing, at the time."

Lin Shu laid a hand on his shoulder, squeezing tight for a moment. "I'm here," he said, softly. "I will remain here."

Jingyan took a quick breath and visibly settled himself. "Yes. And I said it a long time ago, didn't I?" he added, more briskly. "What's mine is yours, including that house. Stay as long as you like."

It was Lin Shu's turn to feel his breath catch, though he knew it should be no surprise that Jingyan also remembered.

Nihuang slid a thoughtful look back and forth between them, and finally smiled. "We will, then." At Lin Shu's raised brows she tucked a hand into his and otherwise ignored him, still smiling, which meant she wanted to tease him over knowing something he didn't. It probably said something about his own nature that he found that endearing. He laced his fingers with hers, ignoring the sidelong glances of passing officials and the faint quivering of Jingyan's shoulders that said he was trying not to laugh at them. It was their own business if they wanted to take this delayed opportunity to act like youngsters in love. "You should join us, in the mornings, for practice forms" Nihuang added, to Jingyan.

Lin Shu winced, pinched pride twinging a bit, but Nihuang just gave him a stubborn look. He knew she was right, that a partner closer to his own build would probably help him re-find the edges of himself more quickly, but he still had to take a moment to stifle the internal wail that said he didn't want Jingyan to see how much he'd lost.

Jingyan, for his part, had stopped still in the middle of the open walk between buildings, eyes wide. "Xiao-Shu... you can do forms again?" The first, faint stir of delight in his voice, and the aching hope in those words snuffed any remaining protest like a pinched-out candle.

"My sword forms are still appallingly stiff, and I can't complete any but the lowest leaps." Lin Shu's mouth tilted wryly. "The Lin swordmaster would weep. But yes. Every morning." Looking away, through the pillars of the outer walk ahead of them, he admitted, softly. "You would be welcome."

"Then I will come," Jingyan told him, just as softly.

"Excellent," Nihuang declared, looking downright smug as she caught their arms and towed them back into motion. "Then, for now, you can show us what's giving you a headache, Jingyan."

"Nothing is giving me a headache." Jingyan disengaged from her grip, nearly rolling his eyes.

"Then show us what would be giving you a headache if you were not Lady Jing's son," Lin Shu specified, and shared a knowing look with Nihuang when Jingyan's gaze slid aside. More seriously, he added, "Jingyan. This is exactly what I came back in order to help you with. Let me."

Now Jingyan returned his gaze, steady and serious. "Even though you hoped to be done with being the strategist, after Prince Qi, my brother's, and Lin's and Chiyan's names were restored?"

For a long moment, he was silent, because that had been true. "I did finish with it, though," he said at last, slowly. "And I returned to my old self, my own world, long enough to die there. I thought that would be the end of it, and I still believe I was right about that. This," he swept a hand around, at the palace, at the ministers and officials and ladies moving through the halls and gardens, each intent on their own ends and ambitions, and the three of them in the middle of it all, "this is what comes after that end, another new life." He gave Jingyan a tiny smile. "Now, what I can do, all that I can do, is for you and with you, nothing held back. That's as it should be, and I have no wish to be done with it."

Jingyan paused at the turn in to the Eastern Palace's garden walk, and Lin Shu saw true relief in the faint easing of his shoulders. "Xiao-Shu," Jingyan said, softly. "Thank you."

"If you thank me too often, I'm going to start calling you Your Highness again," Lin Shu warned.

Jingyan laughed at that. "Fine. Come on, then." He gestured them down the walk, and Lin Shu exchanged satisfied smiles with Nihuang. Her eyes were dancing, like she was laughing at them, again.

Eventually, he'd have to figure out what it was she thought he didn't know.

Things that were attempting to give him headaches took them all the way through dinner, and for once Jingyan didn't feel bad for complaining. Nihuang might not be any more of an adept at politics than he was, but they all knew how to read a situation and xiao-Shu seemed to know most of what he said even before he said it.

"Of course Zhu Yue still bears a grudge; he's actually quite aware of the city's political currents, even if a mole would have a better view of the country's larger concerns." Xiao-Shu pointed a sliver of dried apricot at Jingyan. "As far as he's concerned, you're directly responsible for his sister's death."

Nihuang rolled her eyes and pushed his hand toward his mouth. "I'll hardly deny that it was our actions that brought Prince Yu down, but even if Lady Zhu had really died, that would have been her own choice; she wasn't condemned with him."

"I did say Zhu Yue had a narrow view." Xiao-Shu finally popped the bit of apricot into his mouth. "He'll bear watching, even demoted, but I doubt he'll go beyond a little obstructionism. She was always the one with the most courage, in that family."

Jingyan sat back, trying not to laugh as Nihuang nudged a dish of dumplings under xiao-Shu's hand without looking. "Are you practicing for your future children?" he finally asked. It was at least the fourth time she'd done it, this meal. Nihuang snorted inelegantly.

"Hardly. It's that this one has gotten careless," she aimed a quelling look at xiao-Shu's indignant sound, "and always forgets that he has an appetite again, or what one is supposed to do with an appetite."

"I eat," xiao-Shu protested mildly. Jingyan eyed the dishes around them; xiao-Shu's were, perhaps, half as empty as his and Nihuang's. At his raised brows, xiao-Shu sighed and reached for another dumpling. Nihuang gave Jingyan a pleased, complicit nod, and Jingyan made a note to see how soon he could take xiao-Shu to his mother, who could give authoritative orders about how much to make sure he ate—orders that xiao-Shu might even follow, coming from her. It was xiao-Shu's open amusement and the laughter in Nihuang's eyes that he took to bed with him, though, the still-strong wonder that the brother of his heart had returned to him, and when his eyes opened on the soft light of early morning, he was smiling.

It was good, so very good, to step out into the cool air and see Lin Shu and Nihuang standing in the middle of his house's open training ground as if they had never left. Good to settle into his stance beside them without needing a word spoken, and move as one, hands sweeping up in the opening movement of the first form they'd all been taught. Good, above all, to watch Lin Shu out of the corner of his eye and see steadiness in the slow sweep of his feet over the dusty ground, true calm in his eyes and not the brittle, desperate edge of a year ago.

They were all quiet for a long moment after closing, all three of them, he thought, basking a little in having regained this peace together. At last, though, Nihuang stretched and nudged xiao-Shu with her shoulder. "You should do paired forms with Jingyan, today."

"Are you all right continuing?" Jingyan couldn't help asking, a little hesitant to even bring it up but remembering all too well the days of illness that had come after even small exertions, last year.

Lin Shu chuckled, sweeping one hand up to guard and beckoning. "Amazingly, yes. I can't come close to full speed or force, and Lin Chen threatened some fairly grisly things if I dared break a bone while practicing, but we haven't even been out here for half a shi. I'll be fine." His smile turned into a flashing grin that nearly knocked Jingyan's breath out with the weight of years suddenly rolling back. "Just be gentle with me, hm?"

"Yes, of course." Jingyan couldn't even blame Nihuang for stifling laughter as she took up a practice sword and stepped apart, ruefully aware that he'd answered far more earnestly than the joke probably called for. But that, too, was familiar, and he was smiling back as he stepped forward, letting that old shock of contact roll over him as his arm met xiao-Shu's and his other hand drove in, past xiao-Shu's shoulder as he turned, not as light on his feet as he'd once been, not as sure, but still fluid in a way Jingyan had never hoped to see again.

Their rhythm was different now, and the shape their forms took against each other. Jingyan had always been given to driving through the center, but had also always kept his own center, been careful not to overextend. Xiao-Shu used to work around the edges of him, forcing him to turn, breaking his footing, leaping to catch his back. Now there were no leaps or lunges, only the fluid swirl of Lin Shu's movement around and past his strikes, so that any strike immediately edged on overextension, ran the risk of giving xiao-Shu his back. It was... exhilarating. Now, their rhythm together demanded all his skill, just to keep xiao-Shu from controlling it completely.

Perhaps it was exactly that which led him to push a little faster, and then a little more. In the end, it was xiao-Shu's step that stumbled, tangled, and tripped. That snapped Jingyan out of the form's focus, and he lunged forward to catch xiao-Shu before he fell. They stopped there for a long moment, clutching each other and leaning together, panting for breath. "Was that too fast?" Jingyan finally managed to ask.

"A little," xiao-Shu admitted, in exactly the same tone he'd used to allow that his first sword wound hurt 'a little'. He huffed a bit at Jingyan's dark look, and pushed himself upright. "I wasn't exactly complaining."

"You never do. That's why we worry," Nihuang pointed out, closing her sword drill to come and wind her fingers with xiao-Shu's, tugging a little. "Come wash up, both of you."

"Fine, fine," xiao-Shu agreed, tolerantly. "But if either of you try to treat me like glass tomorrow, you'll regret it."

Jingyan smiled, reassured by the familiarity of the threat. "All right."

He thought he could get used to having xiao-Shu around again very quickly.

Interlude: Appraisal

Lu Jian, one of the better architects in Jinglin if he did say so himself, stood in the first courtyard of the Lin Manor, hands planted on his hips, and turned on his heel to get a sense of the place. Six courtyards and three gardens, one of them a water garden—he wasn't looking forward to that cleaning job—not counting the tangle of the kitchen gardens, now an impenetrable riot of herbs and gourds. The bones of the place were still elegant, but rich paint was weathered off and peeling, everywhere, the metal sheathing at the feet of the pillars was grimy, and tile and shingles were cracked on nearly every surface they covered.

"This is going to be a pretty big job," his senior foreman, Shi Ping, said, squinting up at the underside of the inner gate. "We've never worked on someplace let to rot for quite this long. The framing will need checking, everywhere."

"Make sure you check the supports before you let anyone up on the roofs." Shi Ping gave him a patient look in answer, and Jian laughed. "I know you know, but there's always someone on the crew who thinks he can rush."

"If there are any, I'll give him a scythe and send him out to clear the west field; looks like they kept that one trimmed down." Shi Ping was circling the courtyard, and paused when he got to the inner hall, on the north side. "Or maybe make them work on this hall."

Lu Jian blinked at that; the steps didn't look in that bad of shape. "Why that hall?" He strode across the courtyard to join his foreman, kicking debris and broken clay shingles out of the way as he went. When he got to the steps, though, he stopped short. "Oh."

Some attempt at clean-up had been made at some point, but there was still a wide stain on the landing, just before the doors to the hall, where something dark had seeped through the paint, blistering it up and soaking into the wood. Someone had died on these steps, without question; died and been let to lie for a time.

"The Lin family have a hall of remembrance," Jian said, quietly. "You remember; last year, the Emperor himself led the first prayers. And their son has surely performed all the rites, since he returned."

Shi Ping, kneeling beside the steps to check for warping, gave him a speaking look, and Jian sighed.

"No, you're right. We'll make an offering, before we start." Jian rubbed his arms briskly, where goose-flesh had risen at the sight of that stain. "And we'll replace these steps first thing, I think."

Shi Ping grunted approvingly, as he stood. "Good idea. This is going to be a tough enough job, as it is."

Two

Cai Quan knew that, objectively, his life was far easier now than it would have been under Prince Yu or, thank the Heavens for forbidding it, Prince Xian, or even the Emperor had he still been the one whose hand was on the reins of the Ministries. He knew this. He knew that having a reasonable assurance of being able to take action when he uncovered some bit of corruption in his ministry was a gift, that the full-blooded support of a Crown Prince like Xiao Jingyan was a blessing. He knew that.

It just didn't make the apparently unending parade of peculation and bribery and misappropriation and plain old incompetence any less frustrating.

He exchanged bows in passing with a palace official, as he stalked down the breezeways to the Eastern Palace, and tried to ignore the obvious amusement in the man's smile. Yes, he was here a lot. Yes, he was usually annoyed over the reason. That was not actually a good thing! He stumped up the steps and waited for his presence to be called; at least the Crown Prince's close attendants were more sympathetic than amused. They undoubtedly got to watch the ongoing struggle to bail out the exceedingly leaky boat of the government from much closer up, and with the immediacy of it being their own master who was getting blisters from hauling the buckets.

Cai Quan shook off these rather frivolous mental images as Zhou Wei, who had taken over managing the Eastern Palace after the debacle of the old Crown Prince, gestured him in, pulling his thoughts back to the day's business. "Your Highness..." He only got halfway through his greeting before the presence of the man beside the Crown Prince's desk registered, and then he nearly swallowed his own tongue, staring. "...Mr. Su?" he finished, a little weakly. The clothes were different, finer than he'd seen on the man he'd only met once or twice, at the Prince's own manor in the city, the expression was different, the stance was different, but that was the face he remembered throwing a litany of betrayed history in the Emperor's teeth.

Su only smiled at him, a slow curl of lips that nearly made him take a step back. "I'm afraid you've mistaken me for someone else, Minister. I am Lin Shu." He bowed gracefully in greeting.

Cai Quan fumbled a bow back, stunned. Lin Shu? Lin Shu? He'd speculated, with Shen, that their Prince's brilliant strategist had to be someone from Prince Qi's or the Lin's service, but the Vice-Marshal of Chiyan, himself? How was it possible?

The Prince directed a tolerant look at the impossible man standing at his side, and Quan had to admit, dazed, that it was exactly the kind of look one would give a cherished but mischievous younger relative. "Vice-Marshal," he finally managed. "Congratulations on your return." He was most definitely dragging Shen out drinking this evening; this was news that called for alcohol along with it, and perhaps Shen's advice on how much to say to anyone else.

"You had something for my attention?" the Prince asked, and Quan shook himself back to the business at hand.

"Yes, Highness." He fished the report folio out of his sleeve and proffered it. "Evidence of some long-running misappropriation has come up, in the southern Qing Li supply depot. Investigations have only started, but this is a list of the missing equipment so far." His mouth twisted. "I learned only recently that the Ministry of War might have suffered some delay in passing the information on to you."

The Prince flicked open the report, frowning more and more darkly as he read down the fairly extensive list. "You think someone there is involved?"

"As I said, Your Highness, the investigation has only begun." At the Prince's sharp look, though, Quan admitted, "I think it likely." Shen would complain about quick judgments, but really, what else could it be?

Su... rather Lin, was reading over the Prince's shoulder. "Mmm. This was probably sold off to the Dao rebellion in Southern Chu."

The Prince looked up at him, brows raised, and Lin Shu's mouth quirked up. "Look." He leaned over the Prince's shoulder to tap the start of the list. "There's plenty of horse-gear taken, yes, but it's all basically replacement straps, no saddles, no stirrups even; that was taken to be resold for money."

"And without that all the rest is skirmishers' gear or food," the Prince murmured. "I see. You think it goes back that far, though?"

"If it wasn't critical before now..."

"...then it was a trickle over time, yes, but I thought Qi would be the ones to support Dao..."

"It's Northern Yan that's keeping Qi standing firm..."

"...which means they'd have the most stake in making sure Southern Chu was distracted..."

"...but also be the place hardest to get supplies out of."

The Prince sighed and settled back in his chair. "We'll need to check for Xuanjing involvement, then."

Cai Quan shook his head a little, trying to catch up with that rush of shared thoughts weaving back and forth like currents in one river, and asked, "Xuanjing?"

"Putting Dao in their debt, and possibly implicating Northern Yan in Chu's internal politics, would have been a desirable move, from the viewpoint of the network of Hua agents that Xia Jiang wanted to keep control of," Lin Shu supplied, and Quan's jaw tightened. Even dead, that man was still trouble.

"My investigators will be alert for the possibility."

"Good." The Prince nodded brisk dismissal, and Quan took himself out, tallying up the wagon-load of extra documentation and background he'd probably need to have his people find, to unravel this one, and which of his inherited agents he might need to keep away from it lest old loyalties interfere. Perhaps he should put Xia Dong in charge of it...

He was definitely dragging Shen out for a drink, today.

"Nihuang!" Xia Dong strode through the pale hangings and dark wood of her outer rooms in the Nie manor to catch Nihuang in a quick hug before taking her shoulders and holding her a little away, eyeing her up and down, and finally smiling. "You look well. It's true, then?"

Nihuang smiled, the way she sometimes felt she hadn't actually stopped smiling for months, now. "It's true." The smile faded a little as she reached out for Dong-jie's hands. "And I wanted to speak with you about that."

Dong-jie looked at her, dark and steady, for two long breaths and then nodded. "Come on, then." She gestured Nihuang toward the inner rooms and made shoo-ing motions at her attendants.

"Dong-jie," Nihuang admonished, laughing a little when Xia Dong rolled her eyes.

"I've never been the inside type, you know that." She settled Nihuang on one of the stools by her well-piled writing table and pulled up another. "Now. Tell me."

Nihuang folded her hands in her lap and took a breath to organize her thoughts. "There is a cure. It's not a sure thing. It depends on finding enough people who will with all their hearts for him to live, who are willing to give a little of their own lives. And I know that is a weight on Shu-ge." She looked up to meet Dong-jie's sober gaze. "And it's not... I mean, it's..." She had to bite her lip to still its stubborn trembling. "It doesn't erase anything of what they went through, before."

"Oh," Dong-jie whispered. "Oh, Nihuang..." She leaned forward, winding her arms back around Nihuang, and Nihuang let herself cling tight for a moment while Dong-jie rubbed her back. Finally she asked, gently, "I imagine touching is a difficult thing for him, still?"

Nihuang nodded, sitting back just enough to blot her eyes on her cuff. She'd thought Dong-jie would probably understand; Nie Feng had almost certainly been dealing with the same thing.

The first time Shu-ge had come to her bed, after their so very long-delayed banquet, she'd been startled by how hesitant he was. He'd seen to her pleasure all right, with slow hands and mouth, but when she'd reached for him he'd flinched. And then apologized in a stifled, helpless voice while she'd been frozen, stricken. Only when she'd insisted had he told her, one slow, painful burst of words at a time, about thirteen years of pain and exhaustion and honest forgetting that pleasure of the body was even possible. Of feeling nothing but fury and betrayal for his own flesh. Of bitter, bone-deep knowing that he'd have nothing to give any lover, and the shock and blankness of mind he'd felt the first time his flesh stirred, after he'd woken up to this new life. They'd wound up huddled together among the covers and pillows, crying in each other's arms, that night.

"The memory of pain is slow to leave," Dong-jie said quietly, stroking her hair back with light fingers. "You've recovered from injuries before; you know."

Nihuang blinked hard and nodded. "A little. Yes. But Dong-jie, thirteen years..." Those light fingers touched her lips, hushing her, and Xia Dong's smile was tight and tilted.

"Yes. It took... a long time before Feng-ge could even lie in the same bed with me, let alone anything more." She huffed, half amused and half annoyed. "Of course, part of that was convincing him his appearance wouldn't disgust me, silly man." She took a deep breath, shoulders straightening. "But we have time, now, Nihuang. Time and peace that we've all fought for and won. So take it."

Nihuang took a breath of her own, telling herself to trust Dong-jie's wisdom, which was what she'd come for, today, after all, and nodded, smiling through the wetness still in her eyes. "Yes, jie-jie."

"Better," Dong-jie said, firmly, and grinned at her. "And I hear you have a younger sister in your household, now, to help you?"

Nihuang laughed, only a little damply. "Yes. She was so annoyed that I made her watch over the rest of the train while we came ahead; I'm going to have to make it up to her, when they get in."

"Bring her to visit," Dong-jie told her. "Or perhaps I'll come see you. I still have to thank her for taking my place in the prison."

"You'll like her," Nihuang predicted. "She's a lot like your agents."

"Hmm." Dong-jie got a speculative glint in her eye. "Perhaps she'd like a job..."

Gong Yu directed the unloading of the last horse with the same smile she'd used on importunate clients when she was an entertainer, and stalked up the stairs of Prince Jing's manor (which she knew her way around very well, thank you), and made for the inner halls, tugging the sleeves of her travel robes irritably straight. She still couldn't believe she'd been left with the baggage, and yes, she knew that there'd been a definite chance of attack on the train of Lin Shu and Mu Nihuang, but really! She knew for a fact that two of the servants were men of Jiangzuo, and could look after affairs just fine without her!

"Jie-jie, the baggage is all disposed of," she reported, a bit sulkily, as she entered Nihuang's rooms, and then stopped short in the entry. Nihuang jie-jie had company. And her company was the most beautiful woman Gong Yu had ever seen.

Yu knew that she was considered very beautiful, and by classical standards she supposed it was true. She'd certainly used the fact often enough. But the woman standing to greet her was slim and straight as a sword, had swift, graceful hands that settled into place like the flick of a knife, and her sharp features were alive with a wicked, sardonic amusement.

"Thank you for taking care of the train, mei-mei," Nihuang was saying. "Come and greet Xia Dong, third rank official in the Ministry of Justice. Dong-jie, this is Gong Yu."

Yu hurried forward, and nearly wobbled as she dipped a bow of greeting. "Madam Nie."

"Gong Yu." A light touch under her elbow made her look up. Xia Dong's smile had softened, and Yu could feel herself blushing. "I didn't get a chance, a year ago, but I wished very much to thank you for enabling me to leave the prison and see my husband." She gave Yu a bow, swift and precise as every other move she'd made. "My thanks."

Yu returned it hastily, unaccustomedly flustered, heart beating quick. "It was my honor to assist, Madam Nie."

Xia Dong gave her a wry grin, and Yu's breath caught. "You're part of the clan, now. No need to be so formal."

Yu blushed deeper, cheeks hot, and clasped her hands tight, wetting her lips. "Xia Dong jie-jie," she amended, obediently.

Xia Dong clapped her lightly on the shoulder. "Better. Come tell me about how the roads are; it looks like I'll be headed a little south soon, myself." She sank down cross-legged by a low table with a tea set sitting out, fluid and graceful, without a single second of wasted motion. Yu tried not to stare.

"You have a case?" Nihuang asked as Yu settled on the cushion beside Xia Dong, carefully graceful so as not to look like any more of a fool.

"Theft from one of the rear area army depots. A leftover from Xu Anmo's style of leadership, I'm guessing." Xia Dong's mouth twisted expressively.

"Ah. That case." Nihuang poured more tea, passing Yu the third cup. "Jingyan is angry over that one. He was in the field long enough to know well what happens to the troops who have to meet action when their supplies are interfered with."

"Minister Cai isn't too happy about it, either." Xia Dong sipped her tea, and her mouth curved like a drawn bow, sweet and deadly. "That's why he's sending me."

"The roads are clear near the capital," Yu supplied, hoping she didn't sound breathless, "though they'll be worsening soon, as the wet season sets in. I hope your case goes swiftly." And that Xia Dong returned swiftly; it was a real shame she couldn't do something about that directly, any more.

"I shall see that it does." She give Yu a knowing, sidelong smile. "Would you like to help?"

Yu truly couldn't help the way a smile took over her face. "Oh! May I?" She turned to Nihuang, who was laughing behind her hand. "Jie-jie, may I? Oh, but..." she drooped on her cushion. "My lord wished for me to guard you, in the capital."

Nihuang made a hmph sound, setting her cup down with just a little more force than necessary. "Shu-ge can just learn that I can guard myself."

Yu nibbled her lip, somehow doubtful that this would satisfy Lin Shu.

Xia Dong shook her head, smile wry. "You're in little danger, now. Tell you what, we'll ask Lady Jing to have a few of her girls keep an eye out. Xiao-Shu won't have qualms about her arrangements."

Nihuang positively smirked with satisfaction. "That should work." She leaned over and patted Yu's hand. "Go have fun, mei-mei."

Yu barely managed to hold back her squeak of excitement.

Lin Shu looked down at the woman in the circle of his arms, brows raised. "Are you telling me Dong-jie stole my concubine?"

Nihuang burst into such gales of laughter that he had to wonder if that was more accurate than he'd thought. "It will be good for her," she said, when she'd finally recovered. "Gong Yu is used to having more to do; she gets impatient with nothing but household duties to occupy her."

Lin Shu smiled, stroking back her loose hair with gentle fingers. "Like you?"

"Like me," she agreed easily. "Only without the military training and experience that will keep me in place as one of the generals of the nation. This will be good for her. Besides," she smirked, "Gong Yu has a crush on Dong-jie."

When he murmured thanks to his ancestors, she swatted his shoulder, and he laughed, gathering her close. "I hope they have a good time together, then." Against the darkness of her hair he added, still a little hesitant, even after their months together, "Come to bed?"

Her smile this time was sweet and brilliant, and she stood on her toes to kiss him. "Yes."

They helped each other out of over- and under-robes and, more slowly, undergarments. He still had to go slowly, when he actually started touching her skin, had to steady his breath and remind himself that it had always caught like this when they'd kissed, that it was normal, and even to be expected, surely, that the softness of her skin under his fingers would make any man a little dizzy. When she tucked herself under his chin, arms wrapped around him, and just settled there with a pleased sound, he had to hang on in return and close his eyes for a moment, nearly overwhelmed by the warmth of her pressed against him.

She waited for him. Waited for him to convince himself, again, that this was real. Waited until he stopped trembling and could slide his hands gently down the curve of her bare back to smile up at him and tug him toward the bed. As they stretched out together, he murmured against her shoulder, "Thank you."

"Oh hush." The words were impatient, but her voice was gentle and her hands were slow as they slid up his chest. "We have time."

"Even so." He kissed her softly, and laughed at the faintly exasperated sound she made into his mouth.

His awareness of his own body still came and went sometimes, but tonight, when she hooked a leg around his hip and rocked against him, slow, heavy heat curled at the base of his spine, and it felt... sure. Immovable. As steady as the knowledge of where his own center was, when he took a step in their training forms. And so, tonight, he slid his fingers into her hair and kissed her deeper, open and openly wanting, moving with her, sliding against her until she shivered, arching against him, and murmured, "Shu-ge..."

"Oh yes." He almost didn't recognize his own voice, rough and husky with the urgent heat running in his veins. She was wet against him, now, and the sound she made when he pressed into her was nearly a growl. The heat of her filled his mind, his lungs, and all he could do was catch her closer, drive into her, let the tide of sensation take him and trust that the ferocious intensity of it would be pleasure. Nihuang ground up against him, strong arms winding tight around him, and the burst of brilliant heat as her body tightened knocked the breath out of him in a wordless groan, drowned everything else in the wild surge of his body's response.

Other sensations settled back into place slowly. His mouth was dry from panting. Nihuang was pressed tight against him, shuddering as her body settled from her own pleasure. Her hands were stroking up and down his back, the slight scrape of callouses reminding him again that this was real.

"There," she finally said, voice just as rough as his, "see, we're getting better at that."

And, at that, he couldn't do anything but laugh, helplessly, and kiss her again.

Three

While Jingyan had been entirely correct about how easily he could become accustomed to having xiao-Shu always near, again, apparently this was not the case for his officials and ministers. Nearly a month after his arrival (or re-arrival) in the capital, whispers still followed Lin Shu through the halls of the Palace like an over-robe trailing off his shoulders. Xiao-Shu only smiled at them, though, small and amused, so Jingyan paid it as little mind as he could.

The distraction of half the officials reporting to him, he was less willing to ignore. He tapped a finger meaningfully against his desk, and the Minister of Personnel started a little, gaze jerking back to him from where it had been wandering off to the side. Admittedly, the tangle of tables and shelves, all stacked with books, scrolls, ink, bushes, and the occasional candle tree, which was slowly engulfing one side of Jingyan's outer receiving room, was worth a second glance. But He Jingzhong had seen what Jingyan couldn't help thinking of as xiao-Shu's command center before, and there was other work to get through, today. He raised pointed brows, and He cleared his throat.

"Ah. Yes. So, all the ladies the Crown Princess requested be inducted to the Palace staff have been approved." He bowed and offered a report folio. Jingyan refrained, with what he felt was admirable self-discipline, from rolling his eyes, and flipped through it quickly. Everyone An had discussed with his mother was, indeed, present.

"Very good." He nodded a dismissal, and He took himself off, a little slower than was really necessary.

Jingyan gave in and rolled his eyes.

From his own desk, xiao-Shu chuckled, finally looking up from the stack of reports and letters he had been giving every appearance of being completely engrossed in. "Give them a little longer to become accustomed, before you start thinking of distant posts you can banish people to."

"I wasn't thinking of banishing anyone," Jingyan said with dignity, if not with entire truthfulness. Xiao-Shu laughed out loud, at him.

"Of course you were. It's exactly the same little lines between your brows that you always got when dealing with idiots. It's probably the same look Nihuang is giving the Ji army generals at this very moment."

Nihuang had declared, when offered her own work space in the Eastern Palace, that she had just escaped a princedom's worth of paperwork, and demanded some field work to clean the paper dust out of her throat. Jingyan had sympathized too heartily with the sentiment to argue, and had asked her to inspect the armies posted to the interior. He trusted that she would bring back reliable accounts of whomever she didn't terrorize into shape on the spot. And also that she would make Lin Shu stop looking softly distracted and then a little disappointed immediately after. As he was, for example, at this moment. "She'll be back in ten days," he offered.

Xiao-Shu actually blushed, and Jingyan couldn't help laughing. "An thinks the two of you are adorable, you know." Actually, so did he. The two of them had only recently grown out of teasing each other mercilessly, when everything went wrong, and he treasured the chance to see them acting properly lovestruck. And, because that clearly meant someone else would have to do the teasing for a while, he added, "Mother thinks you're adorable, too."

Xiao-Shu snatched up a report folio and threw it at him, half-laughing and half-glowering. Jingyan grinned as he caught it, and ignored Zhou Wei's faint sigh from the side of the room. He didn't think the man actually disapproved. He did turn back to his work, though, because there was just so much of it to get through. "Do we have that review of boat-masters shipping under an Imperial charter yet?" he asked.

"Yes. You're holding it." Xiao-Shu smirked at him sidelong, and Jingyan snorted. All right, fine, yes he should know better than to try and get the better of his cousin.

That did not, of course, mean he would stop.

Jingyan was smiling as he bent over the endless reports.

Li Len climbed the steps to the Eastern Palace in Cai and Shen's wake. The two of them were already, or perhaps still, arguing.

"You should have gotten rid of Tian Gen as soon as you knew he was corrupt!"

"The point is that I didn't know; I can't just purge my ministry on suspicions."

"Suspicion is good enough for demotion, and then he couldn't do as much damage."

"Cai Quan..."

In a way, Len could see why the Crown Prince favored the two of them together. They did provide a fairly balanced view of any topic if you let them argue long enough, but it was a little nerve-wracking to be around, and he could do without extra nerves on any visit to the Crown Prince. At least Cai and Shen stopped arguing long enough for their entrance to be called.

That didn't actually help Len's nerves any, though, because Lin Shu was at the Crown Prince's side, today, as he was so constantly since he'd returned, leaning casually on the Prince's writing table and pointing something out over his shoulder. As someone who'd survived by adherence to protocol for decades, Len freely admitted to getting twitchy over how easily the Prince accepted Lin Shu's unpredictable shifts between knife-sharp observance of protocol and casual disregard of the same. How was a man supposed to know how to keep his head on his damn shoulders without at least a few guidelines?

He salved his nerves with a rigidly proper bow, along with Cai and Shen, and took a deep breath. Today was going to be tense enough as it was.

"Ministers," the Crown Prince greeted them, sitting back. "I take it you have something significant to discuss, today, to have all three of you here?"

"Unfortunately so," Shen agreed. "Your Highness will recall the misappropriation from the Qing Li southern depot. We seem to have struck an impasse, on it."

At Shen's nod, Len stepped forward. "Minister Cai's investigator determined which of the depot officers was responsible for the theft, and he has been remanded to prison already. Unfortunately, he has not yet been persuaded to give up the names of who else he worked with." He spread his hands, half helpless and half frustrated, and tried not to wince at the way the Prince's always-stern expression was turning dark and hard. "I am willing to approve sterner questioning, but..."

"I doubt it would be of use," Cai finished for him, clearly and entirely frustrated. "If he's this resistant to interrogation, to begin with, we'd have to use extreme measures, and the information that comes from that is always questionable. We do have a suspect, one Tian Gen, but I will admit that the evidence is very circumstantial."

"I see." The Prince's increasingly cold gaze turned to Shen. "Someone from your ministry, then?"

Shen nodded rather wearily. "What we do know points that way. Sergeant Yang covered his appropriation of supplies by reporting a good deal of spoilage, more than would have normally gone without question or inspection of the depot's storage itself. Investigation traced that money, and some of it was sent back to someone in the capital, but the trail ends at a pick-up point and a false name, and we have not been able to get a definitive description of the man who picked up those moneys."

"But you assume it's Tian Gen," Lin Shu murmured from where he stood by the Prince's chair, arms crossed, eyes distant, as though he were reading a scroll no one else could see.

"He's the one who should have overseen reports from that area." Shen gave Cai, who was nearly bouncing on his toes, a patient look, and added. "And he rose very quickly under Lou Zhinjing. I will admit that many of those who did likewise have been... less than reliable. But it is not evidence."

"He fits the description we do have," Cai grumbled.

"So do a quarter of the men in the city!" Shen pointed out, exasperated. "I can't throw the man out of the ministry just for that!"

"I can," the Prince stated flatly, and Len saw Lin Shu's head jerk up.

"Jingyan," Lin Shu said, sharp and warning, and Len tried not to actually pale with shock. He knew the man was sometimes casual with the Crown Prince, but this...!

Beside him, Shen sighed and murmured, under his breath, "Oh dear."

The Crown Prince nearly exploded up out of his chair, rounding on Lin Shu. "If he should have had oversight, he's guilty in any case!"

"Then let him be tried and removed for that," Lin Shu snapped back. "You cannot set a precedent for removing officials at your whim!"

The Crown Prince gestured sharply, as if to strike that aside. "This is hardly a whim!"

"It is if you don't wait for evidence!"

The two men glared at each other for a long moment before the Prince turned away and planted his clenched fists on the table, head lowered. Li Len wondered, a little distantly, if he could sneak out now and pretend he'd never witnessed this. He jumped a little when Shen patted him on the arm. "Calmly, Minister," Shen said out of the corner of his mouth, nearly whispering. "They do this now and then."

Before Len could ask how, in that case, Lin Shu was still alive and walking around free, Lin Shu sighed and stepped forward, anger falling away as he laid a hand on the Crown Prince's shoulder. "Dong-jie is very good at what she does," he said, quietly. "She'll bring you what you need, to act on this. Trust the people we've chosen."

The Crown Prince didn't answer, but did lift a hand and lay it over Lin Shu's. When he straightened again, his fury seemed to have washed away, or at least eased into a focused calm. "Minister Cai," he said quietly, "when do you expect Xia Dong to return?"

As if there was nothing at all strange about the Crown Prince, and de facto emperor, having a public shouting match with his closest advisor, Cai answered, "Likely another month; she's following the matÃ©riel trail to see whether we can trace more conclusively where the goods went. She sent the girl who accompanied her back, along with her interim report, though." He made a dubious face. "She suggested we try the girl on Tian Gen, actually."

Lin Shu smirked, where he was still standing close at the Prince's shoulder, and put in, "Gong Yu was one of my agents in the Capital for years. She's very good at getting men to talk."

"Ah." Cai bowed briefly. "With both of you vouching for her skills, sir, I'm willing to let her try."

"Do so," the Prince approved. "Let me know when you have more information. You will have my support for whatever needs to be done, to clear this matter."

Len bowed acknowledgment, along with Cai and Shen, and followed them out the door, finally releasing a relieved breath, when they were clear. And then he spun to Shen and demanded, "Exactly how often is 'now and then'?!"

Shen and Cai exchanged thoughtful looks. "Twice?" Shen suggested.

"This time makes three, that we've seen." Cai clapped Len reassuringly on the shoulder. He thought he must look as horrified as he felt. "Don't worry so much!"

"They both obviously have the family temper," Shen put in, more quietly. "Better they use it to keep each other in check than otherwise, yes?"

"I suppose so," Len had to agree, albeit a little weakly. He shook himself and continued down the steps with them. After a few more, in which he recalled the lack of space between the two men, and the gentleness of Lin Shu's tone, he added, "Do you think the two of them are... that way, perhaps?"

"You have to think," Cai agreed. "Considering."

"Oh certainly," Shen murmured. "Just as soon as one of them notices."

Len and Cai both stared at him, Len picturing Lin Shu's easy hand on the Prince's shoulder and the Prince's hand covering his. "You think they haven't?"

Shen chuckled. "Remember your son's courting, if not your own. Not quite yet, I don't think."

Len considered how his own son had behaved, when he'd finally noticed his betrothed was a girl, and a pretty one at that, and rubbed his forehead. He could feel a headache coming on already.

"My turn to host drinks," Cai stated firmly, and Len let the two of them steer him toward the gates with gratitude. He felt badly in need of a little fortification.

Interlude: Clearing

Lu Jian was knee deep in slimy mud, the day Princess Nihuang, Madam Lin, visited, debating with the boss of his garden crew whether the bed of the water garden needed to be dredged. By the time he'd scrambled up the ladder and over the edge, he was even muddier. The Princess only smiled, returning a courteous nod to his bow. "Your message said you wanted someone who was familiar with the manor to look at something?"

Jian tried not to goggle at her, and hastily bowed again. "One of the servants would have done, Milady!"

She waved this off. "There aren't many left, and none in the city at this time. What is it?"

"Well..." Jian ran a hand through his hair, hoping against hope to neaten it after his morning climbing in and out of muddy holes. "I was hoping to speak with someone who knew how the manor was furnished. I know the family belongings probably can't be recovered, but... well, I was hoping to at least come close."

Her smile warmed, and Jian suddenly understood why one of the premier generals of the nation also had so much poetry written about her. "That is a kind thought, and one I will be pleased to assist with."

"Yes, Milady," he agreed, just a little faintly, before he pulled himself together and called for the senior secretary on site.

He tried to make the tour of the premises quick, but the Princess herself kept pausing, considering the Inner Hall for a long moment before telling him that the candle trees had been four-tiered, sighing at the eastern garden's disarray before telling him that the Royal Princess Jinyang had favored azaleas and roses there, touching the fresh timber of the main hall's rear supports with light fingers before confirming that they had been colored a deep black. By the end of it, Jian felt somewhere between guilty for making the lady relive the past to answer his questions and delighted that he now had a chance to match her memories (and thus Vice-Marshal Lin's memories) so closely.

It was not a comfortable mix.

"Anything for me to take to the suppliers?" Shi Ping asked, once he'd seen the Princess off.

"Quite a bit, actually." He gestured for his secretary to pass over the list. "This renovation might just restart the fashion for painted hangings."

"Well, at least they'll be less expensive right now," Shi Ping pointed out, practically. "I'll see about these. You go talk to the garden crew again. Whatever we save on hangings, I'm thinking we'll have to spend on rock to re-line the water garden."

Jian groaned at the mere thought of the expense, but he couldn't actually argue; a water garden with that kind of slime built up at the bottom had to be cleaned out completely, or it would just pollute the new water and kill off any new plantings. You couldn't argue with the facts of nature—only work with them. He turned and made for the third garden.

He was probably going to need two baths by the end of the day.

Four

More and more often, lately, Lin Shu found himself remembering Prince Qi, the brother Jingyan had idolized, the Prince that Lin Shu himself had thought to serve. Once in the field, the Emperor had been a distant, abstract sort of memory. It had been Jingyan at his side, his father in command, and Prince Qi's orders, thoughts, ideals guiding them. Now that management of the whole nation, rather than just one army, had fallen on he and Jingyan, he cast his thoughts back to those ideals whenever he could.

He also found himself wondering how Prince Qi had possibly been able to keep his relatively cheerful disposition when buried in the paperwork of government.

"Xiao-Shu."

He believed in staying informed as much as the next man, and considering the next man was often Lin Chen this was saying something, but he would be happier if more officials and ministers spent a season or two writing via messenger pigeon to master the art of concise language.

"Xiao-Shu?"

The explanations for official expenditures ran especially long, and he was seriously considering sending sub-minister of Public Works Huang a note advising him to simply put "bribe to expedite construction" in his next report. Both honesty and efficiency would be served well, thereby, and he wouldn't have to comb through his own height in paper just to find out which shippers were building up unusual funds and might, therefore, be trailed back to foreign sources he could use to track future goods smuggled out of the country.

"Xiao-Shu." A firm hand fell on his shoulder and shook him out of his concentration, and he blinked up at Jingyan.

"Hm?"

Jingyan was smiling down at him, openly amused. "Nihuang only returned yesterday. If you miss dinner because you were reading reports, I hesitate to imagine what action she'll take to rectify matters."

"Ah." Lin Shu straightened in his chair, glancing around at his stacks of reading, and he had to smile himself, a bit wryly. He was, perhaps, too used to working alone with a small network, still. "Yes, all right. I suppose the rest of this can wait." As he stretched upright, all the muscles in his back registered their agreement.

There was definite approval in Jingyan's voice when he said, "Good." He squeezed Lin Shu's shoulder and let him go.

Perhaps it was only that Lin Shu was already paying attention to what his body was telling him in the moment, but when Jingyan's fingers brushed against the bare skin of his neck, drawing away, that one moment of contact poured a warm shiver straight down his spine to pool low in his stomach, hot and startling.

Or... perhaps not startling, exactly, because Lin Shu could remember many moments like this, when they were younger. They spilled through his mind, quick and visceral, those moments of heat, of awareness, that had accompanied Jingyan's hand in his hair, on his neck, on his wrist, moments so easy to fold into his love for his cousin, his desire to always be near, the easy knowledge that Jingyan would never deny him. Now... now he had fourteen years of separation, of fiercely ignoring his body and its pain, of ignoring everything he knew he could never have again. Now it stood out.

And what did he do with it, now?

"Xiao-Shu?" Jingyan had turned back, half-way to the entrance to the inner rooms, brows lifted. Lin Shu shook himself and stood.

"Yes, of course." He made his way to Jingyan's side and tried not to let his breath catch at the easy nudge of Jingyan's shoulder against his as they passed within.

What on earth was he going to do with this now?

Nihuang eyed her husband thoughtfully, as they ate, aware of Jingyan doing the same, with, perhaps, a shade more concern. Of course, Nihuang was fairly sure she knew what was behind all the moments when Shu-ge hesitated just a bit longer than usual before answering someone, when his hand stayed poised just a beat too long before actually conveying food from dish to mouth. The decisive clue, she thought, was that, in each one of those moments, Shu-ge's eyes slid toward Jingyan and then snapped away an instant later. Even An was giving him a puzzled look, now and again. Nihuang caught her eye and gave her a reassuring smile, rolling her own eyes toward both the men. An looked down quickly, stifling a giggle, and relaxed again.

She and Nihuang had talked about this before Nihuang had ever left the capital.

And tonight, Nihuang thought she might just be able to get through another of the necessary discussions to untangle her husband from his own uncertainty. So as soon as they'd finished, she reached out to twine her fingers with Shu-ge's and said, "Come and talk. I've missed you."

Jingyan chuckled at that, which made her think he'd been teasing Shu-ge about her, which was an encouraging sign. Shu-ge only smiled, though, small and warm. "Yes, of course."

So she tugged him off to her own rooms and promptly snuggled close as soon as he sat. It was entirely true that she'd missed him, after all, and missed the way he gathered her into the curve of his arm and pressed his lips to her hair. There were other matters that were overdue to be seen to, though, so as soon as she was settled to her satisfaction, tucked up against him, she asked, "Shu-ge, is something wrong? You spent all evening not looking at Jingyan."

He huffed softly. "I suppose I should have expected you to see it."

"So what is it?" She nudged him and added, leadingly, "You must know he'd never disapprove of anything you wanted to do."

"It's not like that. I just... That is, today..." She waited while he took a long breath and let it out. "Today, when Jingyan touched me, I remembered how it used to be, back then."

"Ah." Now they were getting somewhere. She smiled and cuddled closer. "You mean when, every time he touched you, he was smiling like the dawn sun, and, every time, you looked back at him like he was the world's first sunrise?" His arms tightened around her sharply, and she reached up to touch his cheek and maker him look at her. "And how is that in any way different from how it is now?"

After a long, wide-eyed moment, he smiled down at her. "Well. I'd forgotten how it felt."

"So now you remember." She stroked her thumb along his cheekbone, gently. "Shu-ge, do you remember what we used to talk of, back then? That we'd find another girl of a military family for Jingyan, and all live together in one house, and be together always?"

A soft, unsteady laugh escaped him. "And that we'd all four take the field together, and be as fierce as legends, and sweep the enemies of the nation before us?"

She smiled back, a little unsteady herself with the sweetness of those memories. "And look at us, now. All in the same house, much of the time. And if An isn't of a military family, she is the one who understands best the other ways you fight, now." She reached up to cup both hands around his face, finishing in a whisper, "And have we not swept our enemies before us?"

He caught her close, burying his head in her shoulder, and she could feel him shaking a little in her arms. "Yes," he answered, low and rough. "Yes, we have."

"Then be as fierce as the legend we will become," she told him, completely sure of this one thing. "What is there to fear, after all this?"

Finally he lifted his head, eyes a little wet though he was smiling. "You've grown so wise, my heart." He still hesitated, though, and she cocked an eyebrow. "I know you were jealous of him, sometimes," he said, low.

"Sometimes, when we were first betrothed," she agreed, quietly. "Yes. But Shu-ge... do you know how you looked at me, back then?

He smoothed back a strand of her hair with light fingers, eyes soft. "How?"

"Back then, you stopped in your steps, now and then, and looked at me like I'd just stepped out of the sky itself to take your hand. And I looked back like you were the beating heart in my chest." She leaned up to kiss him, softly. "And that, too, is no different, now, than it's ever been."

He caught her closer, tight enough to drive her breath out, this time. "No different at all," he agreed, husky, and kissed her back, slow and tender. Against her mouth, he murmured, "So, may I be legendarily fierce tomorrow? I believe I'd like to stay here, for the the rest of tonight."

She laughed, free and open, and twisted to pull him down to the bed with her, hands buried in his hair as they kissed again, sweet with the fierceness that was always at the heart of her brilliant boy, even when he didn't see it. That was all right. The ones who loved him saw it for him.

And she had always known that Xiao Jingyan was a true partner, in that.

Predictably, Lin Shu found himself even more distracted the next day. It felt like the first few weeks after he'd returned to Nihuang, all over again. His eyes constantly strayed to Jingyan, to the tilt of his head as he read, to the movement of his hands over paper, to the occasional curl of his mouth. His memory, now thoroughly stirred up, insisted on recalling all the other times he'd seen Jingyan smile, so many of them at him.

Of course Jingyan noticed.

"Xiao-Shu?" he finally asked, quietly, once they'd sent the sub-minister of Rites away with a quelling promise that Marquis Yan would review his recommendations, coming to stand close. "Are you all right?"

And, of course, that was where Jingyan's mind would immediately go; he should have anticipated it. Lin Shu reached out, in unthinking reassurance, and rested a hand on Jingyan's chest. Just as unthinkingly, Jingyan's had rose to cover it. "I'm well, I promise," he soothed. "I just..." he paused as the warmth of Jingyan's hand on his finally registered, and looked down at his own hand on Jingyan's chest. They were standing so close, and he hadn't even noticed, because that was how they'd always been. Always, save for a year ago, and that had been two solid years of restraining himself at every turn from stepping closer, reaching out, knowing that Jingyan would never deny him if he did. That Jingyan hadn't denied him, once he'd known. Jingyan's voice wound through his memory, low and sure, stating like a fact, We are as one person.

Now he felt like a bit of a fool.

"Xiao-Shu?" Jingyan asked, softly.

Lin Shu took a breath and let it go, uneven with the thread of laughter in it. "Sometimes I miss the obvious, it seems. In my defense, I never even thought to be alive, here and now, let alone returned to you."

"You, miss something?" Jingyan asked, straight-faced and teasing. "Surely not."

Lin Shu shoved at him, lightly, and then turned his hand to catch Jingyan's, smiling. "Say rather I wasn't letting myself remember. This," he added, as Jingyan started to ask, and lifted their clasped hands to press a kiss to Jingyan's fingers. In the quiet of the room, he could hear the quick draw of Jingyan's breath. When he looked up again, Jingyan was standing very still, eyes wide and dark.

"Xiao-Shu."

It was little more than a whisper, but the weight it sank into his chest like a sea anchor in a storm. "You said it, didn't you, a year and a half ago?" he answered, low. "We are as one." Agreement and promise and apology wrapped together in the simple words. "I won't forget again."

Jingyan's stillness finally broke, and he stepped closer, free hand lifting to curve around Lin Shu's nape. Gentle as he was, the gesture caught Lin Shu's breath short with the heat that curled through his stomach in answer. He was remembering now, all right, but he wasn't used to this any more.

A faint, meaningful cough from the direction of the doors reminded him that they were also standing in Jingyan's outer receiving room in the middle of a work day, and that Zhou Wei was probably going to give them both long-suffering looks for days, over this. He leaned his forehead against Jingyan's, trying to hold back laughter, which would only make the long-suffering last longer. Jingyan's mouth curled in an answering smile, and he murmured, low, "Later, then."

Well, there was his concentration gone for the day, Lin Shu reflected, ruefully.

He did make it through the rest of the day without any really egregious lapses, but by the time Zhou Wei firmly closed the Eastern Palace's main doors his expression had turned from long-suffering to downright exasperated. Jingyan thanked him, with, perhaps, just a bit of suppressed merriment in his eyes, and calmly set his hand on Lin Shu's back to guide him toward the inner rooms. Lin Shu swore he could hear Zhou Wei rolling his eyes behind them.

By far the majority of his attention was on the heat of Jingyan's hand through his robes, though, not a light touch, not the pro forma gesture of everyday courtesy, and he had to concentrate a little to put one foot steadily in front of the other. By the time they reached Jingyan's rooms, he felt as though all his skin was sensitized to that simple, steady touch. "Jingyan," he said, softly, not entirely sure what he meant to say after that. Whatever it might have been was lost as Jingyan turned to him, smiling, and drew him close with that hand on his back.

"Do you remember this?" he asked, low and intimate, just the sound of his voice enough to stroke a finger of heat down Lin Shu's spine. Even so, even a little breathless, he had to laugh, because Jingyan was teasing him.

"I certainly do." Which was true. It hadn't been at all unusual for them to end up pressed together, and sometimes, if training had devolved into rough-housing, tangled together. And he remembered the times Jingyan had pulled him close, triumphant or laughing or... just leaning together at the end of the longest days. He slid his hands up Jingyan's arms and over his shoulders. "I wondered, a few of those times, whether I shouldn't do something rather like this." He leaned in and kissed Jingyan, light and questioning—the same question he'd had in his heart, those times, wondering if the beloved cousin who gave his world a center would wish this, also.

Jingyan's hand slid up to cradle his head, mouth unhurried and sure on his, kissing him back until he was a little dizzy with the thoroughness of it, the slide of Jingyan's tongue through his mouth, tasting him slowly. When Jingyan finally drew back, he answered Lin Shu's half-forgotten question, softly, "I would have welcomed you then, too."

The assurance unwound something deep in Lin Shu's chest—the lingering wonder whether Jingyan would have merely indulged him or actually wanted him in return. He'd been used to being wanted, really, but Jingyan was the one, the only one, he'd never been able to easily move to his whim. The one who really counted. Jingyan must have felt him relax, because he shook his head, mouth quirked wryly. "Xiao-Shu. You have always been my heart and soul," he said, quiet and easy.

Lin Shu's breath stopped for a moment, as those words sang through him, resonating in his own heart. "Jingyan..."

"It's true," Jingyan told him, perfectly serene, gathering him close. Lin Shu settled against him willingly, smiling small and true. Jingyan rubbed slow fingers up and down his neck and made a satisfied sound when Lin Shu unwound a little more, leaning against him. "Will you come to bed, xiao-Shu?" he asked against Lin Shu's ear, low and warm, sending a little shiver spilling down his spine.

"Yes," Lin Shu answered, husky.

Jingyan stayed close as they undressed, hands sliding down Lin Shu's arms and chest as he took each layer away, as if he wanted to re-learn Lin Shu's body. He was far more careless of his own clothing, tugging belts loose quickly and shrugging out of all his layers together as soon as the ties were undone. That simple motion fixed Lin Shu's eyes like nothing else could have, though. Jingyan had always been beautiful to him, and he'd grown into something magnificent, the hard muscle of one campaign after another shifting under his skin, sleek and powerful as a tiger prowling, as he stepped through the muddle of silk toward Lin Shu. He reached out for Jingyan because he could scarcely help it, and Jingyan gathered him close again with a smile. The heat of Jingyan's bare skin against his, the line of Jingyan's back under his palms, took up all of his awareness, at least until Jingyan's mouth found his again for a slow kiss, this one so unmistakably possessive that it pulled a soft, wanting sound out of him.

"My own," Jingyan said against his mouth, answering Lin Shu's want as easily as he always had.

"Yes." Lin Shu pressed close, arms tightening hard around him. "I wish that." He had wished that, even when he'd carefully slipped away, determined that those he loved would not have to watch him die. And now... He gasped, breath driven out by the force of Jingyan's arms closing around him.

"Then I will not let you go." Jingyan's words felt like they burned into him, fierce and hot as the kiss that followed, and he answered with all his heart, moaning out loud as Jingyan's mouth moved down his jaw to his throat. The pull and soft sting of Jingyan sucking a mark into his skin, nearly made his knees give way. Jingyan made an agreeable sound against his skin and let them both down to the bed, leaning over him on one elbow. "You like that," he observed, satisfaction clear in the curve of his lips as he ran a slow finger over the tender skin he'd marked. A hot shudder ran through Lin Shu, in response, and he reached up to pull Jingyan down against him, to another kiss.

"I do," he finally answered, when that burst of heat had eased a little, settled by Jingyan's weight over him. He was so hard he was dizzy with it, in fact.

Jingyan smiled, slowly, eyes bright. "Well, then." He leaned down, nuzzling under Lin Shu's jaw until he tipped his head back, and kissed slowly down the line of his throat, biting gently here and there until Lin Shu was pushing up against him, breathless little sounds catching in his throat as need and pleasure danced down his nerves.

"Jingyan..." He nearly whimpered as the wet heat of Jingyan's mouth continued down his chest and stomach, and he should really have remembered how much trouble they'd almost always gotten into when Jingyan got that look in his eyes. When Jingyan settled between his legs, broad shoulders pushing them apart, arms curled around his thighs, he moaned out loud. "Jingyan."

"Xiao-Shu." Jingyan looked up at him, and this smile was quiet and sure. "It's all right." The assurance in that deep voice settled over him like summer sunlight, warmth and comfort and security sinking into his bones. Jingyan made a pleased sound as he relaxed, and pressed a soft kiss to his inner thigh, and another, and then slowly sucked a mark there.

Relaxed as he was, the answering rush of heat went through him like the breaking of a storm-front. "Jingyan!" Jingyan only purred, marking his inner thighs again and again, holding him gently in place as Lin Shu tried to spread his legs wider, to press into his hold. He kept going until Lin Shu was twisting breathlessly against the bed, hands closed tight in the soft blankets under them, half wild with the hypersensitivity of his skin under Jingyan's mouth and the knowledge that Jingyan wanted to lay such a thorough claim on him.

When Jingyan's mouth finally closed over the length of him, hot and wet, he was so overwhelmed by sensation that all he could do was groan, wordless, and all it took was Jingyan's mouth sliding down him, slow and sure, to undo him completely. Pleasure shook him senseless for endless moments, left him wrung out and panting, muscles trembling under the warm stroke of Jingyan's hands.

"Mmm," he finally managed, reaching for Jingyan, and sighed with satisfaction as Jingyan's weight settled against him again. Jingyan smiled down at him, fingers sliding gently up into his hair.

"Looks like I guessed right."

"Very right," Lin Shu agreed, softly.

"Good." Jingyan slowly tugged loose the pin of his hairpiece and unraveled the snug twists of Lin Shu's hair until he could run his fingers all the way to the ends. "Do you remember this, too?"

"Mmmm." Feeling nearly liquid under the slow, easy strokes, Lin Shu wound his arms more snugly around Jingyan. "Of course. You always liked to take my hair down." He could feel the vibration of Jingyan's silent chuckle, this close.

"Well, you put it all the way up so young. I didn't think you needed to, to be taken seriously." He pressed a kiss to Lin Shu's forehead, and murmured, "And I liked being the only one who got to see it down, when we were in the field."

Lin Shu smiled up at him, sliding his hands up the broad line of Jingyan's back. "And is that all you wish of me, right now?" Lying this close together, it was fairly clear that it wasn't.

"Do you want more?" Jingyan countered, hand sliding gently down his neck, thumb stroking over tender, marked skin. "Or is this enough, for now?"

The curl of heat that answered that caress actually startled him, and he pulled in a quick breath. "Oh..." Jingyan's eyes on him darkened, hot and focused, but he still waited until Lin Shu reached up to cup his cheek and answered, "My desire for you has never had an end. I just never thought I'd be able to feel it like this again."

Jingyan caught him close, at that, and his mouth on Lin Shu's was fierce and hungry, this time. "Then you need do nothing but feel." Those words, wrapped in Jingyan's deep voice, stroked down his nerves like a fine brush, dark and soft, and left him flushed and breathless against the bed as Jingyan slid away to reach for the small cabinet beside it. When Jingyan gathered him up again, one hand sliding under him, slow and slick, he pressed close, accepting Jingyan's word and letting that touch fill his mind and senses, clinging to it just as fiercely, now, as he'd pushed sensation away for years. It was easier when Jingyan's fingers pressed into him, intimate enough to leave him gasping for breath against Jingyan's shoulder, and completely new. Jingyan went slowly, working his muscles open with gentle, relentless fingers until he was thoroughly unwound, hands flexing against Jingyan's back with each slow push in.

When Jingyan set his teeth on Lin Shu's throat and bit down softly at the same time, the sensation took fire all in a rush and it shook an open moan out of him. "Jingyan."

Jingyan kissed him, deep and sure. "Yes."

The feeling of Jingyan's hands sliding down the marked skin of his thighs, to catch his knees and press them back and open, put a hot shudder through him and he was already breathless when Jingyan pushed slowly into him. The hard stretch and slide of it stole the rest of his breath and most of his thoughts, leaving only want and the anchor of Jingyan leaning over him, dark eyes intent on him.

"Just feel," Jingyan told him, low and husky, rocking into him slowly, over and over. "Xiao-Shu. I have you. Just feel."

"Jingyan..." It was almost a plea, and Jingyan leaned down to kiss it off his lips, gentle.

"Just feel," he repeated, deep voice soft and coaxing, and reached down, wrapping still-slick fingers firmly around Lin Shu's length.

Lin Shu didn't think he could help it, as pleasure spiraled through him in a dizzy climb that jumped with every stroke, every slow thrust. And it was Jingyan with him, in him, holding him, so he didn't try—just let the rush of pleasure take him, groaning out loud when it finally burst through him in a wash of fire down every nerve. Jingyan's deep moan answered him, and he looked up, dazed, to see Jingyan arched over him, flushed and gorgeous, lips parted. Every short, hard thrust into him sent another shock of pleasure up his spine, and he clung to the sweetness of feeling so much, so close.

When Jingyan drew back a little, easing his legs back down to the bed, Lin Shu shivered and reached out, not wanting to be parted even that little bit. Jingyan smiled and settled over him, holding him tight even as Lin Shu wrapped around him. His fingers slid through Lin Shu's loose hair, slow and easy, familiar and soothing after that wild surge of sensation.

"My own," Jingyan murmured against his ear, and the reminder relaxed him further, that he didn't have to lose this.

"Yes." He touched Jingyan's cheek to turn his head, and caught his mouth for a slow, open kiss. "As I always have been."

Jingyan positively purred at that, mouth curling in a satisfied smile. "Then I will keep you. My treasure."

Lin Shu felt his face heat at that, and bent his head, laughing. "Jingyan!"

"It's true," Jingyan said, calm and immovable, and Lin Shu gave in with a sigh, settling against him. He couldn't deny that the part of him that had always turned to Jingyan, always sought him as Lin Shu's personal pole star, was warmed and settled by every tender word.

"My heart," he admitted, softly, winding closer around Jingyan. He could feel Jingyan's lips curve against his temple, and smiled helplessly against his shoulder in return.

Now, now he truly felt he was all the way home.

When he'd been selected as the head of Prince Jing's attendants, on Jingyan's creation as Crown Prince, Zhou Wei had been pleased. Possibly even a little excited. Whatever his reputation for bullheadedness, Prince Jing was clearly the rising star of the Palace, and Zhou Wei would be the one responsible for looking after his affairs. It was even possible, given the Prince's equal reputation for rectitude and loyalty, that this would put Wei on track to become Chief of the palace officials, when Gao stepped down. Gao-gong had even spoken with him personally, about the appointment, and had a few quiet words of advice, which Wei had taken firmly to heart.

He had sought out Lei Zhanying, the Prince's left hand, and asked him how the Prince preferred to be served. Thanks to that discussion, Wei kept himself close to the Prince, whenever he was in the Eastern Palace, but unobtrusive. He firmly discouraged the other palace officials from attempting to fawn, the way the last Crown Prince had liked, and hustled ministers and officers in and out of the Prince's presence as expeditiously as possible.

Thanks to Gao-gong's advice, he'd also sought out the Noble Consort Jing and made himself known to her. The Lady had smiled, faint but warm, and invited him back a month later, to what had turned out to be a strategy meeting with the young Lady Liu. That had been invaluable, and only the suspicion that Lady Jing would dislike fawning as much as her son had kept him from truly effusive thanks. Wei and the Crown Princess now sent each other at least weekly notes about the Crown Prince's health, temper, and schedule.

The last piece of advice Gao-gong had given him was to never, ever speak ill of Prince Qi or Chiyan or Lin or, most especially, Lin Shu. To think of Lin Shu, in particular, as his Prince's dearest brother.

That advice had served Wei very well, indeed, in the months following the Crown Prince's ascension, and had made him careful of his Prince's grief during the year that followed.

It had not, however, quite prepared him for Lin Shu's return.

Suddenly, the man was everywhere, never apart from the Prince except when he was boring through some unfortunate Ministry's records like an arrow through straw. A few of the younger officials actually hid when they saw him coming, now, and the keepers of the Royal Library looked pained, because no one could stop him. Lin Shu might as well be an extension of the Crown Prince. If the Prince was in the Eastern Palace, so was Lin Shu, and if Lin Shu was in the Prince's city manor, so was the Prince.

And they were really not discreet in the slightest.

Zhou Wei caught a rustle of robes from the room behind him and resisted the urge to rub his forehead. He knew without looking, without even looking at the half-delighted, half-scandalized expressions on the door attendants as they peeked past him, that Lin Shu was stealing another kiss from the Prince. They'd been doing it all morning, and sooner or later someone besides their own attendants was going to notice. Wei made a mental note to speak personally with the Crown Princess about how to manage the rumors. A note was not going to be sufficient this week.

A messenger started across the plaza to the Eastern Palace steps, and Wei sighed, stepping back into the outer receiving room. Sure enough, Lin Shu was leaning over one arm of the Prince's chair and the Prince's hand was curled around his nape, fingers sliding under the collar of his robes.

"...been able to feel the marks of your mouth on my thighs with every step I take, all day," Lin Shu was murmuring, as Wei got back into earshot. Wei attempted to quash that mental image, violently, and made sure to kick a bench in passing. The Prince, at least, had the grace to flush a little when the two of them looked up at the little clatter and saw him approaching. Lin Shu just smiled, straightening up slowly and folding his hands.

"A ministry messenger for you, Highness, Sir," Wei said, trying not to sound harassed. From the upward crimp at the corners of Lin Shu's mouth, he didn't entirely succeed.

"Let him in," the Prince ordered, reaching for one of the report folios on his desk, as if he'd been paying any attention to them at all, today. Wei sighed and waved at the door attendants.

He'd entered Palace service, among other reasons, because he didn't want to deal with a family and children. Why did he suddenly feel like he was getting all the annoyances of parenthood anyway?

The messenger bowed quickly. "Message from Minister Cai, Highness, Sir. He says the lady is in place."

Gong Yu stepped lightly through the halls of Jinglin's second best brothel, a demure smile settled over her like a fine headdress, drawing eyes and clearing her way at the same time.

She'd forgotten how much she enjoyed this work.

The actual arts of the body she found merely tiresome. Give her a sword drill any day. But this—the careful tension between a welcoming smile and averted eyes that kept all the clients at just the right distance for her to stalk her prey—this was almost like the strings of a zither under her fingers.

Today, she'd painted her cheeks darker, to make them look thinner, sharpened the line of her jaw, dressed her hair up high to lengthen the lines of her head. No one had recognized her as Miao Yin's finest musician, least of all the rather discontented looking man watching the dancers in the public room. Gong Yu exchanged a nod across the room, with the house's Madam, and folded herself down beside him in a sigh of fine silk, leaning in just enough to suggest intimacy without touching him. "Does our company not please you this evening, good sir?"

He harrumphed and tossed back his cup of wine. "Apparently," he said with heavy sarcasm, "all the private rooms are taken. What kind of House is this, to keep clients sitting out so long?"

She poured him another cup and lifted it in her fingertips to offer with a smile. "How unfortunate, good sir. Perhaps you will deign to allow me to entertain you while you wait, then?"

He finally looked at her properly, and the tight line of his shoulders relaxed a bit. "Hm. Well, now, that's a little more like it." She smiled back, sweet and winsome, and leaned a little closer, playing the developing tension in the air between them, delicately.

And all the while she cooed and snuggled at this fool, she held close in her heart the memory of Dong jie-jie's teeth flashing as she bared them in a fierce grin the day Gong Yu had gotten past her guard during morning training, the hardness of her eyes when they'd finally pinned down when Qing Li's southern depot had started losing goods—just a year after the man beside her had gained his current office in the Ministry of Revenue. Even more than that, the sober confidence in her voice when she'd told Gong Yu to return to the capital without her and close this half of the net. She made her smile bright with that memory and poured more wine.

Tian Gen was getting to what Yu privately thought of as the usefully drunk stage—expansive but not so loud or sloppy that the House's attendants would start trying to nudge him outside. "I have plenty of money for the best room here!" he declared, waving his empty cup in a broad gesture.

Yu promptly filled it again, making her eyes wide and impressed as she hung delicately on his shoulder. "Truly?" Dong jie-jie would have laughed long and hard at the breathless note in Yu's voice, she reflected.

"Ha! I have more money than even a Second Rank Minister, these days! And no one knows how!"

Yu molded her body a little closer against his side. "But... how can no one know, good sir?"

Tian Gen smirked and leaned toward her, clearly woozy though he kept his voice down, and Yu leaned in with a conspiratorial giggle. "I was smart, see. I never touched the money myself. I sent my man to get it for me."

Yu covered her mouth with her fingertips. "Oh!" Really, it was a good thing Tian Gen was this drunk; surely no one sober could have kept from laughing at her performance. She leaned on his shoulder, lips just brushing his ear, and breathed, "Are you sure he won't tell anyone? If it's that much money..."

Tian Gen laughed out loud, wrapping an arm around her, and Yu deliberately called to mind the feel of Dong jie-jie's hands closed around her face and the gentle kiss she'd given Yu in parting, letting that memory flush her cheeks and make her eyes soft. Tian Gen grinned down at her. "Deng has been with me for fifteen years. I've no worries about him!"

Yu smiled up at him, and if that smile's brilliance was due to the fact that she had a name to bring back for Dong jie-jie and her lord, well, Tian Gen didn't need to know.

She hoped Dong jie-jie's hunt was going as well.

Xia Dong crawled out of a drainage ditch in the Northern Yan capital, spat out muddy water, and wondered yet again if she should have kept Gong Yu with her after all. Trying to infiltrate another country's capital and steal the financial records of one of their royal factions was not a solo job. Though she had to admit, the contact Yu had sent word of her to wasn't doing too badly.

Her current associate, Wen Ru, landed in the slick grass beside her, breathing hard. "I think we're clear."

"Good. Do you know where I can get a fast horse?"

His grin winked in the darkness. "Who do you think you're talking to, again? One of the stable-boys at Prince Kang's manor is Jiangzuo."

Kang being the prince who had lost the succession race to Northern Yan's present Crown Prince, which would nicely derail any suspicions that it had been a Liang agent who'd raided the secret records of Duke Ma, the Crown Prince's strongest supporter. She hauled herself upright and made a dash for the nearest alley, Wen on her heels. "I like the way you think."

"It was the Chief who set it all up." He grabbed her arm to hold her back while a city patrol passed. "How is he doing, by the way?"

Xia Dong paused in the shadow of a wagon and gave him a sidelong look. "With Jiangzuo's information network, I'd have thought you knew better than I."

"I know he lived, and that he's making himself busy in the Capital." Wen jerked his chin up and leaped for the top of the wall beside them. She followed, landing light-footed and careful on these unfamiliar tiles. "What I don't know is if he's happy."

She shot him a searching look at that, but even in the moonlight up here she still didn't recognize him. "Were you one of his men?" she asked as he led the way over one ridgepole after another.

A faint snort answered her. "I suppose that was obvious, yes." They both froze, flat to the roof tiles as a clutch of servants passed by below. Xia Dong was very glad of a guide who knew his way, by the time they got to the edge of the manor, and its stables; alone this would probably have taken her past dawn, and then things could have gotten... exciting. Instead, a few low words from Wen got them both into Kang's livery and onto some of his horses in short order.

Once they were into the streets again, she said, quietly, "I think he is happy, yes. There's a great deal of foolishness to deal with, in the Court, but he's with the people he loves. That makes a very great difference." As she had cause to know.

His answer was a sigh in the darkness. "Good." For a long moment, she thought that would be all, but eventually he added, "He made a home for we who had lost ours; that's what Jiangzuo is, for we few who survived. But it never was for him. Madam Nie," she had to stifle a start at being recognized when she swore she hadn't known him, and he gave her a wry smile as they turned onto a torch-lit boulevard, "for the sake of what you regained, too, look after our Vice-Marshal?"

She swallowed back the memory of those cold years without Feng-ge, along with a lump in her throat, and nodded. "I will. As will others, as well."

He nodded back solemn acceptance of her word, and lifted his reins. "Then let's get you and your information out of here."

Jingyan and all his people were fortunate that xiao-Shu had returned, bringing back much of his old fire as well as his new and formidable network of alliances and loyalty. As they trotted briskly toward the city gates, though, stolen armor rattling, Xia Dong's hard-trained suspicious side had to wonder just who was going to end up ruling Da Liang, when xiao-Shu's reach was already so much greater than Jingyan's.

Interlude: Supports

Lu Jian wished that, just once, they could all get through a job without anyone trying to argue Shi Ping (and by extension him) into cutting corners.

"But if we don't trim the ends short, we won't be able to get the beam into place without cutting into the roof again!"

Just once.

"Not the roof," Shi Ping stated. "We'll cut the wall to bring it in upright."

Xu Hai, Jian's soon-to-be-ex head carpenter ignored the flatness in the foreman's voice and positively wheedled, "It will be just as stable once it's in place..."

"We are not going to shim the foot of a load-bearing beam," Jian snapped, ducking into the 'office' they'd set up in the south-western hall. "Have some pride in our work, man!"

Xu Hai jumped a bit at his arrival, but only sulked at his words. "How can we be sure we're even going to get paid for doing that kind of work, this time?" he muttered.

Shi Ping only looked a little weary at this; Jian, less reserved by nature, groaned out loud. "Is the entire crew doing nothing but listening to court gossip and rumors?" he implored the heavens. "Look, if the Crown Prince doesn't know his own childhood friend, surely the Princess must know her own betrothed! Isn't she the one who refused to marry anyone else for years? You can't seriously think the Vice-Marshal is really some kind of impostor."

Too late, he caught Shi Ping's urgent throat-cutting gesture and saw the gleam of an avid rumor-monger in Xu Hai's eye, as the man leaned forward eagerly. "But what if he really is Su Zhe? He was supposed to be such a brilliant courtier and scholar, and then he just vanished into thin air, and now there's another brilliant courtier showing up. What if it's him?"

"If it is, then he's obviously got the Crown Prince's favor, and we'll still get paid," Jian said, with as quelling a glare as he could generate. "And that means we are doing to do this job right, so stop gossiping and get back up to the main hall. I want calculations by the end of the day, on where to cut the back wall, to bring in a new support beam without having to do any stopgap shimming once it's in!"

Xu Hai deflated and allowed Shi Ping to herd him out at last, while Jian scrubbed both hands over his face. "Why can't anyone just do the job?" he muttered.

Shi Ping, ducking back through the door, clapped him lightly on the shoulder. "At least our client is probably doing his job, if there are this many rumors flying around," he offered.

As he'd probably intended, Jian laughed. "We'd best do ours, too, then. Once that support is replaced, we'll be ready to re-roof the main hall. Is the last load of shingles in?"

Properly tallied figures and solid workmanship, that was the thing that would always win out, in the end.

Five

Gao Zhan had many years of experience with Palace politics, and knew well the importance of having either an impenetrable smile or an equally impenetrable blank stare at all times. It was solely due to this long experience and habit that he was able to refrain from rolling his eyes at Pan Bai, the under-minister from the Palace Affairs Bureau, who was slowly edging his way toward a point that Gao, for one, had seen coming two ke ago.

"...so the Crown Princess' new additions to the palace ladies are very well thought-out, really, she is clearly a thoughtful and accomplished lady."

"Of course she is," the Emperor said, impatient, tossing the redundant report the man had brought onto the edge of his table.

"Surely, then, she should not be slighted or set aside...?" Pan Bai suggested, raising his brows in what he clearly thought was a meaningful, way.

The Emperor frowned at Pan. "Obviously not; there's been no thought of such a thing." He sounded rather offended on Lady Liu's account, which clearly heartened Pan. Gao stifled a sigh.

"Even though the Crown Prince and Vice-Marshal Lin Shu are..." the man trailed off and coughed delicately. "Well, it does seem to have become clear that the Vice-Marshal is a man the Crown Prince would cut his sleeve for..."

The Emperor snorted, sitting back in the throne with an audible huff. "If the idiot boy would take a cup of poison for him, I fail to see how that should surprise anyone."

Pan's eyes bugged out, and Gao had to bite back a snicker. He returned the man's stare blandly, not offering the tiniest clue what the Emperor might be speaking of. He'd had a good deal of practice doing so, in the past year, as Lady Jing's drugs did loosen the Emperor's tongue just a bit.

"I... that is... Then, ah..."

"Is that all you had to report?" the Emperor demanded, cutting off Pan's stammering.

"Yes, Majesty," he answered, sounding a bit dazed, and bowed himself out at the Emperor's brusque wave.

The Emperor settled back with a disgruntled look. "Do they think I have time for idiots wasting air, just because Jingyan is dealing with the day-to-day work?"

"Perhaps it will entertain Your Majesty to watch how Lin Shu deals with them, then," Gao suggested, just a bit slyly, he would admit. He'd observed that, much as the Emperor complained about Lin Shu, he also seemed obscurely proud of the young man's political ability. And, indeed, his suggestion drew a smirk from the Emperor.

Gao smiled with satisfaction, and made a note to see about sending young Zhou Wei some extra help at the Eastern Palace, to compensate for the increased headache his charges were about to become.

Dinner had become a more cheerful affair, over the past months, which Jingyan had to admit he enjoyed. This particular evening, though, his young wife appeared to be stifling actual giggles, which was a little unusual. "An?" he inquired courteously, and quietly, leaning a little toward her. He was a bit disconcerted when that made her turn very pink. Xiao-Shu, on the other hand, seemed to understand, and gave her a conspiratorial smile across the dishes and trays.

"How are our rumors progressing?"

An burst into helpless giggles behind her sleeve. Xiao-Shu seemed to think this was a good sign, or at least he sat back with a satisfied expression. When An caught her breath again, she glanced up at Jingyan, eyes dancing, and said, "Lady Hui thinks the two of you are romantic."

Xiao-Shu definitely smirked. "Romantic, hm?"

"Returning to your love from beyond the grave," An recited. "Realizing your heart is too full to refuse your second love. Finally requiting the Crown Prince's silent yearning. Oh, and the Princess Nihuang is very noble and generous; that's a new one to encourage."

Nihuang and xiao-Shu both burst out laughing.

Jingyan was still halted over the mental image of the royal Consorts gossiping over his bed affairs. "Xiao-Shu," he started, because he had no doubts whatsoever who the planner behind this was.

"Jingyan, there are going to be rumors," xiao-Shu told him, pulling himself back to some semblance of dignity. "We need to steer them as much as possible, and that means indulging the Palace's taste for drama. Besides," he smiled, gentler this time, "Lady An is very good at it."

An blushed pink again at the compliment, and peeked up at Jingyan, hesitant and hopeful. Jingyan gave in with a sigh, and rested a hand over hers. "Very well, then." He almost felt guilty, seeing how she relaxed and brightened, at his approval. They were still learning their way around each other; he supposed he should be grateful that xiao-Shu and Nihuang had so clearly accepted An into the family circle.

If only they hadn't also infected her with their terrible senses of humor.

"Speaking of rumor," Nihuang put in, picking up a piece of melon and nudging the plate toward xiao-Shu, "one of the officials from Personnel tried to sympathize with me, today."

"Ah." That was all xiao-Shu said, but there was such a weight of understanding and satisfaction in it that Jingyan raised his brows. Xiao-Shu smiled, sharp as the edge of a knife, and selected a melon slice for himself. "I was wondering whether the Chancellor would use Personnel or Rites, for this."

All three of them were looking questions at him, now. "None of Chancellor Yu's assistants have been involved in any of the rumors, so far," An said, slowly.

Xiao-Shu's smile widened. "Exactly."

An nodded, eyes turning distant and calculating for a moment. "I'll speak with Zhou Wei about watching that, then."

"What could the Chancellor possibly have against you?" Jingyan demanded, annoyed. "Aren't you only making his job easier?"

Now the other three were all looking at him with varying degrees of amusement. "Even I know that no minister is going to be happy about someone else touching his work," Nihuang pointed out. "Even to help."

Jingyan knew it was true, but that didn't make him any happier about it.

"It's more than that, actually." Xiao-Shu leaned against his back-rest. "The Chancellor, and the entire Department of State Affairs really, has had to deal with the Emperor's secretiveness, and his preference for using off-record methods like Xuanjing's agents to solve a lot of internal issues. Now, just when they thought they were done with that, here I am, bringing an unknown network of unknown strength with me. From the outside, would I not look very much like your private action or enforcement agent?"

"Then the rumor that you are the Crown Prince's lover..." An said, slowly, frowning.

Xiao-Shu nodded. "Makes some of them fear that either I will be unassailable, if they let me become entrenched, or even that I will seek to become the true ruler by manipulating Jingyan from behind the throne." He opened a hand, palm up. "Chancellor Yu is a good enough man, who has done his best to stay out of factional strife after being promoted to this position, but all men have their limit. He's reaching his. So he will use Personnel and Palace Affairs to put pressure on me, to set me off balance, and then attempt to cut the ground out from under me, when he sees a chance."

"Can you prevent him, then?" An asked softly, still looking a bit worried. "Without impairing his function as the Chancellor, I mean?"

Xiao-Shu gave her an approving smile. "I believe so, yes. He'll be far less trouble than the ones who are merely trying to safeguard their own personal power, of which we still have an unfortunate number."

"And I suppose there's still no hope of getting me eighteen more like Cai, to put under the Inspector of Discipline," Jingyan grumbled. That would fix a lot of problems, he was still convinced.

"We can work on it," xiao-Shu told him, smiling.

Nihuang nudged him with an elbow. "You couldn't have just gotten him some peaches? You had to get him a government, instead?"

Xiao-Shu colored a little, at that, but shot back, "Governments last longer, at least if you're doing it right." He paused, then, and looked down at her, suddenly serious, lifting a hand to brush her cheek with light fingers. "Nihuang..."

She leaned just a little into the touch, smiling up at him, so softly that Jingyan picked up his cup to have an excuse to look away and give them a little privacy. "Don't be silly, Shu-ge. Didn't I tell you, already? You still look at me that way; that's all that matters." The softness of her voice suddenly turned bright and wicked. "Besides, I already share the care of you with my younger sister. Why should I object to sharing with a brother, too?"

Jingyan nearly choked on a swallow of water, An squeaked, eyes wide, and xiao-Shu caught Nihuang close, laughing out loud against her hair. "If I need a charge to break the ministries' ranks, I'll definitely call on you," he promised, eyes bright.

She leaned up to kiss him, with a satisfied smile. "Good. Do so." She pushed to her feet. "Now, you haven't spent the night with Jingyan all week. I am going to make sure Gong Yu doesn't actually sleep out in the mews, waiting for word from Dong-jie."

An promptly stood, as well, eyes dancing as she bowed to Jingyan. "I will bid you a good night, then, my lord."

Jingyan gave her a faintly exasperated look, but had to allow, in justice, that she was only following the example of her elders. Unfortunately. "Yes, yes. Good night, then." He drew her close and dropped a light kiss on her hair, and she smiled up at him, sweet and happy, before following Nihuang out.

Xiao-Shu was still laughing. Very quietly so, but Jingyan could tell, and eyed him thoughtfully, stepping around the trays to close the distance between them. "So. It appears that I'm the one who's joining your household, then?"

Xiao-Shu rose to meet him, almost straight-faced as long as you couldn't see how bright his eyes still were. "It is the business and expertise of the ladies to arrange these things; I try to always trust in my experts."

Jingyan reached out to catch his hips and pull him closer, smiling at the slide of xiao-Shu's hands up his arms, slow and firm, as if xiao-Shu wanted to memorize how he felt. "Do you trust my expertise, then?" He bent his head and nipped gently at xiao-Shu's neck, making a pleased sound when xiao-Shu's hands tightened sharply on his shoulders.

"Entirely," xiao-Shu answered, a little husky with the way he tipped his head back as Jingyan kissed down his throat.

"Good," Jingyan murmured against his skin, and sucked a mark into it, just under the line of his collar. Xiao-Shu's body arched taut against his, like a bow drawn by his hands, and the sweetness of feeling xiao-Shu answer him so freely made Jingyan smile and stroke his tongue over the mark he'd left.

"Jingyan." Xiao-Shu pushed him back a little, flushed and dark-eyed. "Bed."

Jingyan grinned at him, pleased, and agreed. "Bed."

There were times, he had to admit, when he showed his own share of his family's sense of humor.

Xiao-Shu had recovered his composure by the time they were both undressed, and came to press close against him, catching Jingyan's mouth for kiss after heated kiss, murmuring between them, "You make me want, so."

"What is it that you want?" Jingyan asked against his mouth, hands sliding down the lines of xiao-Shu's body, still lean but no longer so desperately thin.

Xiao-Shu's slow, wicked smile warned him to brace himself as xiao-Shu leaned in and spoke against his ear. "I want you to fuck me." Hearing xiao-Shu's smooth voice wrapped around the kind of barracks language they'd both learned from soldiers in the field sent a shock of heat through Jingyan, and he caught xiao-Shu closer as xiao-Shu leaned against him, laughing.

"If that's what you wish," he agreed, a bit breathless, and drew xiao-Shu onto the bed, pressing him gently to his knees.

Xiao-Shu smiled that slow, heated smile again and bent over, stretching his arms along the bed for a moment before folding them loosely and resting his head on them. "It is what I wish."

Jingyan knelt behind him, sliding his hands down the arch of xiao-Shu's back, slow and easy. "Then feel," he urged quietly, the way he'd learned he had to coax xiao-Shu along to do just that. After a moment's thought how best to effect it, he smiled, perhaps a little wickedly himself, and settled his hands on xiao-Shu's lifted rear, spreading him gently open. The faint catch of xiao-Shu's breath turned fast and shocked when Jingyan leaned down and stroked his tongue slowly over xiao-Shu's entrance.

"Jingyan!"

"Shh," he said softly, hands tightening a little as xiao-Shu shivered. "Just feel." He lapped, soft and slow, at xiao-Shu's entrance, and made a satisfied sound as xiao-Shu slowly unwound, under him, with a low moan. He listened to xiao-Shu's breathing as it turned deeper, faster, waiting for the muscles under his hands to relax. It wasn't until they finally did, accompanied by a soft sigh, that he slid a thumb down, working the pad of it against xiao-Shu's entrance in slow, firm circles, urging those muscles further open.

"Jingyan..." Xiao-Shu's arms were unfolded, now, thrown out along the bed as his hands flexed slowly in the covers, and Jingyan could see that his eyes were closed, his lips parted. "Jingyan, please..."

That went through him like a stroke of fire; xiao-Shu still asked for so few things. Jingyan's voice was rough and low as he answered, "Yes, my own." He leaned over the side of the bed to rummage out the sealed jar of seaweed gel (one of the few medicinals he did not get from his mother). The slickness of his fingers sliding down his own length made him shudder, hot anticipation pooling low in his stomach. The tightness and heat of xiao-Shu's body around him as he pushed in made him moan, low and open. And the wordless, entreating sound xiao-Shu made drove his hips forward, sinking all the way in, leaving them both gasping for a moment.

"Xiao-Shu," Jingyan breathed, when he had his voice back, leaning down to wrap his arms around xiao-Shu, curling his body over his lover's until he could gather xiao-Shu in against his chest and nuzzle the curve of his neck. All the gathering tension in xiao-Shu's body loosened again, and he moaned softly as he unwound to lie quiet and breathless in Jingyan's arms; the trust implicit in that relaxation caught in Jingyan's chest. "Thank you, my heart," he whispered against xiao-Shu's shoulder.

Xiao-Shu laughed, soft and breathless. "Why thank me for the things you do to me?"

Jingyan smiled against his shoulder. "Because you let me." Before xiao-Shu could argue with that, which he knew was a distinct possibility, he slid a hand down xiao-Shu's stomach to wrap around him and stroke, slow and firm. Feeling xiao-Shu lose his breath on a soft moan, feeling the way his body tightened, braided pleasure down Jingyan's nerves, and he rocked into xiao-Shu, sure and hard.

The sounds xiao-Shu made were breathless and openly wanting, and Jingyan couldn't help but catch him closer, drive into him harder, drawn on by how rarely abandoned xiao-Shu was, tonight. The flex of xiao-Shu's body under his was so open, so wanton, it took his breath, and when xiao-Shu tightened around him with a low moan, Jingyan let pleasure sweep him down, as well, shuddering as heat burst through him.

Eventually, they both lay quiet, catching their breaths together. When he had the sense to, again, Jingyan eased back and stretched out on his side, and promptly gathered xiao-Shu back against his chest, pressing a soft kiss to his nape. "My treasure," he murmured. This close, he could feel xiao-Shu's skin heat as he colored, and smiled. "It's the truth." He found himself repeating that a lot, to xiao-Shu, but that was all right; he was perfectly willing to repeat himself until xiao-Shu believed it.

And perhaps that was closer than he'd thought, because although xiao-Shu didn't answer, he did cuddle deeper into the circle of Jingyan's arms. Jingyan held him closer, breathing in the warmth of that simple acceptance, and closed his eyes. Nothing undid him like these small moments of closeness and trust, the reassurance that his xiao-Shu was returned to him, whole and entire.

He cradled xiao-Shu closer and let the sweetness of his presence sink into his bones and soothe away the chill that had grown there over the year and more he'd had to bear the growing shadow of the throne's weight alone.

Six

Normally, Cai Quan rather liked seeing Xia Dong stalking into his offices. She was undeniably his favorite official, in his own Ministry, and the knife-sharp smile she wore when she'd secured unarguable evidence of some wrongdoing never failed to cheer him. Today, though, her expression was darker, fiercer, and Quan braced himself as he accepted her report folio.

"I tracked the goods," she said, flatly, folding her hands behind her, "and the money. It came from us."

Possibly, he had not braced himself quite enough. "Did you find from what faction?" he asked, grimly, not looking forward to the scandal and infighting this could spark.

"I recognized the name given by the courier." Her jaw was tight. "He was one of Xuanjing's agents."

Quan's hands closed tight on the edge of his writing table as a cold wave of fury and reflex fear washed over him. "This... this was approved by the Emperor? Undermining one of his own armies?"

Now he understood perfectly the hardness in her level gaze. "The Emperor never favored the military. This is the man who approved the execution of Chiyan's commanders when, as far as he knew, the Da Yu army was still a threat on our northern border. I suspect he would have thought the extension of Xuanjing's network and influence beyond our borders a decent trade."

As would Xia Jiang, Quan added to himself, as she probably would have added if she ever spoke Xia Jiang's name, these days. He glanced over her summary report and scrubbed his hands over his face with a resigned sigh. "Their Crown Prince's faction, wonderful. I'll probably have to bring the Chancellor's office in on this." That was never pleasant. The whole of that office tended to an approach they called 'pragmatic' and he called 'morally questionable'. Well, no help for it. He straightened and gave her a firm nod. "I'll probably call for you, when we go before the Crown Prince. For now, get some rest and catch up with yourself. And also with that girl you recommended." He had to smile a little, remembering. "She's impressive, but she also drove the mews-keepers to distraction, waiting for word of you."

The tight line of her mouth softened a little, at that. "Gong Yu gets very focused," she agreed, and took what looked like her first full breath in a while. "I'll be standing by, Minister." She gave him a short bow, and strode out.

Quan contemplated the tangle of military, ministries, and imperial plotting that an apparently straightforward case of misappropriation had developed into and indulged himself in one heartfelt groan before picking up his brush and starting to write his requests for time and information from the other ministries.

Jingyan was beginning to be just a little sympathetic to his father's tendency to shout when arguments broke out in front of him. Not terribly sympathetic, but he was aware of a growing urge to gag his ministers with their own hats.

"This wouldn't have happened in the first place if military officers were paying more attention to their duties than to promotion!"

"This isn't about the Ministry of War, this is about a history of corruption in State Revenue..."

"We can't just strip either Ministry, this is going to take time to fix..."

"The real point here is that this was approved at the highest levels..."

"No, the real point is that Northern Yan's Duke Ma is threatening reprisals, and we don't have enough money to support another extended campaign, yet..."

"And he only knows because your agent was careless!"

"Duke Ma and their Crown Prince clearly knew the source of that money." Xia Dong's voice cut easily through the bickering. "It's a safe gamble, to accuse us." She stood straight and calm at Cai Quan's shoulder, not bothering to defend herself further, for which forbearance Jingyan was grateful.

And, through it all, xiao-Shu sat out of the way, at his own desk, reading reports and correspondence with a calm smile, not even looking up at the racket of the ministers arguing. Jingyan was starting to suspect, a bit darkly, that xiao-Shu was willing to indulge the Court's taste for drama, at least in part, because he enjoyed it himself. Jingyan drew a fortifying breath and waded in.

"Sergeant Yang Liu and under-minister Tian Gen are already in the custody of the Ministry of Justice, and their trials will be conducted according to the law," he started, and waited until Li Len and Shen Zhui had bowed acknowledgment. "Minister Cai has already judged the competence of his agent in this matter, and I have accepted his judgment." Cai Quan and Xia Dong bowed in their turn, and Jingyan turned to Yu Qiao, the Chancellor of the Department of State Affairs, for the past two years. "Chancellor Yu. What, exactly, is Duke Ma saying to us?"

Yu Qiao stopped giving Xia Dong a dark look and drew himself up. "Highness. He is insisting that we were clearly behind the recent raid on his sealed records, and demanding recompense under threat of a military raid. I believe that we can still negotiate with him, though, if Your Highness will empower an envoy." His gaze flicked sidelong at xiao-Shu, who appeared oblivious, only looking up to take a handful of paper from the Eastern Palace attendant xiao-Shu had unofficially annexed as his secretary and courier, who had sidled in and along the side wall. Xiao-Shu glanced over it all, nodded, handed back a sealed note, and went back to reading. Jingyan thought he saw a flash of satisfaction in Yu Qiao's face before it smoothed into respectful entreaty. "The Department of State Affairs has many officials who are experienced in diplomacy, Highness. If I may suggest Huang Fu? We may have to make some gifts to Northern Yan, to smooth this unfortunate affair over, but Huang will be able to prevent the matter from escalating to Northern Yan's Crown Prince."

"On the contrary," xiao-Shu called, from his desk, still not looking up from his reading. "Involving the Crown Prince is precisely what we wish."

Yu Qiao's turned to glare at him. "There is no benefit in forcing an international confrontation to a higher level!"

Finally, xiao-Shu looked up, smiling. "Chancellor Yu. I understand very well your frustration, and I have no wish to add to it, but I have a responsibility to my own people. My workings cannot all be transparent to you." He stood, brushing his robes straight and laying aside his papers. "I am, however, willing to make the results transparent."

Jingyan thought that Yu Qiao suddenly looked less angry and more wary.

Xiao-Shu stepped out onto the floor before Jingyan's desk. "You fear that Northern Yan's Crown Prince stands behind Duke Ma, is using the Duke to test us, our cohesion, our readiness to war or to words. The reality is that, on the contrary, Ma is the one who wishes to test us. The Crown Prince will restrain him."

Yu Qiao drew himself up, face hard. "Vice-Marshal, I ask that you not interfere in state matters on the basis of such wild supposition."

"Supposition?" Xiao-Shu raised his brows at Yu, looking quite entertained, and Yu's temper snapped.

"There's no way you could possibly know—!"

"Under-minister Huang Fu requests entry!" one of the door attendants called. Yu turned away from xiao-Shu, every movement sharp and annoyed, and bowed to Jingyan.

"Highness, under-minister Huang undoubtedly has news of this matter."

Jingyan eyed xiao-Shu, who folded his hands and stood calm and smiling, and had to stifle a snort. Clearly, xiao-Shu's game was still in play. "Very well. Let him enter."

Huang Fu hustled through the room and bowed hastily to everyone. "Your Highness, Sir, Ministers. Chancellor Yu, we just received a letter under the seal of the Crown Prince of Northern Yan."

Yu Qiao stiffened. "Already? What is he..."

"He apologized!"

In the resulting silence, Huang Fu proffered a folded letter. Yu Qiao slowly accepted and opened it, looking more and more baffled the further he read.

"Well?" Jingyan finally prodded.

Yu shook himself and looked up. "Highness. It's as Minister Huang said. Northern Yan's Crown Prince states that there is evidence this matter is internal, and apologizes for Duke Ma's hasty judgment." He stared at the letter for another long moment before it seemed to sink in, and then his head whipped around toward xiao-Shu. "How...?"

Xiao-Shu was still smiling, but it was a sharper, fiercer smile, now, and his voice was dangerously soft when he answered. "I know, Chancellor Yu, because I was the one who set their sixth Prince there, to be a friend and ally to my Emperor."

Something like a shiver ran through the room. Everyone there knew it was not the current Emperor that xiao-Shu spoke of, and long years of stepping softly around the Emperor's paranoia made xiao-Shu's fierce candor chilling. Yu Qiao was looking wary again, perhaps even a little afraid. Xiao-Shu considered him for a long moment, and finally shook his head, smile turning wry. "Peace, Chancellor Yu. I understand your concerns, but, really, does this affair not assure you that I work only for the benefit of my lord?"

Jingyan tried very hard not to turn red at the familial title xiao-Shu used, especially when Shen Zhui started 'coughing' behind his fist and Dong-jie smirked outright. Trust xiao-Shu, he reflected, ruefully, to use everything to his advantage, even this. Yu opened and closed his mouth a few times before finally throwing up his hands. "Fine! You work for His Highness' benefit. Have it as you will!"

"Only when it's important," xiao-Shu murmured.

Jingyan really did snort this time, at the magnitude of that untruth. Xiao-Shu nearly always got his way, and always had.

Yu's expression said that he also doubted xiao-Shu's words very much, but he only bowed to Jingyan. "It appears my Department's concerned are resolved, for the present, Your Highness."

"Then we're done, here." Jingyan held out a hand for the letter Huang Fu had brought. "I will respond to this myself." After all, if xiao-Shu had arranged this alliance, for him, he should probably do his part to secure it.

Yu surrendered the letter with good grace and all of the ministers bowed themselves out. Finally. Jingyan contemplated the letter in his hands for a moment, and cocked a brow at xiao-Shu. "To be my friend and ally, hm?"

"We could use some," xiao-Shu pointed out, dryly, leaning a hip against his writing table. "Northern Yan and Southern Chu were not the only places your father sought to keep busy by funding one faction against another. Admittedly, Prince Ren didn't refuse the funds, or the plot, but he's the sort that prefers fair dealing, when it's possible." He smiled at Jingyan, small and warm. "You make it possible."

Jingyan smiled back, helpless, as always, to respond otherwise. "Very well, then. Let's begin it here." He unfolded the letter and spread it out over his desk, and xiao-Shu came around to read over his shoulder. The warmth of him against Jingyan's side eased all the muscles that the morning's arguments had pulled tight, and Jingyan settled down to read.

His ministers would hopefully learn this, in time: Lin Shu was the best hope they could have for an Emperor who would stay sane.

It was one reason that, while he would be glad for xiao-Shu's sake, Jingyan wasn't actually looking forward to the Lin Manor repairs being finished.

Interlude: Fulfillment

Lu Jian took a last turn through the Lin Manor, once everything was done. He always did this, with any project he worked on, making sure the blinds and dividers were all rolled evenly, picking up the bits of wood and paper that were always missed in shadowed corners, putting away the pails and scrub brushes that inevitably got left out. Shi Ping didn't protest, or call him 'fussy' for it, just followed after him with a sack for the scraps, which was why Shi Ping was his senior foreman.

The Lin Manor wasn't perfect. It was clear that major repairs had been done, and some of them showed, especially where he'd had to replace support beams and parts of walls. There were still places where the paint didn't quite match, where the newer tiles stood out. This was still a manor that had been neglected for fourteen years before being repaired. Even so, Jian was proud of the job they'd done. The place was solid and safe; it was even beautiful again. The gardens were clean and growing to some good order again. The sharp lines of each hall's framing were softened and graceful with hangings. Jian watched the breeze send ripples across the pools of the water garden and nodded, satisfied. "This was a good job."

"Do you think they'll actually use it?" Shi Ping asked, as they turned back toward the gates.

Jian blinked at him. "Why wouldn't they?!" He gestured around at the just-finished and, frankly, quite expensive renovation they'd completed, and and been paid for by Lin Shu.

Shi Ping examined the roof-lines, as they passed through the second courtyard. "You hear rumors."

Jian rolled his eyes. "Rumors are only rumors. And even if it's true," he had to clear his throat, because some of the rumors were downright lurid, "they commissioned repairs. Someone is intended to live here." He patted a pillar of the inner gates as they stepped through. "They aren't living at Mu Manor either, are they, but that certainly isn't being left to rot."

Shi Ping looked satisfied, and Jian shook his head, amused. Shi Ping invested a lot more in each job than anyone who'd just met him would ever realize from his laconic manner. "Lin Manor has a master again, and one that cares about the house" he said, firmly, as they stepped through the main doors and he turned to pull them shut, pausing to rub a stray speck of paint off the bronze ring. "That's what keeps a house alive."

His foreman knotted the sack of trash and tossed it over one shoulder. "Well, then. On to the next job."

Jian laughed and clapped him on the other shoulder. "As always!"

Seven

Lin Shu's fingers paused, unfolding the accumulated night's notes over breakfast. "Lu Jian writes that the repairs are finished," he said, quietly.

Sound around the room hushed, just like the sound in his head felt like it had. Jingyan looked up, sober, hand a little halting as he set down his cup. Gong Yu clasped her hands tight, dark eyes watching him intently, waiting for a cue. An was biting her lip, just a little, glancing back and forth between Lin Shu and her husband. After a moment, Nihuang reached over and closed a hand over his, tight and sure. "Shall we go and see, today, then?"

He took a breath, trying not to be obvious about how much he needed the moment to settle himself, and nodded, turning his hand up to lace his fingers with hers, anchoring himself. His eyes slid back toward Jingyan as if pulled there, though, and Jingyan caught them. When he smiled, small and warm, and asked, "Shall I come along?" it felt like release through his chest and down his spine.

"If you have time." That was disingenuous, of course. He needed them both with him, very much, these two who had been there, who shared so many of his memories. Fifteen years ago, he'd have said so. Fortunately, both of them still understood him perfectly well, at least if the exasperated looks they both gave him were any indication. He bent his head with a slightly unsteady chuckle. "Yes, all right."

Nihuang leaned against his shoulder, warm and steady. "Watch over things while we're gone," she directed Gong Yu, who nodded seriously, as if she'd heard more than just the words Nihuang had said. If Lin Shu hadn't spent his entire life observing every man of his acquaintance have just as little control over what was allegedly his own inner court, perhaps he'd be worried about that. As it was, he took a moment to be rather smug that his mother had chosen so well, for him.

It was a moment's distraction, anyway.

He continued focusing firmly on little things, as they made their way out through the north-east district—the brightening of the gray sky as morning drew on and lit the overcast clouds, the tug of the leather reins in his hands as his horse tossed it's head at a passing wagon, the steady chime of the bells on Nihuang's horse's chest-band. And these little things brought him, without panic, to the steps of Lin Manor.

The last time he'd seen the entrance, it had been overgrown, even in winter, untrimmed bamboo running wild, flowering trees sprawling messy and unpruned, doors hanging open and a little askew. Now the summer-green trees framed the fresh, dark paint of the doors neatly. It looked like someplace people might live, where he might expect a house servant to open the door at any moment and bow greeting. Except that they wouldn't, at least not the servants he remembered. Not more than a bare handful, if they even wanted to return, by now.

Jingyan's hand on his shoulder brought him back to the present with a jolt, and he swallowed the shock of it, nodded, and put his foot on the stairs. And another. And another. Until he could touch the doors, and see Nihuang's hand beside his. When he glanced over, she was looking up at him, eyes dark, and gave him a steady nod. He returned it as well as he could, and, together, they pushed open the doors.

The house was bright and clean. As he stepped through to the inner gate, feeling like he might be walking through a dream, he saw fresh paint, washed flagstones, scrubbed tile everywhere he looked. The first courtyard was neatly swept, autumn flowers just starting to show buds in the lining beds. The deeper into the house he walked, the more he felt like these simple sights were knocking his breath out.

He didn't quite realize it was literal until Nihuang pushed him down on the steps of the west breezeway and rubbed his back, frowning. "Shu-ge, look at me." She studied him intently, when he looked up, and pursed her lips. "Well, you're not in shock. Yet. Sit and catch your breath for a minute, though, all right?"

He took a deeper breath and nodded, trying to ground himself in the warmth of her hands, and of Jingyan's hands when he knelt in front of him and took his shoulders.

"Xiao-Shu..."

He flinched at the way Jingyan's voice echoed in memory and the present both, and Jingyan frowned, worried. Lin Shu reached out to rest his hands on the sleek, heavy silk of Jingyan's robes, so much finer than anything he'd have bothered to wear back then. It helped.

"I'm all right," he finally managed, husky.

"Should we leave, for today?" Nihuang asked, still rubbing his back slowly. He shook his head.

"I want to see it all." To see and know, and not wonder later. Nihuang and Jingyan exchanged not entirely pleased looks over his head, and he huffed a faint laugh. "I need to see it all as it is, now."

"All right," Jingyan sighed, and held out his hands to pull him upright.

Lin Shu took them and stood, and was grateful that both of them stayed in contact once he was up, Nihuang's hand wrapped around his arm, and Jingyan's resting on his shoulder. It helped remind him of what was real as they circled the mansion slowly, passed through the third and fourth courtyards, newly painted red framing gleaming gently in the day's indirect light, echoing with the memory of his younger cousins running down the outer walks, laughing, calling for Lin Shu ge-ge to hurry up.

They took one turn through the rear building and started back toward the gate through the main hall. His steps slowed there, caught by the memory of his father leaning one elbow against a backrest, cup half-forgotten in his fingers as he argued strategy with his generals, of the sweep of his mother's sleeves as she gestured, laughing together with Aunt Yueyao, when she visited.

The inner hall was easier, in a way; the room for the family shrine was empty, but he'd seen the hall where the tablets did stand, now, had finally performed the proper rites for them. That was a memory he could hold on to without being cut. There was new wood here, too, he noticed as they stepped out. It was smoothly set into the landing, and the whole steps and landing re-painted, but it flexed a little differently under his feet than the older wood. He wondered what had happened to it; the framing, and sometimes walls, had been replaced elsewhere, but not the floors.

A memory slid past his mind's eye, of his mother standing at the top of these steps, smiling, hands held out to welcome him home.

Something that wasn't a memory, something made of whispers and rumor and horror, followed—his mother, at the top of these steps, sword drawn, watching strange soldiers burst through her home. His mother's blood spreading and pooling over the wood, sinking in and staining, too deep to ever plane away. His knees hit the steps, and he reached out, half expecting his hand against the wood to turn red.

"Shu-ge!"

"Xiao-Shu!"

It took long, long moments to remember where he was, and when, and why, to understand why there were arms around him, why the shoulder under his head was wet and the hand against his neck was shaking just as badly as his own were. It took long, gasping breaths before he could gather himself enough to lift his head, to see Nihuang and Jingyan looking back, faces just as wet as his. "I can't," he whispered, voice rough and choked. "Not where Mother..."

Nihuang pulled his head back down, arms tightening around him fiercely. "Then we won't. It's all right."

"But..."

"So stay in the home you already have," Jingyan told him firmly. "With me."

He looked up again at that, with a faint, helpless laugh. "Zhou Wei really will resign if we try to do that."

"Nonsense," Jingyan said at the same time Nihuang was saying, "Don't be ridiculous." They smiled at each other in a way that made him laugh again, rough in his throat after the tears. Jingyan reached out to wipe the wetness off his face with a gentle palm, and he couldn't help leaning into the touch, the reminder of what he still had, here and now.

"Most of the Court already knows perfectly well that you're lovers," Nihuang pointed out, rubbing her hands gently down his arms. "And half the ministers already treat the two of you like you're some eight-limbed beast named Highness-Sir."

Jingyan snorted over that, mouth tugging up in a wry smile. "True enough."

Lin Shu shook his head a little, thoughts turning over again, albeit a little slowly still. "Maybe that will work for now, but when you take the throne..."

"Then our rooms will be further apart," Jingyan stated, flat look daring anyone, including Lin Shu, to argue. "I won't say that I'll like that, but I also won't let it make any more difference than that."

Lin Shu felt too wrung out to argue with Jingyan's stubbornness. especially backed by Nihuang's. Perhaps he'd best leave that to Gao. Yes, surely Gao would have the wisdom and patience to argue them back to reason.

He couldn't. Even if it would be the wise thing to do, he couldn't. Not now.

They both smiled, obviously feeling the tension in him slacken, and he rolled his eyes and let them help him to his feet, keeping his back carefully to the inner hall. By the time they'd reached the outer gate, he managed to say, quietly, "Perhaps we could keep some staff here, if anyone wishes to return." He didn't want to see Lin Manor fall into disrepair again, just because he couldn't bear to walk here again.

Nihuang smiled up from where she'd ducked under his arm, eyes a little wet again for a moment. "Yes. Let's do that."

Stepping back out into the city, feeling the support of Jingyan's arm around his shoulders, and Nihuang's warmth against his side, he took what felt like his first free breath all day, and turned toward the horses that would take them home.

Coda

Gao smiled benignly at the youngsters gathered in the inner receiving room of the Eastern Palace, folding his hands. "Why yes, I don't see why not."

The Crown Prince smiled with immense satisfaction, and the Princess Nihuang exchanged a pleased nod with the Crown Princess, while Lin Shu stared at Gao with a betrayed look.

"Gao gong-gong," he started, nearly sputtering. Gao waved dismissive fingers.

"Palace Affairs may complain a bit, at first, but, really, it's hardly the first time this has happened. They'll find precedents, and then they'll be happy again." And if they weren't, well, they would be once Lady Jing was finished with them. Gao's smile may have broadened a hair at the thought, and the young Vice-Marshal threw up his hands.

"All right. All right! Fine!"

Gao bowed, hiding the urge to laugh outright at the young man's dramatics. "If that was all, then I will take my leave." He patted Zhou Wei on the shoulder, on his way out, and got a harried look in answer. Yes, they were all settling in quite well. Zhou Wei had always needed a challenge to bring out his best.

He strolled back through the Palace complex, enjoying the late-summer warmth of the evening, reflecting on how pleasant it might be to have an Emperor who loved, rather than feared, those nearest to him, and was loved by them with such fierce loyalty. Gao liked the thought quite a bit. He thought the Court and country would, too, once they got accustomed, and if time had taught him anything it was that people did get accustomed if you just gave them a little while. He smiled up at the first stars coming out in the darkening sky, and though he'd never gained the learning of the royal scholars who read the skies, he felt deep in his heart that those stars agreed with him when he murmured, softly, aloud.

"All will be well."

End

Candles Lit at the Doors

Jingrui is finding himself drawn back toward a military position, after fighting at the northern border, and Yujin follows along, as he always has, despite his own reservations. Along the way, the two of them get into trouble, politics, and eventually a deeper understanding. Drama with Politics and Romance, and also a Sprinkle of Porn, I-4

Finding a Path

The road that led past the river north of Jinling was a good one for racing on. It got less traffic than the others, and ran fairly flat until it reached the tree line. Yujin had raced Jingrui down this stretch many a time, once they were both old enough to be let out on their own horses without an older cousin to mind them.

Today they gave their horses their heads, but it wasn't a race. They rode close all the way to the trees, horses running shoulder to shoulder, slowing together as they passed between the first tall trunks. Yujin waited until they were well under the unfolding spring leaves before he spoke.

"It's really true, then."

Jingrui flashed a bright smile over at him. "It really is." And then he looked faintly hangdog. "I'm sorry I didn't say, in the winter, when he first visited. Aunt Jing made me promise not to."

Yujin waved that off, scoffing. "Don't worry so much; of course you kept quiet if she asked." He did give Jingrui a long, searching look as they turned onto the path to the river, though. "That's why you've been thinking about returning to the military, though, isn't it?" He'd wondered about that, a little. He knew Jingrui had stayed in contact with some of his men, even once their year-long obligation was up, and he'd been watching the capital patrols with a more and more considering look in his eye all winter.

Jingrui smiled down at his horse's neck. "A little." They reined in at the edge of the clearing by the river's wide bend and dismounted as one. They'd always moved together, like that, but Yujin was starting to wonder how much longer they could do so. His own military experiences, so far, had left him ambivalent, aware he could likely be a good commander but sickened by the waste of every fight, and furious that some ambitious fool's failure of thought had made it necessary. Though he admitted he'd felt somewhat less of that under Lin Shu's direction, on the north border.

"Everything I've heard says he'll never take the field again," he said to his saddle, loosening the reins so his horse could drink from the river. "You would never be under his command again."

"Not in the field," Jingrui agreed. "But... well, it's Lin Shu ge-ge. If he's back, then..."

Yujin couldn't help the grin that tugged at his mouth. "Then he'll be the one in charge anyway." Only Prince Jing had ever really been able to stand firm against Lin Shu's impatient assumption of command, and the Crown Prince certainly wasn't going to be refusing any military distribution the brilliant Vice-Marshal of Chiyan might advise. Not after the battle at the northern border had demonstrated so conclusively that Lin Shu had lost none of his tactical brilliance. Yujin pulled his horse gently back from the water and tied it so he could walk around to join Jingrui at the water's edge. "You're sure, then?" he asked, quietly.

"I think so." Jingrui gave him a bright, open smile, elbowing him lightly. "So, what about you?"

Very few of Yujin's reservations had ever held up in face of Jingrui's smile. Not when they were little and stealing sweets off Aunt Jing's table (with her amused connivance, Yujin had realized years later); not when they were a little older and Jingrui had dragged Yujin everywhere after their glamorous, if also sometimes alarming, older cousins; not when they'd come of age and Jingrui hauled Yujin out onto the roads to wander the country with that very same smile. He could barely imagine leaving Jingrui's side, at this point. So there was really nothing else to do but elbow him back until they managed to shove each other into the shallows, laughing.

In the end, it was Meng Zhi's still-pressing need for commanders he could trust without question that quashed the last of Yujin's reservations. Because he could see the uncertainty, at every gathering he attended, hanging in the air like smoke—the doubt in the eyes of nobles and ministers alike, whenever they looked sidelong at the Imperial Guard, or even the City Guard. He'd learned young how dangerous that kind of doubt and fear could be, and had no intention of letting his loved ones live in that kind of capital again, if he could do anything to help it.

"You're sure you won't mind?" he asked his father, a little hesitantly, as they sat together over wine in the evening. "I know our family is a scholarly one, it's just... I feel as though I could do something, there."

His father's mouth quirked faintly under his mustache. "If I'd minded you taking up martial pursuits, I'd have needed to do something about it a long time ago."

That was not, Yujin had to observe, actually a 'no', and he chewed on his lip behind his cup.

This time his father laughed, quietly. "It's fine, Yujin. You did well, dealing with both politics and battle two years ago, and you obviously already know how to listen for what's not said." He settled back a little on his cushion though his eyes were still sharp and thoughtful, resting on Yujin. "The Imperial Guard isn't a bad place from which to watch the workings of the court and the ministries. I doubt that's what Jingrui needs or will find in it, but for you... well, go and see."

Something in Yujin relaxed, hearing that, something deeper than his concern for his father's approval, the hot thread of outrage that curled tight every time he saw yet another thing about the capital that was still broken in the aftermath of the princes' fight for the throne. "It just... it makes me so angry, sometimes, to see what always seems to lead up to an actual battle," he admitted, looking down.

"What, stupidity?" his father asked, blandly, taking a sip of his wine. He smiled a little at the sputter of laughter Yujin couldn't hold back. "That's why I'm not worried, boy. You're true blood of the Yan lineage. You'll never be content to fix the results when you could be laying hands on the cause."

Yujin took a deep breath, feeling the words settle into his heart and ring true, there. "Yes," he agreed, softly. And then he had to sigh a little, as his heart did a prompt and familiar about-face and tugged in the other direction. "Jingrui..."

"Jingrui has to follow his own path." His father softened the flat statement by laying a hand on Yujin's shoulder, and added, "That doesn't mean your paths can't go in the same direction, if you both choose."

Yujin paused, suddenly remembering the handful of times he'd heard his father refer to 'Lin Xie da-ge' in his hearing, always with affection and fierce loyalty, and nodded slowly. "I'll remember, Father." He still didn't like the thought of not being right at Jingrui's side, but... perhaps it truly would be enough to travel the same way, if not quite the same road.

He would hope so.

And for now, at least, they could go together. He didn't have to try to explain another road to Jingrui, yet. He would hold tight to that, while he could.

Li Gang stepped past the house servant who'd shown him through to the Chief's rooms, here in Prince Jing's city manor, and gave the Chief a quick look up and down. He looked far less like a man trying to outrun a slowly festering gut wound, these days. He also snorted as Gang and Zhen Ping bowed.

"I'm fine, yes, and don't try to tell me you haven't been in communication with our members in the Imperial Guard, to get reports on me, all this time."

Gang exchanged rueful looks with Zhen Ping, and didn't try to deny it. "You called for us, Chief," he said, instead.

"Mm." The Chief jotted a note on the lists spread over his writing table, and said, in the thoughtful tone that meant he was saying more than it sounded like, "Neither of you have accepted reinstatement, yet."

This time, the look Gang traded with Zhen Ping was wary. "It didn't feel right, without you in command." He could hear the faint edge of entreaty in his own voice, and didn't try to stifle it, because if the Chief was about to give the orders it sounded like he was thinking of...

The Chief looked up, eyes steady on them. "You had a chance to see a bit of how Xiao Jingrui and Yan Yujin commanded, at the north border. What did you think?"

Gang blinked a little, but he was used to not being able to follow the Chief's quicksilver turns of thought. He settled back and considered. "They're both strong warriors, and not afraid to lead from the front. They're not as good, yet, at keeping a whole unit's position in mind, when they're fighting, but I thought they both had potential, as commanders."

"Yujin is better at strategy than Jingrui," Zhen Ping put in. "At least right now. Yujin thinks more. But Jingrui..." He raised a brow at Gang and Gang nodded agreement.

"Jingrui has stronger command presence, with the men."

"It's not that Yujin doesn't have it," Zhen Ping added, "but he doesn't throw it out into the world, as Jingrui does. In time, the men would follow Yujin, with a good will, because they'd know he'd make wise choices. But they'll follow Jingrui right now, because he calls on their hearts."

"Romantic," Gang accused, under his breath.

"Not like you don't agree," Zhen Ping muttered back.

From the smile the Chief was stifling, he'd heard that.

"There is one thing, about Yujin, though," Zhen Ping said, slowly. "I noticed it at Jiu An. Most of the time, in the field, he's a thinker. But he has a streak of savagery in him, when he's protecting something. That day, with his father, and then Gong Yu, behind him... he never took a single step back toward those stairs. Not one."

Gang's brows rose; that had been a close, bloody fight, from everything he'd heard. For someone who'd never experienced a battlefield before to hold his ground so hard... yes, 'savage' was a good word for it. That could be a helpful tool, in the field, but it could also get a lot of people killed. "It would almost be ideal for them to be co-commanders, then, wouldn't it?" he mused.

A faint huff of laughter escaped the Chief. "Except for the part where Jingrui is one of those things Yujin would defend to the death," he pointed out, dryly. "But what is it in Jingrui that makes you think so?"

Gang settled himself more firmly into the familiar flow of reporting to the Chief, focused on question and answer, and never mind the side-tracks the Chief himself might dart down. All Gang had to do was answer the questions as they came. "He's protective enough, but he doesn't fight to protect, and he doesn't get lost in that urge. He fights for his ideals. What he wants is to help."

"Hmm." The Chief settled back in his chair with a distant look in his eye. "Help whom?" he murmured.

"His friends. His people. His nation." Gang thought for a moment, about what he'd seen of the young man, at the north border. "The nation, that part is still unformed. He's not very fond of the government, and who can blame him? But, having traveled as much as he has, he's seen a lot of the people. His men kept mentioning that he recognized where a lot of their homes were. He values the wellbeing of those people he met."

The Chief was smiling. "Yes. For a young man who never had the slightest ambition for the scholar's way, Jingrui does a fine job of embodying righteousness and benevolence."

"He still assumes those in others a little too much, but," Gang shrugged, "that's what makes the men respond to him, too. At the north border, he fell very easily in with the brotherhood of soldiers. He just needs to learn not to trust everything reported to him."

"So Jingrui will be well, with a little more seasoning and a commander he believes in," the Chief mused. "And Yujin will need someone to watch his back." He straightened and looked directly at them again, tone slipping out of thought and into command. "Jingrui and Yujin are both considering entering the Imperial Guard, this season. I need some experienced officers under them, to keep an eye on them. Zhen Ping, you'll go to Yujin. Li Gang, you will go to Jingrui."

"Chief..." Gang half-protested, looking at Zhen Ping for support.

"If we're reinstated, that isn't something we can go back from easily," Zhen Ping agreed, just as anxious as Gang felt.

"Nor is the Palace somewhere I can easily return from, any more," the Chief said quietly.

That halted them both, and Gang turned this new charge around, in his head. If the Chief was part of the Palace, now, and they returned into the Jin army, they'd be closer to hand than anyone but the Palace eunuchs could get.

And Gang didn't really want to become a Palace official, at his time of life.

Relief spread, warm, through his chest, and he bowed, Zhen Ping a second behind him. "Yes, Chief."

"Tomorrow, then." The Chief gave them a sharp nod that was so very much their Vice-Marshal's gesture, Gang had to brace himself against the spike of nostalgia, so intense it was nearly pain, like hot blood rushing back into a long-deadened limb.

He'd been with the Chief long enough, he didn't think for one second that it was accidental.

"So, we're going back," Zhen Ping murmured, as they stepped out into the slanting, early evening sunlight.

"With yet more of the family, to look after," Gang agreed, a little ruefully.

"At least they can't possibly be as much trouble as the Vice-Marshal and the Prince were." Zhen Ping sounded hopeful, but Gang winced a little.

"Don't tempt fate."

Zhen Ping laughed, quietly. "All right, but at least the capital barracks are supposed to be better than the border cities."

Gang finally smiled. "Now that, I'll drink to."

Following a Path

It didn't actually take Yujin long to settle in to his new work. From his point of view, not a great deal changed.

There was training and drill, but that had always been true, especially once Dong jie-jie had started taking his training seriously. There were suddenly a lot more people he was responsible for, but he'd been the one looking after the Yan household for a long time, and just like he had the steward and housekeeper at home, he had sergeants to help with his battalion.

(The first day he'd met his unit, and watched the man he still thought of as Mei Changsu's personal swordmaster step forward, with a professionally blank face, to hand over the tally of his men, he'd been startled enough to ask, "What, really?"

"You're his family, Commander," Zhen Ping had said, under his breath but apparently quite calm. "Of course he wants to make sure you're taken care of."

Yujin hadn't quite had the nerve to protest, at the time, and he had to admit that Zhen Ping was very helpful.)

And he and Jingrui were both currently assigned to the bulk of the Jin army garrisoned outside the Palace itself. So, really, Yujin was feeling a great deal like this was an extension of his travels with Jingrui, except that both of them actually went home at night.

It was possible that their 'business as usual' approach was not endearing them to their superior, though.

"You want to do what, now?" Sun Wen, the Vice-Commander they both reported to squinted at them like he might be getting a headache.

"A mock battle," Jingrui repeated, brightly. "It'll keep everyone from getting too bored and losing their edge."

"They like being bored," Sun Wen pointed out, a bit dryly. "The alternative to bored is called 'battle'. And, frankly, we want hundreds of soldiers all crammed together to have less of an edge to them than a couple of hot-blooded young warriors used to gallivanting around as they please. Just for example."

That was definitely to their address, and Yujin stepped in to deflect it with a hopeful smile. "Varying the way they train will keep their skills sharper, won't it?"

"Which is exactly why we have several mock battles a year, out on the plains, about which you'll be informed in good time." Sun Wen picked up the report he'd put down when they entered.

"This would be indoors, though." Jingrui leaned forward, earnestly. "Won't that be good training for our Palace rotation?"

"Indoors?" Sun Wen looked up at them, brows arched incredulously. "Where, exactly, do you think we have space for two battalions to go at each other indoors?"

"The old Zhang manor, in the west-central district," Yujin supplied promptly. "Old Man Zhang's daughter has been trying to convince him to have it knocked down and rebuilt for years. If the army rents it for a while, then he's happy because it isn't getting knocked down yet and she's happy because they'll be getting more money to eventually rebuild it, and we get an interior practice area that's almost as complex as some of the Palace."

"So everyone's happy, hm?" Sun Wen eyed the two of them, and Yujin gave him his very best reassuring smile. Sun snorted. "All right, you seem to be reasonably organized about this; you can try it once. But if there are too many injuries out of this, and the physicians come after you, I'm going to leave you to their mercies. Just keep that in mind."

Yujin immediately thought of Aunt Jing's scoldings and quailed. From the look of trepidation on Jingrui's face, he was remembering exactly the same thing. "Yes, sir," Jingrui hastened to assure the Vice-Commander. "We'll make sure everyone is careful."

"Do so." Sun Wen nodded dismissal in answer to their bows, and picked up his reports again. And if he was shaking his head as Yujin left on Jingrui's heels, well, at least they'd gotten permission to convince him.

Yujin grinned at Jingrui as they clattered down the steps to Wen's office, and Jingrui grinned back, and they clapped each other on the shoulders, laughing. This should be fun. Also productive, of course, because that's what they were here for, after all, but it was very gratifying to find that he could still combine the two, now and then.

Perhaps he could find uses for more than his martial skills around here, after all. The thought made him relax under Jingrui's hand, smiling.

Zhen Ping crept through tall, dry weeds beside a weathered breezeway, after his Commander, and had to hold back a smile. He'd wondered, a little, how much of Yan Yujin's determined pleasure in life would survive something like Jiu An, especially once Yujin took a military post. But his Commander's eyes were bright, and he grinned as he watched their forward scouts sneak up to the tattered doors of the next hall and signaled Ping for two more squads to follow them. That cheer seemed to ripple out through the men who caught a glimpse of him, like a gust of wind through grass.

Ping observed that, and thought about the fact that Yujin did seem to have a good instinct for the morale of his men, and finally asked the question that had been nagging at him. "So, for this exercise, we're supposed to be rescuing a Minister from kidnappers who are holding him in his Palace offices, aren't we?"

"Exactly," Yujin agreed, and added thoughtfully, "It's really too bad we can't use the actual offices, but I suppose that would be too much disruption."

Ping took a moment to offer silent and fervent thanks that his Commander hadn't suggested that plan to Vice-Commander Sun. Sun Wen had been recalled from retirement to fill one of the two posts left empty (again) after the executions that had followed Prince Yu's rebellion. He didn't have a reputation as a harsh man, but the whole Jin army knew that his patience had a definite limit, after how briskly he'd restored order among his battalion Commanders. Thinking on the Vice-Commander's potential lack of amusement with them, Ping was a little cautious when he asked the next question. "If that's so, sir, then why do I keep hearing Commander Xiao's men yelling about having spotted the kidnappers?"

"Because their objective is to defend a Minister against the attack of kidnappers who have penetrated the Palace offices," Yujin said, quite calmly, eyes on the progress of the men clearing the hall ahead.

Ping had been afraid that was going to be the answer. "Sir," he started, searching for a respectful way to put this, "isn't that a little too..."

"Realistic?" Yujin's smile was crooked, now.

Ping had been thinking 'cynical' and still was, but 'realistic' also worked. "Yes, sir."

"That's the all clear sign," Yujin said, instead of answering. "Come on."

Ping ran forward on his heels, keeping a sharp eye out for anywhere around the dilapidated court that bowmen might be hidden. Li Gang believed quite devoutly in extra precautions, and Xiao Jingrui turned out to have a good eye for crossfire positions, as they'd already found out once. Over fifty men had had to retire, grumbling, with ink-spattered armor showing where they'd been shot.

It wasn't until they were safely under a rear window, with scouts ducking underneath the breezeways to crawl forward again, that Yujin said, quietly, "Jingrui said people fight better if it's for the right reason. And I didn't want any of our men thinking too long about being asked to attack the government." He looked over his shoulder at Ping, eyes steady. "If anyone asks, we thought it would be a good joke, for both sides to actually have the same objective."

Ping couldn't help giving an abbreviated bow to that level expression. "Yes, sir."

He still thought that it was Yujin who had the better strategic sense, but the longer he spent at Yujin's side, the more he heard 'Jingrui wants' or 'Jingrui said'. He was starting to wonder if Yujin ever really did anything on his own account or for his own sake, or if, perhaps, someone should suggest the idea to him.

And then one of the scouts popped out of the long weeds, signaling back that they'd found an opening, and Yujin lit up, laughing. "We've got them!" He bounced up onto his toes and dashed forward.

Or perhaps, Ping reflected, ruefully, as he sprinted after his Commander, he'd better save his worrying for keeping his charge in one piece right now, and let the future take care of itself.

Yujin loved sparring with Jingrui. Jingrui's sword form was beautiful, full of clean, sharp turns that swept aside any weakness in defense, meeting his blade only to spin aside and suddenly return from another angle. Yujin was, justifiably he thought, proud of the demonstrated effectiveness of his own style, but sparring with Jingrui was like playing a line of music.

Of course, all that sleek economy of motion and momentum did tend to mean that he often got worn down before Jingrui did, when they fought with swords.

"Ha!" Jingrui's eyes were bright as the line of his sword settled delicately against Yujin's neck. "Finally got you!"

"What 'finally'?!" Yujin demanded, laughing and out of breath, as cheers and groans broke out from their spectators around the drill field. "You think you shouldn't have to work for your win?" He tossed his sword back to his off hand and elbowed Jingrui as Jingrui flung an arm around his neck.

"Should I have to work, against you?" Jingrui teased, leaning against him until Yujin rolled his eyes and shifted his weight to dump him off, one of the most useful moves Dong jie-jie had ever taught him. Jingrui stepped through, graceful as ever, to catch his balance, laughing.

"Time to give someone else a chance, you two," one of the onlookers called out, and Yujin looked up to see Wan Fa, the Commander who'd been shifted over to take Jin's Second battalion while Yujin took over the Fourth from him. A little murmur of anticipation ran through the noise of bets changing hands, around them, enough to make Yujin nod to himself.

The battalion hadn't been in bad shape, when Yujin took it, not the way Jingrui's had been, with their previous Commander dismissed from service, the company captains anxious or wincing, and the sergeants uniformly grim. But Yujin was used to listening for what wasn't said, and that wasn't only useful in keeping a party going cheerfully. He'd watched his men watching him, seen how his captains' shoulders eased down when he'd called them in, that first month, and asked about the distribution of men and equipment across each company, whether anyone needed him to go argue for extra from the Logistics Bureau or needed to be on light duty while they got new men trained up.

The battalion hadn't been in bad shape, but it hadn't been well cared for. It had made Yujin think of what Yan Manor might have been like, without him, for the years his father had had his mind on other things. And that made him smile at Wan Fa with just a bit more teeth than usual, and say cheerfully, "I was thinking of a round unarmed. You interested?"

Jingrui's brows rose for just a moment, because normally an unarmed match was Yujin's chance to get his own back, if he'd lost with swords, but one look at Yujin's smile made Jingrui clap him on the shoulder and agree, brightly, "I wanted to steal Zhen Ping for a little, anyway!"

They exchanged a quick, complicit grin and Jingrui faded back into the onlookers, positively smirking. Yujin sheathed his sword and stepped back out, re-settling himself, waiting for Wan Fa to come at him.

As he'd more than half expected, Wan Fa had no problem with making the first move, and a showy move at that, a broad, circling strike at Yujin's ribs. Yujin's smile thinned, and he shifted for a high, sweeping kick, arm snaking out to lock Wan Fa's against his side as it came in. Wan Fa didn't quite yelp, but his expression looked like he wanted to as he twisted under the kick, only barely pulling free enough to keep from breaking his own arm in the process.

Mostly because Yujin let him.

Wan Fa was glaring when he came in again, this time with a more focused chest strike. Yujin flipped back out of range, easy and springy, and then, to bait him more firmly, flipped up over Wan Fa's head. The 'just swallowed a bug' expression on the man's face as he spun around nearly made Yujin laugh. He knew a lot of people looked at his stocky build and assumed his form would be thin on aerial maneuvers, grounded and strength-based.

And it wasn't as if they were entirely wrong, after all.

Yujin stood his ground as Wan Fa spun into a series of high, scything kicks. He bent back from one, blocked the next cleanly, and then he was far enough inside to wheel on his own center and land a brutal double punch that threw Wan Fa back to the circle of spectators to land in a gasping heap. Yujin came back to a neutral finishing stance, and gave his collapsed opponent a bow and a sunny smile, and whoops went up all around. Yujin laughed and went to give Wan Fa a hand up, as comradely as could be. He wanted to shake the man up, after all, not actually alienate him.

"Dong jie-jie would have twisted your ear off for that flip," Jingrui told him, grinning, as Yujin joined him at the edge of the circle.

"Dong jie-jie isn't here, or I wouldn't have done it." Yujin jostled through the press of men, as they broke up to return to drills, and grabbed a dipper of water. He turned a little, as he drank, casting a quick eye over the training ground, listening for the tone of it the way he'd listen to the tone of a social gathering. The men of his battalion, and for that matter of Jingrui's, were mostly grinning, smug. The few who wore darker expressions were still satisfied, just with a far harder edge of pride in it—he'd already marked most of them as soldiers who'd been at Jiu An, and he added the ones he hadn't known of yet to his mental tally. In turn, Wan Fa's men elbowed each other and rolled their eyes, some exasperated but most only rueful. That was a good sign. He'd ask Zhen Ping to check on that battalion, and make sure their morale (and supplies) really were being kept up reasonably, but it didn't look like more energetic measures would be needed.

"Yujin?" Jingrui asked, softly, stepping closer and turning a little to watch behind him. "What is it?"

"Nothing right now," Yujin murmured, leaning against his shoulder for a moment, warmed by how easily Jingrui still guarded his back. "Just keeping an eye on things." He grinned up at Jingrui. "Ready to go look commanding, Commander Xiao, and make sure your men are doing their drills properly?"

Jingrui drew himself up, managing to look dignified despite the way his eyes were dancing. "Always, Commander Yan."

Yujin gave him a mocking bow, and laughed as Jingrui pulled him along across the training field.

Nothing was wrong right now, and that was why he'd keep an eye out. Yujin didn't intend to be caught in the crossfire of politics and poor choices twice, and he especially didn't intend to let Jingrui be caught, no matter how much of an uphill battle that had always been, against Jingrui's lack of self-preservation.

Jingrui looked up with a satisfied smile as the last of his company captains filed in, and waved the letter with their new orders between his fingers. "Get everything polished up, this week; we're on rotation at that Palace starting next week!"

"Really?" He Niu sounded shocked, and the rest of them were exchanging equally startled looks, some pleased, some alarmed, but all about equally taken aback by the news. Jingrui shook his head at them.

"It's our turn, in the schedule; there's no reason to think we wouldn't be. You can't be held to blame for obeying your commander," he said firmly. Again. He felt a bit like he'd been repeating some variation on this at least once a week for months, now. And it wasn't as though Peng had even been clearly in collusion with Jin's late, unlamented Vice-Commanders. Personally, Jingrui thought it likely the man had just been currying favor with whoever presented themselves above him; he'd seen a lot of similar behavior, since he'd come here, and that, at least, he found understandable, if not at all admirable.

What he found less understandable, and wouldn't have believed if he hadn't heard it from Yujin, was the real reason his men never quite seemed to believe him. It still shocked Jingrui down to the core, what the Emperor had almost done to even the surrendered Qing Li soldiers, what had only been averted by the Crown Prince and High Commander's pleas. To hold a servant to blame for following his master's orders... Jingrui knew he'd been only a middling-good student but even he knew that struck against both the codes of law and the roots of civility itself. The limits on a servant's responsibility, or a soldier's, (or a son's) were all that made obedience a virtue and not some form of madness. Jingrui had been fresh from the orderly (if rather voracious) atmosphere of his blood-father's court, when Yujin had told him the story of Jiu An, and the thought that the Emperor, the nation's source of order, would do such a selfish, chaotic thing had chilled him.

At the same time, and much though the Crown Prince should never have had to do it, Jingyan ge-ge's example had heartened him. If he could follow that example, give the men he was responsible for some of their moral certainty back... well, he'd think that worthwhile work. No matter how many times he had to repeat himself.

His captains ducked their heads at the reminder, He Niu with a sheepish expression.

"Yes, Commander. Sorry, sir."

Jingrui smiled at them. "Just make sure the men are ready. The timing of our rotation means we'll be escort for the Fall Hunt; remind everyone. If there are any who are likely to have trouble at Jiu An, let me know and keep an eye on them." He nodded dismissal to their bows of acknowledgment, and only shook his head ruefully once they were all gone.

"They're getting there, sir," Li Gang said quietly, at his shoulder. "Who else is on this rotation with us?"

"Yujin's battalion, and Wan Fa's, and the First and Third too."

Li Gang snorted a little with amusement. "Everyone Commander Yan has under his wing, then. Probably a good thing."

Jingrui smiled, only a little wryly for the fact that Li Gang was so very right. "Yujin is good at looking after things." He touched the pile of tallies and lists on the side of his writing table. "So, I have the inventory reports, reports from the stables, though I want to double-check those before the Fall Hunt, preliminary patrol schedules for the Palace complex, and I'll be meeting with the other Commanders tomorrow to finalize those..." He looked up at Li Gang with a soft chuckle. "Anything I'm forgetting?"

His sergeant gave him an approving look for asking (he was getting better about that!) and answered, respectfully, "Have you written the City Guard, yet, to arrange the route we'll take to the Palace complex, sir?"

"No," Jingrui sighed, reaching for his brush to jot a note to himself. He was coming to realize, this year, that while he was actually fairly good at command, he was not good at bureaucracy. He was working dutifully, if not exactly enthusiastically, to get better, but he was also starting to have a terrible suspicion that he was going to wind up in Marquis Ning's position some day, buried in reports with a perpetual headache, even if he genuinely managed to avoid politics. He couldn't see any way around it, not if he wanted to actually have enough rank to do some good for the nation his greater clan ruled.

On the other hand, at least Yujin would be with him, and Yujin was very good at this side of things. Jingrui added the first character of Yujin's name to his note, and smiled.

They'd manage together, the way they always had everything. He honestly couldn't imagine it being any other way.

Duty at the Palace complex was a prized and prestigious one. People actually competed for it. There were even rumors people had killed for it, if the High Commander wasn't careful to maintain even rotations of the duty.

Yujin was incredibly bored by it.

He did, actually, understand Vice-Commander Sun's point that boredom was desirable, especially here. But Palace duty involved a great deal of doing nothing. The Imperial Guard detachment stood rigidly in place at their posts. They escorted palace officials on their very brief trips out into the city, to act as the Emperor's voice, or, more commonly these days, as the Crown Prince's voice. They patrolled the Palace complex, keeping a careful eye out for any untoward behavior, of which there had not been any, lately.

And Yujin spent most of his time in the Imperial Guard's offices, writing up duty rosters and patrol patterns without even being able to get out to walk many of the patrols. He'd started debriefing the on-call troops who rode out escorting palace officials, just to have something mildly interesting to do. He'd pulled out all the detailed and confidential maps of the Palace complex their offices contained and baited Jingrui and Wan Fa and Xu Jian and Yuan Kang with the housekeeper's best snacks until they all sat down and drew up freshly optimized patrol routes to submit to the High Commander. He was actually looking forward to the Fall Hunt. He was also starting to understand why the Palace guard detachment trained so very vigorously; it was probably so they didn't die of boredom.

Or, in Jingrui's case, because Meng Zhi was around to train with.

Yujin couldn't help smiling at the delighted grin Jingrui wore as he spun just a breath past Meng's kick, palm driving hard toward Meng's ribs. Not that he connected, but Jingrui looked pleased to have come as close as he had. Jingrui really was adorable, when he was around someone who could teach him. Yujin had thought, more than once, that Zhuo Qingyao was a lot of the reason Jingrui had thrown himself so wholeheartedly into being a son of Tianquan Manor, all those years. Jingrui made a good enough big brother, responsible and kind, but he was a lot better at being a little brother.

"Good afternoon, Commander Yan."

Case in point, Yujin thought, a little wryly, turning to bow to the man who'd come up quietly to stand beside him. "And to you, Vice-Marshal Lin."

Lin Shu chuckled softly at their formalities, folding his arms and joining Yujin in watching Jingrui and Meng separate and then close again, twice as fast as before, both of them grinning. "This is my first chance to see how the two of you are getting on," he murmured. "Jingrui looks to be enjoying himself."

Yujin had to give him a long look, at that, brows raised. "Have Zhen Ping and Li Gang been forgetting to send all their reports? That doesn't seem like them."

His cousin's mouth crimped up at the corners. "My first chance to see for myself," he specified. "They've only kept me generally informed. It's not quite the same." He glanced sidelong at Yujin, smiling. "So, how have you been? Keeping busy?"

Reminded, Yujin made a face and grumbled, "Not very. I'm wondering if the request process over in Logistics and Supply can be streamlined, actually."

Lin Shu made a sound that may have started life as a snort of laughter. "Is there a particular reason you're contemplating take-over of a bureau?"

Yujin sighed. Yes, he'd been afraid that was what it would probably take. "It's not that there are any particular delays, yet, it's just that I was looking at the timing of fulfillment so I could write up the next few months in advance, since I had the time..." He paused, blinking, because Lin Shu had dissolved into helpless laughter.

"Ah." His cousin finally straightened up again. "All right, now I see why Meng da-ge asked me to come speak to you."

Yujin started a little at that. The High Commander had? He glanced up at the practice area where Meng was throwing Jingrui's kick briskly back off crossed arms. It wasn't like he didn't have plenty of opportunities to speak, himself, now Yujin and Jingrui were on Palace duty. A hand closed on his shoulder and shook him gently, and he looked back to see his cousin smiling.

"What he actually said," Lin Shu told him, still amused, "was 'he's getting almost as bad as you used to be, in camp'."

Yujin's eyes widened, and he felt quick heat in his cheeks. Chiyan's brilliant Vice-Marshal was one person he'd never thought to be compared to, even in exasperation.

Lin Shu patted his shoulder and let him go. "You think too much, for ceremonial duty, is all. It's not a bad thing." His mouth quirked up again. "Unless it leads you to start taking over the Ministry of War, one bureau at a time. Save that for when you're a little older."

That was not helping Yujin stop blushing. "Shu-xiong," he protested. "I'm not going to..."

His cousin's eyes sharpened, and he held up a hand, cutting Yujin off. "Yujin, we both know you won't let Jingrui go down this path alone or unguarded."

After a moment, Yujin nodded slowly, mouth a little tight. He wasn't exactly surprised that Lin Shu had seen that particular motive, but he still didn't like having it said out loud. Lin Shu's expression softened a bit. "Don't worry too much, yet. Jingyan and I are watching. We'll make sure nothing happens."

All in a rush, Yujin remembered the warm, easy comfort he'd felt when he was younger, before the Chiyan case, before his first priority had become being able to pull Jingrui back from the capital's political bear-traps. He'd been sure, back then, that nothing too very bad could ever happen, because his cousins would watch over them—Prince Qi, kind and patient, Prince Jing, so strong and steadfast, Lin Shu, bright and fierce. And had Lin Shu not still watched over him, even after it all? He had to swallow hard, blinking back those memories and the echo of them in his cousin's quiet assurance. His voice was a little husky when he answered, "Yes, Shu ge-ge."

For a moment, he thought Lin Shu might ruffle his hair, the way he had back then. Thankfully, given they were surrounded by half of Yujin's battalion, his cousin only smiled and turned to look back at Jingrui and Meng's match, which had now moved on to swords. "For now... hm. Perhaps I'll ask Meng da-ge to let the Guard escort ministers around the city, again, as well as the palace officials."

Yujin perked up at that. That would surely make for far more interesting gossip that he could get. "Did we used to?"

"Before the ministries got so enmeshed in the fight for the throne, yes. Now that there's less danger of the Guard getting pulled in after the ministers, I think it would benefit everyone to take that duty back off the household guards. I'll suggest it." Lin Shu winced at the next step Jingrui took, which was apparently an over-extension, because in the next moment his blade went clattering aside and Meng was at his back with his own sword across Jingrui's throat. Jingrui shook his head ruefully as Meng let him go, but Meng just laughed and clapped him on the shoulder.

"That was better than last time! Try it again." He backed up, beckoning, and Jingrui's smile turned brilliant as he scooped up his sword again and flowed into a low stance.

Lin Shu smiled, wry but not quite as bitter as Yujin thought it would have been two years ago. "I'll suggest it later," he corrected himself.

Yujin couldn't help laughing.

It was a little strange, for Jingrui, to return to Jiu An as a commander of the soldiers who guarded the Emperor and his retinue, after so many years as part of that retinue. Everything was brushed with newness and unfamiliarity, seen from this new angle. The mountain and its forests were still wild and full of life, but hunting the wild creatures was not his focus. The fortress itself was still airy, its long halls gracefully shadowed, but he was in a new wing of it, with new shadows.

Some of them in the eyes of the men around him.

It put a little chill down Jingrui's own spine, to see the bright newness of the gates, set in the middle of the old, scored walls, but some of the men stepped through that new gate into the plaza on the other side and shuddered.

Yujin was one of them.

Jingrui knew he'd been hovering a bit, since they got here. A Yujin who wasn't smiling or frowning or pacing, always expressive and in motion, a Yujin who paused so still he might not be breathing and wore no expression at all for a handful of heartbeats before turning with a smile harder than it was bright, was a Yujin who worried him a little.

And apparently hovering had actually worked, because Yujin had just rolled his eyes and taken Jingrui's hand to slap a stack of reports into it, and told him, in a tone of rare exasperation, to go fill in the rest of the injuries log, if he didn't have anything else to do. That had been more of the usual Yujin than Jingrui had seen since they'd arrived, complete with deeply expressive eye rolling. Jingrui smiled as he scanned down the list of men who'd been involved in Tingsheng's little mishap with a yearling boar. There was someone who'd gotten a wrenched shoulder when his horse threw him, Jingrui was sure, but who had it been?

He almost rolled his eyes at himself when he remembered; it had been one of Wan Fa's men. He was getting as bad as Yujin about casually counting them in among his own.

On the other hand, if they wanted complete accounts, which Yujin clearly did, then he should get the man's name anyway. Jingrui laid down his brush and crossed the small courtyard of their wing to the rooms Wan Fa had taken, rapping lightly on the open screens as he stepped in. "Wan Fa, can I get the name of the man who was injured in that little scuffle with the boar, the other day?"

His fellow Commander looked up from his own paperwork with a snort. "Yan has infected you, too, has he?"

Jingrui couldn't help laughing. "Always, sooner or later."

And clearly Wan Fa wasn't that annoyed, because he got up from his writing table willingly enough and opened up a chest to one side. "Just a minute, then."

Jingrui waited politely while Wan Fa dug out what looked like the list of his whole command, though he couldn't help raising a brow at the fact that Wan Fa apparently didn't have any more concise reports of the incident handy. Possibly it was a good thing Wan Fa had his back turned. Jingrui glanced over his writing table, a little curious to see what he was doing, if not writing up the reports he really should have ready. A familiar hand caught his eye, on the top of a letter sticking out from underneath a few other reports. Had Yujin been sending notes over already? Alright, perhaps Jingrui could understand a little huffing, if so...

A chill uncurled down his spine, though, as the realization settled into his mind: Jingrui recognized it, but that wasn't Yujin's writing.

It was his sister's.

Yuwen Nian wrote to him often, and he replied as often and kindly as he could, knowing she was still disappointed that he had not stayed in his blood-father's court long enough to escort her wedding journey north. Knowing how impetuous she could be, he could well believe she might have written to any Da Liang officer she knew to be in contact with him for more news. What he couldn't image was why any officer of Da Liang would keep or reply to a letter from the highest ranking Princess of what was, after all, an enemy state.

He stole a quick look at Wan Fa, who was muttering under his breath as he wound through his long scroll, and set his fingertips on the letter, inching it out from under the reports it lay under until he could slide it into his sleeve.

"Ah! That was it, it was Lu Qiang." Wan Fa turned and caught up his brush to jot down the characters on a bit of clear report paper and tore the strip neatly off to hand to Jingrui. "Was that all?"

"Yes," Jingrui said, as calmly as he could, taking the slip. "Thank you." He sketched a short parting bow and made for his own rooms with a quick stride. He hoped this would turn out to be nothing but one of his sister's headstrong whims, the letter one that Wan Fa simply hadn't had a moment to burn, yet.

He really hoped.

Yujin was just putting away his sword, after cleaning, when Jingrui burst into his rooms, so abruptly that Yujin nearly drew on him. "Jingrui, what...?"

"Yujin," Jingrui interrupted, only to stop short, looking over his shoulder. "Not here. Come on." He seized Yujin's arm and more or less dragged him out and down the interior passage.

"Jingrui!" Yujin tugged loose once he'd managed to catch up, frowning at the set look on Jingrui's face. "What's wrong?"

Jingrui's jaw tightened. "Not here," he repeated, and didn't say another word until he'd led them back into one of the unused inner halls. Once there, where, Yujin couldn't help noticing, the doors and screens he'd left open in their wake gave them very clear line of sight in all directions, he thumped down onto the hall's veranda and put his head in his hands.

"...Jingrui?" Yujin settled slowly beside him, watching him closely. "What happened?"

Jingrui didn't look up, but he did fish a letter out of his sleeve and hold it out. "This. Read this."

Yujin frowned, quickly turning over, in the back of his mind, the tally of who might have news that could make Jingrui look like this. When he saw the letter was addressed to Wan Fa, not Jingrui, he just blinked. "What...?"

"Read it," Jingrui insisted, and the flatness of his voice made Yujin settle back and unfold the letter.

My thanks, once again, for your news of my honored brother, Commander Wan. It has been a great comfort to know he is well!

Yujin put down the letter and rubbed a hand over his eyes. "She didn't really."

"She really did," Jingrui sighed. "I'm sure she didn't mean any harm at all, she just doesn't think things through sometimes."

Yujin found that a little rich, coming from Jingrui. Though Jingrui had been getting better. Maybe it just ran in the family? He stifled a groan over how much coaxing was likely going to be required to get Nian to stop this—especially when she could, with at least a small amount of justice, insist that she was betrothed to an Imperial prince and could write to Imperial officers if she wanted to—and glanced down the rest of the letter. He froze when his eyes got to the last fold.

"Yes," Jingrui said, tone suddenly flat and grim again. "That part."

The last bit was written in a different hand, smaller, as if it had been added as an afterthought. Or, more likely, without the Princess' knowledge.

We always welcome news from you, and you rise higher in my cousin's esteem all the time. One hopes that Da Liang values such a perceptive officer as he deserves.

Yuwen Xuan, Prince Ling

Yujin had found out more about the court of Southern Chu, after Jingrui had left to visit there. Their current king, Jingrui's father by blood, was said to have mellowed a little, as he aged, and was currently concentrated on assimilating Chu's recent conquests rather than expanding the borders again, but no one believed that would last long. Many of the younger nobles, Prince Ling vocal among them, were in favor of new forays to bite off land to the north. And now Prince Ling had found a path to communicate with an ambitious officer within the Imperial Guard of Da Liang. He'd most likely been the one to provide the Princess, his cousin, with a way to send secret letters north in the first place, and the one who had, almost certainly, given that phrasing, sent this letter on its way with some token of his own 'esteem'.

In short, the one who was trying to suborn a Commander of the Imperial Guard.

Yujin took a deep breath and let it out slowly, staring at the letter. What a mess. "Well, first we need to convince your sister to stop writing to Wan Fa."

Jingrui surged up off the veranda and stalked back and forth across the small garden below it, scowling. "No, the first thing we have to do is report Wan Fa! No matter how foolish Nian-er is being, it's Wan who's passing information to the prince of an enemy nation!"

"We don't know that!" Yujin said, sharply, trying not to think about all the gruesome things Dong-jie had let slip, over the years, about how investigations around the Palace usually went. He would have expected Jingrui to be the one most against risking any such thing. "We don't know that he's done anything more than send news of you, personally."

"Which means Wan is passing on information about a Commander of the Imperial Guard. And probably more that was addressed to Prince Ling separately. You saw what he wrote! Admiring how 'perceptive' Wan is." Jingrui's mouth was tight, and his eyes hard. "And Wan is using my sister to do it, just as much as Yuwen Xuan is."

Yujin bit his lip for a moment. Now Jingrui's anger made sense; he'd become doubly protective of his family ties after losing so many of them. "But Jingrui... if we report this officially, the Emperor will hear of it."

That stopped Jingrui's furious pacing, at least for a few breaths, though his eyes were still dark. "We can just report it to the High Commander, then."

"Who's sworn directly to the Emperor!" Yujin threw up his hands, exasperated. "Do you know what would happen to him as soon as the Emperor got the tiniest hint of him withholding information?"

Jingrui's temper sparked again. "So we'll tell the Crown Prince! You can't tell me he can't keep a secret from the Emperor!"

Yujin made an inarticulate sound of frustration. He knew Jingrui didn't always think things through, and it was clearly a family trait, but he had to know better than that. "Like the Crown Prince taking direct action to discipline a Guard Commander isn't going to be talked about?!"

"We have to do something!"

Frustration pushed Yujin to his feet as well. "If you'll just stop for a minute..."

"No," Jingrui said, harshly, eyes burning, hand sweeping up as if to strike Yujin's words aside. "Not this time!" He started to storm past Yujin, and Yujin reached out to catch his arm, frustration suddenly sharpening into fear, fear that Jingrui would push himself into the Emperor's notice after all, and all the risk of destruction that notice brought with it.

"Jingrui...!"

Jingrui half-turned, sharply, throwing off his hand.

Yujin felt his face turn cold and stiff as blood drained from it, felt his eyes widening, felt his breath stop in his lungs for a long moment as he stood, hand still stretched out toward Jingrui. When he managed to take a breath again, his knees shook, along with the air in his chest, and he stumbled down to the edge of the veranda again. "Jingrui?" This time it was barely a whisper.

At least Jingrui had stopped. At least that.

After a long moment, Jingrui sighed and stepped back toward him. "Sorry. But I can't just stop this time, Yujin; I have to do something."

"All right." His voice was still rough, and all the fear in him had turned over, turned inward, turned sharp and cutting to hear Jingrui say only I. He reached up to catch Jingrui's sleeve, fingers closing white-knuckled in the fabric. "All right, we will, just..." the words pushed out, and he was shaking too much, inside, to stop them, "don't leave."

"I wasn't... I mean, not leaving leaving. You know that." Jingrui took another step closer, frowning down at him a little, puzzled. "Yujin?"

"No, it's fine." Yujin tried to pull himself together, to brush the spike of cold panic off with a smile, but he could feel it waver, unconvincing.

It probably didn't help that he couldn't make himself let go of Jingrui. But Jingrui had left once, even if he'd come back. And he'd been going to leave for the same cause this time, hadn't he? Family, it was always family with them, and this time it had caused Jingrui to show Yujin his back, just like Yujin's father always had, for so long. Shouldn't he be afraid, then? He felt like his thoughts fractured on that question.

"Yujin." Jingrui sat down again, beside him, hand covering his, still fisted in Jingrui's sleeve. The warmth of it cut through the tangle of Yujin's thoughts, and he looked up to see Jingrui looking more concerned than angry. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, really." Yujin felt like this smile was maybe a little more successful. "I'm just... I don't..." It would be better if he could get his words out in order, but he wasn't even sure, himself, what they should be. "I didn't mean to say I wouldn't help." That was better.

Jingrui ducked his head a little, looking penitent. "No, I know. I shouldn't have..." He trailed off, thumb running over Yujin's still-white knuckles, and he was frowning when he looked up. "Yujin?"

Yujin finally managed to force his fingers open, glancing away as he retrieved his hand. Or, at least, tried to. Jingrui's fingers caught his again, half way. "Tell me what it was you were thinking of doing, then," Jingrui said, quietly.

Yujin swallowed to get his heart back down out of his throat, not looking down to see his hand folded with Jingrui's. "Well. If Nian stops writing, then that gets her out of the line of fire, on the Chu end. And Wan Fa will already have had a scare, when he can't find that letter. If we let him know that we'll have to report any further communication, I think that will stop him. Without any of this getting back to the Emperor." He looked back at Jingrui, intent and serious. "Because if the Emperor gets any hint of collusion with an enemy state, we don't know how many he might order executed, and you're right in the middle of it."

Jingrui's eyes widened, and he flushed red. "Yujin." He reached out and pulled Yujin close, hands closing tight in the back of his robes. "I'm sorry. I was an idiot."

Yujin leaned into him, nearly shaking with the sudden release of tension. "Yes," he managed, against Jingrui's shoulder, a little husky. "You are. But that's okay, that's what I'm for."

Jingrui's huff of laughter against his ear, light and teasing, nearly made him melt with relief. "Are you sure? I thought it was for the comic relief."

Yujin elbowed him, finally managing to laugh, himself, and they both sat back, smiling.

That was all he needed, really.

Jingrui had felt like the worst friend imaginable, when he'd finally realized what Yujin's real concern was, and all the more so because Yujin's plan worked. Wan Fa was applying himself strictly to the business of his battalion and had started fading to the back of any gathering that included Jingrui or Yujin with nervous, sidelong glances at them. And perhaps Jingrui's own guilt over his temper was what made him pay a little more attention than usual. He kept remembering the white-knuckled clench of Yujin's hand on his sleeve. For whatever reason, he'd really scared Yujin, and he had no wish to do it again.

The reason had finally clicked, for him, a week after they'd all returned from the Fall Hunt, when he'd stopped by the Yan Manor in the morning, to ride in to the Palace complex together.

Yujin had been coming down the stairs of the inner hall, as Jingrui passed through the first courtyard, and he'd laughed and called, "You're actually out of bed early! Should I mark the date specially?"

Yujin had elevated his nose. "A gentleman maintains moderation in everything. Besides, Father wasn't here for breakfast, today."

There'd been a flicker of darkness in his eyes, and it had come to Jingrui, abruptly, that it was the same darkness he'd seen when Yujin was staring at him, stiff and pale, that day. The same darkness Jingrui had seen Yujin push so determinedly away for years, whenever his father came up. The darkness of an empty house, echoing around them, and nobody in it but them and the servants. That was the moment it had come to him that he'd nearly walked away from Yujin, nearly left him in a literally empty hall, that day.

The worst friend ever.

So he tried to stay closer, for a while, to stop in after drills to ask whether Yujin had taken over any more ministry paperwork, yet; to glance at Yujin's schedule to be extra sure they'd meet in the training yard to spar together; to wrap an arm around Yujin's shoulders when he pulled his friend toward the gates in the evening, to head home (where, more often than not, he'd stay until Marquis Yan also arrived home). And, perhaps because he was paying extra attention, he'd noticed the thread of tension, in Yujin, that seemed to ease every time Jingrui touched him. Noticing that, of course he'd done it more often, let his arm lay there longer, and taken satisfaction in feeling Yujin's shoulders drop just that little bit.

Which had gotten them to today.

A late autumn storm had chased everyone indoors who could go, and after making sure that the men had cleared all the equipment off the drill grounds, Jingrui and Yujin dashed for the Guard offices, though the cold rain, piling inside on each other's heels. Jingrui's arm found its way around Yujin's shoulders out of growing habit, and they leaned against each other, breathless from cold and laughing a little. Yujin wiped rivulets of rain off his face, leaning into Jingrui more firmly for a moment as he tossed back his head, hands sweeping the wetness back over his hair. Jingrui sputtered as a few drops hit him in the face.

"Yujin!"

Yujin grinned up at him, bright and teasing. "Hm? Was there something?"

And Jingrui felt his heart turn over, at the same time his awareness of Yujin's body against his escaped his control and unfurled like eager spring leaves.

"Only the honorable Commander Yan's lack of manners," he shot back automatically, and Yujin's laugh shivered down his nerves, made him tighten his hand on Yujin's shoulder. Yujin leaned back into him, easy and relaxed, and Jingrui had to swallow a little hard.

Probably the only thing that kept him from doing something rather rash right there in the entry room was the pointed clearing of a throat behind him. He and Yujin finally broke apart and stepped further in, to let Li Gang get inside after them. Jingrui gave his sergeant a slightly sheepish smile in return for his dryly raised brows, and the moment passed.

For now.

Jingrui retreated to his writing table to stare at the patrol rosters blankly, thoughts in complete disarray. He'd thought, for years now, that Yujin must not have any interest in men; if he had, well, surely Jingrui would have heard about it, wouldn't he? He'd teased Yujin, often enough, about the time he spent flirting with shop girls and courtesans alike. So he'd turned his thoughts away from the idea of ever having Yujin like that, sunk himself deeper into the oneness of heart, between them, and refrained from touching too much. But the easy way Yujin leaned into him... was Jingrui deceiving himself, that there was acceptance, and maybe even hunger, in it?

The thought lodged itself in the back of his mind with a firmness that said he wasn't going to be able to just ignore it any more.

So perhaps... perhaps he could test it, a little, instead? Carefully, of course, but if he was right, if Yujin did welcome his touch, then just maybe...

Jingrui smiled and picked up the top report, bending over it with a better will than usual.

"This is your fault; you jinxed us."

"I did not!" Zhen Ping looked over his shoulder at where their Commanders had their heads together over a plan for cavalry drill. Yujin had his whole body oriented on Jingrui, and Jingrui was stealing soft little glances at Yujin whenever Yujin wasn't looking. "This is not my fault," he muttered.

"The heavens were listening." Despite this contention, Li Gang held out a flask to him. "Drink?"

"We're on duty," Ping said, not with a great deal of conviction.

On the other side of the Guard offices, Yujin elbowed Jingrui indignantly for whatever he'd just said, and Jingrui threw an arm around his shoulders, laughing, pulling him close for a breath. For the space of that breath, Yujin relaxed against him, grin softening.

Li Gang gave Ping a speaking look and shook the flask invitingly.

Ping accepted it with a sigh, and took a long drink.

For the most part, Yujin was pleased with his life at the moment. Palace duty had ended, and he'd left behind a legacy of reporting procedure for all Guards on escort duty. He was fairly sure Lin Shu had been the one to insist it be continued, which he tried not to blush like a little boy over. The Jin army's field drills, battalion against battalion, had arrived as promised, which was fascinating. Yujin was not a fan of battles, or the idiocy that seemed to lead up to them, but the strategy of maneuver caught his imagination.

Unfortunately, being out in the field, beyond the city, seemed to have revived one of what Yujin personally considered Jingrui's worst habits—waking him up early.

Yujin was not, by nature, an early riser. Jingrui, however, was, and when they traveled, he sometimes decided that Yujin should be as well. Yujin invariably got revenge, one way or another, but apparently it had been too long since he last did, because Jingrui had taken to visiting his tent at ridiculous hours to wake him.

At the first whisper of canvas being pushed aside, Yujin pulled the covers over his head.

"Commander Yan," Jingrui called, light and teasing. "Good morning!"

Yujin made a wordless sound intended to convey that it was not morning, yet.

"Time to get up," Jingrui declared, in defiance of all reason, coming to tweak the covers down.

Yujin yanked them back up by reflex. "Still dark," he mumbled.

"Of course it's dark, with the covers over your head." Jingrui yanked them down again.

Yujin swiped at him without opening his eyes and snatched the covers back, diving under them with a growl.

Jingrui had the gall to laugh. Yujin stayed stubbornly still for as long as he could before admitting that he was actually awake, but eventually he had to give in. He shoved the covers back and glared up at Jingrui. "I will kill you slowly," he declared.

Jingrui positively grinned down at him, eyes sparkling, entirely too awake for not-quite-sunrise. "After breakfast?" he suggested.

"I will poison your food," Yujin threatened, scrubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"Once you're awake enough to," Jingrui taunted, and then chuckled as Yujin pushed himself upright. "You're a mess, after fighting with the covers like that."

He ran a hand over Yujin's hair, hopefully smoothing it down a little, and Yujin was still drowsy enough to lean into it. "Mm. Whose fault is that?" He took a breath and blinked himself a little more alert, only to realize that he was still leaning into Jingrui's hand, which had settled along his cheek. "...Jingrui?"

Jingrui colored and drew his hand back. "Sorry. Should I not?" He looked disappointed, Yujin realized, slowly.

Yujin was going to blame the way he caught Jingrui's retreating hand on not being awake, though that wasn't the whole truth by any means. "No, it's fine, I just..."

Yujin had been perfectly aware of the silent apology in Jingrui's increased tendency to touch, to drape an arm over his shoulders, to lean against him. To be honest, he'd been enjoying it very much. But this was different; this was starting to spill over into the kind of thing he'd never expected from Jingrui. At least, not directed at himself.

"I thought it was Lin Shu ge-ge, with you," he finally said, quietly, trying to stifle any urge to hope. "I mean... even when we didn't know it was him..."

Jingrui just blinked at him, sitting back on his heels beside Yujin's bed, hand resting easily in Yujin's grip. "Well, but that's different." Yujin raised both brows, because he remembered very clearly the way Jingrui had always tagged after Lin Shu, with shining eyes, and dragged Yujin along. Jingrui ducked his head a little and added, "It's you I never wanted to be apart from."

The way he smiled, sweet and open, made Yujin's chest squeeze tight, made him breathless with the dawning realization that this wasn't a mistake or the result of wanting so much that he saw what wasn't there. "Oh." He took a breath and reached up, fingers shaking just a little bit, to touch Jingrui's cheek. "Me too."

Jingrui's smile turned brighter at that, so simply and openly happy that it made Yujin forget to breathe for a moment. "I'm glad." Jingrui turned his head and pressed a soft kiss to Yujin's fingers.

Yujin made a small, wordless sound, at that, unable to catch it back, not when everything he'd thought was too much to ask for had fallen suddenly into his lap. Jingrui looked back at him, chewing his lip for a moment, before taking a breath and leaning in. His glance was a little shy, under his lashes, but hopeful, and Yujin was as helpless as he'd ever been to resist that. He leaned forward to meet Jingrui, and the brush of Jingrui's mouth over his made him close his eyes, every sense narrowing down to this touch, this moment.

"Oh," he said, softly, as their lips parted, feeling the reality of it all settle into his heart.

"Yes," Jingrui answered, just as soft.

They sat there, smiling breathlessly at each other as sunrise finally lit the walls of the tent white.

The last exercise, in this year's field drills, set double battalions against each other, as if they were vanguards clashing in the first engagement of a battle. It was the kind of exercise that was, honestly, more to Jingrui's taste than maneuver of huge blocks of soldiers, even if he knew that maneuver was preferable to engagement, if it could be managed. This was practice, though, he told himself virtuously, as he urged his horse to the front of their running line, and he needed more practice converting his sword form to the balance of horseback. And also in not letting himself get too caught up in trying to convert everything.

Or, as Li Gang had succinctly put it, after Jingrui's first few horseback drills, "Less dueling, sir, more hacking."

And, best of all, today he was paired with Yujin again, could see Yujin's quick-footed black coming up beside him, from the corner of his eye, could catch the way Yujin was shaking his head but still grinning.

And then it was time to close his knees tight around his horse, shift his weight forward with the sweep of his sword and the momentum of their gallop, and bash one of the other side's company Captains soundly out of the saddle. It registered, in the back of his head, that with anything but the blunted wood they were given for the drill, it would have been a disemboweling cut, but the thought was distant, subsumed in the urgency of another target in front of him, and then another, the press of horses lunging against and between each other—

—and, abruptly, the awareness that he'd outpaced his own men just a little too much.

He ducked under the jab of a spear from one side while blocking the swing a sword on the other, tried to send his horse forward so he could get space to turn, but he was hemmed in too close. This, the back of his head informed him, was why Li Gang kept looking disapproving of how fast Jingrui went during horseback drills. Jingrui gritted his teeth and heaved against the swordsman on his right side, swung his sword around to strike down another jab from the spear, risked pulling one foot free of the stirrup to kick the swordsman solidly in the hip, and that was one side about to be open...

A completely unorthodox but painfully effective sideways sweep from the spear hit him in the ribs and swept him right out of the saddle. The ground smashed the breath out of him, and for a long moment he could only gasp for air and be grateful that his horse was stepping to the side rather than on top of him. A furious shout rang out above and behind him, and he hauled himself up to his knees just in time to see Yujin sweep past him, cutting down the spearman, and the swordsman behind him, with two brutal strokes, barely a pause between them. Zhen Ping galloped past on Yujin's heels, both swords out, guarding his back as Yujin set his position and two charging soldiers broke against it, one down and the other pulling his horse around to retreat. Jingrui grabbed at his horse's stirrup to pull himself further up, staring. And perhaps he'd banged his head on the way down, but what was floating through his mind right now was something Zhen Ping had said months ago, when they were all still on duty at the Palace.

He'd been teasing Yujin about how Vice-Commander Sun might take his proposed improved patrol routes, and Yujin had been insisting roundly that the logic of them would be obvious to anyone. Jingrui had actually been a little rueful about not being able to see it, himself, before Yujin had explained it, and apparently their sergeants had caught that fact.

"You'll probably start to see it soon, sir," Zhen Ping had said, looking up from the gear he'd been cleaning. "You see it clearly on the smaller scale already, don't you? Where your opponent is likely to step or cut next."

Jingrui had cocked his head, curious. "You think it's the same thing?"

Zhen Ping had smiled a little, wryly. "The Vice-Marshal always said it was, and the way he talked about seeing the movement of a battle... I think he's right. I can't do it with more than a squad, myself, but it really did sound like the same thing."

And now, watching the brief, clear wake Yujin's savage attack left, watching the way the other vanguard was drawing back toward the right like a swordsman shifting his weight, the swift gathering of horses like an arm drawing back to strike, Jingrui did see it. Saw it and saw how it would sweep over Yujin's position, the opening he'd made, and threw himself back up into the saddle, hauling in a deep breath.

"Third Company forward! Now!"

He heard the horn repeat the order, behind him, saw the company to his left start to move, like his own sword sweeping in to meet the opponent's, and kicked his horse forward to join Yujin, ignoring the painful jar of bruises. After all, it was the two of them who were going to be the hand that pushed the opponent back off balance.

Yujin looked around as Jingrui came up beside him, Zhen Ping sliding to the side to let him through, and the set, furious darkness of his expression lightened. Jingrui leaned out to clap a hand on his shoulder. "One more push forward?" he called, and was glad to see Yujin's head come up, turning to take in the field around them, before his friend gave him a firm nod.

Jingrui was grinning as their horses leaped forward again, together this time.

Lin Shu had already gotten reports from both Li Gang and Zhen Ping, so he was unsurprised to hear Vice-Commander Sun's voice raised, as he approached Meng da-ge's offices.

"...never putting them on the same side of an exercise again! The physicians are nearly in revolt, half of Eighth battalion is terrified of Yan and the other half is enamored of Xiao, and thanks to the fact that they won I'm going to have to deal with idiots trying to imitate them!"

"Bear with it for a handful more years, if you'd be so kind," Lin Shu said, stepping into the room and exchanging nods with Meng da-ge, who was looking wryly amused and possibly a bit envious of the fun the boys had had during the field exercise. Sun Wen, on the other hand, looked suspicious.

"And what is it that will happen in a few years, Vice-Marshal?" he asked, a little stiffly. Lin Shu mentally marked down another who was uncomfortable with his lack of a clearly defined position, here in the capital.

"In another few years, I expect Xiao Jingrui will be promoted." Lin Shu raised inquiring brows at Meng, who nodded, judiciously. "When that happens, Yan Yujin will retire—from the military, at least. He won't be able to protect Jingrui without a political position, at that point, and he's spent far too long guarding Jingrui from politics for it to be imagined that he'll give it up, now."

"I can't argue that he's fiercest in Xiao Jingrui's defense," Sun Wen said, slowly. "That's where a quarter of the broken bones in the vanguard exercise came from." He gave Lin Shu a long look. "Are you saying you want us to encourage that, in someone going into politics?"

Lin Shu turned one hand palm-up with a little shrug. "It is what it is, Vice-Commander. I'm saying nothing any of us do will change it. Therefore, the best course of action is to place the two of them where it will be most beneficial. Jingrui's leadership and example, his sense of loyalty and righteousness, will be of great benefit in the Imperial Guard, and his presence there will ensure that Yujin's efforts are bent toward maintaining the integrity of our armies and preventing internal strife." Sun Wen was looking increasingly sour as he listened to this, and Lin Shu smiled faintly, adding, "It's also where they'll be happiest. They wouldn't stay there, if it weren't."

Sun Wen sat back, at that, eyeing him. "I trust you'll excuse me if I still try to reduce Yan's tendency to extreme action, while I have him," he said, at last, rather dryly.

"Not at all." Lin Shu tapped one of the taller stacks of report folios on Meng's writing table. "You might also consider keeping him busy by putting him in charge of some intelligence and analysis."

Meng da-ge snorted, obviously remembering Yujin's rotation at the Palace, and the new reporting structure that had resulted from his boredom, very clearly. "I'll approve that."

Lin Shu smiled, satisfied. Yujin needed a new information network, now he had less time to spend in the capital's social circles. This would be a good start. In another handful of years, Yujin would enter Ministry politics well equipped. And, once he had more leverage in the political arena, perhaps Yujin would calm a little from his fever-pitch of protectiveness.

They could hope, at any rate. After all, it had worked on Lin Shu, when he was thirteen and furious over Jingyan going into the field without him.

"...and Zhang Ying will be back on duty next month."

Jingrui made a quick note on his roster of those injured in the field exercises. "Good; I hoped that wouldn't be a bad break." Reminded, he frowned and glanced up at Li Renshu, captain of his Sixth Company. "What about Wu Shen?"

Li looked gratified that his fourth squad leader had been remembered, which Jingrui was pleased to see—six months ago, he'd have been surprised. Every now and then, Jingrui was still possessed of an urge to hunt down these men's previous Commander and kick him soundly in the behind. Not for the little cravenness of following questionable orders, but for leaving these men so uncertain of their purpose and worth that the smallest gestures reassured them so.

"He won't be cleared for full-length drills for another few weeks, but he's back on his feet, Commander."

Jingrui sat back from his table with a satisfied smile. "We'll be back up to full strength, then. Good. Is there anything else I need to know of before I write up the battalion's monthly report?"

His company captains shook their heads with murmurs of "No, sir," and "No, Commander," and Jingrui nodded approval and dismissal. He jotted down one last note, as they filed out, and stretched his arms over his head, glancing at the water clock. It was definitely time for him to head home.

The way from his office, through the barracks that housed his battalion's soldiers, and around their drill field, was familiar by now, and Jingrui absently noted to himself the old planking he'd been meaning to ask to get repaired, nodded to the squads changing watch as they stood aside for him, paused to raise an eyebrow at the wrestling competition that spilled off the edge of the drill grounds into his path, trying to stifle the grin that really wanted to break free. He thought his men might have seen it anyway from the sheepish but unalarmed way they ducked their heads as they scrambled back out of his way. By the time he reached the gate to their block of the ward, his horse was waiting for him.

It felt comfortable, to have his battalion around him. Welcoming and stable, in a way he hadn't really felt for three years. His mother's manor still echoed with the breaking of his family, if only because she was there and still mourned. When he traveled outside the cities, he was always a little tense, part of him always watching out of the corner of his eye for any sign of his other family, and flinching every time he caught himself at it, because he had no right. Here, though, he could feel again that loosening in his chest, the complete ease of his breath, that came from knowing without a shadow of a doubt that he belonged to these men, and they to him.

And here, of course, he still had the one constant that had been his all his life, still so one in thought that he wasn't at all surprised to see Yujin turn onto the central road just ahead of him and rein in to wait for him.

"I bet your monthly report is finished already," he said, in greeting, and Yujin laughed as he nudged his horse forward again.

"Of course it is. Unlike some, I know how to be efficient. That's how I caught up with you so easily, despite being born later."

"Ah," Jingrui nodded, wisely. "This is what they call the genius of laziness, I see."

The guards on the east gate of the quarter were stifling grins as they stood back to let Jingrui and Yujin pass. Out of the north-west quarter, the roads were too busy for much conversation, and they rode in companionable silence until they reached Yan Manor. Yujin glanced sidelong at him.

"Will you come in?"

Jingrui's breath hitched a little at the heat and uncertainty in that look, so close a match for his own feelings, of late, that he couldn't help the rueful smile that tugged at his mouth. "Yes," he answered softly. "I'd like that."

He'd grown up as much in Yan Manor as in his own house, but today he found himself not quite knowing where to step, what to do with his sword, what to do with himself once the doors of the east wing were closed behind them. He looked over to find Yujin looking back, chewing on his lip. Their eyes caught, both wide and uncertain, but as one moment and then another slipped by, Jingrui saw Yujin start to smile, felt his own answering smile spreading, and then they were laughing, reaching out to each other as easily as ever, and when he caught his breath again Yujin was folded tight in his arms and he could feel the solid strength of Yujin's arms around him.

From there it only made sense to lean in and kiss him.

Yujin's arms tightened around his ribs, and his mouth opened against Jingrui's, turning the kiss softer, hotter—a wet, hungry slide of lips and tongue that put a shiver down Jingrui's spine. When they finally drew back a little, though, Jingrui had to take a moment to understand what he was seeing. Yujin's lips were parted in a way that made Jingrui want to dive right back into the kiss. But his eyes were wide, soft, wondering, and that made Jingrui stop. He was fairly sure that, of the two of them, Yujin was the more experienced in this kind of thing. Why wondering, then? "Yujin?" he asked, softly.

Yujin shook his head, and this laugh was barely there, just an unsteadiness in his breath. "I never thought..."

There it was, again, and Jingrui freed a hand to touch his cheek. "Why not, if you wanted it?" He had a hard time imagining anything he would deny Yujin. Surely the one person he'd shared the whole of his life with didn't think a crush Jingrui had always known was hopeless would really stand in his way?

Now Yujin looked exasperated and pummeled him lightly on the shoulder. "Because I thought you were in love with someone else. That you've been in love with him since we were barely old enough to know what that meant!" He looked down and added, low, "And I didn't want to come second."

That closed around Jingrui's heart like a fist clenching, and he pulled Yujin tight against him. "Yujin..." He could feel the tension in Yujin's body, against his, and stroked open hands up and down his back, trying to soothe it. Yujin pressed close, silent, and he spoke quietly, against Yujin's ear. "I suppose I always have been a little in love with Lin Shu ge-ge. But I'm not actually blind, and I always knew there'd never be anything there, not for me. You..." he leaned his forehead against Yujin's. "You've always been there for me, Yujin. You're like my breath, my heartbeat." He laughed, a little unsteady in his turn, arms tightening. "I don't even know how to speak of love, to you, because you're so much, to me. You could never come second to anyone."

He could hear the way that made Yujin's breath hitch, sharply, feel the tremor that went through him. "Why didn't you speak, then?" Yujin asked, husky.

"Well, I didn't think you liked men that way!" Jingrui protested. "I mean it was always the shop girls you were flirting with."

Yujin dissolved into laughter against his shoulder, and took a while to stop. That was all right, though, because he didn't let go the entire time. When he lifted his head, Jingrui wasn't surprised to see wetness on his cheeks, but there was a familiar smile, too, bright and rueful. "Well, I didn't want to put you off, if you ever did decide to get over him and speak up." He grinned at Jingrui's exasperated sound and scrubbed a palm over his cheek.

Jingrui smiled, soft and helpless, and reached up to wipe away the wetness on the other side, and then had to catch his breath at the way Yujin's whole face softened, expression turning open and unguardedly happy as he turned his head into Jingrui's hand.

"It's easier for me to see women's beauty," Yujin said, softly, lifting a hand to lay over Jingrui's. "But I can see the beauty in men, too." He looked up to meet Jingrui's gaze, eyes dark. "I've seen it in you, for years."

Jingrui had to swallow at the curl of deep, soft warmth that sent through him, and now he thought he understood the wonder a little better. "Yujin..."

This time, it was Yujin who leaned in to kiss him, hands sliding up over his shoulders to close around his face, and Jingrui was entirely content to relax into that gentle hold. Yujin kissed him again and again, soft little sips of kisses that made Jingrui open his mouth against Yujin's, tongue darting out to stroke against his and coax him deeper. It seemed to work, because Yujin relaxed against him, and he was smiling when he drew back.

"Jingrui. Let me try something?"

Normally, those words, matched to the sparkle in Yujin's eyes, might have made him a little wary, but here and now Jingrui couldn't imagine anything he wouldn't be happy to let Yujin do. "Of course."

Yujin laced their fingers together and tugged him through the outer rooms, toward Yujin's bed. Another sidelong look, questioning and a bit shy, made Jingrui smile, tightening his hold on Yujin's hand before reaching for his own sashes to undo them. Yujin only let him get his outer robe untied, though, before coming to him, his own inner robe still trailing off his shoulders, and laying his hands over Jingrui's. Very softly, eyes steady and serious, he asked, "Let me?"

Jingrui's breath drew in swiftly, a tiny shiver running over him at the earnestness of that question. He had to swallow hard before he could answer, and his voice was husky when he said, "Yes. Always."

Yujin smiled, quick and brilliant as a lightning strike, and it stole Jingrui's breath all over again, to see how much it meant to Yujin, that Jingrui would welcome this small intimacy, would promise it to Yujin's hands and care. He stood quiet while Yujin undressed him, turning with his gentle nudges. Yujin's hands were so careful, on him, that it made Jingrui have to blink back wetness in his eyes. When he was finally bare, and Yujin had come to stand in front of him, hands resting on his shoulders, the soft satisfaction in Yujin's smile finally crystallized what this was telling Jingrui's heart.

"You've always been taking care of me, haven't you?" he asked, softly.

"As well as I could," Yujin answered, simply.

Jingrui had to swallow again, but he was smiling when he reached out and slid his hands down the open collar of Yujin's robes. "Will you let me take care of you, now?"

Yujin blinked, very much as if the notion had never occurred to him, but then he smiled, small and pleased, ducking his head a little. "Yes. If you like."

"Of course I like." Jingrui tipped his chin back up and kissed him, softly, promising again, against his mouth, "Always."

Yujin's breath caught, and Jingrui kissed him one more time, gentle, before setting about divesting Yujin of his inner robe and undergarments, just as carefully, as tenderly, as he could, hoping to ease the fragile edge on the hope in Yujin's face. When he was done, he gathered Yujin tight against him, and repeated softly, against his ear, "Always." The fierce tightening of Yujin's arms around him was enough to drive his breath out, and he would have pursued the issue further—surely Yujin knew they were for always?—but Yujin drew back and tugged him down to the bed.

"Let me?" he asked again, pressing Jingrui back against the stacked pillows.

"Of course. Anything you... want..." Jingrui's answer ended rather breathlessly, as Yujin nudged his knees apart and settled between them, leaning on his elbows. Yujin looked up at him under his lashes, with that wicked sparkle back in his eyes. Jingrui made a wordless sound that was definitely not a squeak, as Yujin leaned down—a sound that dissolved into a moan as Yujin's tongue ran up the length of him, hot and slick. Yujin made a pleased sound of his own and leaned down further, wrapping his mouth around Jingrui.

Jingrui had already been most of the way hard, just from touching as they'd undressed each other, but now it felt like all the blood in his body was rushing to fill his cock. He could feel every movement of Yujin's lips and tongue, against him, and each soft, wet stroke sent a thrill of pleasure up his spine, leaving him gasping. "Yujin..."

"Mmmm?"

The vibration of Yujin's mouth around him wrung a groan out of him, hot sensation bursting wildly down his nerves. Jingrui clutched at the folded covers under him, completely unable to stop the little upward jerks of his hips. After some hesitation, Yujin finally folded his arms over Jingrui's hips and leaned his weight on them, making a pleased sound as he slid his mouth back down and Jingrui found himself without enough leverage to move. Jingrui moaned out loud at the way that sent heat twisting through him, tight and sweet, and when Yujin sucked on him, hard, it all came undone in a wild rush of pleasure uncoiling. "Yujin!"

He felt Yujin's fingers tight around him, stroking him through it, and looked up to find Yujin watching him, eyes dark with heat, mouth red, and that wrung him out yet again, until he moaned, breathless. When he finally lay quiet again, undone and panting for breath, Yujin slid back up to wind around him, settling close with a satisfied smile. Jingrui wound slightly shaky arms around him, and laughed. "Have me where you want me?" he asked, husky.

Yujin smirked and snuggled closer. "Pretty much, yes."

After a few quiet minutes of cuddling, Jingrui regathered enough of his thoughts to stroke a hand down Yujin's body, a little shyly. "Let me, now?"

Yujin looked up from his shoulder with a smile that had the same edge of shyness in it. "Yes."

Jingrui gathered him closer and turned them, settling Yujin back against the now-disordered pillows. A little wryly, he added, "Though I'm not sure if I'm ready to try exactly that, just yet."

Yujin settled back with a small, contented sound, and reached up to brush back Jingrui's hair. "Of course not. I don't think I'd have tried it myself, yet, if I hadn't had advice."

Jingrui stopped quite still for a long moment. "...advice?"

Yujin's eyes were sparkling again. "Mm. From the ladies I visit. They thought it was sweet, that I asked."

Jingrui sputtered. "You... you asked... Yujin!"

Yujin laughed at him, reaching up to pull him down and hug him tight. When Jingrui had given up and stopped sputtering, and Yujin had finished laughing, he added, softer, "If it ever happened, I wanted to get it right."

Jingrui gave over and held him close, helplessly tender. "Then thank you." When he lifted his head, he could see Yujin was blushing at that, and cradled him closer, kissing him softly, coaxing. The way Yujin answered him, so open, so willing, made it easy to run his hands down Yujin's body, slow and caressing, glad to have an answer for the hunger in him. When he wrapped his fingers around Yujin's length and stroked him, the shaky edge to Yujin's moan made heat curl through him in response. The knowledge that Yujin wanted this, wanted him, so much, settled warm in his chest, and he worked his hand over Yujin, slow and firm, attending to what made him gasp or arch up against Jingrui.

Yujin liked to be touched firmly. He liked to be kissed while Jingrui rubbed a thumb over the head of his cock. And when Jingrui bit gently at his lower lip, hand tightening on him, Yujin bucked up sharply into his hand, moaning out loud, hands tight on Jingrui's shoulders as he came undone. Jingrui smiled, pleased, and swallowed the sounds he made in a deep, fierce kiss, stroking him until he stilled.

"Oh," Yujin said, softly, eyes a little dazed when he looked up at Jingrui. Now Jingrui understood the satisfaction in Yujin's smile perfectly, and cuddled Yujin close with a contented sound. When Yujin curled into him, relaxed and easy, Jingrui thought he might be perfectly happy to stay this way for always. At some point, no doubt, food and work would get them out of bed again, but for now at least, they could stay here and he could soak in the feeling of Yujin, warm and close in his arms.

Jingrui pressed a kiss to Yujin's now-mussed hair, and smiled.

Contrary to the image he'd cultivated over the years, Yujin was actually quite well-versed in self-control. A seamless social front was not achieved through lax control, and even less by ignoring the unspoken rules of one's environment. Nevertheless, he had to admit that it was extremely tempting to ignore them for just long enough to lean over the writing table that held their latest plans for interior drills, and kiss Jingrui. From the way Jingrui was grinning sidelong at him as they sorted lists of archers to decide who got the fixed position and who got to sortie, Yujin was fairly sure he was aware of the urge, which did nothing to discourage the idea. Rather the reverse, actually.

Just as he was about to abandon the personnel lists and kiss that curve off Jingrui's lips, though, there was a brisk rap on the door frame and Yujin looked up to see Lin Shu standing in it. From the way the corners of his mouth were curling up, he probably knew just what they'd been about to do, also. Yujin sighed; this was what he got for letting his guard down, he supposed. "Lin Shu ge-ge. Hi."

Jingrui promptly blushed and straightened up with a self-conscious look. Yujin shook his head, smiling helplessly. Jingrui was so transparent. It was adorable, when it wasn't alarming him.

Lin Shu chuckled and stepped in, taking the seat Jingrui hastily cleared off. "Good afternoon to you. I'm glad I caught you both here."

"Was there something you needed..." Jingrui hesitated and glanced at Yujin before finishing, more formal than usual, "sir?"

Yujin tried not to let that little bit of thoughtfulness make him smile too foolishly, and settled himself to attend to their cousin.

"Just some clarification, really. We're finally ready to start clearing out the problems among the lower ranks of the armies, and that overlaps your own work in places." Lin Shu gave Yujin a level look. "Did you want to keep working on Wan Fa, yourself?"

Yujin froze, reflex panic flashing cold down his nerves; if they knew about Wan Fa, they knew about Jingrui's involvement...

"Only Jingyan and I know," Lin Shu said quietly. "We have not spoken of it, even to his mother or wife." Just as Yujin was starting to take a full breath again, he added, "Not yet." He sighed and shook his head at Yujin's hand, suddenly clenched around the list he'd been holding. "Yujin, think. Lady Jing, at the very least, will need to know of this when Yuwen Nian marries Prince Ning, if only to guide her against any repeat." A little more gently, he finished, "And you have to know you won't be able to keep Jingrui entirely in the background any longer, now you both have positions in the capital."

"What are you talking about?" Jingrui was frowning. "Yujin has never..." He stopped at Lin Shu's raised hand, but he was still frowning, still puzzling at the words, and Yujin took a long breath, trying not to glare at their cousin for letting on so much. That wouldn't help.

"We're only Commanders. There's no reason for anyone but Vice-Commander Sun or High Commander Meng to take notice of us, is there?" he asked, tightly, more a demand than a question, really.

"For now," Lin Shu agreed, so easily Yujin was already wary when he added, "But the two of you are bright and skilled. You can't imagine you'll go very long without being promoted." He leaned over the table, eyes turning sharp. "Especially when we need exactly that, in our officers."

Yujin bit his lip. He didn't need Lin Shu to draw it out for him, from there. If there was need, then of course Jingrui would be promoted, quite possibly into Sun's position; the Vice-Commander had made no secret of his desire to get back to his retirement once the Jin army was back on its feet. And a Vice-Commander of the Jin army was too high and too close to the Palace to be ignored any longer. The first minister who happened to be nearby the next time Jingrui was irritated over some remnant of corruption that affected his men or their duties would know the kind of vulnerability Jingrui's idealism could provide, likely before Jingrui got to the end of his sentence. And, at that point, Yujin wouldn't be able to stop whoever it might be from using Jingrui as a lever or a tool, from blackmailing him with the threat of reporting disloyalty to the Emperor, from using him as an unknowing conduit to the Crown Prince's ear, from using Jingrui's easy friendship as a counter in the games of court, not unless...

"So," Lin Shu said quietly. "Knowing what is coming, do you wish to keep working on Wan Fa yourself, or shall I deal with this, for now?"

Yujin closed his eyes. Now he knew what Lin Shu was really here to find out. "I'll keep this one," he answered, low. The sooner he got started building his contacts and reputation, the better.

A warm hand covered his wrist, and he opened his eyes to see Jingrui leaning over the table toward him, eyes sharp and rather fierce. "Yujin, what are you talking about?"

Yujin chewed on his lip, looking back. He'd never actually told Jingrui what it was he did. Jingrui had been so angry and upset over the little they'd understood of the fall of Lin and Prince Qi's household that Yujin hadn't thought he'd go along with it, and that had never quite changed. But there was trust and belief looking back at him, now, in Jingrui's level gaze, and he couldn't betray that.

"Yujin," Jingrui said again, softly, hand tightening. "You're about to do something dangerous, aren't you? Tell me. Let me help."

Yujin's mouth quirked. As much as Jingrui didn't usually pay attention to social (or political) nuances, Lin Shu's very presence was surely enough to tell him this was dangerous, yes. "I..." He sighed, leaning both elbows on the table. "Ever since the Chiyan case, I've tried to keep you away from politics."

Jingrui blinked at him for a moment, but then, slowly, nodded. "Because you thought it would be dangerous?"

"Because it was dangerous," Yujin said, flatly. "Idealists die in our court. It's just what happens. I think..." he looked down at his hands. "I think that's why my father withdrew to the temples, as much as he could."

"It was," Lin Shu put in, softly, and Yujin nodded.

"So I listened, at parties and events, for the names of the people who were playing court games, and I tried to keep you from getting involved, sidetrack you however I could. Which didn't get any easier when the Marquis started playing both sides," he added, disgruntled just remembering how much that had complicated his life.

"That was why...?" Jingrui huffed a soft laugh. "Oh, Yujin." He let go of Yujin's wrist and laced their fingers together instead, gently. When Yujin looked up, he was smiling. "Thank you. For taking care."

That gentleness pulled words out of Yujin before he thought to stop them. "Of course I took care. You and my father were all that was left."

The slow widening of Jingrui's eyes made him tense again; had that been too much to admit, too much to ask for (again)? But Jingrui's hand tightened on his, holding him. "Yujin..." Jingrui took a breath and said, steady. "I'm sorry."

Yujin blinked, caught flat-footed by that, and Jingrui smiled a little, ruefully.

"I'm sorry I didn't see. I made life harder for you, didn't I?"

Yujin shook his head. "It was something I chose to do on my own." Jingrui's grip tightened again for a moment, stilling him.

"If we're promoted... it will be harder again, won't it?"

Yujin took a breath and shook his head again, feeling certainty settle in his chest. "No more than usual. Not if I'm in the ministries."

Jingrui took a breath to protest—Yujin knew it was going to be a protest—but then he stopped. Slowly, watching Yujin carefully, he asked instead, "Will you be happy, doing that? I know you're good at it. I know you can. I know you think you need to. But will it make you happy?"

Yujin opened his mouth only to close it again, a little nonplussed at how thoroughly Jingrui had closed down all the answers he'd normally have used to dodge the actual question. Jingrui's smile, a little chiding and a little coaxing, said he knew it, too. "All right, all right," Yujin huffed, but had to smile back. "Yes. I think it will." He waved a hand at his writing table, stacked with more reports than any other Commander in Jin willingly invited, all in the name of knowing what was going on. "It seems to be what I do."

"All right then," Jingrui agreed, softly, and lifted their hands to press a kiss to Yujin's fingers.

Yujin turned very red and shot a quick look at Lin Shu, who was, thankfully, pretending to look at the shelves and not notice. "Jingrui!" he hissed.

Jingrui just laughed, not letting go of his hand, and Yujin gave him a long-suffering look. He didn't pull away, though.

"Well, if that's settled," Lin Shu murmured, looking very entertained, "think about where you'd like to enter, Yujin. Either State Revenue or the Bureau of Discipline would be easy to fit you into, but if you have your eye on another route, tell me."

"Where are you expecting those routes to go?" Yujin asked, a little cautious. He had cause to trust Lin Shu's ability to plot these things, and that he was well disposed toward them, but he also had a lively respect for his cousin's ruthlessness. And however much affection Lin Shu ge-ge had for them, he was the Crown Prince's man, now. Whatever he did would serve Jingyan's ends first of all.

Lin Shu rose, shaking his robes straight, and smiled down at them. "Yan has produced two Chancellors, for this nation. Perhaps it should be three, hm?"

Jingrui's eyes widened, but Yujin smiled, even as he felt his face heat again at that casual vote of confidence. He'd been seen, and seen clearly, and for once he thought he didn't mind it—not when it meant Lin Shu understood how far Yujin would go to keep his own safe, and was willing to support him in that. "If you think so."

"I do."

Yujin ducked his head, honestly flattered by the firm certainty in his cousin's voice, and Lin Shu ge-ge patted his shoulder as he stepped past, toward the door. Yujin sat back as he swept out, and tightened his grip on Jingrui's hand, feeling more settled than he had in a long time.

This was his, and this he would guard.

The year had turned, and all through the city families celebrated whatever fortune had favored them, hoped for more in the new year, gathered to drive out the winter darkness and welcome in the new life of spring.

Jingrui wandered through the soft, colored brightness of the Lantern Festival at Yujin's side, as they'd done so often over the years. This year, though, he found himself suddenly more aware of some things. He'd always teased Yujin about how much attention he tended to attract, during the festival, but this was the first time Jingrui had gotten personally annoyed by the number of matrons and chaperones and matchmakers who found a moment to pause their party by Yujin and Jingrui, and have a few smiling words with the son and only heir of the Yan family. This year, he had to stop himself from 'accidentally' stepping between Yujin and the next party they saw that included a girl out for a promenade at the festival.

No sooner did he notice the urge, though, then he also noticed something else. Yujin looked like he was flirting; he smiled and flattered the older women, and said kind things about the young women, loudly enough to be overheard. But he was also, unmistakably, turning them away. It tugged at Jingrui's attention more and more as the evening drew on, and once he started really watching, he could see that Yujin's body language turned reserved, straightening into a quiet restraint, every time another party approached them. Without a word spoken directly, one mother or matchmaker after another patted Yujin's arm and passed on, sweeping the girls along without a backward glance.

And then Yujin would relax, and lean against his shoulder, and laugh openly again.

The more Jingrui saw, as they wound past the stalls of lanterns and the bright-glowing fronts of the capital's mansions and pavilions, the more he thought back over other festivals or parties or outings he'd seen Yujin at, always smiling and laughing—what else had he been doing, all that time, that Jingrui hadn't noticed?

Not that he really needed to ask, after Lin Shu ge-ge's recent visit. Still, when they fetched up at a grove on the edge of the east district's pond, quieter and a bit darker than the streets if still fairly crowded with strolling groups, he drew Yujin closer and asked softly, "How much of that have you been doing, all this time?"

Yujin's dark eyes looked bottomless in the evening's soft glow. "As much as seemed necessary," he answered, low.

"Necessary," Jingrui repeated, slowly, turning over the things Yujin had said during that startling meeting. "To keep me safe."

Yujin just nodded, as if it were perfectly self-evident, and Jingrui couldn't help laughing, soft and more than a little stunned. "All that... all this time..." Jingrui swallowed hard and reached out, careless of who might be watching, and pulled Yujin close, holding him tight.

"Thank you," he whispered against Yujin's ear.

Yujin made a dismissive sound, but his arms wound tight around Jingrui. Jingrui leaned back far enough to look him in the eye, and closed his hands around Yujin's face, gently, to make sure of it. "Yujin, listen. I'm yours, all right? Whatever happens, whatever it is we do with our lives, I'm yours. Just like you're mine. You have my word." He could feel the tremor that went through Yujin, at that, though the only visible sign of his reaction was a little widening of his eyes, and nodded to himself. He thought he was figuring out how to read Yujin properly again, the way he hadn't, perhaps, since they were much younger. Since before the fall of Lin and Prince Qi.

Thinking that, he listened to the way Yujin's body swayed just a little towards him, and leaned back in to kiss him, slow and sure, in the warm light of the lanterns—kissed him until the quick clench of Yujin's hands in the back of his robes eased, until Yujin's mouth against his softened from the first desperate hunger.

Then, at last, he drew back and rested his forehead against Yujin's, smiling. "So. Go ahead and take over Jingyan ge-ge's government, if it will make you happy, and I'll see to his soldiers. And let me guard your back, as you guard mine."

Yujin smiled back, brighter than all the lanterns in the streets behind them, and answered, softly, "Yes."

"Good." Jingrui stepped back, sliding a hand down to tangle their fingers together, and tugged Yujin back toward the brightly lit streets. As they plunged back into the light, even when Yujin's grip on his hand eased, as if to obey propriety and reserve, and let go, Jingrui only tightened his hold.

He would never let this go, again.

End

Ground Fire

Their work finally pushes Akai and Furuya together once too often, and Akai forces the issue of what happened to Scotch. In the wake of it, they find in each other some of the understanding they've both needed. Kinda Romance, Porn with Characterization, I-4

This arc is undoubtedly in the process of being jossed, but that just means I get to write it again in another couple weeks. Or months. Well, by the end of the year, surely.

One
Furuya Rei, currently known to his targets and associates as Amuro Tohru, knew he was not at his best when he was surprised. As Hiro had trenchantly put it once, Reiâ€™s observational ability meant he just didnâ€™t get surprised often enough to figure out how to deal with it very well. Rei knew it was a vulnerability, but since he wasnâ€™t about to stop observing the world around him, he hadnâ€™t seen any good way to fix it.  At least not until just recently. Akai Shuuichi had been responsible for most of Reiâ€™s least pleasant surprises over the last few years, and Rei rather hoped that his pursuit of Akai would help fix the issue. Surely it wasnâ€™t unreasonable to want Akai to be at least a little useful before he died? Unfortunately, it seemed Rei still had a ways to go. Admittedly, Vermouth's message was enough to occupy anyone's mindâ€”that Gin might be scouting the same professional sniper that Conan was currently tracking (and of course he was, if there was one place their miniature Holmes should not be, you could count on finding him there every time, and yes Rei was aware of the irony of his exasperation). So when he came out of the stairwell onto the roof, he was prepared to either tackle a sniper or bullshit Gin just as fast as humanly possible, and perhaps to restrain Conan from charging straight at a rifle barrel. He was not expecting to find Akai Shuuichi vaulting up the last steps of the fire escape onto the same roof.  They both froze for one long, startled second, and then years-long rage sent Rei's hand diving for his gun in the same moment that Akai lunged straight for him. He tried to turn out of Akai's line, but even the most sternly trained muscle memory tripped over the unexpected. One hand occupied, he missed his stance (trying to do two things at once, the remembered voice of the Academy jujutsu instructor berated him, in the back of his head) and the full weight of Akai's body slammed him back against the wall beside the stairwell door. When Rei had managed to haul breath back into his lungs, he was pinned, and Akai had an iron grip on his gun hand. Rei bared his teeth in a furious snarl, outraged that he'd had a clean chance at Akai, and as himself instead of as Okiya for once, and he'd missed it. Akai's expression, half in shadow as he looked down at Rei, was pensive. "Can you not let this go?" he asked, quietly. "Let it go?" Rei spat, yanking futilely against Akai's grip, nearly wrenching his own shoulder with a twist he didn't have the leverage to complete. "Let it go that you killed my best, oldest friend, with your damned illegal interference?" Akai's eyes narrowed. "You know better than that. You, of all people, must have seen better than that." "So he pulled the trigger himself! You were the one who made him do it, just to keep your cover!" Rei threw back at him. "You must have been! He'd never have done that on his own!" Akai stared at him silently for a long moment, and then bent his head and let out a long, faint sigh. Anticipation pulled Rei's muscles taut, waiting for the moment that well-earned guilt might give him a break in Akai's hold or attention. "It wasn't on his own, no," Akai said, very quietly, and rage cranked Rei's whole body a notch tighter, teeth grinding hard on that admission. When Akai lifted his head, though, it wasn't guilt in the pinch of his brows or the sudden softness of his mouth. Only... what? Sadness, yes, but also something else. "You see so clearly, most times," Akai said, very softly, almost a whisper between them. "Remember what you saw, Furuya-kun. He didn't do it on his own. Think about what he would have seen and heard, up on that roof. Already sure that the Organization would be coming for him, what did he hear right before he shot?" Rei stared up at him, mind turning the thought over and poking at it automatically. Did Akai mean there was something he'd said to Hiro just then? Or was he trying to palm this off on something else, a phone call, or another member approaching, or... Rei's breath froze in his lungs. Another member approaching. Footsteps, fast and intent, rattling up the metal steps of the fire-escape stair. Rei's memory played them back as if it were just yesterday. "No," Rei whispered, eyes wide and blind with the image building itself inexorably in his mind. Hiro had heard footsteps approaching and thought it was another member. He'd heard Rei's footsteps. And then he'd pulled the trigger. "No!" It ripped out of his throat on a scream, furious and helpless and pained (it had been him) but the sound was muffled in his ears. It took a moment for Rei to realize there was a hand cupped around his head, pulling him down against the worn leather of a jacketed shoulder. It took longer to realize that the hard clatter he'd heard was his own gun, fallen from his hand. The realization was like a fist in his stomachâ€”it had been him. He hadn't thought anyone could have found Hiro before him, had counted on his friend's steadiness, even under the worst pressure, to make Hiro wait and see who was coming, never thinking that someone else might have gotten there first, that Hiro might already be on a hair-trigger. He hadn't thought. Hadn't looked ahead. Hadn't seen what was right in front of him, that night. Hiro had died because of him. Rei barely felt the rough tar-paper under his knees as he collapsed, didn't think about whose hands caught him or whose jacket was muffling the sobs tearing out of his chest. That one damning thought echoed through his mind and pushed out everything else, until all he could do was howl with the pain of it. But there was nothing that grief could changeâ€”that was why it was grief and not rage, even though he'd tried so hard to make it stay rage, to imagine that vengeance would change something, if only in his own heart. Eventually even nearly four years worth of tears ran dry, because there was nothing else to do. That was when the realization finally made its way to the surface of Rei's thoughts that Akai was kneeling on the roof with him, and the hand resting on his head was Akai's, and so was the shoulder his face was buried in. The very wet shoulder. As soon as he stirred, the hand dropped to his arm, helping him upright as he pushed away. Rei didn't look up as Akai stood, just scrubbed his sleeve over his aching eyes; how were you supposed to talk to the man you'd just cried all over, who you'd been trying very hard to kill right up until that moment?  Two hands appeared in front of him. "Up," Akai said. Rei did look up at that, startled. "Come on, up," Akai repeated, and flicked his fingers, beckoning. "We can't stay here." That was good enough sense that Rei mustered the coordination to take Akai's hands and haul himself upright, biting back a curse as he almost fell and Akai had to catch him again. "What do you mean 'we'?" he jabbed, half-heartedly, voice rough and hoarse. The look Akai gave him made him feel like a rookie again, and the heat in his face made his raw cheeks burn. "You shouldn't be somewhere the Organization knows about, right now. So you're coming with me." "They know about Kudou's house," Rei protested, even as he stumbled toward the fire stairs after Akai. "Which is why we're going somewhere else."  Rei sighed and climbed onto the stairs after Akai, wondering if he was this annoying himself, when he was keeping some tentative conclusion behind his teeth. It was hard to hold on to the thought, though, or to noticing the way Akai stayed poised just a few steps below him, as if he thought he might have to catch Rei yet again. By the time they reached Akai's car, he'd completely lost track of why he should refuse, and climbed into the passenger seat silently. He didn't keep good track of the passing streets outside the dark windows. The disorientation seemed of one piece with the fragments of thought that spun through his head, bits of memory and shards of future plans swirling together. Hiro's quiet laugh. The glint in Conan's eye when they found that sniper's name. The number he'd meant to call in a tip to, when the man's location was nailed down. The lyrics of the first song he and Hiro had ever written. The name of the garage he'd left his own car in. None of his thoughts connected to one another. When they finally stopped, and Akai's hand under his elbow guided him up some stairs and over to a low bed, he was glad to let those fragments go, to let himself sink down onto the worn blanket and down into the dark as his eyes fell shut. The last thing he heard was a faint creak of floorboards as Akai sat beside the bed.

Shuuichi was just finishing a message to Conan, agreeing that yes, it would be wise to take some of the Metropolitan police along to the next stop he hoped to find the sniper at, since "Subaru-san" was delayed and Gin might be present, when he heard Furuya stir. He closed his phone and slid back from the little apartment's low table just a bit, in case it took Furuya a minute to remember why he might not want to kill Shuuichi any more. When Furuya's eyes opened, though, they were dark with knowledge and memory, and he pushed himself upright on the bed slowly, as though his whole body ached. Shuuichi silently passed him the tumblr of water waiting on the table, and Furuya took it with a tiny nod. It wasn't until he'd drained it that he even looked around, and Shuuichi noted that he'd won his bet with himself. Furuya was still in shock.  Not completely out of it though, because his first question, voice still hoarse despite the water, was, "Where are we?" "One of my bolt-holes, just over the district border in Edogawa." As he'd half hoped, though after a longer pause than he liked, a faint smile tugged at Furuya's mouth. "Edogawa?"  Shuuichi let his own amusement warm his voice. "It seemed appropriate." "And you brought me here." Furuya stared at him for a long moment, and finally gestured with an open hand, as it to take in the whole past day. Or possibly the past year. "Why?" Shuuichi had known that question had to be coming, but he still sighed a little as he leaned his elbows on the table. "Because I've lost someone I loved to them, too."  Furuya blinked at him. "You really loved her, then? Akemi-san?" And that was why Shuuichi hadn't really wanted to say it, but Furuya was already wincing at the clumsiness of his own words and Shuuichi couldn't hold them against him right now. He has his own share of responsibility for Scotch's death, and for the shape Furuya was currently in. "I did, yes," he said over the beginning of Furuya's apology. "It was probably unwise, with someone who was only supposed to be a way to get deeper into the Organization, but this job is easy enough to die in as it is. Anything that reminds us we're alive is worth some risk." The memory of Akemi's smile flashed through his head, and he pushed himself abruptly to his feet, gathering up his glass and Furuya's to refill at the sink. When he thought he could keep his voice steady again, he finished, "Even if it ends." Furuya had his head down when Shuuichi turned around, leaning over with his elbows on his knees, hands hanging loose between them. Shuuichi recognized the shape of it, the braced position that you hoped would hold you steady through something shaking your heart so hard you thought it might stop beating. He'd spent weeks, after Akemi's death, sitting like that. He set the glasses on the table and sat beside Furuya on the bed. Jodie had spent more than one day sitting beside him like this, just being another living person close enough to hear her breathe, and it had helped. "Morofushi Hiromitsu," Furuya said, voice low, not lifting his head. "That was his name. We grew up together. After the Academy, when we both chose Public Security, the Tokyo bureau for him and National for me... It was natural to assign him as my liaison, and we did a lot of fieldwork together." Furuya lifted a hand to rub his forehead, shoulders hunching a little tighter. "I was the one who took the assignment to infiltrate the Black Organization. Once I was inside, I asked to bring Hiro in after me." Furuya's hand banged down on his knee, and his voice turned stifled. "And then, up on that roof... It was my fault...!" Shuuichi straightened, eyes narrowing at the tight-wound strain in Furuya's voice. He'd said something similar, once, on the phone with his mother right after hearing about Akemi's death. She'd nearly reached through the phone to shake him by the scruff, and maybe now he knew why, if he'd sounded anything like this. "It was hardly your fault alone." Furuya laughed, ragged. "You were the one who told me to think about what he heard right before he pulled the trigger." Shuuichi frowned; yes, that was more than enough of that. He reached over to take Furuya's chin and force his head up again. "Three people made choices, that night, Furuya-kun," he told those startled blue eyes, "and we all made mistakes. I shouldn't have let go of the gun. You shouldn't have charged in without warning or scouting the situation. He shouldn't have been so quick to assume the worst and fire before even seeing who it was." Furuya started to shake his head, and Shuuichi tightened his grip. "I'm glad you don't think I drove him to his death, any more, but that doesn't mean you should take all of that guilt and pile it on yourself instead." "I don't... I'm not..." Furuya's voice was softer now, much less certain, and trailed off completely at the look Shuuichi gave him. "All right," he finally said, face a little red, eyes falling away from Shuuichi's. "Better." Shuuichi started to let go, but his attention was still snagging on something about Furuya's expression. It wasn't that dangerous bleakness, any more. In fact, now he was thinking about it, that flush looked less like embarrassment and more like... something else. Especially with the way Furuya's lips had parted when Shuuichi had grabbed his chin. That had been startlement, yes, but also... Well, now. Wasn't that interesting?

Rei was in so much trouble. He watched Akai's eyes flick over his cheeks, his mouth, his throat as he swallowed, and he could nearly read the words of the conclusion forming behind that look. So, so much trouble. And the thing was, Rei knew this about himself. He was careful about it! He hadn't had many senpai worth the name in his life; the ones who hadn't turned away from the halfblood had been scared off by his intelligence, the things he saw, his passion for the chase. So when an older student or agent had stepped up, once or twice, to try to guide him... well, Rei responded pretty intensely. He watched that, in the field, to make sure his little quirk wouldn't get him into trouble! And now he'd been blindsided by a stern talking-to from Akai Shuuichi of all people, whose brows were lifting just a little, whose thumb was sliding up to stroke gently over Rei's lower lip. Rei pulled in a quick gasp of breath, stumbling over just the man's name. "Akai... -san?" "I wouldn't mind," Akai murmured, fingers still curled around Rei's chin. "As long as you're sure." "I... it wouldn't be..." Smart, or sensible, or other reasonable things that he couldn't quite think of with the warmth of Akai's fingers against his skin. It had been so long since anyone had really touched him. And Akai... Akai was waiting for him calmly, eyes steady on his. Anything that reminds us we're alive is worth some risk. The words echoed back to him, and they rang so true. So painfully true he had to squeeze his eyes shut against it and try to breathe through it. They'd both risked love and lost it to the Black Organization. Rei understood very well some of the fire that drove Akai, and of all the people he might call on in this moment, of all his allies, old and new, permanent and temporary, Akai Shuuichi was the one who knew right down to the bone how this was driving Rei. And god but he had to find someone to confide in, to reach out to, before Vermouth started looking like a good option! He opened his eyes again, calm settling over his spinning thoughts, the familiar certainty of having found the right answer, and answered quietly, "I'm sure." Akai nodded, unsurprised. "Come here, then." His fingers tipped Rei's chin up as he leaned in, and Rei really couldn't help the way his breath caught. In the back of his mind, he was expecting a kiss between the two of them to be fierce, to be heated with the memory of how they'd stalked each other through this city. It wasn't, though. Akai's mouth on his was warm and slow, and Rei closed his eyes, leaning into the understanding that warmth told him of, more clearly than any words. Akai slid back to stretch out full-length on the bed, tugging Rei down against him. The steady slide of his hands up and down Rei's back eased away Rei's hesitance until he settled against the length of Akai's body and tucked his head into the curve of Akai's shoulder. "That's better," Akai murmured to him, and Rei felt his face heat again. He was never going to be able to listen to that husky voice turn low again without getting turned on, was he? For as long as they both survived, anyway. The thought made his fingers wind tighter in the dark cotton of Akai's shirt, and the corner of Akai's mouth quirked like he'd heard the words out loud. He slid his hand up to curl around the nape of Rei's neck. "Easy, Rei. I've got you."  The intimacy of his bare given name tugged a breathless sound out of Rei, sent him pressing closer. "Akai-san..." Akai turned his head and pressed a kiss to Rei's forehead. "Shhh. I'm not going anywhere." His lips curved against Rei's skin. "You should know that better than anyone." It wasn't desire that made Rei's face heat, this time, and he growled a little, thumping Akai on the shoulder when he laughed. "Easy, easy!" Akai gathered Rei closer and Rei let him, though not without one last glare. Akai smiled down at him, wry and warm. "We've both beaten the odds for years. We know how to keep doing it." He hesitated for a breath, but finally finished, "We will keep doing it; even after we're finished. Deal?" Rei froze, eyes widening. For one moment it was Hiro's face he saw, and the private smile they'd shared over agreements. No one else had ever had seen Rei clearly enough to put their finger on the risk that he'd spend his life to finish the last job they'd taken together. And maybe no one else had for Akai, yet, either. Rei swallowed hard and pressed close, ducking his head back down against Akai's shoulder, suddenly ashamed that he hadn't let himself see how alike the shape of their actions were, since the business with Miyano. It had been less than a year ago, hadn't it? And even still raw from that, Akai hadn't lashed back at the man trying to expose and kill him, had understood, had been amazingly gentle about fending him off, all things considered. Akai didn't press him now, either, just waited again, fingers sliding slowly through Rei's hair. "All right. It's a deal," he finally agreed, and added more fiercely, "You'd better keep it." Akai's arms tightened around him. "I will. After all," his voice lightened again, "I've found a number of things around here that make me think it might not be such a bad thing to keep going on." "Myself, and Conan, and what else?" Rei asked with a sly glance up at him. Akai's open laugh warmed him like another kiss and Rei pressed closer, holding tight to that warmth.
Two
Rei had thought it would take longer to get used to working with Akai Shuuichi, instead of against him at every opportunity. The handful of jobs they'd both been sent on, when they were both still in the Organization, had been tense and edgy even before Hiro's death, neither of them sure of the other, neither of them trusting the other with his back. Rei had thought, after three solid years of enmity, that working together would still be rough. But it wasn't. Three nights ago they'd sat on the roof across from the cafe and the Mouris, talking about a hacking attempt on the agency's records, plus both Ran and Conan's school records. They'd throw the thread of reasoning back and forth as smoothly as a shuttle to weave the profile of the hacker, until their eyes had met and neither of them had even needed to speak Bellini's code name out loud. Rei hadn't been too very surprised by the shared reasoning, after the number of Conan's cases they'd met over. But now... Now he barely needed to glance at his watch to know that Akai was in position, and it was just in time, just as Bellini was about to break through Rei's defense to Agasa's records. Rei was folding his tablet as the network icon blinked off, and he smiled, imagining the way Bellini was probably swearing. He stood, dusting off his jeans, and slipped in the fire-door without bothering to glance across the street at the next roof. The crack of quite a high-caliber handgun didn't make him start; he was expecting it. It did start the timer in his head, and he waited as seconds ticked away, as the door four floors down slammed open and hurried steps started upward, waited until he knew Akai had crossed the street to start down the stairs, letting his heels ring against the concrete.  "That complex has bulletproof glass on the windows," he'd said, three nights ago. "But only Level 3, at that age," Akai pointed out, eyes gleaming in the nighttime lights of the city. "She wouldn't have thought more was necessary. After allâ€”" "Gin prefers handguns," Rei finished. "Especially his 92. If you're going to make it across the road inconspicuously, to catch her at the bottom, though, you'll needâ€”" "Who do you think you're talking to again?" Akai asked with a smirk. "I can handle a .50." Rei excused himself for not knowing that, honestly. Akai had never shown just how much ability he had as a sharp-shooter, in the Organization. Understandably. To do so would have sent him straight to the snipers, and the Organization liked snipers who didn't ask questions, which meant they had a lot of crazy ones with little intelligence value. Of course, Gin didn't like anyone who asked questions, which undoubtedly led to both Bellini's precautions in her living space and the panic behind her hurried footsteps after getting one of her bulletproof windows shot out. The footsteps below hesitated. Rei took another heavy, measured step and smiled as Bellini reversed and made for the ground floor, clattering downwards and slamming out the back fire-door. Right into Akai. By the time Rei reached the ground himself, Akai had just finished zip-tying the unconscious woman's hands and ankles. He looked up, smile sharp, already reaching out a gloved hand. Rei bared his teeth in answer and handed over the printed note with Bellini's code name and affiliation, to tuck into her waistband. And, right on time, there were the sirens of the police who would have been called by someone after the gunshot earlier. Rei sprinted after Akai down the back alley. Around two corners, over a wall with two running steps and a vault that they made in perfect unison, slowly down a well-lit block like two friends out for a drink, quickly down another side-street, and they were safe in an alley with no connection to the first. Rei leaned back against the wall, laughing softly as the rush of triumph swept through him. Akai leaned beside him, breathing just as quick as he was, with a light in his eyes that made Rei think of the gleam on the edge of a sword. Rei knew that light, could feel it burning hot in his veins, and it was that feeling, that knowing, that made him reach out, slide his hands over Akai's shoulders, curl his fingers in the collar of Akai's jacket, and pull him down for a kiss. The way Akai's hands wrapped around his hips and pulled him closer told him that Akai recognized the same thing in him, and he laughed into Akai's mouth, hooking a leg around Akai's and grinding up against him. Yes, Akai was definitely feeling the same thing Rei was. "Akai-san?" he purred, sliding his hands down over Akai's chest. He could feel the vibration of Akai's silent chuckle. "Yes?" Rei smiled up at him, hot and wild. "Fuck me. Now." Akai surged a step forward, bearing Rei back against the wall of the alley, brick prickling along his shoulders. His voice was low and cool, though, and the contrast stroked a shiver up Rei's spine. "Are you sure? I don't have anything on me..." Rei snorted. "What kind of an agent are you? Isn't 'always prepared' the motto of one or another of you lot?" "I believe that's the Boy Scouts." Akai's voice was perfectly sober, at least until Rei fished a foil packet out of his jacket's inner pocked and slapped it against Akai's chest. He was laughing as he caught Rei's mouth again. Rei only waited until Akai took the packet before he reached down to undo both their pants, reaching into Akai's to stroke slow fingers down the already-hard length of him. Akai groaned, husky, against his ear. "Rei."  The sound of that smoky voice wrapped around his bare name slid through Rei, hot, and he hooked his thumbs into his own pants, pushing them down off his hips. "Akai-san, now." In three quick movements, Akai had the packet ripped open, a handful of slick stroked over his cock, and was sliding his hands under Rei's thighs to lift him. Rei approved completely, and wound his legs around Akai's waist, deliberately relaxing into his hands as soon as Akai's weight pushed him up against the bricks. Akai made an approving sound of his own, and finally Rei felt the blunt press of Akai's cock against his entrance, pushing into him hard and slow and steady. The fierce stretch of his muscles matched the edge this whole night had had in his senses, and Rei moaned, low and breathless, feeling his body open up for that that burn and slide. "Yes." "Ah." Akai's sound of understanding was huskier than usual, but when he pressed a kiss under Rei's ear, his lips were curved against Rei's skin. That was all right, though, because he also lifted Rei up a little higher and drove into him hard, which felt just perfect. Akai fucked him deep and sure, every stroke sinking in and driving him up against the rough brick, and the flood of hot sensation shook loose all the tension of the night and the days running up to it. It was sweet and wild in a way Rei hadn't felt in years, and it shouldn't have surprised him that he didn't last long, but the crest of pleasure still came as a shock. His voice echoed off the close walls as heat burst down his nerves and wrung him out around the hardness of Akai's cock inside him, and oh it had been too long since he'd had someone close enough to trust with these moments. Akai's groan, against his ear, told him Akai was still right with him, and it felt so good to know that that he was breathless with it. When they'd both stilled, they just stayed there for a moment, and Rei let the settling calm sink into him. Finally, though, Akai shifted back and eased Rei down to the ground. Rei winced a little as his muscles protested their rather abrupt workout; it had been worth it, though.  "Better?" Akai asked quietly, and Rei couldn't help his chuckle. "Much." He slid his hands over Akai's shoulders, thoughtfully. They did seem a bit lower. "And you?" Akai's smile was crooked in the shadows of the alley. "Not one of my usual coping methods, but I think I like it." And then he pulled a packet of tissues out of his jacket pocket and handed them over. "A bit messy, but very effective." It took a moment before Rei could stop laughing and clean up. He really should have known Akai would have exactly this sly sense of humor, after the go-around with the ambush at the Kudou house. At the time, he'd just been too blazingly furious to really consider it. He'd certainly never expected Akai to be openly protective, and he rolled his eyes a little as they moved toward the lights at the mouth of the alley and Akai's hand settled at the small of his back. "Akai-san..." "You know, after this evening, I think you can probably call me Shuuichi. Don't you?" Rei paused with a startled glance up at him. This certainly wasn't the first time they'd had sex. That wasn't what Akai had said, though, was it? The glittering clarity of their work that evening came back to him for a breath, and he remembered the weight of it in his mind, like his gun in his hand, of knowing where Akai was at every step of the way. A tiny shock ran through him with the thought that Akai... that Shuuichi might have felt the same thing. Rei swallowed and took a breath, feeling like all his attention was taken up by the warmth of the hand at his back. His voice was husky when he said, "Shuuichi-san." Shuuichi smiled, eyes warm for him. "Better." Out of everything that had happened, that night, that was the thing that made Rei's face heat, but he didn't shrug off the hand at the small of his back as Shuuichi guided him out of the alley.
Three
At the sound of five long strokes[1] rapped on the back door, Shuuichi marked his place in the book he was reading and switched off his voice-changer. They were rapped considerably harder than was really necessary, so he was expecting it when Rei stalked into the living room glaring fit to set something on fire. He'd been expecting that even before Rei tried to leave dents in the door with his code knock, to be honest. "Long day?" he asked, mildly, crossing his ankles and leaning back against the arm of the couch. "Kir is an absolute madwoman," Rei snapped, immediately starting to pace the room. "How she's lived this long, I don't know. She's taking ridiculous risks to eavesdrop on Vermouth, of all people, and remind me again why I should be risking my neck for a foreign operative?" "You diverted Vermouth for her," Shuuichi translated, and cocked his head at the blistering glare Rei gave him. If he was that annoyed... "You mentioned Conan to do it, hm?" Rei growled and paced another length of the room. "It's just about the only thing that's sure to turn her aside. The woman is obsessed! And if I can get her interfering with Rum, all the better." Shuuichi felt a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Rei was very good at what he did, and used that expressiveness of his to create just as impenetrable a mask as Shuuichi's own calm. But he never showed anger, as part of that. Anger was too revealing, for both of them. Rei would smile charmingly while he pulled the trigger.  He never showed open temper to anyone but Shuuichi, and the intimacy of that always settled warmth into places that had been cold for years and frozen hard for months.  On Rei's next pass by the couch, he reached out to catch Rei's wrist, returning Rei's irritated look with a calm, "Come here." He tugged until Rei huffed and let himself be pulled down to the couch to stretch out with Shuuichi. "Vermouth won't do anything to hurt Conan," he said quietly, running his fingers through the fine texture of Rei's hair. "I know that, that's why I did it." Rei still sounded snappish, but Shuuichi could feel the subtle tension in Rei's body easing. Sometimes, he knew very well, even they needed to hear a conclusion echoed by someone else. Who knew if he'd have been able to carry through the plan that had landed him on this very couch as Okiya Subaru without Kudou's fierce (if pint-sized) agreement and backing? And if he hadn't landed here, who knew if he'd have ever come so close to Rei, again, that he'd need to force the issue of what happened on the roof the night Morofushi had died? Thinking of that, he settled Rei closer against him. Rei promptly undid his effort by leaning up on an elbow to examine him, but softened against him almost immediately, settling close again. "I thought I was the one getting wound up, today," Rei murmured against his shoulder. "You are," Shuuichi told him, and chuckled silently when Rei thumped him on the other shoulder. "It was just a passing thought." It wasn't really a surprise when Rei said, quietly, "I'm not going anywhere." They knew each other's minds so well, after years of sparring in the shadows. He gathered Rei closer and pressed a kiss to his temple. "I know." The entire length of Rei's body unwound against him, at the quiet certainty in Shuuichi's voice, and Shuuichi smiled against his hair, settling back against the couch cushions. They knew each other's minds and responses so very well.
Four
"You're just incapable of not looking alarming, aren't you?" Rei smirked at the raised brow Shuuichi gave him.  He was teasing, but at the moment it was also true. In the middle of a club full of people dancing, drinking, laughing, shouting, Shuuichi was a silent, watching shadow. Plenty of people in here wore black, but Shuuichi wore it with a definite air of being working clothes rather than play clothes. That and an unsmiling expression seemed to be keeping everyone but Rei at arm's length, despite the crush. "Stop worrying about me," Shuuichi told him, putting his finger directly on why Rei was teasing, of course, which made Rei's smile turn sharper. "I don't dislike being here." Rei flicked a glance up and down Shuuichi's body, noting the way his weight was on his heels, and completed the sentence for him. "You just don't dance." Now it was Shuuichi's mouth that curved, sharp and pleased. "Mm." He plucked the drink from Rei's hand and set it down beside his own, supplying an iron-clad reason, for any watchers, why he was staying at the table. "Go have fun." Rei laughed out loud and turned for the dance floor. He loved the electric flow of thought and perception between them; there was nothing quite as much fun as that. He had come to dance, though, and that would be fun too. He was kind of overdue, actually. This was one of the reasons he'd lasted as long as he had in his current cover, after all. He was careful. Not just the way all agents were taught to be carefulâ€”with what they said and where they went and who they saw. But also careful to make room in every cover for something that the core of him loved. For music in some form. For crowds and sound and moving to a beat. For food he could make with his own hands. He might have gone out as Furuya Rei, tonight, but Amuro Tohru was also with him, and there was a wild laugh in the back of his head whenever Amuro remembered he was out with Akai Shuuichi at his side. It was a good night to dance. Aside from an absence of Organization interest, Rei had broad standards for acceptable clubs. This one had generally cheerful crowds, mostly palatable drinks, and actually quite a good DJ, so it he was marking it a success. It also had the usual share of cheerful groping out in the surge of moving bodies, but nothing he'd have to break anyone's fingers for yet, so he shook his head, laughing, at the most persistent young woman and gave himself up to the rhythm driving out of the tall speakers. It resonated in his chest, drove the sway of his hips and opened up the swing of his arms until he felt like he was breathing all the way down in his lungs again. He was drenched by the time he finally decided it was time for a drink and pushed his way back off the floor to the table Shuuichi was still holding down. He was entertained to see that, despite the crowd, no one was even looking suggestively at the empty stools on the far side of it. He broke out of the crowd and fetched up beside Shuuichi, catching up his now-acceptably-watery drink and finishing it in three long swallows. "Thanks for watching it," he teased, smirking up at Shuuichi, knowing that it was the people Shuuichi had undoubtedly spent most of his time watching. "Mm, it's an excellent evening for watching things, yes." Rei saw the gleam in his eyes, but was still startled when Shuuichi reached out, set his hand against Rei's back, and pulled him in close, so firmly Rei stumbled against him, hands spread against Shuuichi's chest to catch himself. "What...?" he started, laughing, only to lose it on a gasp as Shuuichi set a knuckle under his chin and tipped it up. "Shuuichi-san?" he asked, considerably more breathless than a moment ago. "I noticed quite a few people getting pretty familiar with you, out there." The gleam was definitely wicked amusement, Rei noted, despite considerable distraction. "Since you brought a scary-looking companion along, you might as well get the full benefit out of it."  Rei had just connected the dots when Shuuichi tipped his chin up a little further and kissed him, deep and slow and thorough, and Rei's inarticulate sound of maybe-protest-maybe-not slid into a breathless moan. His thoughts tangled between mischievous glee and a little honest shock at being so public. His senses overrode all of it for a long moment, though, with the lean, warm line of Shuuichi's body against his, the slide of Shuuichi's fingers into his hair to cradle his head, the heat of Shuuichi's mouth and the wet stroke of his tongue against Rei's. When Shuuichi finally drew back, smiling down at him, still with that wicked quirk at the corner of his mouth, it took Rei a second to pull words together. It came out a little husky when he said, "That wasn't necessary." "Probably not, but it was fun."  Rei couldn't help laughing at that deadpan delivery. "And is that why you still haven't let go, yet?" Which was making sure the flush of heat over his skin didn't go away; he could feel the eyes on them, from the surrounding tables and possibly even from the dance floor, watching how close Shuuichi was holding him. It hadn't taken him long at all to realize that Akai Shuuichi liked to tease, if he thought you could take it. "That too, certainly." Shuuichi's hand against his back spread wider, thumb sliding under the edge of Rei's shirt to stroke against bare skin, and the sensation pushed Rei up onto his toes against Shuuichi's body. "But I was also serious, Rei. If you don't enjoy something, there's no reason to tolerate it. Not here. Not right now." Rei closed his eyes and let out a shaky breath. He knew that Shuuichi had seen the hunger, in him, for a guiding voice. Shuuichi teased him about it enough, after all. But that was just it; Shuuichi teased him, let it be an inside joke between them. Except that, every now and then, he turned it real, and those moments shook Rei. "I wont, then," he agreed, softly.  Pressed up this close, he could feel Shuuichi's silent laugh. "Not now you won't, no." Rei reflected on the likely effect of having a tall, dark, dangerous looking boyfriend standing on the sidelines watching over him, after a display of apparent possessiveness like this, and had to laugh out loud. He pushed back, hands against Shuuichi's chest, teeth bared in the flashing lights of the club. "I'd better go take advantage of it, then, shouldn't I?" Shuuichi let him go easily, mouth curling up at one corner. "You should, yes."  Rei's own smile softened helplessly at that encouragement, the unspoken assurance of Shuuichi's support that ran under it. "I will, then." He would accept it. He would trust it, this alliance between them. Shuuichi nodded silently and held Rei's eyes until he spun to dive back into the crowd of dancers. All of whom suddenly minded their hands much more carefully. Rei stretched his arms up to the glare of spotlights above, whole body arching up on his toes, head tipped back as he laughed. Some people might think he was crazy for giving this much trust to the man he'd tried to kill for three years, but those years were exactly why he knew he could. The wonder of having an ally he would rely on lifted him up like the beat of the music, and he let it. This was a rhythm he could dance to. It felt amazing
Five
Shuuichi pressed closer up against his lover's back and nipped at Rei's nape, lips curving at the breathless sound Rei made. He loved Rei's contradictions. His precise reasoning and his impetuous actions. His sweet manners and his cutting ruthlessness. His fashion-conscious looks and his ability to fade out of people's attention. His iron will and his desire to be overruled. It had taken Shuuichi a while to be sure how deep that last one ran. He'd never really had that wish. For Shuuichi, the desire that lived deep in his heart was to have his judgement trusted by those he trusted and loved. For Rei, though, who seemed not to have had much support he could lean on for a very long time... well, he wanted some. Provided that support could prove itself to him. Given Rei himself, Shuuichi wasn't sure anyone besides Shuuichi himself would passâ€”an older agent who could match Rei's brilliance and skill, who knew exactly what it was to take dubious actions while fighting to keep hold of your soul. Shuuichi was possibly the only person in the country right now who Rei would trust to overrule him. This evening, Shuuichi was finally sure enough to that trust that he was prepared to act on it, further than just teasing. He leaned up on one elbow and tugged Rei over onto his back, smiling down at him. Rei was always lovely, but there was something more elemental about his beauty, like this, flushed and relaxed, skin nearly glowing against the white of the sheets. When he ran his fingers through Rei's hair, Rei tipped his head back, nearly purring with pleasure at the simple touch. "Yes," Shuuichi told him, softly. "Just like that." He leaned down and closed his mouth on Rei's neck, sucking firmly enough to mark. Rei arched up taut against him, hands closing hard on Shuuichi's shoulders. "Shuuichi-san...!" He sounded shocked, and Shuuichi wasn't surprised; they'd been careful not to mark each other anywhere that would show, until now. "Hush, Rei," he said, quiet but firm, satisfied at the shiver that ran through Rei. Shuuichi stroked his tongue over the mark and Rei pressed against him harder, breath coming short. "Shuuichi-san..." Rei's voice was a little uneven, now, and Shuuichi wound an arm around him, cradling him close. "Hush, I said." When Rei did finally hush, he brushed a soft kiss over Rei's lips. "What's the point of having learned excellent disguise skills if they can't hide a love-bite or two?" Rei was staring up at him, eyes wide at the suggestion that Shuuichi would use those skills for something like this, and it took him a moment to whisper, "Oh." Shuuichi smiled and caught Rei's chin, feeling the pulse against his thumb speed up. "Easy, Rei. I have you." It was what he'd told Rei that very first night, and he could feel the memory easing the tension in Rei's body even as Rei's breath came faster. When Shuuichi kissed him again, deeper this time, Rei moaned softly into his mouth, and Shuuichi made a satisfied sound. "That's good."

Rei shuddered as Shuuichi's mouth moved down his throat again, heat curling low in his stomach. He'd known Shuuichi understood, but he hadn't expected him to take that understanding this far. Which had been, he was realizing, very foolish of him. Akai Shuuichi had never been a man who did things half-heartedly. Re's heart was still beating fast from the jolt of his response to Shuuichi hushing him so firmly, and when Shuuichi's teeth closed, hard enough to mark his skin again, Rei nearly came right there and then, hips bucking up sharply against Shuuichi. The sound Shuuichi made could only be called a purr, and it stroked down Rei's spine like a finger. The wet heat of Shuuichi's mouth slid down to his chest, scattering slow kisses down his body, and Rei's eyes widened as Shuuichi's hands stroked down his thighs, caressing and sure, and spread them wide for Shuuichi to settle between them. "Shuuichi-san..." Those sharp, green eyes flicked up to meet his, and Shuuichi smiled, a slow curl of lips that made Rei shiver. And then Shuuichi's hands closed around Rei's hips, pinning him firmly in place against the bed. Heat surged through him before Shuuichi's mouth even touched his cock, and when slick, wet heat did wrap around him, Rei lost any hope of coherent thought and groaned out loud. Shuuichi's mouth moved over him, slow and deliberate, and Shuuichi's hands held him still for it however Rei pulled against his grip as pleasure stroked down every nerve. It felt so good. So good to be safe in hands he trusted. To know he could, for just a little while, relax and know someone else would do the worrying. That was the feeling that undid him in the end, shaking him apart in a wild burst of pleasure that Shuuichi held him steady through. When he'd recovered enough of his scattered thoughts to put one next to another again, Shuuichi had settled beside him and gathered him up close. Rei lifted his head from Shuuichi's shoulder to look up at his lover, still a little stunned. "Shuuichi-sanâ€”" he broke off with a tiny gasp as Shuuichi pressed a finger to his lips. Even completely wrung out, that still sent heat curling through him. "You're the one who's still under as one of the Organization, without the support you must have counted on when you first took the assignment," Shuuichi said quietly, holding Rei's eyes. "You deserve this. You deserve everything I can do for you, Rei." Rei sucked in a hard breath, arms tightening hard around Shuuichi. He'd never had anyone actually say that to him, and he had to blink back water in his eyes with the enormity of it. "Shh," Shuuichi told him, pressing Rei's head back down to his shoulder, and Rei made a small sound of agreement, curling close.

Shuuichi cuddled Rei close, one hand sliding up and down his back, soothing him. Slowly, the faint hitch in Rei's breath evened out and the fierce tightness of his arms around Shuuichi's ribs relaxed a little. It seemed, he reflected a bit ruefully, that he was doomed to lovers who didn't say anything was wrong until they were nearly breaking. Admittedly, he knew he hadn't been much better, himself, for some time. Jodie had had enough to say on that subject that he was aware of how he'd been slipping. He just hadn't been able to stop. He'd been heading for a crash, had even started to see the shadow of the wall ahead of him. Until a pint-sized detective had looked up at him with a gleam in his eyes, confident that they were thinking the same outrageous thing, and proposed a way to make it work. And just like that, his life had opened up again, had filled with the Kudous, with Agasa and the children, with whole divisions of the Tokyo police. With Shiho, not dead after all, not yet beyond reach of his promise to Akemi. With Furuya Rei, the last one he'd expected to settle this deep into his heart. Shuuichi rested his cheek against Rei's hair, smiling small and crooked. One of these days, he'd have to find a way to thank the boy. Rei stirred and lifted his head to eye Shuuichi a bit suspiciously. "You're laughing. I can feel it. What's so funny?" Imagining Kudou's face if Shuuichi ever specified exactly what he was thanking Kudou for, Shuuichi couldn't help chuckling out loud. "Just thinking about how surprising our lives have gotten." Rei snorted. "Of course you think that's amusing. You have the worst hobbies." He was smiling as he snuggled close again, though, and Shuuichi's own smile softened. He didn't like a lot of how they'd gotten here, but this... this was good. This was something he'd hold on to. End

1. International Morse code for 0 is five dashes. back

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."

The Advance of the Mountain Wind - Two

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, Porn, I-4

They paused in the hallway between their apartments, staring at each other in silence for a long moment. Yunlan would deny to his dying breath (and beyond, obviously) that he ever had or ever would feel anything in shouting distance of â€˜bashfulâ€™, but he did have to admit to a sudden moment of regret that heâ€™d never gotten at lot of practice at taking a date home. Or being taken home, for that matter, except that Shen Wei didnâ€™t seem to be doing any taking anywhere, either, and was just...

...just standing there, quite still. Watching him.

Yunlan laughed a little, feeling the sneaking tension in his shoulders let go all at once. He knew that look. Knew the stillness of xiao-Wei restraining himself. More than that, he knew the heat shuttered behind that waiting gaze.

â€œSo.â€ Yunlan scrubbed a hand through his hair, glancing around the empty hallway for inspiration before he finally gave up and swept his arm toward his own door, inviting. â€œCome in?â€

The waiting in Shen Weiâ€™s gaze melted into intent heat, and he smiled, slow. â€œYes.â€

â€œRight. Yes.â€ Yunlan turned to open the door, and the light pressure of Shen Weiâ€™s hand settling at the small of his back nearly made him trip over his own threshold.

The path from his door to the bed had never seemed quite so full of obstructions, even if they only consisted of some scattered shoes and a bit of a corner.

â€œYunlan.â€

The sound of his bare given name, rolled over Shen Weiâ€™s tongue like he was tasting it, made Yunlanâ€™s breath shudder in his lungs. â€œYeah?â€ he managed, almost his nonchalant self.

Shen Weiâ€™s hands slid over his shoulders, turning him to see that Shen Weiâ€™s smile had softened. â€œLet me?â€

Old, deep certainty washed over Yunlan again. This was the one he could always trust, beyond sense or reason, beyond question or doubt. His smile was easy with that certainty, if tilted with the newness of the oldness. â€œYeah.â€

Shen Weiâ€™s hands closed around his face, careful, tender, as though Yunlan was the most precious thing heâ€™d ever held, and it was so very easy to relax into them, to reach out and settle his hands on xiao-Weiâ€™s waist, and open his mouth for the soft, cool lips sliding over his.

One slow, careful kiss after another, Shen Weiâ€™s tongue stroked deeper and deeper into his mouth, until Yunlanâ€™s breath was coming fast and short and his fingers dug into Shen Weiâ€™s hips, pulling him closer. Urgency coiled tighter and tighter in his belly, and finally spilled over into words.

â€œAll right, can...â€ Another kiss. â€œCan we just...â€ Another, and this time he felt the curve of Shen Weiâ€™s lips against his. â€œXiao-Wei...!â€ His laughter was what finally broke them apart, though the quiet mischief dancing in xiao-Weiâ€™s eyes made Yunlan lean their foreheads together as he caught his breath. â€œBed?â€

â€œIâ€™d like that.â€ Shen Weiâ€™s hands slid over his shoulders and down his arms to catch his hands, and Shen Wei backed up without so much as looking over his shoulder, drawing Yunlan toward the bed. That amount of attention focused on him made his breath quicken again. And Shen Wei himself...

Yunlan had always thought Shen Wei was beautiful. He had eyes, after all. But it was amazing what you could get used to when it walked beside you day after day, stuffed breakfast into your hand way too early in the morning, and silently petitioned the heavens for patience over your unfolded clothes. Now it was leaping out at him all over againâ€”the economy of Shen Weiâ€™s movement as he shrugged out of his unbuttoned shirt, the fullness of his lips as he smiled, the careful strength of long fingers wrapping around the back of Yunlanâ€™s neck and tugging him down to another kiss. When Shen Wei pushed Yunlan down to sit on the edge of the bed and knelt to tug his boots off, the grace of it stole Yunlanâ€™s breath. Seeing Shen Wei smile up at him under his lashes nearly distracted Yunlan from the fact that Shen Wei was undoing his jeans.

It wasnâ€™t awkward at all to lie back, to stretch out on the rumpled sheets, and feel the weight of xiao-Weiâ€™s eyes on him, and Yunlan had another moment of disorientation at how not-strange this felt. It blew away like milkweed down, though, when Shen Wei prowled up onto the bed to settle against him.

Part of him expected the cool of xiao-Weiâ€™s skin against his, and all of him positively purred at how good it felt. â€œXiao-Wei,â€ he murmured, sliding his hands up the sleek line of Shen Weiâ€™s bare back, the way heâ€™d really, really wanted to that one time Shen Wei had volunteered to have baseline energy readings taken. He could feel Shen Wei shiver under his palms.

â€œYou keep calling me that.â€ Shen Wei didnâ€™t sound upset, but he did sounds a bit wistful. Yunlan smiled, wry.

â€œDonâ€™t think I could call you anything else, when weâ€™re like this. It just... itâ€™s the name thatâ€™s there.â€ More slowly, sorting the urge out in his own head, â€œItâ€™s my name, for you.â€

Xiao-Wei kissed him again, at that, swift but so tender it made Yunlanâ€™s chest tight. â€œYes,â€ he agreed, against Yunlanâ€™s mouth. Yunlan wound himself tighter around xiao-Wei, breathless with the simple amazement that this was really his.

And then a lot more breathless with the way xiao-Weiâ€™s hands slid down his body, open and openly possessive, and maybe he should have expected the jolt of heat that sent through him but he really hadnâ€™t. â€œI can tell you again, now,â€ xiao-Wei murmured against his throat. â€œYou are the heart of me. Whatever life Iâ€™ve had, all this time, is because you stopped and smiled that very first day, so long ago. I have always treasured you.â€ With every word, the heat in Yunlan sank deeper, softened, filled him with a warmth and sweetness that he thought might undo him all by itself. That old-new familiarity ran under it, but twined through the familiarity was wonder. Yunlan had to close his eyes and just breathe, holding tight to xiao-Wei, when he realized this must always have been a wonder to him, to have xiao-Weiâ€™s love and care.

â€œThe more things change, the more they stay the same.â€ He meant it to come out light, but his voice caught and cracked on the words. Xiao-Weiâ€™s hand cupped his cheek, cool and gentle, and Yunlan opened his eyes to see xiao-Wei smiling down at him, eyes bright with laughter and soft with understanding.

â€œYes.â€

And then xiao-Weiâ€™s smile widened and Yunlan braced himself on pure reflex, both old and current. â€œPerhaps we should test that a bit, though,â€ xiao-Wei murmured. His hand slid down from Yunlanâ€™s cheek, trailed across his chest and down his stomach, and Yunlan barely had time for his eyes to stretch wide with realization before long fingers wrapped around his cock. The chill of xiao-Weiâ€™s touch against heated skin felt incredible.

â€œXiao-Wei... oh fuck...â€ Yunlanâ€™s hips rocked up into xiao-Weiâ€™s hold, and he shuddered with the heavy curl of pleasure up his spine. â€œOhhh fuck.â€

Pressed this close, he could feel that xiao-Wei was laughing. â€œWell, I see thereâ€™s no change there.â€ Yunlan made an inarticulate sound and reached up to pull xiao-Wei down to another kiss, deep and wet and wanting. Xiao-Wei gathered him closer, touch gentling. "Yes," he murmured. Yunlan wasnâ€™t at all surprised when xiao-Wei reached unerringly for the bottle tucked under the bedside table, and those cool, deft fingers were slick when they closed around him again. Yunlan groaned, hands working against xiao-Weiâ€™s shoulders as pleasure coiled low in his stomach, hot and slow. It felt so simple, so stunningly easy, to let his senses take him, to just move with xiao-Weiâ€™s hands on him as the heat wound tighter and tighter, and finally broke like a storm, shaking him apart until he was gasping for breath, holding tight to xiao-Wei against the intensity of it.

And xiao-Wei held him secure through all of it.

In fact, when Yunlanâ€™s thoughts started fitting sensibly together, again, he realized that xiao-Wei was just holding him, fingers sliding through his hair, slow and soothing. â€œSo, um.â€ Yunlan cleared his throat and glanced up, â€œwere you...?â€ He trailed off completely when he saw the warm satisfaction in xiao-Weiâ€™s smile.

â€œLater,â€ xiao-Wei said, simply.

The familiarity of that care rang through Yunlan like his heart was a struck bell, sweet and certain and so overwhelming to him now that he could barely breathe, only catch Shen Wei close and hold on. This. This was the one who would always care, would never leave, who had proved his trust over and over again.

It took a while for Yunlanâ€™s breath to come evenly again.

As he quieted, though, the unquestioning steadiness of xiao-Weiâ€™s arms around him connected one thought to another, and Yunlan stared up at the ceiling, past Shen Weiâ€™s shoulder. â€œIt must have hurt you so much,â€ he whispered, â€œwhen I didnâ€™t know you. Didnâ€™t remember you.â€

Xiao-Wei went utterly still, against him, for one heartbeat, another, and then stirred with a tiny shrug. After the past year, Yunlan was ready for that, though. â€œAh-ah! Donâ€™t try to deny it.â€

A tiny snort answered him, but at least xiao-Wei's body stopped shifting toward dismissal. Xiao-Wei was quiet for a moment. â€œI could hardly blame you for not remembering when I was the one who took Shen Nongâ€™s bargain without consulting you.â€

â€œOf course not,â€ Yunlan agreed, waiting for xiao-Weiâ€™s shoulders to settle, under his hands. â€œBut that doesnâ€™t mean it didnâ€™t hurt.â€ He felt the tiny, instantly stifled flinch, too, and sighed, rubbing a hand slowly up and down xiao-Weiâ€™s back. â€œIâ€™m sorry.â€

â€œDonâ€™t apologize,â€ Shen Wei snapped, pushing up on an elbow to glower at him. Yunlan smiled and touched a finger to xiao-Weiâ€™s lips.

â€œIâ€™m not apologizing. Iâ€™m just saying that Iâ€™m sorry you had that pain.â€ As heâ€™d grown to expect, and felt heâ€™d probably learned to expect a long time ago, xiao-Wei didnâ€™t contradict his insistence, only made an irritated sound and dropped back down against his shoulder. Yunlan smiled wider and snuggled up until xiao-Wei relaxed and curled around him again. Yunlan let his eyes drift closed, satisfied.

Even without prior (current) experience, he felt like he was getting a pretty good handle on how to do this relationship thing.

Knocking woke Yunlan up, and it took him a moment to figure out why, when he turned over to bury his head in the pillows, he wound up pressed tight against another body instead. "Ngh?" he asked, squinting at the expanse of chest in front of his nose.

"Do you want me to answer the door to your apartment?" Shen Wei asked, sounding both amused and far too awake.

Imagining the response of any of his team to that, Yunlan winced and pushed up onto his elbows. "I'm awake, I'm awake."

"Hmm." A cool hand settled on Yunlan's cheek and suddenly he was being kissed, slow and thorough. A curl of heat licked through him, in answer, and his hand reached up to thread through xiao-Wei's hair. The ease of it, the knowledge that this was his and he could reach out for it any time, for any reason, left Yunlan more breathless than the kiss. When xiao-Wei drew back, Yunlan stayed leaning over him for a long moment, stunned all over again.

"I'm awake," he finally said, soft and wondering.

Shen Wei smiled up at him, small and bright, and so perfectly content Yunlan's heart ached. "Then go answer the door."

Another knock underscored the point, and Yunlan crawled out of bed and into some clothes, since whoever it was obviously wasn't going away. When he opened the door, though, he had one moment of wondering whether he really was awake or not, because he came face to face with himself. But no, heâ€™d seen this, hadnâ€™t he, while holding fast to the gateway into the Lamp? Zhang Shi had done as he'd promised and taken Yunlan's place.

"Well." Yunlan ran a hand through his hair and stood aside. "This is going to be awkward."

"That depends." Zhang Shi pushed a large cardboard box with 'Shen - clothes' written on it inside and shouldered past him to dump an entire backpack full of files on the table. "If you want to avoid the hero worship and bureaucracy that's trying to swallow the Division, you could always start running now. Otherwise," he gestured to the files, "get reading on the past year's cases and new personnel, and I'll try to catch you up. Your cat informed me of things last night, so I came prepared."

"You know, I get the impression that you might just tackle me and drag me back to the paperwork if I tried to run." Yunlan flopped down on the couch and eyed the stack of binders; it didn't actually look that bad, for a year's worth.

Zhang Shi interrupted his calculations of how fast he could get through this to lean over him and jab a finger into his chest. "When I thought you were dead, that was one thing. Now I know you're not, you had better not ever make me accept an award in your place again."

The face might be Yunlan's, but that glower was one he'd seen more than once on his father's face, always after he'd done something that was maybe a little more reckless than it should have been. Just a little. Yunlan patted his other dad's hand, smiling. "Don't worry. We won't let it happen again."

Plates clinked very distinctly as Shen Wei set breakfast down beside the files. "We most certainly will not."

"Now, why does that sound more like a threat than a promise?" Yunlan asked, lightly.

Shen Wei gave him a dark look. "I had things under control, with Ye Zun. There was no need for you to come rushing in when you were still a human. He could easily have killed you by accident. He nearly did."

Yunlan knew exactly where xiao-Wei's sudden anger was coming from, because he could feel it leaping up in his own heart. Now they had time for it, and a reminder of it, his blood was abruptly boiling with the fear and pain of watching Shen Wei take the blow meant for him and fall, limp as a broken doll. "Your entire 'plan' consisted of sacrificing your life to force-feed Ye Zun an incompatible energy," he snapped, "and do you want to talk about the part where that means you had to be poisoning yourself to set it up?"

Shen Wei's hands flinched into fists and he jerked his chin aside, breaking Yunlan's gaze to look past him. Yunlan made an inarticulate sound of frustration, and threw himself onto his feet to pace a few lengths of the room before he started wanting to throw something else.

"If I may interrupt..."

It was his own voice, but his father's tone through and through, and Yunlan buried his face in his hand, biting back a groan. He'd just had a fight with his lover in front of his demi-dad. The morning couldn't get any better. "Sure, feel free," he muttered into his palm.

"My Lord Envoy," Zhang Shi said, very formal, and sounding less and less like Yunlan, which was a relief, "may I ask your assurance that you are well, now?"

Yunlan could hear the deep breath that Shen Wei took to make his voice quiet again. "You may. And I am well, now, though it may take a little time to be sure of the other effects."

Yunlan spun around sharply at that. "Other effects?"

Shen Wei gave him a tight-lipped glance. "You shared a spark of your soul with me, created a soul in me where there never was one, and that's in addition to the part of your nature you shared with me ten millennia ago. I'm not even sure what I am, now."

Cold fear washed over Yunlan, though he felt it break against an old, deep certainty, and he took a step back toward xiao-Wei. "It couldn't hurt you, though, right?" He pressed a hand to his chest, as if he could take hold of that certainty. "That's right, isn't it?"

The hard line of Shen Wei's shoulders softened at once, and he reached out to wrap a hand around Yunlan's arm. "Yes, that's right. If there were going to be problems, it would have been obvious immediately." He hesitated for a long moment and finally sighed, his giving-in sigh, and Yunlan couldn't help a tiny grin when he realized he could recognize the sound. Xiao-Wei snorted at him and pushed him back over to the couch, settling beside him. At xiao-Wei's wave of permission, Zhang Shi nudged plates of dumplings and fruit aside and sat on the table.

"I am well," xiao-Wei started, firmly, "but between what I did and what you did, it's very likely that my entire nature has been changed. When I realized the kind of disruption the Dial had caused in my being, it was just when I'd become sure that my brother was breaking free. I'd been considering asking the sacred tree to release our bargain and reclaiming the Guardian token already, because a significant part of my power was bound up in creating it. If I'd been able to reclaim that power, to reconvert it into my own, I could have faced Ye Zun evenly, though it would have meant all restraints on the power of my people in this realm would be removed. It seemed like a reasonable risk, if it meant I could stop Ye Zun early enough. But once I was injured, my chances of containing Ye Zun again went down considerably. That was when it occurred to me that if I absorbed the token's power without reclaiming or reconverting it, especially if I could displace enough of my own power to keep the conflict of energies from being apparent, it would be very easy to bait my brother into consuming it."

The shock on Zhang Shi's face was, if anything, even greater than Yunlan's. "If the Guardian charge was a bargain with the sacred tree... that's a heavenly power, you would have had to reduce your strength to almost nothing!"

"As I said," Shen Wei answered, terrifyingly level. "Very easy."

After a long moment, Zhang Shi bowed his head to Shen Wei. "Noble Lord," he said, softly, more formal than ever.

"Stop encouraging him!" Yunlan snapped. "That was not a reasonable risk!"

Xiao-Wei raised his brows and gave Yunlan a very pointed, sidelong look. "So, it's reasonable when you do it, but not when I do it?"

"Don't tell me you don't think exactly the same thing." They eyed each other for a long moment before the essential ridiculousness of their mutual insistence caught up with Yunlan and he had to stifle the snort of laughter that was trying to escape. When he spotted the twitch at the corner of xiao-Wei's mouth, he lost it, and the two of them leaned together, laughing low and helpless for a long moment.

"At any rate," xiao-Wei finally said, adjusting his glasses for composure just like a cat resettling its fur, "the half of my nature that has always been ghost was considerably weakened, in part replaced with the token's power, which was half mine and half the sacred tree's, and then on top of that the same one who gifted me with a god's nature added soul fire." He spread his hands. "I have no idea, yet, what all that became in the process of regaining matter on our way out of the Lamp."

"A god," Yunlan said, quietly, words that came whole and certain from that deep sense of memory inside him, now. "A god of ghosts. I think... I think that was what I always meant and hoped for."

The sound xiao-Wei made was wordless, as soft and amazed as his eyes had gone.

"That's quite the courting gift," Zhang Shi murmured, sounding both impressed and paternally amused.

A choked laugh escaped xiao-Wei, and he added, "Better than antique books." Yunlan gave serious consideration to sinking through the couch in embarrassment, at least until xiao-Wei leaned into his side again with a tiny, warm smile.

"Well." Yunlan scrubbed a hand through his hair. "Maybe the first order of Division business is actually some test-runs to find out what you can do now, and how."

"After breakfast," xiao-Wei specified firmly.

"Right, fine, breakfast." Yunlan agreed peaceably, raising his hands. He didn't so much as glance at Zhang Shi. He could feel the doting-dad vibes from here, which would be too bizarre to see on his own face. "Also, we need to get Zhang Shi a new identity."

"I called Dr. Cheng this morning." Zhang Shi sounded relieved. "She knew of a good prospect at once."

"Cheng Xinyan has great integrity," xiao-Wei commented mildly, between small bites of orange. "I trust her judgement. A candidate sheâ€™s chosen will be acceptable, but to stay here you will need to re-join one of the law enforcement departments. Not," he added a bit dryly, "the Supervisory Bureau." Yunlan had actually forgotten, for a moment, that Zhang Shi would need the Envoy's approval to continue living in this realm. His other dad was his lover's subject and quite possibly about to be his employee.

It was a good thing he'd never much wanted a normal life.

The Advance of the Mountain Wind - Three

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, Porn, I-4

The three of them snuck out of Yunalnâ€™s own apartment and into his car as carefully as if they were smuggling a body, which he had to admit amused him. After all, in a way they were. It was Shen Weiâ€™s directions they followed, though, through the city and skirting around the edge of Yashou territory to one of the parks near the University. Shen Wei led them through the trees, keeping out of human or mechanical sight with an unthinking ease that made Yunlan mark this place in his mind as one xiao-Wei considered his own. Through a tunnel of concrete and twining vines and past a round brick plaza, they came to a concrete fountain, a low burble of water from a square, tiered base.

â€œHere.â€

Shen Weiâ€™s voice was tight and controlled, the voice that Yunlan had heard often from the Envoy, at the start of their acquaintance. Hearing it now locked Yunlanâ€™s attention like a chain wrapped around it, and he stepped up quickly to lay a hand on xiao-Weiâ€™s shoulder. Sure enough, it was straight and hard and still under his hand.

â€œHey,â€ he said, softly, just between the two of them. â€œQuit worrying. Whatever came of the change in you, weâ€™ll deal with it.â€

Xiao-Wei released a breath, shoulder easing just a little bit. â€œAll right. Step back, though. Just in case,â€ he added, glancing over to see Yunlanâ€™s brows going up. Yunlan scoffed, but took a couple steps back, arms spread.

â€œGood enough?â€

â€œI suppose weâ€™ll see.â€ Before Yunlan could try again to ease that sharp tension in him, Shen Wei closed his eyes and lifted a hand. Slowly, far more slowly than the flash and burst of power Yunlan was used to seeing, a glow built.

Heâ€™d gotten used to the colors of Shen Weiâ€™s power, the flowing black threaded with deep blue. More than just familiar, now, the memory of it alone made him smile, called up echoes of playfulness and peace from deep inside him. The familiar colors were still there, in what grew and flowed between xiao-Weiâ€™s hands, but now it was the blue that predominated, like a cloud of evening sky drawn into daylight.

Shen Wei wavered on his feet, as if heâ€™d stumbled without taking a step, and his eyes snapped open, wide and startled. Yunlan started forward to catch him with a hand under his arm, and marked the depth of xiao-Weiâ€™s shock by the complete lack of any warning to stay back. â€œXiao-Wei?â€

â€œThereâ€™s no... Iâ€™m not...â€ Xiao-Wei swallowed and took a deep breath, hands steadying around his own power as he found his balance again. â€œI think you were right. Before now, my power drew somewhat through my own life but mostly through the lives around me. Now... now itâ€™s entirely through my own life, my own place within this world.â€ The next breath he took shook a little, and his voice turned softer. â€œMy own soul.â€ Yunlan could feel all the remaining tension bleeding away as xiao-Wei straightened, reaching out with both hands to direct the flow of his power toward the fountain.

The shifting blue of it flowed across the water, around it, and the water rose in answer, sparkling up through the air to form thin bubbles, leaf shapes, even a snowflake or two out of running water. Yunlan had seen Shen Wei fight and heal, entrance and command, but heâ€™d never seen such delicate shaping as thisâ€”though that deep echo inside him felt like it had. Had even seen xiao-Wei play with his strength, perhapsâ€”had coaxed or maneuvered him into it, most likely. Predictably, xiao-Wei looked entirely serious the whole time, as if this little whimsy was nothing but a functional test of control. Someone, at some point, must have convinced him that it was an appropriate test, though, and Yunlan was pretty sure that someone had been him. He gave his past self an approving internal nod.

Eventually, xiao-Wei let his power fade back into the air and his skin, flexing his fingers. â€œIt will take a little getting used to, having that much to work with again,â€ he murmured, and then frowned. â€œZhang Shi. In the past year, has there been any deterioration in the Division staff who come into contact with lao-Chu Shuzhi?â€

â€œThat would be xiao-Guo, and no one else,â€ Zhang Shi noted, a bit dryly. â€œNo. Though if youâ€™re right about what xiao-Guo's becoming, there wouldnâ€™t be. They haven't taken harm from me, either, though, even without a host to absorb my power. And there havenâ€™t been any reports of strange wasting deaths at all. I did start looking for them when I recognized the unbinding of my own power.â€

"Possibly just luck, so far," Shen Wei murmured. "We'll have to keep an eye on that."

Yunlanâ€™s mind flickered through the connectionsâ€”unbinding, old legends of ghosts eating life, the one thing Shen Wei had said he had taken into himself. â€œThe Guardian Treaty or whatever was a literal binding on all Dixingren?â€ When Shen Wei and Zhang Shi both nodded, he prodded at the echo-memories, but couldnâ€™t make head or tail of the tangle of ruefulness and hope and grief he got out of them. â€œHow does that work?â€

"I am the ghosts' ruler," Shen Wei said quietly, not looking at either of them. "The strongest among them, and the most feared."

"Not only feared," Zhang Shi interjected, but softly, as if he wasn't sure it would be allowed.

Shen Wei shrugged, a faint motion under his jacket, as if he could barely be bothered to make the gesture. "Whether it's for fear or loyalty, greed or love, the one who's the focus of a whole people can affect all of them."

"So," Yunlan summed up, "you're saying that you've been sacrificing your power and safety for thousands of years, to keep humanity safe, and that now, having sacrificed your actual life, you're worried you haven't done enough." He shook his head, smile tilting crookedly, and reached up to rest a hand on xiao-Wei's cheek, turning him to look at Yunlan. "You know, I'm not even surprised, any more?"

Xiao-Wei's eyes were wide again. "I—"

"Ah!" Yunlan stroked his thumb along the sharp line of xiao-Wei's cheekbone. "I dare you to say that's not what you're doing."

Xiao-Wei huffed softly, turning his head a little into Yunlan's hand as he looked away. "You are ridiculous."

Yunlan smiled. "Sometimes, I've been told." And now it was probably time to move along, because he could just feel Zhang Shi paternally doting on them again. "So! Do we have to visit the hospital next?"

Dr. Cheng didnâ€™t even blink to see two of him, just shook her head with an expression that suggested she was resigned to the SIDâ€™s nonsense.

â€œThis way.â€ She led them back through some utility corridors. â€œThe patientâ€™s name was Li Huiliang. Her husband and son were both killed in the fighting, a year ago, and the shock wasnâ€™t good for her mind or her heart. Sheâ€™s been in and out of the hospital often, since then.â€ She brought them back into one of the regular corridors and paused in front of a closed door, head bowed. â€œLast night was the final time. She just... slipped away, this morning. I was about to report it when you called.â€

â€œI give you my word, Dr. Cheng,â€ Zhang Shi said soberly, in what Yunlan had long mentally labeled as his fatherâ€™s â€˜responsible officialâ€™ tone, â€œI will honor this gift, and keep her place in the world.â€

Dr. Cheng turned with such a steely look in her eye that Yunlan straightened up on pure reflex. â€œYou will invite me to her memorial.â€ It wasnâ€™t a question; it was an order. Yunlan suddenly found it a lot more understandable than he had, that this woman was Shen Weiâ€™s friend.

â€œIâ€™ll make the arrangements today, Doctor.â€ It would have to be private, of course, but she was quite rightâ€”it was the least they could and should do. Dr. Cheng nodded firm acceptance and opened the door.

Li Huiliang had been an older woman, hair just starting to gray in streaks here and there. There were lines of stress around her mouth, even now with all muscles slackened in death. Yunlan watched quietly as Zhang Shi stood beside the hospital bed for a moment, one hand resting gently on hers where theyâ€™d been folded over her stomach. When he stirred, though, Yunlan had to ask, â€œSo, how are we doing this? Thereâ€™s about to be an unexplained body, isnâ€™t there, since you werenâ€™t sharing mine?â€

Dr. Cheng made the face of someone who wished she were a bit less capable, right this moment. â€œI suppose I can arrange something, as long as you can make sure the documentation matches outside the hospital...â€

â€œActually,â€ Zhang Shi hesitated, glancing between Shen Wei and Yunlan. Finally, he spoke to the air between them. â€œIt takes a great deal of energy, to inhabit a body thatâ€™s died. Iâ€™d planned to ask the Envoyâ€™s help, but it might be... cleanest to use whatâ€™s bound up in this form.â€ He spread a hand over his (Yunlanâ€™s) chest.

Shen Wei stilled for a breath, but it eased away as soon as he looked over at Yunlan. Yunlan spread his hands and shrugged. â€œItâ€™ll be a little strange,â€ he answered the question in xiao-Weiâ€™s eyes, â€œbut honestly it was already a little strange, when I feel like all of me is right here,â€ he waved at his current body. â€œI say go for it.â€

Xiao-Wei nodded slowly and turned back to stand beside Zhang Shi, one hand on his shoulder. One slow breath, and the night-blue flow of his power rose around them. â€œBegin,â€ he ordered, quietly.

A darker something flashed between Zhang Shi and Li Huiliangâ€™s body, and Yunlan pushed back the shiver that wanted to walk up his spine, watching his own body (as was) just... dissolve into that blue, ribbon away in streamers like blowing dust. It reminded him sharply of what heâ€™d seen Ye Zun do, of the fact that Ye Zun and Shen Wei had been twinsâ€”the most powerful among their kindâ€”and that when it had come to a contest between them, Ye Zun had lost. Twice. Part of him was wary of that kind of power, while part of him, especially the deep echos of his past self, was just mildly pleased and approving and blasÃ©. The clash felt like it should be giving him a headache, even though it wasn't.

All right, and a little part of him was turned on by how effortlessly Shen Wei wielded that power, but he was ignoring that right now. That was for later.

As the last of â€˜himâ€™ faded away, the body on the bed drew a slow breath, healthy color flushing her cheeks and hands. Dr. Cheng, standing beside Yunlan, let out a breath that it sounded like sheâ€™d been holding for a while, and smiled a bit wryly when Yunlan patted her shoulder.

â€œRemember your promise,â€ she said, softly. â€œHonor her memory.â€ Yunlan nodded, accepting the weight of that.

â€œWe will.â€

A sudden flash of golden brightness snapped his head back around toward the bed. Shen Wei was starting back from it, and Zhang Shi had jerked upright, one hand clenched tight in the light blue cotton over his (her) chest, eyes wide.

â€œWhat happened?â€ Yunlan snapped, mind suddenly full of all the physiology heâ€™d ever read, including neurology, and all the ways it could go wrong, Dixingren powers or no.

â€œWas that...?

â€œThat was...â€

Shen Wei and Zhang Shi just stared at each other some more, while Yunlan waited. â€œThat was?â€ he prodded.

â€œSoul-fire,â€ Shen Wei finally answered, barely above a whisper.

Zhang Shi sucked in a shaking breath, and her (his?) voice came out even softer, reverent. â€œMy Lord...â€

Memory wasnâ€™t just an echo, this time. It washed over Yunlan like a flood, and for a breath he knew himself as Kunlun, knew xiao-Weiâ€™s distaste for the formless, mindless nature of so many ghosts with the depth of centuries, knew triumph that heâ€™d succeeded in giving his dearest friend and love the full gift heâ€™d intended. It took long moments for the knowing to ease, and it left Yunlan shaky, leaning against the wall for support. â€œThe focus of a people affects the whole people,â€ he repeated back to xiao-Wei, a little breathless.

Xiao-Wei spun to stare at him. â€œYou... this...â€ He pressed a hand to his throat, where the pendant had rested for so long. Yunlan spread his hands with a flourish, smiling.

â€œAll part of the plan. Apparently.â€ After a momentâ€™s reflection, he added, â€œDa Qing definitely isnâ€™t allowed to insult my ideas of courting gifts, any more.â€

That drove a faint breath of stunned laughter out of xiao-Wei.

â€œYouâ€™re going to tell me all of what that was about, later,â€ Dr. Cheng ordered, going to to peer into Zhang Shiâ€™s eyes and measure her pulse with quick fingers, eyes on her watch. â€œFor now, just tell me: is it going to cause any health problems?â€

â€œNo.â€ Xiao-Wei slid his glasses up to rub his eyes briefly. â€œNo health problems. Much larger political problems, perhaps, but that neednâ€™t concern anyone but me.â€ Yunlan cleared his throat meaningfully, and xiao-Wei added, on a bit of a sigh, â€œAnd perhaps the SID. Speaking of political problems and their solutions,â€ he went on, otherwise ignoring Yunlan, â€œwill there be any problem with the paperwork showing I was hospitalized here for the past year?â€

â€œNo, we had several cases that needed long-term care, after the fighting.â€ Dr. Cheng stepped back, giving Zhang Shi an approving nod. â€œThe fact that you were an SID consultant will actually help explain why we would have kept your presence confidential.â€ She gave xiao-Wei a stern look. â€œYouâ€™d better be back to explain things, later, but for now, letâ€™s get Ms. Li discharged.â€

â€œAnd then maybe ask lao-lao-Chu to drop by the apartment?â€ Yunlan suggested quietly, as they headed out into the halls once more.

Shen Wei glanced at him once before fixing his eyes straight ahead. â€œI think that would be wise, yes.â€

Yunlan nodded, satisfied. However much this whole contagious soul-fire thing might have been a gift of his past self, his present self wanted to know exactly what it was going to take from Shen Wei before letting his lover go haring back off through the gate between realms.

Yunlan read personnel and case files with all his concentration while they waited for lao-Chu, pressing Zhang Shi for details of temperament, of flexibility, of fears and dreams and motives. Clearly, he was going to need to take his re-entry into life at a run, and he didn't want his own Division tripping him up. When lao-Chu arrived, attention immediately fixing on Shen Wei to the exclusion of anyone else, Yunlan barely took the time to roll his eyes.

Shen Wei explained the situation, voice quiet and steady. Reassuring. Yunlan thought that might be the voice his students were used to hearing. â€œWeâ€™re not sure if this is normally transferable, or if it only happened because I was involved so deeply in the process of Zhang Shiâ€™s transfer and revivification. I donâ€™t know, yet, how deep I might need to reach into the being of another of my people, or...â€ He broke off as lao-Chu snorted and flipped his coat aside to kneel down at Shen Weiâ€™s feet and wait there, head bowed.

Really, it was enough to make a mere boss feel inadequate.

â€œNot only fear,â€ Zhang Shi murmured, from Yunlanâ€™s other side, and xiao-Wei closed his eyes for a breath.

â€œI know.â€ Yunlan thought the ruler-straight line of lao-Chuâ€™s back eased a little at xiao-Weiâ€™s soft words. He was sure xiao-Wei saw it, too, because he reached out, the way he almost never reached out to anyone but Yunlan, and laid a hand on lao-Chu's shoulder.

And golden brilliance flickered around his fingers.

lao-Chu jerked upright like it was an electric shock, staring up at xiao-Wei. "Lord...!" That sounded shocked out of him, too.

Xiao-Wei was holding very still, which meant he was just as startled, but slowly he tightened his hold on lao-Chu's shoulder. "So." Finally he smiled, achingly slow but with a brightness in him like the sun rising. "It can be done."

Lao-Chu, who Yunlan had never seen willingly discomposed unless he was trying to scare the liver out of someone, looked like he was one breath from bowing his head to the ground before xiao-Wei, and his voice was rough. "Noble Lord, thank you. I've watched Changcheng every day, ever since we were unbound, every day ready to leave if he started to fail. I never thought..."

Xiao-Wei's face tightened, so much pain in the flinch of his brows together that Yunlan started to get up, to go to him, even as xiao-Wei lifted his hand to rest it gently on lao-Chu's head, quieting him. "I know." Xiao-Wei's eyes rose and Yunlan froze under the darkness of them, breath stopping. Xiao-Wei was talking about him. That certainty went right down to the bone. Some time, somehow, he had died because of xiao-Wei's nature.

Suddenly, xiao-Wei's fierce insistence on his safety felt a lot less like a Dixingren underestimating a human and a lot more like frantic, desperate grief. Suddenly, the information that xiao-Wei had been the one to create the instrument that halved his people's powers in the human realm felt less like politics, or even compassion, and more like love—reckless, headlong love and a deep fear running under it.

"Xiao-Wei," Yunlan whispered, reaching out, and xiao-Wei came to him at once, caught him close with an absolute disregard of anyone watching that told Yunlan everything he suspected was painfully true. He let out a slow breath and wound his arms around xiao-Wei, one hand sliding up to urge his head down against Yunlan's shoulder. "I'm here," he said softly, and promptly lost most of his breath to the way xiao-Wei's arms tightened around him. He barely registered the apartment door closing behind Zhang Shi and lao-Chu. "Tell me?" he asked, hands rubbing slowly up and down xiao-Wei's back.

"You did something foolishly noble and got injured. I was the only one there. I couldn't leave you like that." Xiao-Wei's hands tightened on him. "And then I couldn't leave you." His voice was muffled against Yunlan's shoulder. "I should have known better, but part of me still couldn't believe..." A quick, hard breath in and out again. "In two years, you were dead."

And then Shen Wei had spent who knew how many years and how much power changing the world so that it wouldn't happen again. Yunlan closed his eyes, breathless with the weight of the thought. It was like the morning he'd found Shen Wei draining his blood, allegedly to repair the wound he'd taken sharing his life force with Yunlan, all over again, only turned on its head. Instead of furious shock that anyone would sacrifice himself so completely and unhesitatingly for Yunlan, it was a warm weight of certainty inside him. Because Yunlan had spent twenty-eight years waiting for the man in his arms, barely looking at another person, even casually, and he was sure in his heart, all the way down to the echoing memory of his first life, that he'd spent ten thousand years worth of lives that way.

Shen Wei's devotion wasn't the alarming imposition it had seemed, in the shock of that morning. It was the answer Yunlan hadn't realized he was listening for, so intently he hardly noticed any other.

"I'm here, now," he repeated, smiling against the darkness of xiao-Wei's hair. "And so are you."

A faint laugh shook xiao-Wei's shoulders, and he finally lifted his head, starting to smile again despite the redness of his eyes. â€œYes.â€ Whatever he saw in Yunlan's face, it eased the tension out of his body, and Yunlan made a pleased sound as they leaned more comfortably together.

â€œThatâ€™s better.â€ He linked his hands behind xiao-Wei's neck, thumbs stroking absently up and down xiao-Wei's nape, and smiled wider at the sudden heaviness of his eyes, the quick, soft draw of his breath. "Xiao-Wei. Come to bed?" Personally, he could think of no better way to ground them in the present. In fact, when xiao-Wei lifted a hand to cup his cheek, thumb stroking along the curve of Yunlan's mouth, Yunlan stopped being able to think of anything but the present moment.

"Yes," xiao-Wei agreed, softly.

Yunlan suddenly wanted very much to have xiao-Wei's bare skin under his hands, and made such short work of undoing xiao-Wei's vest and shirt that xiao-Wei was laughing under his breath by the time Yunlan went after his pants. He was willing enough to stretch out on Yunlan's bed and be touched, though, and that was the important part. The soft contentment in dark eyes as Yunlan's hands slid down his body, fingers tracing along his ribs, over his hips—that was the important part.

One such thought led to another, and Yulan made a thoughtful sound as he pressed a kiss under xiao-Wei's ear just to hear him laugh again. "Hey." He leaned up on his elbows, looking down at xiao-Wei. "Okay if I try something?"

"Anything you like." The promptness of xiao-Wei's answer, so ready and unthinking, made Yunlan smile, probably quite foolishly. He didn't care.

"Thanks." He stole another kiss and slid down the bed, nudging just a little hesitantly in to lie between xiao-Wei's legs. The sharp intake of xiao-Wei's breath was promising, though, so Yunlan went ahead and leaned down to close his mouth around xiao-Wei's cock.

"Yunlan...!"

He made an inquiring sound around his mouthful, and observed the way xiao-Wei's hands clenched tight on the blankets. That seemed like a good sign, too. Yunlan slid his mouth carefully further down, tongue stroking against smooth skin, taking in the taste of it—a little flat, a little salt, ever so faintly sweet, all twined together into one. The newness of it faded into the back of his mind, though, when xiao-Wei moaned, low and open.

"Yunlan." The huskiness of it locked Yunlan's attention, and he glanced up at xiao-Wei as he drew back. The pleasure and heat in the heaviness of his eyes on Yunlan, the part of his lips, made Yunlan grin, quite pleased with his experiment, so far. He wrapped his mouth back around xiao-Wei and sucked on him. He could feel the tremor that ran through xiao-Wei, the fierce control that caught short the lift of his hips, and positively purred around him. He liked this. He liked knowing that he could bring xiao-Wei pleasure, and he liked xiao-Wei's care for him, even in the midst of it.

The same part of him that enjoyed the possessiveness of xiao-Wei's hands sliding over his shoulders liked even more the thought that he was the only one who was ever going to see xiao-Wei like this. Ever see him flushed, head tossed back against the pillows, breathing deep and fast. Ever hear that clear, precise voice turn velvety with hunger.

When xiao-Wei gasped out a warning, Yunlan just made a pleased sound and sucked harder.

Xiao-Wei groaned, body arching taut as long shudders rolled through him. The upward surge of his hips drove him deeper into Yunlan's mouth, and Yunlan suddenly understood the warning. It put a curl of excitement down his nerves, too, though, and he relaxed into it the way he would into an unexpected fall, hot and breathless with the rush that filled his mouth.

He did wonder, as xiao-Wei dropped back against the bed, suddenly lax, whether there was a graceful way to wipe one's mouth after this kind of thing. He suspected there might not be, but it could be worth a little research, later. Right now, it was far more important to slide back up to settle against xiao-Wei and bask in how gorgeous his lover was, panting and undone, eyes closed as he slowly relaxed from the edge of pleasure.

When xiao-Wei opened his eyes again, he huffed a soft laugh, reaching up to run his fingers through Yunlan's hair. "You look pleased with yourself."

"Mmm, I think I am," Yunlan agreed, and leaned down to kiss him. Against xiao-Wei's mouth, he added, "We're here, and it's now. You can feel it here," he spread a hand over xiao-Wei's chest, "can't you?"

Xiao-Wei stared up at him for a moment, eyes wide and dark. Finally he laughed again, soft and rueful. "I can," he murmured, hands sliding down Yunlan's back. "And yet, you're still the same." He drew Yunlan down to him and kissed him, slow and deep. "Still the one I love with all my heart." Another lingering kiss. "That will never change."

Yunlan made a breathless sound at the surge of wanting that shook him. Xiao-Wei caught him closer and turned Yunlan under him. "Always," he promised, and the intensity of it left no room for doubt, no room for anything but the certainty that Shen Wei would never let go. Yunlan let out a slow, shuddering breath, holding him tight as that certainty settled into his chest, warm and soothing.

"Yes."

They lay quiet for a while, twined together, and Yunlan relaxed into the rare peacefulness. Eventually, though, xiao-Wei stirred against him.

"Don't think this gets you out of eating a decent dinner, tonight."

It startled Yunlan into an open, genuine laugh, and xiao-Wei leaned up on an elbow, smiling down at him, eyes soft and warm just for him. "I think I probably have some fried rice cakes that should still be good," he suggested, just to see the exasperated look xiao-Wei gave him. It eased away when Yunlan reached up to touch his cheek, though. "We're going to be all right, now, yeah?"

Xiao-Wei leaned into his hand, smiling. "We will."

Yunlan thought it was getting a little easier for both of them to believe it.

The Advance of the Mountain Wind - Four

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, Porn, I-4

They both went in to work the next morning.

("Are you sure about that?" Da Qing had asked when he stopped by at dinner-time to drop off more of xiao-Wei's boxed up belongings. "Anyone would think you were in heat, the way you've been acting, are you sure you'll be able to keep your hands off each other for a whole day?"

Yulan had swatted him across the back of the head and shoved a bag of fish treats at him to keep his grin from becoming any further commentary.)

He dropped Shen Wei off at the university, even though it meant circling back to the SID headquarters, and took away with him the tiny, wicked curl to xiao-Wei's lips when Yunlan wished him a good day. The thought of xiao-Wei walking through his campus, greeting colleagues and students with a polite smile and trailing shock and disruption in his wake like a more entertaining version of his black cloak got Yunlan through the morning without giving in to the urge to sneak up behind his dreadfully earnest new office staff to see who was paying attention.

Much.

Really, anyone who worked for the SID should have better situational awareness than that.

"Oh, he used to be like this all the time," he caught Lin Jing telling He Niu, their new archivist. "He's been grieving this last year, you know. Now Professor Shen is back, I'm sure the Boss' heart has started to mend..." Yunlan clapped a heavy hand on Lin Jing's shoulder, cutting off his increasingly melodramatic explanation. Lin Jing flashed him a split-second smirk before assuming a suitably daunted expression.

"And what are you still doing here, anyway?" Yunlan asked. "Don't you have work enough at the Institute?"

"I resigned today," Lin Jing told him brightly. "Since Professor Shen is back, things will be getting fun again, won't they?"

"Oh, so you think you can get your job here back, just like that?" Yunlan raised his brows, carefully not answering the question. Lin Jing obviously noticed, going by the alarming way his eyes lit up. "Three month probation at base pay only."

"Oh come on, I'm more useful than that!"

Which was true enough, not least in helping maintain Yunlan's cover until they decided what to do about the whole 'back to being a god' thing. "Oh fine, one month," Yunlan offered. "Bonuses contingent on producing better data or tools than our new analyst does."

Lin Jing whined and moaned dramatically, but finally accepted.

"And he's always been like that," Yunlan told He Niu, on his way back down the stairs. Which was not strictly true, but he'd leave it up to Lin Jing how much of his mask he wanted to keep.

Or to make real.

By the end of a day of subtle, sideways testing, Yunlan had a fairly good sense of his new staff, and Zhang Shi had been regrettably on target—a lot of them had hired on out of hero-worship and been put to work indexing all the old reports for lack of anything else to do with them. The exceptions so far were He Niu, who was the one actually directing the re-indexing efforts, and seemed like a capable archivist if not exactly field agent material, and Xu Jian, the data analyst who had been more or less filling Lin Jing's place. More in that there was suddenly a lot more supporting data tucked into those old reports, and less in that there were far fewer mostly-working, possibly-explosive tools tucked around the lab room.

Though what was in there still included the Holy Tools, requiring Yunlan to conceal several minutes of mild panic over whether they would start responding to him the way they would presumably not have ever responded to Zhang Shi.

"They really left all four of the Holy Tools with us?" he asked Zhu Hong as soon as they'd managed to shoo the new kids out for the day. She only shrugged, sliding bonelessly down into her favored chair, opposite lao-Chu and xiao-Guo, who was perched on the arm of the couch beside his partner.

"The Lamp couldn't be moved, and this is the most strongly shielded building in the whole city. Besides, the Ministry was falling all over themselves to pretend they never tried to make us their scapegoat."

Yunlan frowned as memory prodded at the back of his mind. Something about the Lamp, and why he wasn't surprised that it couldn't be moved. "The Lamp... is only part here?" he murmured. "No, that's not quite it." He wondered, exasperated, if thumping on the side of his head would improve his reception on that huge, dense weight of memory deep inside.

"Close, though." Lin Jing hopped up onto the long table, swinging his feet cheerfully. Yunlan had heard the argument he'd had with Xu Jian about the amplitude of dark energy output by the Holy Tools, earlier; the whole building had heard. At least they both seemed to have enjoyed themselves. Lin Jing waved at where the Lamp hung over everyone's heads, looking for all the world like a third ceiling lamp except that it was suspended from nothing. "It's actually more that it's in two places at once. I have a theory that it would have to be moved in both places simultaneously, to move it at all."

"So much for my plans to ask for a bigger headquarters building. Maybe I can just get an auxiliary building to put the reports and new staff in." Yunlan squinted up at the Lamp, thoughtfully, wondering whether he and xiao-Wei together could move it.

The Lamp wobbled in midair.

It was reflex more than reason that shot his hand out to catch the Lamp. He'd forgotten, though, that his reflexes now went a little further than most people's. Green and gray flowed out from his hand, green like pine needles, gray like sheered rock, green like the icy heart of springwater welling up from stone. It curled out and up and around the Lamp, and Yunlan clenched his teeth on a surge of real panic, because he didn't know what he was doing or about to do. The Lamp wobbled again, in his hold.

And then it steadied.

Yunlan took a deep breath, feeling the solid support of Shen Wei's body behind him and the shadowy coolness of Shen Wei's power running under his, pressed against his, rising from the hand suddenly outstretched under his own.

"It's a good thing I didn't stay late, talking to my students, it seems," xiao-Wei murmured against his ear. Yunlan laughed, perhaps just a little shakier than usual. Xiao-Wei's other hand tightened on his shoulder. "Easy. You know this." Yunlan could hear the smile in his voice. "This was how you taught me to truly control my power, after all—to shape it rather than simply hone it sharper." The cool of his power curled around the edges of Yunlan's own, a light touch that coaxed him to ease his grip, a steadiness that assured him nothing could go to wrong.

Yunlan leaned back against xiao-Wei, relaxing into the easy support of his power, and had to close his eyes for a moment at how good it felt. "Was I trying to get you into bed?"

Pressed together like this, he could feel xiao-Wei's silent laugh. "Not at the time."

The more Yunlan calmed from the first shock of power rising from his hands, the more memory rose. This was right. This was his, was him. Once he gingerly let that thought settle in, it got a lot easier to draw back and let green wisp away from the Lamp.

Which sat innocently in midair as if it had never wobbled at all.

Yunlan finally looked down again, to see his staff staring at him.

"Kunlun," lao-Chu said quietly, eyes dark as he studied Yunlan.

"God of mountains," Zhu Hong whispered. "Yashou legends say so, still, the oldest ones."

"Huh." Lin Jing was eyeing the Lamp like a stray data point. "Okay, maybe I was wrong. Or maybe it really was made out of you, though how that's supposed to work..."

Da Qing put his feet up on the table, unimpressed as only a cat could be. "I told you you wouldn't be able to go a whole day."

Yunlan realized he was still leaning half in xiao-Wei's arms and straightened up, rolling his eyes. "Shut up, Damn Cat."

The stifled grins that flashed around the group suggested Da Qing had shared his prediction with the rest of the team. So, business as usual, really. Yunlan ignored them all loftily and pulled out a chair, slinging it around to sit backwards. Xiao-Wei pulled a second chair up to sit neatly beside him, and everyone settled down again.

"We need to make some plans." Yunlan ticked points off on his fingers. "What are we telling the Ministry? What are we doing about the new kids? What are we doing about the whole contagious souls thing?" Xiao-Wei gave him an exasperated look and Yunlan amended, "Fine, the communicable, stable, generative energy form thing."

Lin Jing sat bolt upright. "Ah!"

"Science later, planning now," Yunlan admonished, not that he thought it would do much good.

"For the good of both ghosts and humans, I will return to my people as soon as possible, to ensure this change," xiao-Wei touched a hand to his chest, "is spread. But that will mean the seal between realms won't bar them from crossing, any more."

Lao-Chu crossed his arms over his chest. "The danger of consuming human life just by being near will be erased, but those of great power will still be more than humans can easily handle."

"Job security for us," Da Qing pointed out, popping another fish snack into his mouth.

"So we tell the Ministry about the results, but not the reason," Yunlan concluded, and then glanced over at xiao-Wei. "Unless you want to reveal yourself?"

"Not unless you choose to." Xiao-Wei's voice was level. "They would reasonably fear my influence over you, otherwise."

"Even if they know about the Chief's power?" xiao-Guo asked, hesitant and looking sad enough to remind Yunlan he was asking the kid to lie to his family. Yunlan sighed, leaning his arms over the back of his chair.

"Even then. They'd just wonder how much of it was the Envoy's doing, and what he was up to, giving the head of the SID power like that."

Xiao-Guo nodded, drooping where he sat until lao-Chu slid a hand up to the back of his neck and shook him, gently. "I understand, Chief." Then he perked back up a little. "So maybe the new staff should be the ones to talk most to the Ministry? Since they won't look too closely at the Chief and the Professor." The whole team turned to stare at him until he fidgeted. "Um? They're very impressed with both of you, you know?"

"That's actually a good plan," Zhu Hong marveled.

"All right, then. Step one, I'll escort our good friend the Envoy to his people. Step two, we'll come back and tell about two thirds of the truth to the Ministry. Step three, we sort out who's on call for field work and who gets to be liaisons and file clerks." Yunlan planted his hands on the back of his chair and pushed up onto his feet.

Xiao-Wei stood as well, brushing his jacket straight. "Tomorrow, you can escort me to my people."

Yunlan waved a hand at the still-bright sky outside the office windows. "We have plenty of time to get a start now..."

"Tomorrow," xiao-Wei repeated, immovably, wearing an exceedingly calm smile.

After a testing pause, during which xiao-Wei failed to show the tiniest amount of the irritated acquiescence that usually met Yunlan's insistence on something, Yunlan spread his hands wide, magnanimously. "Tomorrow, then."

Lao-Chu held out a palm to Zhu Hong, who glared at him for a long, fulminating moment before finally pulling out her pocketbook and slapping a bill into his hand. Lao-Chu smirked as he tucked it away.

With the wisdom of years of leadership, Yunlan didn't ask what the bet had been, and ignored Lin Jing and Da Qing's snickering as he led the way out the doors.

"Why tomorrow?" Yunlan asked, as he closed the apartment door behind them.

"Because," xiao-Wei answered, shrugging out of his suit jacket and sitting on the bed to pull his shoes off, "I am not taking you back down there until you have some kind of control over your power." He scooted back to sit with his legs crossed and held out a hand to Yunlan.

Memory echoed up again, echoes that said xiao-Wei was a lot more tense than he appeared. Yunlan sighed and gave in, yanking his own boots off and sitting knee to knee with xiao-Wei. "Okay," he said, gentler than he'd first intended. "What do I need to do? Because I don't actually remember much of this, not where I can get at it easily."

The straight line of xiao-Wei's shoulders eased a little, and he smiled at Yunlan, so warm and relieved Yunlan could feel the last of his annoyance melting under it. "Just feel and listen." Xiao-Wei took Yunlan's hands in his. "Feel how it happens."

Slowly, nearly as slowly as when xiao-Wei was testing the new balance of his own power, cool blue spread against Yunlan's palms, soft and beckoning, somehow tender, the way xiao-Wei's hands on his body were. "Are you sure I wasn't trying to get you into bed, when we did this?" Yunlan asked, a bit husky.

"Fairly sure," xiao-Wei murmured, though a corner of his mouth curled up. "Reach back to me."

Put that way, suddenly, it made sense, and Yunlan reached out at once with the part of himself that felt most like xiao-Wei's twilight blue action-in-potential, twining through that waiting coolness like lacing their finger together. Xiao-Wei's breath caught.

"Oh." His eyes were wide and unguarded as they met Yunlan's. Slowly, his power tightened around Yunlan's.

"This is new?" Yunlan asked, soft. Xiao-Wei nodded, and took in a quick breath as Yunlan stroked experimentally against the edges of him.

"I hadnâ€™t noticed earlier. It feels different, now. I can feel more... texture, I suppose; it used to be just the heat of life.â€ He swallowed. â€œWell. I suppose I don't need to worry whether you'll be able to catch someone trying to strike at you this way, at least." His voice was a little husky, and Yunlan had to wrestle with himself for a long moment before he sighed and drew back. Xiao-Wei really did have a point, here.

"Let me try." Yunlan drew himself all the way back to... well, to the rest of himself, he supposed, trying to keep a mental hold on the memory-and-echo of how this worked. "Slowly?"

Xiao-Wei smiled. "Of course." He gathered his own power into a tight sphere in his hand, and just looking at it made Yunlan want to duck aside enough that he didn't have to think at all before reaching out, and further out, and pushing a wall of green up between them. Xiao-Wei nodded and flicked the sharp knot of his power out to burst against that stone-solid wall with a flash of blue and silver that filled the whole apartment before fading.

"Excellent." Xiao-Wei looked very pleased, when Yunlan gathered the wall of immovable intent back into himself. "I'd hoped it would come back quickly once you tried it."

Yunlan looked down at his hands, flexing them thoughtfully, though it hadn't been his physical hands that had been involved, exactly. "I think I understand better, now, what you meant when you said gods are potentiality."

"Immense potentiality," xiao-Wei agreed, low, "and every part of your being is available to be actualized into the path you choose."

Yunlan clenched a fist. "The Institute. If a way to force development of that gets out..." Xiao-Wei's hand folded around his fist, cool and gentle. When Yunlan looked up, xiao-Wei was smiling, small but also happy, like there was a light burning inside him.

"Then I'm glad that there will be two of us."

It took a minute for Yunlan to get his breath back, shaken again by the bone-deep knowledge that it was him, his presence, his company, that made someone like Shen Wei happy like this. "Yeah." He turned his hand over to grip xiao-Wei's. "So am I." The soft stroke of xiao-Wei's thumb over his knuckles made Yunlan have to clear his throat, glancing aside. "So. Does it work mostly the same way when it's a thing people are throwing at me, instead of just power?"

A spark of mischief danced in xiao-Wei's eyes and the curve of his mouth. "Why don't we see?"

Yunlan spent all of dinner reflecting that he really needed to remember about xiao-Wei's sense of humor, as he deflected napkins and chopsticks and the occasional book, if xiao-Wei though he wasn't paying enough attention.

It wasn't until they were in bed, that evening, that Yunlan finally voiced something that had been nagging at the back of his mind. "If what I am can take any path of actuality that I choose, what does this 'god of mountains' thing mean?"

Xiao-Wei turned on his side, sliding a hand up to rest over Yunlan's heart. "It's just a description. The best way people found to describe the shapes that your being and power most easily fall into." His voice softened, in the darkness. "The stone that rises to meet the sky. The life that blooms fiercely in the unyielding places, sufficient to itself. The rivers that flow down from stone—the source of danger and the source of life."

Yunlan's breath shook in his chest as those words rang through him, feeling the weight of how deeply xiao-Wei had known him. He reached out blindly to xiao-Wei and didn't stop until they were wrapped tight around each other, until he'd reached out with the green at the heart of him, now, to twine with xiao-Wei's cool, shifting blue strength and could taste xiao-Wei against every part of him. Xiao-Wei pressed close with a soft, pleased sound.

"What about you?" Yunlan asked, when he could speak again, fingers running slowly up and down xiao-Wei's spine. "I feel like I know this, but... it feels complicated."

Xiao-Wei stirred against him, sounding surprised. "Not especially. It's..." he hesitated, but when Yunlan just waited, finished reluctantly, "it's death. Death and ice. If I reached out with all my strength, with no binding on my power... cities would die. That's always been the core of my nature—to consume life." He pressed a little closer, adding against Yunlan's shoulder, "It was you who showed me how to gentle that into other forms, and changed my nature enough to learn new forms from other people."

"It was you who wished to be able to," Yunlan answered, absolutely certain. That wasn't all of the complication sitting at the back of his head, though, and he poked at the feeling some more. "It will be different, now," he finally said, slowly. "When I think about it like that, about the shape of you..." he thought of the changeable blue of xiao-Wei's power and buried his nose in xiao-Wei's hair, smiling, "I think of the sky after sunset."

Xiao-Wei went very still for a long moment. "You used to say that," he whispered, finally.

"Well, you said it yourself, just now, didn't you?" Yunlan pointed out. "The stone that rises to meet the sky." He held xiao-Wei close, as his breath hitched. "I think Kunlun wanted, very much, to give you that sky and see that become the whole truth of you."

Xiao-Wei laughed, leaning up on an elbow to look down at him in the apartment's darkness. "Then it will be." He laid a hand along Yunlan's cheek. "It's always been you who gave me the shape of a future.

Yunlan turned his head to press a kiss to xiao-Wei's palm. "Then let's go see what it will look like." He smiled against cool skin and added, "Tomorrow."

Xiao-Wei settled back down against him. "Tomorrow," he agreed.

Yunlan was still smiling as he closed his eyes to sleep.

The Advance of the Mountain Wind - Five

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, Porn, I-4

"You were always a morning person, weren't you?" Yunlan asked from under his pillow, far too early the next morning. Why hadn't he remembered that sooner?

"Just because we're not going to the office doesn't mean we don't have work to do." Xiao-Wei's clear voice and unreasonably firm step approached, and something clinked on the bedside table. "If you're not up in ten minutes, I'm going by myself."

Yunlan groaned and flopped over onto his back. There was a cup of coffee waiting. He couldn't even complain without being an ungrateful ass, which seemed very unfair. Suddenly, he was remembering just how sly of a weiqi player xiao-Wei was. He hauled himself out of bed, grabbing for the cup, and reached down to rummage a pair of jeans out of the clean-laundry basket.

They were all folded.

Xiao-Wei was watching him with open amusement from the couch, already brushed and dressed and eating noodles at the kitchen table. Yunlan decided it was too early to deal with anyone that much more awake than he was, and silently made for the bathroom to scrub the sleep off.

"All right," he said when he emerged, coffee and cold water having kick-started his brain for the day. "Anything particular we need to do to get through the gate, now the Lamp's lit again?"

Xiao-Wei put a steamed bun into his hand. "It may take a little more effort, but I doubt I'll notice it with my power unbound, and the seal itself was a part of you. Changed as you are, it should let you pass easily."

Yunlan glanced from the bun to xiao-Wei's calm, expectant expression, and sighed, taking a bite as he locked the door behind them. Breakfast was apparently going to be part of his life, going forward.

By the time they reached the crossroads where the gate was, his sense of humor had caught up with him, not least because of the echoes of memory that said xiao-Wei had always been this way with him, and also that the fact was adorable. He wasn't sure about that second bit, but had to admit he felt more settled and alert than he usually did at this hour. Possibly that was just from being with xiao-Wei, but he wasn't ruling out the coffee and food.

Xiao-Wei paused as they reached the tree and closed his eyes for a moment, with a slow breath in and out. At the end of that breath, shadowy blue swept over him and left familiar black robes behind and an equally familiar weight of power sweeping outwards. "Ready?" he asked quietly, eyes fixed on the flex of light and space that, Yunlan abruptly realized, he could see clearly.

"Whenever you are." Yunlan held out his hand to xiao-Wei, waiting out his still moment of startlement, and smiled when xiao-Wei took it. They were doing this together, whether xiao-Wei was in his working clothes or not.

When xiao-Wei raised his other hand, Yunlan felt what he did more than saw it, as though xiao-Wei pulled open a window and let snow in to fall on their skin. He stepped forward at the same moment xiao-Wei did, stepped over the threshold and out beneath the arch that marked the gate on Dixing's side. Yunlan turned his face up to the bright sky with pleased recognition; at some point, he'd known that the Lamp's light gave Dixing a sky.

And then he had to stifle a laugh as the gate guards nearly passed out over having a revived Envoy descend on their shift. Holding on to the humor helped keep him from getting too tense about the way he could feel everything around him trying to pull bits of him away as they moved swiftly through the city. Not to mention the way that, when the Regent hurried out to meet them on the Palace steps, he stopped short and stared like Yunlan and xiao-Wei both were a surprise banquet of all his favorite food.

"And how did this come about, my Lord Envoy?" he asked with a quick bow that didn't hide the gleam of avarice in his eyes.

"My passage through the Lamp completed Kunlun's gift to me." Xiao-Wei ignored the welcoming gesture that tried to guide them inside the Palace. "Now that it is complete, I have already determined, it flows outward from me to my people." The Regent froze in the midst of his attempts to herd them inside, and the faintest breath of a smile curved xiao-Wei's lips. "So tell me, my lord Regent. Am I your ruler?"

Yunlan had to take a moment to appreciate how effortlessly xiao-Wei could lay down the winning move, when he chose to. It was beautiful to watch, at least when it didnâ€™t involve xiao-Wei sacrificing his life.

Slowly, the Regent straightened, and Yunlan could nearly see the power he usually hid behind fawning or age or whatever other slight-of-hand was available settling around him like the folds of a robe. "You are the strongest of us, Lord, the one no other has ever been able to even dream of consuming—not even your twin, in the end. You have always been my ruler, even when I wished or feared it otherwise."

"That will not change, whatever else we become, through this gift." Xiao-Wei's voice was cool, but his eyes, even behind the mask, were steady on the Regent. Sympathetic, Yunlan might even have said, if he had to name that look.

After a long, silent moment, the Regent grumbled, "Well, that will be something stable, at least." And then he bowed, deeply, and stayed down. "Your will, Lord.â€

Xiao-Wei gestured him back up, graceful and easy. "Call our people together, then."

The Regent cast a look down the Palace steps and snorted. "Somehow, I don't think that will be necessary."

A corner of Yunlan's attention had also been on the gathering crowd below as people pointed and whispered and broke away, only to reappear dragging more people with them. With the confrontation done, Yunlan let himself search the gathering faces until he found his favorite bar-tender, staring up at them with open excitement. Yunlan glanced back at xiao-Wei and gave the man a nod of confirmation. He lit up like a streetlamp turning on, and promptly darted away into the city.

It wasn't long before the square in front of the Palace was packed with bodies, overflowing into the nearby streets. The pull Yunlan had felt since he stepped through the gate was very noticeable, by then, and he let old-new reflex push back against it until the air near him had glints of green. When xiao-Wei stepped forward to the edge of the steps, the rustle and chatter of the crowd turned sharper.

And then it abruptly cut off as xiao-Wei lifted his hands, folded back his hood, and removed his mask.

"Ten thousand years ago," he said, into the deep quiet, "I was given a gift by one of the first gods of this world. You have all followed the shape of human understanding, and called them something else—simple heroes and ancestors—and forgotten their natures, and sometimes even your own. Now I call on those who can to remember why some of you called me traitor to our kind, then. Not for any politics, but for the change in my nature that Kunlun wrought and I accepted." He held out one hand to the crowd, open and palm up, and Yunlan could see a faint flicker of golden light starting to grow around his fingers. "I call on those who can remember to bear witness, because this very year that gift was completed, and in its completion it has become one that I may share. The gift of a generative nature, of a soul that can anchor you in this world and take the fear of dissolution from death. The gift of beginning again. The gift of an end to endless hunger." The light curled around him, now, rising like a fire, and there was absolute silence as Shen Wei asked, quietly, "Will you have it?"

For a long, suspended moment, nothing moved. Yunlan wondered if any of them would dare answer, and couldn't entirely blame them if they didn't. If the Regent's power had been a cloak around him, xiao-Wei's burned outward like the sun's corona, beautiful and searing, terrifying in the vast sweep of it. Slowly, though, the crowd swayed forward as one, whispers threading through the air again.

"Lord Envoy..."

"Yes..."

"Black-cloaked Lord..."

"Please..."

One person after another reached out, sank to their knees, faces turned up to the shadow standing above them, surrounded by golden brilliance, and xiao-Wei bowed his head, eyes sliding closed.

"Then it will be so."

The low words reverberated like a shout, and the light around him leaped outward like a star exploding, bursting through the square, the Palace, the city. It curled around and past Yunlan, but he could see it running into and through everyone else present, see the shock of it in wide eyes and gasping breath all around him. Anyone who wasn't on their knees already was by the time that golden wave passed.

Finally, xiao-Wei lifted his head to look out at his people again. "This is a gift." His voice silenced the growing babble of the crowd as some started to catch their breaths. "Do with it as you will. Know, however, that I will have no more tolerance than I ever have for violence or trespass."

"...but if we are no threat?" Near the front of the crowd below, a young women scrambled to her feet, and stumbled a few steps forward, hands held out, entreating. It took Yunlan a moment to recognize her as the mirror-girl, who took Weiwei's place. She was still wearing the same face, but it looked fiercer, now, longing and hunger tangled up together. She fell to her knees again at the lowest step, staring up at Shen Wei, and her voice was pleading. "If we are no threat, now, Noble Lord?"

Xiao-Wei was still for a long moment, looking down at her, but finally Yunlan saw the faint fall of his shoulders that meant a silent sigh, and he descended the steps to stand directly over her. "Demonstrate to me that it is so," he said, flat as an order. "Show me, when this gift has grown in you, that you are no longer driven by hunger alone, that you have mastered the violence at the core of you." He lifted his head to sweep his eyes over the whole crowd before looking back down at her to add, more quietly. "Do this, and I will speak in your cause."

All the breath seemed to leave her at once, as her face lit up, and she bowed down to the ground before him. "Yes, Lord!"

Whispers of excitement swept through the crowd, as xiao-Wei came back up the steps. The Regent, however, was pinching the bridge of his nose. "Was that entirely necessary to say right now?" he asked, sounding pained.

Xiao-Wei huffed a faint laugh. "If the question was asked now, the answer was necessary now."

"You could have said no!" The Regent gave back an aggravated look to xiao-Wei's unamused one. "This will lead to many of them presuming on your mercy and attempting the border well before they've met your requirement, and the seal will no longer stop them."

Xiao-Wei's eyes turned hard, and his voice fell. "Then they will find that they have assumed incorrectly." He turned on his heel and strode into the Palace, and Yunlan followed.

And caught him as xiao-Wei stumbled on the stairs down to the central hall. "I thought that probably took more out of you than it looked like."

"I'm not tired," xiao-Wei protested, though his hand lingered on Yunlan's arm as he straightened. "It was just a little disorienting."

"Directing your being as a god would?" Yunlan smiled at xiao-Wei's sudden stillness. "It didn't occur to you that was what you were doing, did it?" He'd made the connection when xiao-Wei had reached out to lao-Chu and passed the gift along simply by intending it. It was exactly how xiao-Wei had described the potentiality and actualization of a god's nature. Clearly that particular change hadn't quite sunk in yet, for xiao-Wei, and Yunlan shook his finger, admonishing. "You never think enough of yourself."

"Never mind that," xiao-Wei said, abundantly proving Yunlan's point and apparently not even noticing. "Do you know how you want to present this to the Ministry, yet?"

"Blame everything on the Lamp," Yunlan answered promptly and smiled at xiao-Wei's exasperated look. "Just wait and see." Not least because his own thoughts about what he'd need to tell the Ministry had started to change, but he wasn't quite ready to admit that.

Xiao-Wei's eyes narrowed a bit. "This is your way of getting back for all the times I didn't tell you all of what was going on, isn't it?" Hurrying steps approached from the archway and xiao-Wei swept his hand out brusquely. The Palace dissolved around them in a wash of shifting blues that flowed away in turn to leave them beside the gateway tree.

Part of Yunlan was amused by xiao-Wei's temper, the part of him that took a bit of enjoyment out of getting a rise from the ever-collected Professor Shen, and quite a significant part of him was increasingly distracted by watching those beautiful hands wield such power so easily. Business first, Yunlan reminded himself regretfully, fishing out his phone. "Let's see if the Minister can fit us in today."

It took him half the distance through the city to get an appointment set for three hours on. Yunlan growled as he tossed the phone onto the seat between them and accelerated a little more sharply than perhaps he should have when the light changed. "You'd think, considering how much I try to avoid the whole Ministry building, that when I actually ask for an appointment, they'd understand it's important." Especially when he didn't want too much time to overthink this.

"Bureaucracy tends to work the other way around," xiao-Wei told him, mouth quirked. "People they don't see often go to the bottom of the list." He laughed softly at Yunlan's growl. "Back to the offices, then?"

Yunlan spotted the road they were about to pass and made an abrupt decision, followed by an abrupt turn. "No. No, I think there's a better way to spend the time."

Xiao-Wei's brows rose as they pulled in to their apartment building. "Yunlan."

Yunlan held up a finger, trying not to show the little shiver that xiao-Wei's voice wrapped around his name put down the back of his neck. "Three hours. If I go to the office right now, I'll just be snapping at the new kids when they only half deserve it." He slid out and closed his door firmly.

"And what are you going to do at home?" xiao-Wei asked, sliding out the other side.

"Ask me that again in three minutes."

Xiao-Wei was looking tolerant as he followed Yunlan up the steps to their floor. "Has it been three minutes?" he asked as he closed the apartment door behind them with a soft click of the latch. Yunlan felt like the tiny sound snapped the last bit of calm he'd been holding between himself and the thought of what he might just be about to do.

"Close enough." Yunlan turned on his heel and reached out to touch xiao-Wei's cheek, tracing down the line of his jaw with light fingers.

Xiao-Wei paused, first startled and then laughing. "Yunlan..."

"Please," Yunlan said, husky, and watched xiao-Wei's breath still, his eyes go dark and intent, all hint of teasing drain away into open hunger. Xiao-Wei reached out to take Yunlan's shoulders, pressing him back a step and then another, until Yunlan came up against the wall of his entryway. Xiao-Wei took one last step into him, body fitting against Yunlan's. When he spoke, his lips almost brushed Yunlan's.

"Anything you wish."

"Then kiss me," Yunlan said, soft.

Xiao-Wei ran his hands gently up Yunlan's neck, threading into his hair, and leaned in to kiss him, mouth slow and cool against his. Between kisses he murmured, "You are my heart. Anything you wish. Anything at all."

The knowledge, just recently reinforced, of what 'anything' might mean from a man like Shen Wei wrapped around Yunlan like a coat in winter, warm and solid and comforting. He let his hands spread wide against Shen Wei's back, sliding up under his jacket. "What if I asked you to fuck me?"

Shen Wei smiled slowly. "Then I would."

Even knowing it, even having just heard it, the simple, bare agreement caught Yunlan's breath short. Xiao-Wei pressed a little closer, bending his head to trail light kisses down Yunlan's throat, and asked against his skin, "Is that what you want, right now?"

Yunlan tipped his head back and laughed, feeling a fizz of reckless glee rising through him at the very idea of it being this simple. "Yes."

Shen Wei kissed his way back up Yunlan's throat to murmur into his ear. "So do I."

Undressing for each other in the middle of the day made Yunlan a little uncertain again; it seemed so much more intimate, a thing with so many more assumptions attached, to be looking at each other bare in daylight. He really couldn't help but feel a certain sense of accomplishment, though, in the fact that Shen Wei's clothes ended up tossed over a chest instead of folded. When Shen Wei's hands slid over his bare shoulders and down his chest, open and caressing, he managed to relax again into the certainty that Shen Wei wanted him.

Yunlan thought xiao-Wei had started to realize at least part of what was going on, because he stayed close as they settled onto the bed, always in contact with gentle hands or slow, hungry kisses. "Anything you wish," he said again, into Yunlan's mouth, and the assurance made it easy to relax into the rush of heat as Shen Wei's hands pressed his thighs apart.

The slide of Shen Wei's fingers between his cheeks put another shiver through him, want and uncertainty twisted together, and Yunlan reached up to pull xiao-Wei tighter against him. The weight against him settled Yunlan just like the fierce intentness of xiao-Wei's eyes on him, the nearly tangible weight of his attention. Being at the center of all that focus made Yunlan remember again what he'd just seen that morning, remember those long, deft fingers wrapped around hope and light and power, and that pulled a low moan out of him as Shen Wei's fingers pressed in.

"Yes..." Yunlan's hands slid up the straight line of Shen Wei's back as that slow, intimate stretch danced down his nerves. "Yes, I want..."

"Anything." Shen Wei said it like it was a declaration of unbreakable law, and Yunlan moaned out loud, spreading his legs wider against the bed. It felt so good, the care in Shen Wei's hands as he opened Yunlan up.

"Xiao-Wei." Yunlan smiled up at him, breathless and a little wild with how much he wanted and the growing certainty he would get it all. "Fuck me."

Xiao-Wei caught Yunlan tighter against him, kissing him deep and fierce, on the edge of uncontrolled. Yunlan made a satisfied sound, winding around him and kissing back with open pleasure. He was the reason for that wildness in Shen Wei, and he liked the taste of it very much. He liked it even more when Shen Wei's cock pushed into him, thick and hard inside him. The muscles of his legs went watery with the sharp stretch and hard slide, and Yunlan groaned as Shen Wei's hands slid up his thighs, cool and sure, spreading him further open, sinking into him deeper, and it felt incredible.

Xiao-Wei wasn't stopping either. He leaned over Yunlan, rocking out and back in, slow and steady, dark eyes fixed on Yunlan's face. The weight of his focus eased away anything resembling tension, until Yunlan was moving with him, boneless and hungry for the slow, heavy pleasure of feeling xiao-Wei inside him.

"Mm, yeah..." Yunlan smiled up at Shen Wei and purred at the flare of heat in his eyes, the way his hands tightened on Yunlan's thighs.

"Yunlan." There was answering velvet in Shen Wei's voice, and the slow curve of his lips made Yunlan brace himself—as much as he could. Which turned out to be not nearly enough when Shen Wei reached down and wrapped long fingers around Yunlan's cock, stroking him slowly.

"Ah...!" Yunlan's whole body arched taut against the sheets as the new layer of pleasure curled through him like a tide, washing him under in a surge of hot sensation. His breath cut into quick gasps as pleasure wrung his body tight around Shen Wei's cock.

Shen Wei drove deep into him and moaned, head tipped back, and Yunlan couldn't take his eyes away. Shen Wei was always beautiful, but like this, with his eyes closed and lips parted, flushed with pleasure because of Yunlan, he was enough to strike anyone senseless.

Which was, maybe, why it took until Shen Wei had resettled them both against the rumpled sheets and gathered Yunlan close for Yunlan to find words again. He wound closer around xiao-Wei and reached up to cup his cheek, thumb stroking over the line of his cheekbone. "Thank you," he said, softly.

Shen Wei caught his hand and turned his head to kiss Yunlan's palm, smiling. "What for?" His eyes were warm.

Yunlan shrugged a little, glancing down. "Letting me haul you back here in the middle of the work day?"

Shen Wei nipped gently at one fingertip, and startlement pulled Yunlan's eyes back up to his. "Anything you wish, I said."

Just remembering it made Yunlan unwind again, calmed enough to tease a little again. "Well sure, but what about what you wish?"

Shen Wei smiled. "I have everything my heart desires."

Yunlan remembered xiao-Wei's lips brushing his as he murmured, My heart. It made his voice husky. "Xiao-Wei..."

Xiao-Wei made a distinctly satisfied sound and Yunlan laughed, low and helpless, winding his arms around him.

It was the warm, quiet certainty of xiao-Wei's care that Yunlan held onto two hours later, when they walked into the Ministry offices to meet both Minister Guo and his father.

"You don't often visit in person," the Minister said as they all sat down around his conference room table, with a distinct edge of worry behind his smile. "What was so important it couldn't go in a report? Things have sounded very quiet for the SID, lately."

"Yes, it's been like a vacation." Yunlan leaned back in his chair and watched his father's mouth tighten out of the corner of his eye. So, it looked like he had been missed after all; he honestly hadn't been sure—maybe his father would have preferred Zhang Shi as a son. It was nice to know, but it wasn't going to stop him. "The thing is, we finally tracked down the reason for some of the strange readings from the energy detectors Lin Jing created. It seems the Lamp getting re-lit had an effect on the levels of dark energy in the whole Dixing people."

"The Lamp was lit for thousands of years without any such thing happening," his father noted, voice sharp. Yunlan interpreted that as 'come up with a more plausible story, idiot boy' and gave him a tight smile.

"That was why I asked Professor Shen his opinion, though I hated to disturb him so soon after his recovery." He waved to Shen Wei, who folded his hands on the table and gave the Minister the kind smile of an expert about to reveal all the answers. The Minister settled back a bit with an attentive look.

"To be more precise, I believe it was the interruption and then re-initiation of the Lamp that caused the effect we're seeing now." Xiao-Wei leaned forward, serious and intent. "Unlike the other Holy Tools, the Lamp is a positive-polarity energy source. It counter-balanced the dark energy that Dixing life forms produce, and maintained a stable environment for them. As a biologist, I can tell you that abrupt environmental changes often trigger rapid expression of latent traits. The vacuum of vital energy left when the Lamp was extinguished appears to have prompted a change in the balance of energy Dixingren generate. In that destabilized state, the reignition of the Lamp and reintroduction of such an intense positive energy source has encouraged dominance of a matching, rather than opposing, trait." He spread his hands as if to present the new state of affairs between them. "The life energy produced by Dixing people as a whole has shifted polarity as a result."

Which was the most plausible-sounding, half-true, non-disproveable explanation they'd been able to come up with. After a moment to digest it, or possibly just a pause to indicate uncomprehending respect for an expert in the field, the Minister went straight on to practicalities, as Yunlan had hoped he would. "What does this mean for interactions between us and Dixing, then?"

"Simple, or even extended, contact will no longer be dangerous in and of itself," Shen Wei declared with calm authority, apparently ignoring the way Zhao Xinci's hands clenched on the table. "The difficulties of law enforcement are more than I can speak to, as a biologist, of course."

"Will Dixingren powers persist?"

Xiao-Wei inclined his head. "It seems likely, yes. Expression of those genes does not seem to have been affected by the fluctuation from negative to generative life energy, based on the cases I am aware of as a consultant to the SID."

"And as a consultant, what is your opinion of the upcoming difficulties of law enforcement?" the Minister asked, with a faint smile. Shen Wei returned it, and Yunlan had to refrain from rolling his eyes. Xiao-Wei might profess distaste for politics and bureaucracy, but he was alarmingly good at them, and frankly seemed to enjoy the game. At least when he was winning.

"I would say that the problem will continue to be twofold: one of information, and one of capability. The difference in capability will be more of a problem if humans remain largely unaware that Dixing powers are a possibility. If that remains the case, then more effort, and funding, will be needed in the one enforcement body that is aware, the SID. If accurate information is more widely available, then policies and approaches sufficient to deal with low-level powers can be put into place across all enforcement bodies, leaving the SID only necessary to deal with the unusually great powers."

"If contact increases, there will be significantly greater risk to humans, regardless of policy," Yunlan's father interjected, sharply. "Maintaining separation is the only approach that will truly reduce harmful incidents. That was what the improvement of conditions in Dixing was supposed to facilitate."

"Oh, I think we're already pretty well situated to deal with any risks." Yunlan slouched a little deeper into his chair as his father rounded on him, and held out a hand. Both his father and the Minister jerked back from the table as green curled around his fingers, and his father pushed further back when Yunlan wrapped his grip around his father's untouched glass of water and drew it back into his hand.

"What...?" His father's voice was thin, edged with disbelief. Yunlan kept his eyes on the glass hovering over his fingers, and shifted just enough in his chair to feel the twinge of recently-worked muscles; it helped keep his voice even.

"You remember Professor Ouyang?"

"There was no report that you were injected with his product." The Minister was looking a little grim, when Yunlan glanced over, but not actively alarmed. Yeah, he thought this would probably work.

"It was during the last fight with Ye Zun, so it wasn't exactly documented. At first we all thought it just hadn't had an effect. The screens that Lin Jing ran, when we all returned, showed nothing." Which was true enough. "I was only sure of this effect recently, myself."

His father stirred, quick and short, but said nothing. Yunlan marked down another point for himself on his mental scoreboard. Heâ€™d thought Zhao Xinci would most likely stay quiet about Yunlanâ€™s year in an alleged wormhole rather than reveal his own long-time passenger.

"Have you evaluated what you can do?" Yunlan was hard pressed not to sag with relief at the Minister's question, which skipped over all the worst outcomes (including lab rat and prisoner) to go straight for how useful Yunlan could be. Compassionate pragmatism was the best possible trait to see in the man who was his father's boss. Especially when the quick glance he couldn't quite prevent showed his father's expression shuttered and cold.

He also carefully ignored the tension in xiao-Wei's arm, beside his. However warm it made him feel, personally, to know xiao-Wei was prepared to defend him, he didn't actually want to set the Black-cloaked Envoy at odds with the Ministry.

"Not formally." Yunlan set the glass down and folded his hands over his stomach. "Do you want there to be a formal record of this?" Not an offer he'd have made to Guo's predecessor, but this man was Changcheng's uncle. He was hoping at least some of that world-bending purity of heart ran in the family.

The Minister laid his hands flat on the table and contemplated them for a long moment, during which Yunlan's father got tenser and Yunlan tried hard not to notice that. When Guo finally spoke, it was with certainty. "Yes. It should be internal, to begin with. But I think the events of a year ago showed us just how vulnerable to disruptions we are when we try to maintain a wall of silence between two peoples who live in the same world."

"Xiao-Guo." Yunlan's father leaned over the table with the earnest look he used to convince superiors he was on their side. Yunlan couldn't quite keep his hands from clenching on each other. "I can't think it entirely wise to open relations between two such disparate groups without more assurances than we have, that Dixing powers can be contained."

Guo's smile was more formal than Yunlan had seen directed at his father in a long time. "I understand your concerns. But we cannot allow fear to hold us back forever."

"I'll talk to Director Li about what measuring sticks she's developed for this kind of power, then," Yunlan interjected before his father could attempt further persuasion, setting his jaw against the paint-stripping glare he got for it. "Let us know how the SID can support the Ministryâ€™s policy."

"I will." The handshake he offered as they stood was firm, and Yunlan returned his gaze as steady and sure as he would be if he were trying to encourage one of his team. The rather wry smile Guo gave him said that the Minister had noticed that he was trading Zhaos, and hoped Yunlan would be worth it. Yunlan swallowed down the nerves tightening his throat and nodded farewell.

Xiao-Wei was quiet until they were out of the building and back inside the Jeep. "You hate politics," he finally said. "You always have, then and now both."

"I'm not fond of them," Yunlan agreed, with generous understatement.

Xiao-Wei gave him a quick, sidelong look. "So what was that about?"

Yunlan's hands tightened on the steering wheel. "I can't let my father's fear of Dixing keep shaping everyone's actions. You took the action you felt was right, for your people, no matter how much trouble it might cause you. How could I watch you and then do less?" Xiao-Wei's soft laugh made him look over. The look in xiao-Wei's eyes was... old.

"You always were a far better Mohist than Confucian."

Yunlan smiled, crooked, turning back to the road. "That too, I suppose. But it's really simpler than that." There was quiet in the car for a long moment while xiao-Wei just waited for him, not looking away. It was so much the perfect representation of Yunlan's reasons, in one moment of time that he laughed a little, himself. "I want you to be happy." They stopped at a light, and he looked over. "You hate having to be the law of death to your people, but you made the bargain anyway, for me. How could I let it go on, knowing?"

He could hear the tremble in xiao-Wei's breath, see the slow, slow dawn of hope for his old bargain's true dissolution that turned his eyes wide and unguarded, and the slowness of it told him all he needed to know about how deep this pain ran. He reached over to rest his hand on one of xiao-Wei's, clenched tight on his thighs. "Youâ€™re the one who cares for me above all else; why would you think I feel any different? I want you to be happy," he repeated, softly, feeling it echo all the way down inside him.

Xiao-Wei turned his hand over and lifted Yunlan's, pressing a kiss to his fingers. Softly, head bowed, he answered, "I am."

The warmth of that settled deep into Yunlan's chest and eased away the tightness of knowing he'd chosen another over his own blood. He'd chosen to go another way a long time ago, well before he'd known who it was he was turning towards. Knowing all the parts of his choice, now...

He couldn't regret it at all.

The Advance of the Mountain Wind - Six

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, Porn, I-4

The next morning found Yunlan standing in a rather alarmingly torn-up field, miles outside the city. At Li Qian's intermittent direction, through his earpiece, he'd been lifting and deflecting and (cautiously, very cautiously) destroying rocks and bits of rusted metal, working his way up from pebbles to boulders until he'd drawn out so much of his power that green and gray roiled in clouds around him. They'd been at it for over an hour, and he was sweating but nothing he'd done had been all that much effort.

He was starting to understand, all the way up in his head, what xiao-Wei meant when he talked about the weight of gods in the world. He could feel the ground singing under his feet, feel the sky like it was something he could reach up and touch, feel the attention of the city's river like it was alive and listening for his word and would rise if he just spoke.

Given that dizzying awareness of just what he could do, if he chose to, it wasn't hard to lean convincingly with his hands on his knees, as if to catch his breath. "We done yet?"

"If you're getting tired, then yes," Li Qian answered, voice as steady as if she hadn't just watched him crack a boulder into shards. He'd have to tease xiao-Wei, later, about how he raised such fearless students. "Can you retrieve or dismiss the visible manifestation?"

"That is a very good question." Yunlan straightened up and flexed his fingers, looking thoughtfully around. "Hm."

Li Qian's startled, "Professor?" warned him ahead of time, so he wasn't too surprised to see xiao-Wei, a minute later, walking calmly through the swirl and flow of green. He was a little surprised that he could feel xiao-Wei's presence before he saw it, as if xiao-Wei was walking close enough for their shoulders to brush. But that was right, older feelings told him a moment later—xiao-Wei was walking through an extension of Yunlan's being.

And xiao-Wei's own being was reaching out to trace the edges between them.

Yunlan's breath caught at the feel of it, and xiao-Wei smiled at him, even as Li Qian's voice asked sharply if everything was all right. "Yeah, fine," Yunlan answered, distracted. Whatever xiao-Wei was doing (touching, his memory said, just touching) it was subtle. Even looking for them, Yunlan could barely spot the glints of blue around the edges of green. He felt it, though, like xiao-Wei's hands on his shoulders. When he refocused on the man in front of him, xiao-Wei looked warmly amused, lips curved softly. Yunlan reached up to cup a muffling hand over his earpiece. "This feels kind of familiar. Have we done this before?"

"Yes," xiao-Wei said, low. "I've stood in the heart of your power many times, before."

"Thought so." And the touch of xiao-Wei's power did help him find the edges of his own again. Slowly, reaching out his hands to make it feel a bit less odd, he drew those edges in. A little reluctantly, he admitted, because it felt really nice, to touch like that.

When the last slow curl of his energy unwound from around xiao-Wei and they stood in clear air again, xiao-Wei lifted a hand to curve around Yunlan's cheek. "Later," he promised, eyes dark and intent in a way that made hot anticipation coil in Yunlanâ€™s stomach.

The chorus of groans in his earpiece reminded Yunlan that they had video pickups trained on them, and he cleared his throat. "So! Are we done?"

Li Qian sounded like she was stifling laughter. "Yes, Chief Zhao. You can come back to the observation building. Professor Shen, too."

Back inside the low, concrete building at the edge of what Yunlan frankly suspected was a weapons testing, field Lin Jing was busy with whatever the impressive rack of instruments was telling them. Zhu Hong and Da Qing, on the other hand, were both free to give him unimpressed looks. Yunlan could feel xiao-Wei laughing silently, behind his shoulder. "I've put up with all of your nonsense," he reminded his team. "And why aren't you scolding Shen Wei, too?"

At that, Lin Jing turned around to join Zhu Hong and Da Qing in staring at him, utterly disbelieving, and xiao-Wei's laughter escaped him for a breath. He cleared his throat and composed himself again while Yunlan rolled his eyes; even godhood wasn't enough to get some respect around here, obviously.

"What do the results look like, Director Li?"

Li Qian blushed prettily, the way she'd been doing every time xiao-Wei called her Director, and Yunlan once again resisted the urge to pat her on the head. Why couldn't he have such adorable underlings?

"We still haven't completed a sensor specific to this type of energy, but we can, at least, observe the effects." She picked up a sheaf of paper just finishing printing and handed it over. To xiao-Wei, of course. Yunlan sighed and read over his shoulder. "The magnitude of Chief Zhao's power is impressive, as is the flexibility with which he uses it." She nodded respectfully to Yunlan. "The type does seem to be limited to physical manipulation of matter on the macro scale, though, which falls in line with our existing model."

Yunlan felt xiao-Wei's shoulders fall a little, where his arm was draped over them. It had been important that they convince Li Qian of that, at least for now. "So where are you at on creating direct measurement?" he asked, to distract her from xiao-Wei's relief.

She made a frustrated face. "We're having to work backwards from the manifestation to the mechanism, since the mechanism doesn't seem to overlap with the source of dark energy at all. We have a few ideas, but I expect simply testing them will take months, if not years to complete."

Yunlan gave her his best encouraging smile and spread his hands. "No worries as long as the catalyst isn't in circulation, right?"

She gave him a thoughtful look. "Not immediate ones, no. I would like us to be prepared, though, in case there are further changes in the symptoms you or Guo Changcheng have experienced." She hesitated, glancing back and forth between him and xiao-Wei, and added, slowly, "I feel care for the integrity of those affected must be of primary concern, in our research, especially given the weaknesses demonstrated by Professor Ouyang's methodology."

Yunlan beamed at her and patted xiao-Wei on the shoulder, congratulatory. He raised such smart students. "I can hardly argue with that."

It was, of course, xiao-Wei's quiet smile and small, meaningful nod that made Li Qian settle back on her heels with a faint, determined glint lighting her eye. "Then I think we're done for the day. Thank you again, Chief Zhao."

A few parting civilities got them all out the door and back into the cars, where Yunlan could finally sag back against the seat with a faint groan and rub at his cheeks, which were aching a little from all that grinning.

"It may not be necessary to play the fool with all of the rest of the Ministry," xiao-Wei noted, settling beside him.

"I know she's an ally," Yunlan sighed, reaching over to rest a hand on xiao-Weiâ€™s knee for a moment before turning the key. "But this is a heavy secret to ask someone to carry, and it's you she knows and believes in, not me."

"Perhaps we should start with my secrets, then."

Yunlan looked around quickly, at that, hands stilling on the wheel. Xiao-Wei just raised his brows a bit, as if he didn't see what was strange in the Black-cloaked Envoy of Dixing, let alone the god of ghosts, casually offering to reveal himself to the human Ministry's foremost researcher. After a moment, Yunlan bent his head, laughing a little; maybe someday he'd stop being surprised by xiao-Wei's care. Xiao-Wei's hand settled on the back of his neck, cool and steady, and he let himself lean into it, let his muscles unwind a little further.

"I wish for you to be happy, as well," xiao-Wei said quietly. "Concealing yourself doesn't please you."

"Mm. You know, I don't think I can conceal myself from you." Not even if he tried. It was a novel feeling, a little thrilling, a little uncertain.

"Do you need to?"

The question crystalized thoughts and plans and memory into a single shape, so clear it struck Yunlan breathless. "No," he whispered, feeling a genuine smile tug at his mouth. "I don't." He lifted his head to look over at xiao-Wei and the brightness in his eyes, warm and open and just for Yunlan. It made the entire world feel so much easier, that Shen Wei was beside him.

The thought made him smile all the way back to the Division headquarters.

They arrived just as the team was setting out the last bottles and dishes.

"What's this?" Yunlan asked, giving the whole team a mock-stern look. "More excuses to loaf around in the middle of the work day?"

"It isnâ€™t an excuse at all," Zhu Hong claimed with a sniff. "This is vital team-building activity, to welcome Li Huiliang and to welcome Professor Shen back, of course."

Yunlan spread his arms. "Oh, of course." A gust of laughter ran through the group, including He Niu and Xu Jian, and joined by the tiniest flicker of amusement over lao-Chu's face. Yunlan shook a finger at him. "This was the 'job' you said you and xiao-Guo had to do instead of today's testing, wasn't it?"

Lao-Chu just looked back, perfectly poker-faced, but xiao-Guo was nearly bouncing beside him with pleasure and excitement. It was as good as a neon sign. Yunlan threw up his hands with a laugh. "All right, all right."

Everyone promptly grabbed for drinks and food.

"So, aren't you going to make a welcome speech or anything?" Da Qing prodded Yunlan. Yunlan grumbled under his breath but lifted his glass.

"Today we welcome a new teammate," he declared, and added, "sort of." Xiao-Wei promptly elbowed him in the side. "I'll explain that part in a bit," Yunlan told He Niu and Xu Jian. "Li Huiliang, the SID is pleased to have you join us."

Zhang Shi's smile was only a little wry. "Thank you, Chief Zhao."

Lin Jing lifted his glass toward her. "To new teammates."

"To old teammates, who apparently can't hold down a job anywhere else," Zhu Hong lifted her glass mockingly to him, in turn.

"To new beginnings," xiao-Wei offered smoothly, before Lin Jing could answer back.

"To finding out exactly what's going on," He Niu added on, with a narrow look at Yunlan.

"To better data," Xu Jian added, sliding a sidelong glance at Lin Jing.

"To the bosses being way more relaxed," Da Qing chipped in with a wicked grin and ducked when Yunlan swatted at him.

"To new hopes," Zhang Shi kindly deflected, though there was distinct amusement in the tiny crimp at the corners of her mouth.

"To gifts given," lao-Chu said quietly, looking down at his glass.

In the moment of silent surprise that lao-Chu had actually spoken, xiao-Guo looked up from his own glass with a bright smile and said, softly, "To protecting people."

Yunlan watched his team exchange glances and smiles and tiny nods, watched the edges of bickering and plotting and worrying blunt for a moment, and smiled. "Yeah," he said, quietly. "We can drink to that." Little clinks skittered around the table as everyone tapped their glasses together and drank.

As the group broke into smaller conversations, xiao-Wei set his glass down and leaned against Yunlan's shoulder. "Will you tell the new ones everything?" he asked, softly.

"I think we need to." Yunlan glanced at him, glad to find him looking calm, without the tightness around his eyes that spoke of real concern. "Now we have the cover stories in place, and the Ministry at least a little in hand, that's the next step, isn't it?"

"To start gathering allies and the numbers to handle a change in the way most people think the world is." Xiao-Wei nodded, and Yunlan took a moment to simply enjoy the familiar flow of shared thought and the deeper familiarity of xiao-Wei's power, curled in potential around the two of them. For one breath it felt strange to know that, to feel a potential presence and his own twining around it, but the moment Yunlan focused on the feeling it was familiar again.

Xiao-Wei smiled sidelong at him, as Yunlan relaxed against his shoulder. "Is it well?" Yunlan smiled back and took another sip from his glass. It was the taste of his own answer that he savored on his tongue, though.

"You know, I really think it is."

End

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

The Marriage of Lightning and the Lake

Zhu Hong works on how to be Chief Elder, and falls hard for Ya Qing in the process. (Her uncle may have a point about her terrible taste.) Fluff, Romance, Character Study, Drama with a Pinch of Action, I-3

Now

Zhu Hong had been brought up as the precious daughter of the Snake tribe. Her uncle had spoiled her, especially after she lost her parents. Her older cousins had doted on her, and she'd never lacked for indulgent eyes watching over her. She'd been the uncontested princess of the children her own age, and ruled over her playmates with careless ease. She'd been taught the history and arts of her people until that had bored her, and then been allowed to go among humans for schooling in the greater world. When she'd stumbled across the Special Investigations Division while they chased a life-stealer, she'd decided she wanted to work for the Division Chief who'd taken the time to make sure she was safely away before closing on the culprit. She'd gotten her way.

Zhu Hong had perfected the pout, the winsome look, and the hard fist as tools to make the world go her way, and she knew exactly how to use them. As time went on, and sheâ€™d started wanting to be stronger, she'd honed her natural abilities until she could do almost what any of her fully-transformed cousins could. She'd learned human ways so well she could blend in as completely as she wished.

None of that told her the first thing about how to be Chief Elder of the Yashou people.

Then

â€œ...never learned a thing about ruling, I never even took any classes on politics.â€ Zhu Hong twisted her hands together, pacing her uncleâ€™s small outer room. â€œIs this really a good idea?â€

He sat back in his chair, face perfectly neutral the way it almost never was with her. â€œDo you wish to abdicate, then?â€

â€œNo!â€ Zhu Hong bit her lip. She didnâ€™t want to give up on the way forward Zhao Yunlan had probably hoped for, for the Yashou. But... â€œBut if itâ€™s the right thing for the tribes,â€ she said, slow and reluctant, â€œI should.â€

An unimpressed sniff from the open door sent her spinning on her heel to see who would be eavesdropping on the Elder of the Snake tribe. Sheer black draperies stirred, just outside, and Zhu Hong stiffened. Of all the people she shouldnâ€™t let overhear the slightest lack of confidence!

â€œYou donâ€™t need learning, for this, little snakelet.â€ Ya Qing didnâ€™t look around at her, only stood with folded arms and her back to them. â€œWe have that. What you need is wisdom.â€ Now she turned her head, and raked Zhu Hong head to foot with a cutting gaze. Another sniff. â€œI suppose you have enough of that to be going on with.â€

As Zhu Hong stood there, stunned, the breath sheâ€™d taken in to protest caught short in her throat, Ya Qing spread her arms and leaped into the sky.

â€œThat one always did have a taste for drama,â€ her uncle snorted, and stood to come and take Zhu Hongâ€™s shoulders. â€œSo? What do you want to do, a-Hong?â€

Zhu Hong took another breath, trying to ignore the tangle of flattery and annoyance making her stomach flutter. â€œI want to try.â€ And then she couldnâ€™t quite help asking, â€œDo you think sheâ€™s right?â€

Her uncle smiled. â€œI think she could be.â€

Zhu Hong smiled back, a little shy, and repeated. â€œIâ€™ll try.â€

Now

Honored Chief Elder...

Zhu Hong stifled a groan. It was getting so she felt a headache coming on just reading those words. And there'd been three letters waiting for her, this week, when she visited her uncle's house. Three! For the Chief Elder, bypassing the tribe Elders completely!

Unfortunately, a glance at her office computer showed no new cases miraculously appearing to cause a plausible delay in dealing with these. She sighed and unfolded the first letter.

Then

Zhu Hong paced back and forth across the roof of the University's east classroom building, trying not to move too fast or clench her hands or be otherwise obviously nervous, but unable to be still. She still wasn't sure this was an entirely good idea.

Neither was anyone else. Her uncle, and even Ying Chun, had offered to come with her. When she'd refused that, her uncle had tried to send a cousin with her as a bodyguard. She'd had to argue for ten solid minutes to avoid that. She'd have felt better for some backup, yes, facing someone of Ya Qing's power, but... taking someone from her own tribe just felt wrong, and bringing the Elder of the Flower tribe would make her look like a child hiding behind her aunt's skirts. So instead, she'd done the next best thing and just had to hope it wouldn't backfire...

"Interesting choice of location."

Zhu Hong whipped around, biting back a hiss of surprise. She hadn't even seen Ya Qing approach, let alone change. There she was, though, leaning against the roof safety rail with her arms crossed, black gown ruffling in the wind.

Smiling.

Zhu Hong settled back on her heels. Ya Qing's smile was sharp and crooked, but it looked more amused than mocking. So Zhu Hong took a breath and lifted her chin. "It seemed suitable, to meet in neutral territory at first."

"And to remind me which of us chose the winning side?" Ya Qing flicked dismissive, gloved fingers when Zhu Hong started to protest. "It was a clever choice. So? What does the Chief Elder want with me?"

Zhu Hong crossed her arms with a huff, because she couldn't actually deny she'd hoped the lingering shadow of the Black-cloaked Envoy would keep things calm. She also tried to ignore the little curl of pleasure that the Crow Elder thought her clever. "I just want to know. What exactly is it that you want? Snake, Flower, they're both pretty content with how things are. The Snake tribe is happy if they're left alone, and the Flower tribe already goes anywhere they please. What is it that Crow wants?"

Ya Qing pursed her lips, looking thoughtful, and pushed away from the rail to stroll over to Zhu Hong's side. "You could have asked your uncle, or Ying Chun. They've heard it often enough."

"Maybe." Zhu Hong's hands tightened on her elbows. "I want to know what you say, though. To hear it in your own words." That was basic investigation, after all; she hoped it was basic politics, too.

And it seemed like it was, because Ya Qing relaxed a little, the feathers of her cloak rustling as her shoulders eased from their tense poise—flight-ready, Zhu Hong realized. Maybe she wasnâ€™t the only nervous one? Ya Qing turned her face up to the sun.

"I want to stop hiding," she said, quietly. "In the last hundred years, humans have turned further and further away from us, forgotten that they live in the same world as us, and we... we have let them. We've withdrawn and hidden from them. Even when we've been caught in their catastrophes, like the killings that swept the land these last fifty years, we've done nothing but hide ourselves away deeper." She looked back down, and Zhu Hong took a step back. Ya Qingâ€™s eyes burned, dark and furious. "I am sick of it."

Zhu Hong wet her lips. She recognized that fury, had seen it so often in the SID's investigations, and she'd seen it drive terrifying explosions of violence. Very softly, she asked, "Who did you lose?"

Ya Qing laughed once, short and hard. "Such a smart little serpent." She looked away, over the University's central lawn. Zhu Hong waited, trying not to feel fear of the fire she was standing so near. "My eldest sister," Ya Qing finally answered, low. "The one who should have been our Elder. She liked to go among humans—said their gossip was more fun to listen to than ours. But someone saw her change, and that was a time when the slightest deviation was feared, attacked." She swallowed, sharp and convulsive. "They mobbed and killed her."

Zhu Hong's hands closed tight on each other. "I'm sorry for your loss." After the way the public had been turned on the SID, she had an unpleasantly visceral idea of how that might have gone. How much, she suddenly wondered, had Ye Zun turned Ya Qing against him, with that order? Had that been why Ya Qing had surrendered so easily to the branch's choice of Chief Elder?

"She's gone," Ya Qing said, dry and distant, not looking at her. "There's nothing to be done about that. But I can try to keep it from happening again." With a quick breath, she seemed to come back to the present. "Or at least I can argue for it."

"So," Zhu Hong said slowly, "you want humans to know about the Yashou? So they're less afraid of us?"

Ya Qing gave her a cool smile. "Precisely."

The smile was cool, but there was a gleam in her eye that made Zhu Hong think that the matriarch of the biggest eavesdroppers and gossips in the world probably knew full well what Zhao Yunlan's thoughts had been, when it came to informing the populace. Zhu Hong tried, but she really couldn't hold back her laugh at the sheer nerve and grace of Ya Qingâ€™s dance across the lines of friend and foe. Ya Qing's smile curled wider, and she set a hand on her hip, smug (preening) in her success.

"You look like a cat," Zhu Hong giggled, and Ya Qing ruffled up.

"Bite your tongue." A faint sniff and she settled again, serious again but without all the fierce, edged focus of her first appearance. "So?"

Zhu Hong missed the teasing smile with an unexpected pang, but she took a breath and thought about it. Zhao Yunlan had chosen something right for humans; was it right for Yashou?

An image drifted through her mind, of going out to eat, maybe even with company, and being able to order a raw meat dish. And maybe some of the other diners would be disgusted, and maybe some would be fascinated, but what if she could know that the server would only hesitate a moment, and the cook would maybe even be excited to make something unusual, and that her companion would expect it. Might even have taken her out specifically for this treat.

Ya Qing's smile flashed through her head, and she stuffed it immediately away, trying to pretend there was no blush on her cheeks. "It seems reasonable," she said hastily, to Ya Qing's raised brows. "At least as long as our territory is respected. But how... I mean, it seems like the kind of thing we could only do through negotiation with the human Ministry."

Ya Qing smiled, slow, cocking her head. "What an ambitious scope you think in, Chief Elder," she purred. "I think I like it."

Zhu Hong tried very hard not to squeak, or blush any more, or really react at all. She was pretty sure she was failing. "Then..." she cleared her throat and forced the breathlessness out of her voice. "Then I'll consider, with the other Elders, how this might be done to everyone's satisfaction."

Ya Qing laughed softly. "Everyone's? You're an idealistic child. But I think perhaps I will like that, as well. Better than the reverse, at least." She gathered her cloak about her. "Perhaps that ancient bit of wood truly does judge our natures." In a flash of wings, she was gone.

Zhu Hong sat down abruptly on the short wall around the edge of the roof, careless of how her pants were going to get smudged, and pressed her palms over her cheeks. Ya Qing was just teasing. Of course she was; she thought of Zhu Hong as a child—she'd even said it. Typical of a Crow.

Of course, that must be it.

Now

The first letter was complaining of a human trespassing on the edge of Snake territory, and Zhu Hong had to wrestle with a strong urge to stab the paper with her pen, or possibly even bite it. They had a process for this kind of thing, and it did not include bending the ear of the Chief Elder!

She muttered under her breath as she hammered on the keyboard, sending a query to the police to see whether this had been reported (in which case the complainer might just live) or had been sent straight to her and no one else (in which case someone was about to get his tail tied in a knot, just see if she didn't).

Then

"This will require re-writing parts of the treaty between the races."

"I know."

"We don't even have contact with Dixing, right now, to fully ratify it again."

"I know."

"A-Hong, this will make things far more complicated—"

Zhu Hong exploded up out of her chair, in her uncle's front room. "I know that! But Ya Qing has a point! If we really had stayed neutral, this time, how do you think the humans would have looked on us, if they'd won? Do you really imagine we'd have been able to wave the treaty at them and say 'neutral!' and they'd have just accepted that?"

Her uncle sat back, brows rising. "We could have hidden," he said, but he sounded more thoughtful now.

"Where?" she demanded. "And for how long, before we ran out of places? Humans hunt their enemies; it's something they have in common with Dixingren. And the less they know us, the more we withdraw, the more we look like enemies."

Ying Chun finally looked up from her hands, folded on the table before her. "What if they do know of us, though? What will that mean for my people who don't wish to be treated like some rare plant display, or fenced off?"

Zhu Hong chewed on her lip. What public suspicion might do to them all was one of the things she didn't quite know what to do with, yet. "What if... what if no one had to reveal themselves immediately? Only the ones who want to, at first, and we just... don't mention everyone else?" Professionalism nipped at her, and she added, "Unless someone has witnessed a crime."

Ying Chun shook her head, kind but firm. "That will touch off a hunt, the first time someone has to come forward who had stayed hidden until then."

"All or nothing," Zhu Hong murmured, mostly to herself, and flopped back down into her chair with a sigh. There seemed to be danger both ways. If only the Yashou had anything resembling local patrolmen, anyone who was used to looking after large groups of people... Abruptly she sat up again, eyes widening. "Oh! We could use their's!"

"A-Hong?" her uncle asked, cautious in a way that reminded her of his reaction to her attempts at creating medications, when she was young. She huffed at him, disgruntled.

"The police! The ones who patrol on the street, and have their own neighborhoods to look after. They're the ones who could look out for trouble, and make sure everyone was safe; it's their job!"

"Could we rely on human patrolmen to look after us?" Ying Chun asked, hesitant.

Zhu Hong sat forward, hands tight on each other with excitement as the thought unfolded further. "We could ask for liaisons from our people. The same way I am, to the SID." Her hands broke apart, reaching as if she could hold this idea between them. "Maybe even use that as a way to get those of us who want to live closer to humans a start, introduce them and let them see how things work!"

Her uncle was back to looking thoughtful. "I suppose there are a few of the youngsters who might try. And sending them around with a human in authority would protect them, too."

"Borrowing human authority to smooth our own way. I like that idea." Ying Chun smiled at Zhu Hong. "I think I see why Qing-jie has started to approve of you more."

Warmth flashed through Zhu Hong, like basking in the perfect beam of sunshine, and her breath caught on it. "She has?" Both her uncle and Ying Chun paused, staring at her, and she promptly blushed. That had probably been more gleeful than she should sound about Ya Qing's approval.

"A-Hong." Her uncle, in his turn, sounded alarmed, and she slid down in her chair, not meeting anyone's eyes. "You're not... you're not really..."

Ying Chun burst out laughing, sweet and light, and Zhu Hong tried to sink through the floor. "Oh, no wonder she looked so pleased with herself!"

Uncle started half up from his chair. "If Ya Qing thinks she can trifle with my niece...!"

Ying Chun crossed her arms, stubborn as wood. "What's wrong with it? Qing-jie is a good person! She wouldn't lead anyone on."

That made Zhu Hong look up from the start of her plan to slink under the table and escape. "Really?" Her uncle sagged back with a groan, which Zhu Hong firmly ignored. Ying Chun patted her arm with the kind smile that had made Zhu Hong tag along after her whenever she visited, when Zhu Hong was a child.

"Really. It's been a long time since she looked at anyone like that, actually. I'm glad she is again." Her smile turned impish. "And she thinks you're cute."

Zhu Hong could feel the smile taking over her face, bright and hopeful as the feeling in her chest.

"I believe her exact words were, 'more guts than brains, but she does have some brains, and it's a cute look on her'."

"Auntie!" Zhu Hong pressed her hands over her face, blushing so hard she thought she might faint.

"Stop teasing your Chief Elder," her uncle grumbled. Zhu Hong couldn't help noticing she only seemed to be Chief Elder when it was convenient. "If we're really going to plan on revealing ourselves and sending some of us among the humans' patrollers, we need all three Elders here to discuss it."

All right, maybe not just when it was convenient.

"I'll send a message to Qing-jie." Ying Chun rose and patted Zhu Hong's shoulder as she left, which was comforting even if she was still grinning.

"A-Hong." When she peeked out from between her fingers, her uncle was leaning toward her, serious. "Are you sure about this?"

"I didn't mean to," she said, voice smaller than she'd quite like. "It just happened! When we talked, she smiled at me, and I just... And she liked my ideas, and she's never treated me like a lesser threat or went easy on me, even when she's so strong, Uncle, and—"

"All right, all right." Her uncle was rubbing his forehead, and Zhu Hong chewed on her lip some more. "When you spoke," he said, at last, "she truly wasnâ€™t just toying with you?"

"I asked about what she had lost." Zhu Hong looked down at her hands. "About what had hurt her. And she told me. She didn't yell at me or insult me, even though she was so angry I could taste it. Instead she said I had good thoughts, that I was clever." Very softly, she finished, "She said maybe the branch judged us rightly."

Her uncle heaved a sigh and muttered something under his breath. Zhu Hong thought she caught the words "terrible taste" and bridled, but when he looked up he was smiling, even if it was crooked. "All right. No one has ever been able to change your mind, once you made it up. But think about the politics you're going to have to deal with, being the Chief Elder carrying on with one of the tribe's Elders."

Zhu Hong sat very still, eyes wide. "...oh." She hadn't thought of that. If the Chief Elder was known to favor one of the Elders who were under her, that... that could be bad, couldn't it? Favoritism. That could mean resentment, even people thinking Ya Qing had found a way to rule from behind Zhu Hong. Maybe if she was careful to be seen listening to the Elders of Snake and Flower? Or especially Flower, since she was a Snake herself, and she hadn't thought about that either...

"Here we are!" Ying Chun slipped back into her chair, followed by Ya Qing ducking through the door hanging in a rustle of silk and feathers. When she straightened, she looked straight at Zhu Hong, smiling faintly, and her eyes were warm.

"You keep your word, it seems. I like that, too."

Zhu Hong smiled back, helplessly, feeling like she was floating in a cloud of happy warmth that made it easy to ignore her uncle rolling his eyes and Ying Chun stifling laughter.

She'd figure something out.

Now

The second letter was from one of the patrol liaisons, which soothed Zhu Hong's temper a little. That, at least, was something that was supposed to come to her eyes. This time, it was from one of the more adventuresome young Flower men, who seemed to be picking up his police-partner's attitudes quickly. The letter read like an incident report, especially the part about the two Crows in his neighborhood who had had a "domestic disturbance" that annoyed the neighbors. Zhu Hong smiled over that part.

Who'd have thought, a year ago, that two Yashou shifting on the street, especially to have a fight, would be called something so common by the humans around them? The Crow tribe did seem to have a knack for that making that change happen, though.

Then

Zhu Hong had thought that things would move slowly. That there might be lingering glances, and perhaps gradually sitting closer at meetings of the Elders, and possibly even a visit to her home if she were out on the balcony or roof.

Instead she got Da Qing tearing through the offices just as everyone was packing up for the day, nearly yelling, "Ya Qing is out front!"

The new staff jumped, and lao-Chu stood slowly, eyes narrowed, and xiao-Guo started chewing on his lip, and Zhu Hong realized abruptly that she hadn't told her co-workers anything about recent events except that she was working on improving Yashou-human relations.

"Stop!" Everyone turned to look at her, but at least no one was reaching for a weapon or for his power any more. Zhu Hong heaved a quick sigh of relief and let her outstretched hand drop. "It's not... I mean... Look, just let me handle this, all right?"

"Are you sure?" Da Qing demanded, actually looking serious for once.

"Yes, I'm sure." She spun on her heel and marched out to the front door. The new staff, at least, stayed where they were, but Da Qing crowded after her and lao-Chu was sauntering after him. Zhu Hong could tell already this was probably going to be embarrassing. She wasn't used to doing things she needed to keep others informed of!

Ya Qing was across the street, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed and a sharp quirk to her lips, and Zhu Hong supposed Da Qing could be excused for thinking her threatening. But Zhu Hong could see the brightness of amusement in those dark eyes as they raked over the small crowd on the SID's steps. She elbowed Da Qing back and stepped forward, hands clasped to keep from fidgeting.

"Elder. Was there something you wished from the SID?" She did her best to sound dignified, but the way Ya Qing's mouth curled up made her heart skip a beat.

"Indeed, I think there is." Ya Qing pushed away from the wall and strolled closer. "Perhaps later for that, though." A wave of tingles ran over Zhu Hong when she caught the implication, and Ya Qing's smile got a little wider. "For now, I simply wished to see my High Elder safely home for the day."

Da Qing looked quickly back and forth between them. "Wait a minute. You came just to walk her home?" He started to grin, and dodged back when Zhu Hong tried to grind her heel into his toe.

"Did something happen?" Lao-Chu, thankfully, was looking more thoughtful, though there was a definite sardonic tilt to his brows that Zhu Hong ignored with all her might.

Ya Qing flicked dismissive fingers. "A few of my people are having difficulty moving with the times."

Zhu Hong's eyes widened, but the flash of worry that the Crow tribe might not accept the compromise the Elders had reached ran straight into the realization that Ya Qing had come to protect her, and drowned there. "Oh," she managed softly, hands clasping on each other tighter.

Laughter flashed in Ya Qing's dark eyes again. "So go get your things, and I'll walk you home."

"Yes." Zhu Hong barely noticed Da Qing's snickering. "I'll... yes." Lao-Chu was rolling his eyes when she turned around, and she glared at him. It wasn't like he had any room at all to talk, not with xiao-Guo draped over his shoulder, now giving Zhu Hong his brightest puppy-dog smile as she stalked past to grab her shoulder-bag.

"Have a good night," Da Qing prodded as she passed, and skipped back with a laugh when she hissed at him.

There was a definite smirk tucked up at the corners of Ya Qing's mouth, and she ushered Zhu Hong down the last step with a hand just barely touching her back. Zhu Hong tried not to blush and failed completely. As they walked, though, and Ya Qing let the quiet deepen between them, Zhu Hong felt herself relax into the ease of it. Ya Qing walked close to her, and her arm curved behind Zhu Hong once or twice when they turned a corner, but it wasn't teasing any more. Just... nice. Protective, but quietly, not the overbearing way her older cousins tended to these days.

"Do you think there will really be trouble?" Zhu Hong asked as they turned down her street.

"Possible, but not likely." Ya Qing cast a sharp eye over the rooflines of Zhu Hong's block and nodded, looking satisfied.

"Why did you come, then?" Zhu Hong dared to ask, eyes fixed on her keys as she sorted out the one for the front door. A sidelong glance showed Ya Qing's smile getting that teasing curl to it again.

"I did wish to see you home safe. You've shown yourself a reasonable and intelligent person, as we've planned the Yashou's revelation, and I want to encourage that." She reached out and set a finger under Zhu Hong's chin, lifting her head. Zhu Hong fumbled her keys with a tiny gasp as a thrill of excitement ran through her. "I also simply wished to walk with you. Would you prefer I didn't?"

It took Zhu Hong a moment to find words again. "No, I..." she swallowed and dared, "I liked walking with you." The knowledge that she walked in Ya Qing's protection had made her feel warm, all the way home. Even Ya Qingâ€™s teasing fit in so well with the way the SID teased each other all the time that it made Zhu Hong's heart turn over at how easy it felt.

Ya Qing's teasing smile melted into a deeper, quieter warmth. "Then perhaps I'll come to walk you home again."

Zhu Hong wet her lips, intensely aware of the gloved finger resting under her chin. Her voice came out soft and breathless when she said, "I'd like that."

"Then I will make sure it happens." Ya Qing stepped closer, and Zhu Hong's eyes went wide, lips already parted on a quick breath when Ya Qing leaned in and brushed the lightest of kisses over them. "Sleep well," she murmured, as she drew back, and was gone into the shadows of the evening before Zhu Hong could even squeak.

Zhu Hong took a deep breath and found her key again. She walked steadily up to her apartment and let herself in, locking the door carefully behind her. She set her bag down and sat composedly on the couch.

And then she covered her face with her hands and squeaked.

Now

Their rapidly assimilating Flower patroller had added a post-script asking if he could double up with a friend, who he thought would work well with his current police partner. Zhu Hong chewed on her lower lip as she thought. It would be a good thing, if a trusted partner could introduce the next one in line, but would it be seen as unfair? Not all Yashou wanted to try out a human partner, by any means, but among those who did the competition for who would get to learn human-style policing next was pretty stiff.

Or perhaps this was exactly the gesture she needed, to make sure the Flower tribe felt equally treated? That had been getting to be more of an issue, she knew, ever since...

Well, it had been getting to be more of an issue.

Zhu Hong kept her head bent over her desk as she wrote a note to herself to discuss it with Ying Chun, privately. Less chance of lao-Chu or Da Qing noticing how she was blushing, that way.

Then

Zhu Hong was glad the series of attacks the SID had been called to look into weren't actually the doing of a Dixingren. She was glad they didn't have to subdue someone with the kind of power a Dixingren might have, and even more glad they didn't have to try to figure out what to do with the man after since there was no Black-cloaked Envoy to hand him over to any more.

With her growing political awareness, she was entirely sure that the human Minister was even more glad to not be faced with that question.

But, while it meant that she and Da Qing had not cornered a Dixingren in a blind alley, it did mean she and Da Qing had cornered a crazed human with metal claws of some kind strapped to his hands. One who had attacked three women with them, and was staring at Zhu Hong with a mad, fixed gaze.

"We'll be all right," Da Qing muttered out of the corner of his mouth. "If he charges you, can you push him back? I'll jump on him while he's open."

Zhu Hong sucked in a deep breath, ignoring how it shook, and nodded sharply. She could do this. She could. She'd kept up her training, and she could hold off even other Yashou most of the time. Claws wouldn't be a problem.

The man smiled nastily at her, and she tensed.

The moment he stepped towards her, though, black fell out of the sky like the shadow of lightning, bursting between them in a swirl of power and feathers. Six black feathers shot forward and pinned the man to the brick behind him by his jacket.

"You dare." Ya Qing's voice was low, but cut through the man's shout of outrage like a knife. Another handful of feathers hovered over her outstretched hand, gleaming and sharp. "You dare raise your hand to her?"

All of Zhu Hong's coiled tension unwound in a soft shock of warmth. "Qing-jie," she whispered.

Ya Qing glanced over her shoulder, eyes raking up and down Zhu Hong. "You're well. Good." She flicked her fingers, and the hovering feathers nailed a few more handfuls of cloth to the brick, pinning the struggling man more firmly. "I suppose I'll refrain from killing him, then."

"Yeah," Da Qing put in slowly. "We do kind of try to do that."

Ya Qing sniffed. "Make yourself useful then, Cat, and take care of him."

Muttering under his breath about bossy birds, Da Qing edged wide around her and went to clout the man smartly, like a cat stunning a mouse it wanted to play with. Ya Qing watched closely until the man was zip tied at wrists and ankles, and finally sighed, relaxing with a shake of her shoulders that resettled her feathers. "You're our Chief Elder," she scolded Zhu Hong, coming to take her shoulders and look her over more closely. "You should be better guarded than this, when you're out working."

"I can take care of myself," Zhu Hong protested, though not as strongly as she might have. "And there are so few of us who can do field-work at all..."

On his way back past them, phone out and lifted to catch some reception, Da Qing paused and took a second sniff. A smirk spread slowly over his face. "Once a princess, always a princess, I guess. You liked being rescued, didn't you?"

Zhu Hong delivered a swift kick to his ankle and hissed when he hopped away, still laughing. She couldn't meet Ya Qing's eyes.

Until lace-gloved fingers caught her chin and turned her face back. Qing-jie was smiling. "Did you, then?"

"Only because it's you," Zhu Hong said, caught in those dark, laughing eyes, and then blushed harder when she realized what she'd admitted.

"I'm glad," Qing-jie murmured, just between the two of them, stepping closer. "Perhaps I shall watch over you myself, then."

Zhu Hong wet her lips and reached slowly out to tuck her hands under Qing-jie's cloak, around her waist. "That would take up a lot of your time, though, wouldn't it?" Not that she was actually protesting, just... trying to be a little bit responsible.

"Time spent guarding our Chief Elder would not be wasted." Qing-jie's thumb traced just below the curve of Zhu Hong's mouth, and her lips parted on a soft gasp for breath as her heart tripped. "Time guarding you would not be wasted." She closed the last centimeters between them, and Zhu Hong melted into the kiss, dizzy with the heat of knowing this magnificent, powerful woman wished to protect her, to hold her safe—and yet would not stand between Zhu Hong and her chosen work.

It felt so sweet.

When Qing-jie let her go, Zhu Hong pressed closer for a moment, snuggling against her just for one breath before she drew back and stood on her own feet. Qing-jie's smile was warm and proud, and Zhu Hong smiled back shyly.

"Tell me, when you go out on work." Qing-jie smoothed a lock of Zhu Hong's hair back. "And I will watch over you."

Zhu Hong ducked her head and promised, "I will."

"Then I will see you tonight." Qing-jie's voice was soft with a promise of her own, and the warmth of it lingered even after she vanished back into the sky in a rush of wings.

"So, is it safe to look yet?" Da Qing called from the entrance of the alley.

"Shut up," Zhu Hong snapped, brushing her blouse straight with brisk hands. "How long until someone comes to take him off our hands?"

Tonight couldn't come fast enough, for her.

Now

Zhu Hong jotted down another note to herself to ask Ying Chun to send a small thank-you to her tribesman's human partner. The man seemed to be getting along well with Yashou in general, and she wanted to encourage that as often as possible. She added a note at the bottom to ask Qing-jie to make certain someone spoke to the Crow couple. Relatable squabbles were one thing, but a serious fight in the streets would only set matters back.

And then she doodled the characters of Qing-jie's name in the fanciest style she knew, smiling over them until she caught lao-Chu smirking from two desks away. She scowled at him and folded the note up.

She'd keep the SID up to date on Yashou affairs that might land on their desks, but what she felt about Qing-jie was nobody's business but her own.

Even if it did tend to overlap with her official business an awful lot.

Then

It had taken months of planning, and then another month of concerted arguing with one after another administrative assistant to the new Minister, but Zhu Hong had finally done it. There was a new treaty document written out, and it was going to be signed on Yashou territory.

She stood in the back room of her uncle's house, examining her makeup and twitching her flowing black vest into place and trying not to hyperventilate.

"Calm yourself, Hong-er." Qing-jie's hands slid over her shoulders from behind. "Haven't the tribes all agreed to this? Even the old hold-outs?"

Zhu Hong took another quick breath. "Yes."

"And hasn't the human Ministry agreed to our draft? Hasn't their Director of Administration spoken in favor of the patrol liaisons?"

Zhu Hong nodded at her reflection, breathing a little slower. "Yes."

Qing-jie leaned against her back, warm and light, and purred in her ear, "Wouldn't your uncle squawk, if I kissed you right here?"

Zhu Hong burst into helpless giggles. "Qing-jie!"

She could hear the smile in Qing-jie's voice. "Hmm?"

Zhu Hong took a breath and let it out, feeling her shoulders drop under Qing-jie's hands. "Yes." She turned and wound her arms around Qing-jie, holding tight and feeling the strength of Qing-jie's arms around her, and then leaned back. "I'll be all right. You go ahead."

She'd learned not to arrive with Qing-jie, not to meetings with other Yashou, the same way she'd learned to be careful what she ate in front of humans and to restrain her hiss when she was surprised or angry. She didn't like it any better, but at least it was for a better reason. She didn't want the tribes to doubt that she was keeping everyone in mind, not just Qing-jie, that she was doing her best as Chief Elder.

And Qing-jie smiled at her approvingly for it, and touched her cheek gently. "That's our thoughtful little serpent. I'll go argue with the other two about where we'll hold the next market." She did kiss Zhu Hong, then, but light and swift, and was gone with a rustle of feathers.

When Zhu Hong ducked out of her uncle's house, the three Elders were indeed arguing, around his small table. Zhu Hong gave Qing-jie a narrow look and snorted at her lover's tiny smile; yes, Qing-jie had done it on purpose. Well all right, then.

"The three of you must have been arguing for decades," she declared. "Aren't you tired of it, yet?"

All three of them laughed, which made her think Qing-jie wasn't the only one trying to tease her back to calm. Zhu Hong took a breath and came to stand beside the table, straight and sure, and finally spoke the words officially.

â€œAs your leader," and then she looked at Qing-jie's smile and couldn't help teasing back, "she who had a crush on the Lord Guardian and competed against the Black-cloaked Envoy," Qing-jie and Ying Chun both snickered, and even her uncle's mouth tugged into a smile. "I've taken time on my day off to come here in order to host an important meeting, you know. It's not like it's easy, with two jobs!" Qing-jie gave her an indulgent smile, and Zhu Hong laughed a little herself.

"All right, a-Hong," her uncle started, and she glowered, "yes, yes, Chief Elder," he amended, patting the air with mollifying hands. "Our mistake. It's your turn; go ahead."

Zhu Hong sniffed, arms folded. "That's more like it." She took a deep breath and stood straight again. "My charge to our tribes is this: we will seek peace and pursue development through internal reforms and exchange of ideas with other peoples." She lifted a hand as if escorting a new age in. "Let the first convention we will host begin!"

They all applauded, good natured, as Zhu Hong heard the first crunch of human footsteps through the old leaves that carpeted the forest ground. She wound her hands tight together, nerves leaping up again. The brush of lace-gloved fingers over her wrist made her look down to find Qing-jie looking up at her. In that steady gaze Zhu Hong saw both ferocious determination and a quiet faith that made the whole world stand still around her for one second.

Including her nerves.

Zhu Hong smiled, soft and small with her thanks, and lifted her chin to step forward and greet Minister Guo for the first time as an equal, feeling the whole weight of the tribes behind her, pushing her forward. If she didn't know all of how to carry that weight, yet, she would learn.

Her Elders would teach her.

Now

The third letter was a demand that the Chief Elder mediate an inheritance dispute.

Over a cloak pin.

Zhu Hong finally gave up and groaned out loud, flopping down across her desk in despair, and never mind how Da Qing would undoubtedly laugh at her. No matter how much she ignored or schemed or yelled, these just would not stop coming. Letters asking her to fix family affairs. Letters asking her to solve a quarrel with a spouse. Letters asking her to tell someone's child to straighten up. Did she look like some kind of avatar of the heavens, here to solve everyone's personal problems? No! But the letters wouldn't stop.

"Does someone want you to solve their love life?"

Zhu Hong sat bolt upright, staring, because that had sounded like...

And it was, in fact, Shen Wei, who had paused by her desk on his way past and whose mouth was quirked in a tiny, commiserating smile.

Zhu Hong tried to wrap her mind around the idea that, apparently, some Dixingren buttonholed the Black-cloaked Envoy with this same kind of nonsense, and felt her eyes trying to cross. "You... I mean, they really...?" she asked weakly, waving the letter.

"The Regent takes a certain pleasure in saving them for me," he said, dry. "If you wish to learn from my mistakes, just ignore them all with as much dignity as you can manage."

She looked up at him, caught by the implication that he had ever been in her position—a young ruler, maybe not consulted all that much about what he really wanted, trying to learn how to do right by his people anyway. And she heard again the words Qing-jie had murmured in her ear, one evening as they lay together, talk meandering through Yashou into Dixing politics.

"I didn't learn as much as I would like, from Ye Zun, but one thing he said repeatedly. That Shen Wei had never wanted to be his people's ruler. That he only did it because of Kunlun. So I think it must be true that that's how the Envoy began. But I watched what he did all last year, too. He has a short temper, and little mercy for enemies, but for his own... for his own, he can show great compassion. He loves his people, now, in his own way." Qing-jie stroked her fingers gently through Zhu Hong's hair. "I respected that. In the end, I wished it had been him I went to, listened to." She'd leaned up on an elbow, smiling down at Zhu Hong. "And more than that, I wish you could have known more of him and his experience, now that you've taken on such great responsibilities."

Zhu Hong had curled closer and admitted, softly, "So do I. He... he was kind to me. Even when I was being foolish and jealous, he was kind. I wish I could ask him things, sometimes."

And now here he was, offering that experience freely.

Zhu Hong's eyes fell from the level darkness of his. "Thank you..." Her gaze flickered up and down again before she could stop it, and she made herself take a breath and look back up to finish, "...Shen da-ge?"

She couldn't help ending on a question, unsure he would accept such familiarity. Would even want or understand the apology she was trying to give. There seemed to be so much age, so much time in the weight and quiet of his gaze.

After a long moment, though, he smiled faintly and lifted a hand to rest on her head. "You're welcome."

Zhu Hong broke into a relieved smile, ducking her head under his hand, shy and pleased.

She could feel lao-Chu smirking from two desks over, and tossed him a glare as Shen Wei turned away toward the Chief's office. Lao-Chu looked irritatingly smug. "I told you," he said. "Didn't I tell you?"

"Oh shut up," Zhu Hong huffed, turning back to her own screen for a report to finish or something. The office already had a fan of the Envoy, it wasn't like she needed to add anything there.

She was going to tell Qing-jie, though, when she came to pick Zhu Hong up tonight. She thought Qing-jie would approve.

Zhu Hong was smiling as she tucked the last letter away and opened her files.

End