Yami No Matsuei Fan Fiction ❯ The First Death ❯ Chapter 6: The True Death, Part 2 ( Chapter 6 )

Summary: The Shinigami wrap up their work in Tokyo while Saki makes his first serious move.

The True Death, Part 2

|Terazuma|

Terazuma leans against the brick of the old factory wall casually, one foot braced against the wall, the other against the ground. His white dress shirt's untucked over his black pants, and he's having a cigarette, the movement of the glowing red tip in the darkness the only real sign that he's even there.

It's about two in the morning, and from a distance, if you happened to glance down the alley, he looks like any other street punk in Tokyo with the hood of his jacket drawn over his head obscuring his face from casual view. He's standing near a doorway keeping watch.

Terazuma exhales. The smoke lingers in the air, floating in the dim sodium vapor light. To the mortal eye, it appears that he's talking to himself.

"Eh, just wait." Terazuma says. This is one of the few times that Terazuma is visible on their cases, when he's playing at street punk. He finishes his cigarette, and grinds it underneath his foot.

"Do you think they'll be all right in there?" Wakaba stands next to him, invisible to mortal eyes. It wouldn't do for pretty girls to be seen in an area such as this so late, so they've worked out a system where if one of them has to be visible late at night, it would be Terazuma.

"They'll be fine," Terazuma says, as he fishes for another cigarette. He'd rather be doing something other than waiting, but he'd rather let the Tokyo Two, as he's been calling Tatsumi and Muraki, learn how to work with each other. "I trained the kid myself," Terazuma grins. "So he'd better be good and ass-kicking. Ah crap. Lighter's out."

"Hajime shouldn't smoke so much," Wakaba frowns. "It's not healthy."

"Kuro-sama likes it, and what Kuro wants, Kuro gets," Terazuma says, gesturing with his unlit cigarette. "Anyway, it can't kill me. I'm already dead." Terazuma starts looking up thoughtfully, as if listening for something.

"That doesn't mean that you…it's coming!" Wakaba's suddenly cut off as Terazuma grabs her by the shoulder and drags her out of the way. A second later, the door comes flying off of the building, slicing through the air where Wakaba had been standing. It's followed by a loud concussive blast.

"Damn, looks like things are picking up," Terazuma says, letting go of Wakaba without further comment. It's perhaps one of the few times he's been able to touch a woman without transforming, when danger's afoot and he reacts before he thinks. Terazuma has always thought that it was unfair. "If that doesn't get the cops running, I don't know what will."

"Do you think we should go and make sure they're okay?"

"Nah, they're big boys. They can handle themselves," Terazuma says. "Ah, barrier."

Wakaba pulls out an ofuda, and takes a step closer to Terazuma, who looks away, a little uncomfortable with their sudden proximity. Soon after, there's a second explosion, this time blasting through the high glass-paned windows above them. Dagger-like shards of glass comes flying down in a shower of debris, splintering off of Wakaba's barrier, leaving them in a two foot diameter circle free from harm.

"It's times like this when I'm glad I have such good hearing," Terazuma says, tapping his head. "Thank you so very much, KokuShunGei-sama."

"I guess this means they're having some trouble," Wakaba says, putting the ofuda away as the dust settles. "Do you think the police will be here soon?"

"This part of town? I'd give them another fifteen minutes," Terazuma leans back against the wall, wondering how long it would take for Tatsumi and Muraki to wrap things up. "Or less," he concedes, as he hears the growing wail of the approaching sirens.

"They should hurry up then," Wakaba says, looking askance at the now empty doorway.

"Watch out," Terazuma says, putting his arm out before Wakaba, pulling her back from the doorway. His Shiki twitches eagerly as flames come gouting out of the darkened entrance, highlighting everything in stark relief as it rages before dying out, leaving little bursts of fire in its trail.

"Thank you, Hajime-chan," Wakaba beams, half-turning to look up at him. Terazuma notices that he's pulled her up against him, and quickly lets her go. His Shikigami recoils against the sudden jerk in his emotions, but settles back down before anything happens.

"Eh, don't worry about it," Terazuma says uneasily, distracting himself by lighting his cigarette against the burning doorframe. "It's just what partners do. Speaking of partners, look who the cat dragged out. Get your ass kicked, kid?"

"Shut up," Muraki scowls at Terazuma as he exits the building. Tatsumi follows. They both look slightly singed. Tatsumi's hair and glasses are dusted with soot and Muraki is patting out the remnants of a fire that had caught on his sleeve.

"Wah, are you two all right?" Wakaba asks. "Did you get burned?"

"Just a little," Muraki replies. "It's..."

"Everything's fine," Tatsumi interrupts with a dismissive wave of his hand. "But this one got away. We're going to have to look again tomorrow night."

"For a suicide, he sure wants to stay," Terazuma says dryly.

"Buyer's remorse," Tatsumi notes curtly as he runs his hand through his hair, dislodging most of the soot in a little black cloud. He begins wiping off his glasses.

"I never knew that stray souls could be so troublesome. Or dangerous." Muraki comments. He's got black smudges of charcoal on his face.

"Yeah, well, you get them backed into a corner like that, they'll go nuts on you," Terazuma says. "Bad choice, following it here."

"This wouldn't have happened if you were paying attention when we were trying to trap it," Tatsumi says to Muraki. "Now we're going to have to be out an extra night or two because now it knows we're looking for it."

"I didn't know what I was looking for," Muraki counters.

"The man's soul was completely on fire! Didn't that seem like something you should do something about?" Tatsumi says.

"What was I to do about that? Get a garden hose? Self-immolation isn't exactly within my realm of experience!" Muraki snaps.

"It should be! Haven't you been studying the manual?" Tatsumi snarls.

"Ah…Tatsumi-san? Kazutaka-san? Maybe we should get going?" Wakaba gently interjects, before the two of them can tear each other apart. She's wondering how they're going to do without her because she's managed to keep them from tearing into each other on at least a half-dozen occasions, and it's only Friday night. "The police just arrived." She points. Off in the distance down the alley, they can see the flicker of the police lights.

"We will talk about this later," Tatsumi says, his voice holding a tone of finality.

"Fine."

"Let's go," Tatsumi says.

"All right then," Muraki scowls.

Wakaba and Terazuma shrug at each other.

A moment later the four of them disappear, leaving nothing that evidenced their passage other than a circle completely clear of broken glass.

*******

|Oriya|

It's the end of another long day. True to his word, Saki's been helping out in various ways; ferrying Oriya around to the various locales during the day, even inviting Oriya over to stay at his apartment overnight before he returns to Kyoto so he wouldn't have to be surrounded by reminders of Muraki. The weight of Muraki's death somehow seems lessened by these little acts of kindness.

Saki's apartment is genially cluttered, unlike the cold sterility of Muraki's apartment or the elegant simplicity of Kokakurou. There are art pieces from all over the world, a testament to Saki's life in Los Angeles, perhaps one of the most ethnically diverse cities in the world.

"I had a much bigger place in California," Saki says half-apologetically, as he's making tea. "I left most of my things when I moved to Tokyo, and the stuff I brought still didn't quite fit. Housing is much more affordable there than it is in Tokyo. I lived in a big ranch house in Camarillo - I even had room for my own laboratory."

"Do you still own the property?" Oriya asks. He's feeling tired - it's been a long day, but Saki's stories of his life in America are far too interesting to pass up.

"I do. When Satomi died, everything was willed to me because he never married or had children, so I was able to keep the house. I've got a friend out there that handles the property for me. It's a really nice piece of land. It's in a tract of housing that's surrounded by strawberry fields. When the berries are ripe, everything smells like strawberries for a few weeks."

"That must be very lovely," Oriya says. Saki's couch is very comfortable - he feels like he could easily curl up and take a nap in if it wasn't so rude. It's a tempting thought but Oriya puts it aside, sitting up straight to avoid thinking of his own fatigue.

"It's great. You should come and visit me some time when I'm out there," Saki says, bringing the pot of tea and two cups. He sits down next to Oriya and pours tea for the two of them. "But not when they fertilize the fields, because then everything smells like manure for a few days."

Oriya can't help but laugh. "How horrible."

"It's not too bad as long as you pinch your nose and close the windows," Saki says with a wink. "Ah, that reminds me." He gets back up and comes back with a box and a small knife. It's slightly battered looking, and the addresses are written in English. It's stamped with big red block-text: Fragile and Perishable.

"A friend of mine from the states mailed me something special recently," Saki says with a smile, "And I thought I'd save it to share with you."

"Oh?" Oriya watches Saki open the box curiously.

"Avocados, limes, prickly pear fruit, blood oranges, and figs," Saki says, opening the box. "They send me a box about every few months, depending on what's in season."

Oriya looks at the assorted fruit curiously. It's a glimpse into an exotic world. "What's a blood orange?"

Saki picks up one of the oranges. Its skin is darker than a regular orange, slightly tinged with crimson. "Let me show you." He takes the knife and slices it in half. Inside, the fruit is deeply crimson, the juices running over Saki's fingers like blood.

"That's amazing."

"Try it." Saki cuts the orange into segments, and the two split the slices. But for its crimson flesh, it tastes just like any other orange - a little bit of a disappointment to Oriya given its inventive coloring and name.

Oriya watches unblinkingly as Saki licks the trailing red juice off his hands.

"I've never seen fresh figs before," Oriya says, turning his attention elsewhere to cover his momentary fascination with Saki's actions. He picks up the palm-sized fruit. It's fat-bottomed and deep purple, trailing up toward a green stem.

"They're much better fresh," Saki smiles. "My friend's got a farm in Santa Paula and they just start coming into season this time of year. Hers are much better though, because most figs on the market are a lot smaller. Did you know that they don't flower? The fruit buds off of the branches."

Oriya looks at the fig curiously. "How do you eat it?"

"Peel it, starting from the stem," Saki explains.

Oriya breaks the stem and begins peeling the fig, setting the skin on a napkin that Saki provides. Oriya breaks the soft fruit in half carefully, revealing the purple-pink interior, the prickly-looking heart of the fruit. He takes a bite of one of the halves. It's sweet and juicy with a crunch of the tiny seeds, its flavor lighter and cleaner than any dried fig Oriya's ever had.

Without warning, Saki captures Oriya's hand, and lifts the other half of the fruit to his mouth. Oriya's breath catches, muscles tensing minutely in anticipation. Saki takes a bite of the fig, and then another, all the while watching Oriya closely, watching for his reaction.

Oriya feels momentarily paralyzed, as if caught in the hypnotic sway of a serpent's gaze.

"Do you like it?" Saki says softly, as he takes the tips of Oriya's fingers into his mouth, licking at the remnants of the fruit. Saki's mouth seeks him out before he can respond.

The answer, however, is yes.

But Saki draws back.

"Ah, I'm sorry, Oriya. I don't mean to be selfish," he says apologetically. "I suppose you're tired and want to go to bed."

"Y-yes…I probably should," Oriya says, his mind still reeling from Saki's kisses. "Thank you for inviting me to stay here."

"It's no problem," Saki gets up. "Shall we?"

"All right."

***

In the end it was Oriya who made the next advance, pinning Saki down against the yielding surface of the mattress, sliding his hands beneath the slick gray silk of Saki's shirt to feel the hot skin below. Saki is pliant beneath his touch, his breaths uneven with little gasps of pleasure at Oriya's ministrations. Oriya's long dark hair slides down over his shoulders, brushing along Saki's throat, pooling about them as Saki's hands move to worry at the buttons of Oriya's long-sleeved shirt.

Oriya's far more comfortable with this arrangement - his love affairs (and that mainly, meant the affairs of the bedroom and not the heart) center mainly around beautiful women (not Kokakurou's, of course), with the occasional pretty young man to liven the mix. Saki wasn't exactly what fit into Oriya's usual tastes, but that didn't mean that Oriya was going to allow Saki to take certain liberties with him, particularly in the bedroom.

Oriya sits up, his legs straddling Saki, and impatiently pulls his shirt off, revealing his strongly muscled torso. Saki's dark eyes watch him with a particularly calculated gleam, as if wondering what he'll do next.

Oriya, of course, is never one to back down from a challenge. Oriya runs his fingers along Saki's jaw, tipping his face up possessively before leaning down to engage him in more thorough kisses.

Oriya smiles against Saki's lips as Saki's eyes widen with surprise.

It's probably feigned though.

***

Later, after Oriya's breath evens out from his exertions, after they've cleaned and drunk some water, room temperature from a bottle on the bedside stand, Oriya lies half-dozing with Saki leaning against him, companionably close. Saki's fingers are playing along the long feather-dark strands of Oriya's hair, caressing through his scalp. It's a lazy comfortable feeling.

"Tell me about Kokakurou," Saki whispers, a soft murmur in Oriya's ear.

"I have a garden in one of the inner courtyards. There's a stone-lined pond that's fed from an underground spring, and at the end of winter when the snow melts, white narcissus flowers bloom along the shore. I planted them there when I was a child," Oriya says drowsily. "I don't even remember why." His lips move into a gentle smile. "I must have been five or six. The things children do."

"Do you like it there?" In the dark, Oriya's almost not certain anymore who he's talking to, when it's taking place. Is he nineteen and in the university dormitory, Muraki across the room from him in the other bed? Is he twenty-three and half-dozing in his futon while Muraki feels his forehead, his expert touch searching for lingering remnants of the fever? Is Muraki still waking up with the headaches?

It's so hard to tell. But Oriya's just happy that it's Muraki. He can almost see the pale fingers in the dark as they stroke his hair. Oriya's eyes, however, are closed.

"It's just a place," Oriya's voice begins to waver, dissipating like the long movement of electromagnetic waves as they travel across countries and continents. "I didn't always live there - I grew up in a house not too far away. It was just the place where work was done, but then they died and our house became too big and empty for me to live in by myself." Oriya's mind wanders, fixating on the idea of big and empty spaces. He's thinking about Doppler shifts and the persistent dance of the planets as the universe ever expands, flinging its creation further and further from its heart.

"What else is in Kokakurou?" The voice is gentle and persistent. Oriya can't find a reason to refuse it even though it keeps him at the edge of sleep. He could easily slide down and lose himself in unconsciousness, but the voice ties him to something vaguely resembling awareness.

"Flowers. Ceramic cups. Polished wood and tatami floors. Paper-screen doors. My swords. The servants, the maids. Me," Oriya's mind is already half-dreaming. In his mind, he's now busy with the day's work in Kokakurou; he's thinking about whether today they should use the black lacquer ware or the red, is it a Friday or Saturday and which set needs polishing, if that's the case then perhaps it'll be porcelain and they'll go with the white and blue or…

"Tell me Oriya, what about…"

Oriya dreams, but part of him is still awake enough to answer.

***

The next morning when Oriya wakes up, he remembers nothing of their conversation.

Curious, Oriya thinks, as he looks at the clock while he dresses. It's far later than he would normally sleep - Oriya normally wakes up a little after dawn, because he likes to get an early start on the day. Oriya shrugs and attributes it to fatigue. He's never liked dealing with lawyers or banks, and he's dealt with quite a few in the last week or so.

Last night, he had an odd dream. The first part of it was jumbled - he dreamt that he was in Kokakurou having a talk with someone, but he doesn't remember who it was. They talked about a lot of things, but for the life of him, Oriya can't seem to remember what they discussed. But then the next part was far clearer. Oriya dreamt that he saw Muraki again. Muraki was trying to talk to him. Trying to tell him something that he needed to know, something important. But Oriya had told him and very firmly, "You're dead, it's wrong to talk to dead people."

After he had said that, Muraki's expression was filled with such confusion and grief - it was so unusual that for an instant, Oriya began to regret saying it. And then, Muraki was gone.

It was the oddest dream. Oriya wonders about it as he shrugs on his shirt.

"Good morning," Saki yawns, stretching his arms as he sits up in bed.

"Good morning," Oriya replies. And then, as he buttons his shirt, "I have return to the apartment and get the cat before I go back to Kyoto."

Saki unwinds himself from the bed sheets. He's wearing only a thin pair of boxer shorts over his leanly muscled frame. He comes up behind Oriya, pulling him into an embrace. They're the same height to the inch. Saki's body is still warm from the bed, and Oriya feels his heat through the thin fabric of the shirt.

""May I give you a ride to the station?" Saki asks.

"Thank you," Oriya says, distractedly. "I want to try to catch the train to Kyoto before noon."

"I've been meaning to go to Kyoto myself," Saki murmurs into Oriya's ear as Oriya fastens the tiny buttons on his shirtsleeves. Oriya doesn't fumble and gets them correctly on the first try. "I've yet to have time to visit Satomi's grave and give my respects. It's almost been a year."

"May I offer you a room in Kokakurou then?" Oriya says, "I can take you to your professor's grave. I don't think it's too far from where I live."

"Thank you," Saki's lips find Oriya's skin.

Oriya closes his eyes as Saki presses a kiss against his throat.

*******

|Muraki|

Muraki is awake. Tatsumi isn't. It's a perfect opportunity.

Quietly, imperceptibly, Muraki slips out. He's had a lot of practice doing things silently, though up until now he hasn't shown it. What the Shinigami didn't know - and there were some things that they didn't know, no matter how many files they had and diagnostics they could run - couldn't hurt them.

Much.

It's early in the morning and the sun hasn't yet risen. Muraki's had about three hours of sleep but probably less, but that doesn't bother him. He's used to running on very little sleep. It's likely that Terazuma's the only one who knows that, but it doesn't really matter now - Terazuma and Wakaba are most likely still sleeping.

Muraki makes his way out of the hotel. What he doesn't know is that no matter what he thinks he can hide from the Shinigami, he still doesn't know their abilities nearly as well as his own. But more importantly, he doesn't know that Tatsumi is following him.

***

It's morbid curiosity, and Muraki knows it. Still, it doesn't stop him from taking the subway, going to the graveyard, and finding his own grave. At the least, he doesn't bring himself flowers - that would certainly be something approaching least excessive egotism.

He stands before the marker, his hand reaching out hesitantly to touch the polished stone. His name engraved into the granite marker. Muraki never expected to see it like this.

Muraki wonders what's happened to his earrings. He'd like them back. But really, the image that Terazuma had put into his mind of the shovel hitting the earth of the grave is too disturbing, even for him. The last thing Muraki wants to encounter is his dead body. He logically knows that it was probably cremated, but the thought of his flesh decaying beneath the soil, reaching out for the soul that no longer inhabited it leaves him cold.

Muraki shivers in the chill gray early morning light.

Above, the birds are beginning to sing.

Muraki shakes his head, and walks away. If the earrings are buried with his remains, so much the safer for them.

Behind him, Tatsumi appears for a brief second before sliding into another shadow.

***

Muraki walks the rest of the way home. But it's not the hotel that he's going for, nor is it Terazuma and Wakaba's house in Meifu. Muraki is headed back toward his apartment.

He's taking a long and meandering trail, and part of Tatsumi wants to slap him silly for taking his time, but the other wants to know where Muraki is going. It seems aimless - at times, Muraki stops and sits for long stretches, staring at the sky above or the people as they pass. He seems to be lost in his thoughts, not quite noticing the busy world around him.

Finally, a few hours later, Muraki makes it back to his apartment building. As he blindly walks by, invisible to mortal eyes (actually following Tatsumi and Terazuma's dictates for once), he fails to notice a sleek black car pulling away from the front of the building. It's a little detail, but it doesn't really register. After all, Muraki doesn't know anyone who's mad enough to drive in Tokyo.

Finally, Muraki is back. But he doesn't have any keys. He frowns, pausing for a moment to decipher the problem. A moment later, he disappears in a brilliant flash of light.

Tatsumi slips out of his shadow and stands before the door. His hand rises as if he's about to knock on the door, but he changes his mind at the last second. Suddenly, shadows gather about him, moving beneath his feet as he silently falls into the pool of darkness.

Muraki is walking around the rooms, not bothering to turn the light on. The furniture's all been wrapped in packing material - it's all ready for the movers to take. The bookshelves and cupboards are bare, and walking into his office, he notes that the desk is empty too, as are the walls. Oriya must have taken the wall scroll, among other things, Muraki notes.

"Asato-neko," Muraki's voice is soft, "Where are you?" He walks around, looking through the cat's usual hiding places before he realizes that Oriya's probably taken the cat too.

That's when Tatsumi's patience finally breaks, and without warning, shadows pool before Muraki's feet.

"Asato-neko?" Tatsumi asks angrily as he steps out of the darkness.

"Tatsumi." Muraki takes a step back.

"Are you insane?"

"Insane? Hardly. It's the name of my cat."

"Asato-neko? As I said before, are you insane?" Tatsumi fumes at the image of Muraki naming his cat after Tsuzuki. "Stalker."

"I had my reasons," Muraki says, a little stiffly. "And for that latter part, I could say the same to you."

The two glare at each other for a long minute, as if daring the other to back down. Finally, they both look away.

"You cannot just go as you please," Tatsumi snaps. "This is how partners get killed in the line of duty."

"I never knew you cared so much," Muraki retorts. "I thought you wanted me to get killed."

"What I feel has nothing to do with business," Tatsumi says coldly. "And as a matter of business, it is unacceptable for you to be walking off by yourself without telling anyone."

"As if you'd let me go, if I asked?" Muraki's voice grows deadly. "I have been doing my job as well as I can for the last few days, no thanks to your 'input.' Did that soul just happen to come my direction before I could do anything about it or could it have been goaded, perhaps by a certain shadow master?" Muraki snarls. "If you want to kill me, just do so. At this point, there's very little I can do about that, *sempai*, and if it makes you happier to erase this earth of my miserable existence once and for all, I highly recommend that you do it now, before I change my mind and fight back."

Tatsumi's hand moves without him realizing it, the shadows swirling around his upraised fist like an inky maelstrom. Muraki flinches, and Tatsumi snaps back into himself, realizing what he was about to do. Tatsumi lowers his hand, the shadows dissipating from his control.

"Don't do it again," Tatsumi says coolly, adjusting his glasses. "And don't ask me twice. Next time, I might actually kill you."

Muraki has nothing to say to that. With a deep sigh, he leans against the wall of his apartment, his eyes unseeingly staring at the bare walls, the packed furnishings.

"It does you no good to come back here like this," Tatsumi says, turning away from Muraki as if his attention is pointed at the window. He walks over to open the drapes, letting sunlight enter the dim room. "It doesn't make it better, only worse. You should stay away from places that you're familiar with for a while. Eventually, everything changes and you'll be able to cope with it better when you don't recognize it anymore."

"I see," Muraki's voice comes faintly. Silence. Then, "May I ask you something, Tatsumi?"

"Yes." Tatsumi stands looking out the window. The morning haze is giving way to sunshine.

"May I be allowed to go to Kyoto once we're finished? I promise that I will do my best to cooperate if it's possible," Muraki says, hesitation catching at the edges of his words. "I have to apologize to someone."

Tatsumi stands silent. He can feel Muraki's eyes on him. Tatsumi suddenly remembers that something like this had happened with Sato. He had wanted to say goodbye to his family. Sato had said no, and Tatsumi had missed the opportunity. By the time he managed to get around to it, after the war, half of them had died, and the others had dispersed to far-off lands in the new world.

"I will think about it. We must ask Terazuma first," Tatsumi concedes.

"I can accept that," Muraki says as he slumps against the wall. He takes a deep breath, and straightens up. "I suppose we should check if Terazuma and Wakaba are awake yet."

"Let's go then." Tatsumi says, closing the drapes carefully. The room is returned to darkness as they both disappear without a trace.

*******

|Oriya|

Saki and Oriya have arrived in Kyoto. It's early afternoon now, and Oriya's flung himself into a flurry of work, catching up on a week's worth of backlog. Saki watches as Oriya moves through Kokakurou, his presence like that of a force of nature that somehow leaves order in its trail; details being fixed, disputes being settled, and accounts being balanced in his wake. Oriya's offered Saki a room to stay the night, and please enjoy our hospitality here in Kyoto.

Saki accepts, of course. They'll have dinner in a few hours, but for now, please come and go as you wish if you want to see the sights, or if you like, you could have tea in my office where you can view the garden. The old maple tree is looking especially lovely this year, much more beautiful than it was last year.

Saki sits on the tatami-matted floor, unobtrusively drinking his tea while Oriya works.

Saki is planning his next step.

*******

|Terazuma|

True to his word, Muraki's come through on his promise to Wakaba. Tonight, after the two teams spent most of the day relaxing or sleeping, they're going out to dinner. Of course, Terazuma and Tatsumi come along as well, and since Muraki's agreed to pay the difference if they go over their allotted daily expenses, there is no complaint over the costs. Besides, it's quite modestly priced, this restaurant that Wakaba picks.

It's Saturday night in Tokyo, and they're at a restaurant in one of the older parts of town, in an aging high-rise overlooking the city. It's a restaurant that Muraki's never been to but has heard of, having fallen out of favor decades ago and whose existence is owed to a dedicated circle of regulars as well as a nostalgic landlord that keeps the rent low.

It's the kind of restaurant that was popular in past decades - something that even Muraki's parents would have found peculiarly old-fashioned. It's a style that was fashionable when American soldiers still patrolled Japan and the thing for smart young people to do was to go to a restaurant that served the newly imported American style food, afterwards dancing to a live band or watch as couples waltzed along the hardwood floors.

Fast forward fifty-some years, and the spirit remains true, even if the couples are now doddering old men and old ladies, and the hardwood floor doesn't quite shine as it used to. The Shinigami are perhaps the youngest people in the restaurant but for the staff though in truth, most of them are probably near the same age.

Tonight, Terazuma appears as he would without the marks of the Shikigami, thanks to one of Wakaba's ofuda spells (folded up in his pocket) obscuring the traces so that he appears to be any other normal young man. Terazuma prefers appearing as what he really looks like - he may not like it, but no matter what he thinks of his relation to KokuShunGei, he prefers honesty to himself and the world. Even still, once in a while he's willing to compromise, if nothing for the fact that he'd like to have dinner in peace without troubling the mortals excessively.

The food's quite decent, and the company's pleasantly civil tonight, which comes to a bit of a surprise to Terazuma, as it seems the first evening this week that Muraki and Tatsumi haven't been at each other's throats. They're not even glaring. Terazuma wonders if they've come to some sort of understanding - that's his hope but he's not going to hold his breath, since the two have been perversely making things hard for each other since the moment they realized they had to work together.

Terazuma idly wonders why they can't just get along. For example, Kannuki and he have worked together harmoniously for decades, with nary an argument, at least nothing serious. Terazuma thinks that it doesn't seem to make sense that Tatsumi has such a tough time - in fact, if he remembers correctly, Tatsumi had been married before he died. Hell, even Muraki was engaged.

This couldn't be nearly as hard as marriage or engagement, working at being partners with someone - Terazuma would know, as he feels that he's totally and completely unsuitable for marriage. Well, there was that thing where he lived with Wakaba, but even that was mainly because of KokuShunGei's unpredictability. When the Shikigami had first been forced onto him, Terazuma's control was a lot weaker and it would come out with blinding unpredictability, thus necessitating their cohabitation. But still, that hardly counted. They were like housemates who happened to work together, good friends, certainly, but it wasn't marriage.

"Ne Hajime, do you want to dance?" Wakaba startles Terazuma out of his thoughts. She's smiling at him.

Terazuma flushes without realizing it and embarrassed, he looks away, as if the flower arrangement on the table has suddenly become the most fascinating thing in the room. Tatsumi and Muraki look on without comment or expression, and but for the little quirk of their lips, you'd think that they hadn't noticed or heard.

"Eh, I'd like to, Kannuki, but you know, it's the usual," Terazuma says weakly, tapping at his cheekbones above where the marks lie. "Sorry." He scowls, and fumbles for a cigarette before realizing he left them back in the hotel room.

Terazuma returns to staring at the flowers (they're plastic, and dusty looking), unwilling to meet Wakaba's eyes. He listens without comment to Tatsumi's offer to take Wakaba dancing. Terazuma's eyes narrow a little as Tatsumi escorts Wakaba to the dance floor, but in the end, he just sighs and says nothing. Eventually, Terazuma wanders away from the table, leaving Muraki to sit quietly with his cup of coffee.

Terazuma finds himself standing before the floor length windows, looking out over the city. He wonders how things could have been different, would the city lights still sparkle the way they do now if the war had ended differently? Would he have ever met Wakaba if he hadn't died?

It's a pretty thought, but it's ultimately stupid, Terazuma thinks. Time can't be changed, and neither could circumstance - the best they could do was work with what they had, even though the restrictions sometimes seemed excessive and were too often unfair.

He listens to the band. They're playing a mix of music, some things from when he was still alive, and some things from after. All of it's at least thirty-some years old; music that Terazuma realizes with no small amusement would have been playing when Muraki was still in diapers.

In the window's reflection, everything is superimposed; the restaurant interior over the exterior skyline, the dancers moving to the beat of the music, the blink of a low flying helicopter in the distance. Terazuma can see Tatsumi and Wakaba dancing, a mirror image over the dark cityscape, the lights of the building blending into their movements so that for a moment, Terazuma isn't certain if they're here or there, outside above the city or inside the restaurant, just that they're somewhere and it shines. Wakaba is carefully correcting Tatsumi when he missteps. It's a charming image; the music's got a friendly and upbeat swing to it, and Terazuma's lips turn upward into a small smile at the sight before he realizes what he's doing.

The music changes though, as the band shifts gear, and it's now a slower song, a little romantic Sinatra ditty that Terazuma's been fond of for years ever since he first heard it. His English is laughably bad, and he can only pick out a few words here and there, but it's sung well tonight, the singer's voice sweetly sultry and he allows himself a hint of bittersweet fondness, thinking of Wakaba dancing with Tatsumi. Terazuma closes his eyes, unwilling to watch them dance.

"…and let me play among the stars…" The music drifts over him, and it's the only thing that he's thinking of as he follows the shape of the sound in his mind. Terazuma imagines that he's the one dancing with her instead of Tatsumi.

Terazuma can feel that someone's walked up to him, and for a moment, he's not sure whether he wants to open his eyes. Terazuma thinks it's probably Muraki, probably asking about some sort of work thing, asking about when they'd get serious and go out to hunt down that last soul. But he opens his eyes and before him, reflected in the tall window, is Wakaba. She's by herself and smiling as she brushes her hair aside with one hand, the pink trailing ribbons entwining with the long waves of her honey-dark hair.

"In other words…hold my hand…"

Behind him, Wakaba lifts her hand toward Terazuma's. In the window that acts almost as a mirror, their reflections touch, their fingers covering each other. Hers is small, almost childlike. His is large enough to encompass the both of her hands easily. Without meaning to, Terazuma smiles, quite genuinely, his face looking years younger, more open and vulnerable. He can almost imagine that they're in another time, another place - one where they didn't die. It's just a date between two people that like each other a lot, and if he touches her, he doesn't turn into a beast. It's a place where maybe things could progress beyond the constraints that filled his life, and they would be free to do as they pleased.

"You are all I long for, all I worship and adore." The song's nearly over. Terazuma's thoughts return to reality. Fleeting like the music that's life is limited by its length are moments such as this when he doesn't have to think about the things that he must do, but allows himself to forget about that and think of the things he'd like to do.

Wakaba says nothing as she walks over to stand next to him, her hand coming to rest on the glass next to his. Their fingers are barely an inch apart. Terazuma looks at her hand, and the urge to clasp it within his own is strong. But he does nothing about it, and continues looking at the city lights. She does the same.

It's just what they do. Looking, not touching.

With the end of the music comes the beginning of their night. Terazuma and Wakaba make their way back to the table, toward Muraki and Tatsumi, who are talking over their drinks. As Muraki and Tatsumi go to settle the bills, Terazuma walks out into the lobby, suppressing a sigh, a million little details coming to mind as to what he's going to have to do in the next few hours with the hunting of the stray soul. As he makes his way to the elevator to push the button, someone's hand catches the edge of his sleeve, stopping his forward movement. At his side, Wakaba stops, watching them curiously.

"Excuse me, young man?" An older woman, her quaking fingers entwined with the black cloth of his suit coat. She's nearly as tall as he is - it's quite odd for someone of that generation. Her hair is black streaked with silver, and she looks to be in her mid-to-late sixties.

"Yes?" Terazuma blinks, wondering who this person is and what she wants. There's something vaguely familiar about her eyes, but he can't seem to place it.

The woman looks to the man beside her for support, an elderly gentleman of about the same age that must be her husband. He nods, and she looks back up at Terazuma.

"I'm sorry to bother you, young man but please, could you tell me what your father's name is? You look an awful lot like a son of an old friend and I just have to know," her voice quavers.

"Father?" Terazuma blinks. "Terazuma Hiromichi," he says unthinkingly, forgetting that he shouldn't tell the truth.

The old woman suddenly lets go of his black coat. "Terazuma Hiromichi." Her eyes grow wide, and she clutches at her heart, tears filling her eyes. "No. That's not possible. It can't be. You're exactly the same. It's not possible." She's crying now, her hands coming up to wipe away the tears, and her husband's patting her shoulder soothingly, watching Terazuma with a guarded look that almost, almost verges on horror.

Terazuma suddenly realizes where he's seen those eyes before.

"Izumi-chan," Terazuma says breathlessly, his knees wobbling beneath him. "Izumi-chan, is that you?" Tentatively, he reaches out with his hands, capturing her face and turning it up to him. She feels frail beneath his hands but underneath the wrinkles and scrimshaw of old age are the eyes of the same little sister that waved from the window the evening before he left for work. Terazuma's eyes are brimming with tears that blur his vision but he doesn't care who sees it; he doesn't care that he's in the lobby of a restaurant and everyone's staring, wondering what would cause such a strange scene.

"Onii-chan. You're back," she says, her voice breaking with sobs.

Unthinkingly, Terazuma pulls her into an embrace. It never even occurs to Terazuma to question why nothing happened when he touched her the first time. Still, nothing happens. His Shikigami stays perfectly dormant, as if frozen into inaction.

"I'm sorry, Izumi-chan. I'm so sorry." He cries, his tears soaking into her shoulder. "I'm sorry I left you, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Please forgive me, Izumi-chan."

Behind him, Wakaba absently brushes away her tears. She's so happy for him that she can't help but cry.

Beyond them, the music continues to play.

*******

It's past midnight. Tatsumi suggested that Terazuma take the night off, but he refuses, saying that the work would do him good. They're searching within a half-mile radius of where they last saw the missing soul since it should still be bound to the area. Wakaba offered the use of her tracker-spirit, but Tatsumi declined, saying that they couldn't rely on her help because in the future, since neither Muraki nor he had the ability to produce a tracker spirit, practice now with what they had was essential.

Terazuma walks along beside Muraki as they search the streets, senses attuned for the lost soul. Terazuma is no good at this - he couldn't rely on sensing it on a spiritual level - he wouldn't feel it that way unless the damned thing bit him in the ass. But his hearing is good, and his eyes are sharp.

Wakaba is off with Tatsumi searching the opposite side of the perimeter. The two groups are walking in an inward spiral toward the site of the death. It's tedious and labor intensive, but it's what makes up the bulk of field investigations. Not everyone had the damnedest luck to have clues literally falling into their laps. But Terazuma doesn't mind - he's intensely happy. Happier than he's been in a long time. It puts Muraki on edge, because he's not sure what to make of this Terazuma that won't stop smiling.

"So you're going to Kyoto tomorrow?" Terazuma asks, breaking the silence. They've been walking quietly for about an hour now, and it's starting to get boring.

"Yes. Tatsumi and Wakaba have decided that they're coming with me," Muraki says, looking a little irritated. He's marking off points on a map of the neighborhood, checking things off building by building. It's incredibly boring work, and Muraki is starting to get impatient. "Will you be seeing your sister then?"

"Yeah. I guess we have a lot to catch up on," Terazuma says. "It's been a long time. Hey, isn't that the signal?"

"Hmm?" Muraki looks up. "I don't hear anything."

"Well, I do. Come on, let's go," Terazuma says. "You can tell where Tatsumi is, right?"

Muraki nods. "We'll teleport then," he says and steps close to Terazuma. It's almost close enough to make him lose his good mood, but it's purely professional. Muraki places his hand on Terazuma's shoulder, and closes his eyes. In a flash of bright light, they're gone, leaving nothing but a few brilliant white feathers in their wake that disappear before they hit the ground.

***

|Muraki|

They're chasing it through a deserted park. The soul stands out like a torch in the dark - literally. The fire flickers up and down its form, delineating the figure in a haze of glowing fire. Apparently the man had been mentally ill - he had doused himself in gasoline and ignited the vapors, immolating his body and half the apartment building before it was finally put out. The fire continued, though, a manifestation of the strong spiritual power he had been born with. For the last hour, he's been busily immolating various things in the park from benches to trees to trashcans, as he's realized he's dead and no mortals can do anything about his abilities. Unfortunately for him, it drew the attention of the Shinigami.

Terazuma and Wakaba fly alongside Muraki and Tatsumi, following along mainly as observers. Terazuma is shouting encouragement at Muraki while he tries to get a fix on the soul's erratic movements and trap it within one of his mirror circles while Tatsumi holds back to see if Muraki will be able to actually pull it off by himself. A few days ago, before they left Meifu, Terazuma allowed Muraki to use the hallway closet to cast a conduit, opening up a gate for Muraki's powers so that he could draw at them from Chijou. They've been testing and practicing on and off since the first day to make certain that the circle was set properly, and tonight they're really putting Muraki's newly minted Shinigami status to the test, seeing if his abilities are up to par.

Wild bursts of violet light fill the park as Muraki tries to put a fix on the soul. It can move faster than any human can, and without the weight of a body, it's faster than even the Shinigami, so Muraki is cursing under his breath as he chases after the spirit. He leaps forward, switching from running to flying so that he can get a smoother shot, his black coat flapping behind him.

Without warning, the soul's forward momentum is switched and it's turned its direction back, apparently deciding that a merry chase isn't quite good enough to keep it happy. Before Muraki can do anything about it, it heads directly for him, the unnatural fire swirling dangerously before it in a massive column. Muraki can feel the heat growing as he tries to change course.

At the last second, Muraki is suddenly enveloped in blackness.

Muraki is wondering where he is now, because a moment ago, he was facing a possible roasting, and now, he's floating in darkness. It's so pitch black here that he can't tell what's going on - even as his eyes adjust, all that it looks like is a blackness that swirls with motion. There's not even a floor - he's just somehow being held up but not in a way that he can tell where the pressure is - the dictates of gravity don't seem to apply.

Muraki can't tell if he's floating or falling. When he tries to pull off a spell to teleport out of wherever he is, he realizes that he's cut off completely from his circle and is basically powerless. Muraki is starting to panic.

"What's going on?" Muraki looks about in confusion, hands reaching out in the darkness. There's nothing there to touch, and nothing to see. Muraki's fear grows as he realizes that there is the possibility that he was actually and truly killed this time - sent on to the true death from which no Shinigami returns. "Oh shit."

"What do you think you're doing?" Tatsumi's voice comes out of the enveloping darkness.

"Tatsumi." Muraki hasn't ever felt so happy saying the man's name.

"Who else? Welcome to the shadow dimension," Tatsumi's hand reaches out and clasps Muraki's shoulder. Muraki clutches at Tatsumi's hand gratefully. Tatsumi's fingers twitch, but he doesn't pull his hand away.

"Thank god it's you. I thought I was dead," Muraki says gratefully. His relief is so strong that it doesn't even cross his mind to hide it.

"You were quite close this time," Tatsumi's voice says, with a hint of amusement. However, his tone grows serious. "But never, ever, EVER try something like that again. If you want to face it off directly, you must have your partner back up your actions, or else you'll likely be harmed. Is that clear?"

"Undeniably," Muraki answers.

"This time, we'll do it differently. I'll back you up and it slow down so you can contain it. Understand?"

"Yes. But one thing - was all of this to show me that we must work together?"

"I'm sure that's not the case," Tatsumi says, but Muraki can hear the smile in his voice. "Now then, ready?"

"I am."

"Get ready to start moving toward your left, I'm going to drop us out of this place," Tatsumi says, loosening his grip on Muraki and giving him a shove. "Now go!"

Muraki hits the ground in a rolling tangle before he reorients himself, and gets his bearings. To his right, Tatsumi's shadows are condensing in a roiling vortex before Tatsumi's outstretched hands, slashing and feinting at the fiery attacks of the soul. It's managed to stop dodging and is fighting for its existence as Tatsumi's shadows surround it with ever increasing pressure.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Terazuma's voice comes through. "Stop watching, moron, and help him!"

Automatically, Muraki's hands come up before he thinks, and he's summoning the circle, violet fire flaring around the soul, containing its darting thrusts. At the same time, hidden in a closet in Meifu, the conduit resonates in perfect harmony, supplying Muraki with the power that he needs.

It's a perfect cast. The soul slams itself against the confining walls of the spell, causing the violet light to flare and spark.

"Hey, good job, kid," Terazuma and Wakaba make their way over to see the results of Muraki's spell.

"Mm-hmm, it's a catch," Wakaba beams. "You know what to do now, right?"

"I do," Muraki says, watching the soul writhe within the confines of the spell, the trace of an ethereal howl slipping past the barrier. Muraki takes off his coat. "May I trouble you?" he asks Wakaba.

"Sure, no problem," Wakaba says, taking the coat. Muraki rolls up the right sleeve of his shirt.

"Good idea," Tatsumi says in approval. "This way you won't damage your clothes."

Muraki frowns in concentration, and touches the edge of his spell with the tip of his fingers, carefully unweaving only enough to let his hand through. It takes him a minute to part the threads, and in a flash, he's in, quickly summoning the ability that sends the soul on its way.

Muraki pulls his hand back with a snap as the spell shatters, leaving nothing but a slightly circular singe mark on the ground to show that it had ever existed. The whole process had taken less than ten seconds, but Muraki's hand is burnt black where the soul's fire had touched it.

His breath hisses through his teeth, as he shakes his hand, pain coursing through his arm from the scorched flesh.

"Wah, Kazutaka-san! Are you all right?"

"That…was not fun," Muraki says through gritted teeth, clutching at his wrist above where his hand was burned. "Damnit."

"Eh, he'll live," Terazuma says to Wakaba. He walks up to Muraki gives him a rough pat on the back, almost knocking Muraki over. "Now come on, we should get you a slice of pie to celebrate, Mister 'I'm a real Shinigami now, look what I can do.' Aren't there some 24 hour places that serve dessert around here?"

"I'm sure that will make everything better," Muraki snarls, as he bites back a cry of pain.

"Sure, pie fixes everything." Terazuma grins, as he and Wakaba start heading out of the park. "Banana, cherry, apple, chocolate…what else?"

"Boston cream!" Wakaba's voice adds. "And raspberry! Ooh, pecan!"

Terazuma and Wakaba's voices grow fainter as they walk toward entrance of the park.

"Good job," Tatsumi says, watching the two go. "But next time, I expect that it'll take you less time to contain it."

"Right." Muraki winces as the itchy healing process begins pulsing through his hand. He flexes it to keep from scratching at it. The sensation is maddening.

"What are you two waiting for?" Wakaba shouts from the park entrance, waving at them from the distance. "Hajime-chan promised to pay for a la mode!"

"Did not! When did I say that?!"

"Waaah! Hajime-chan is being scaaary!"

Even as his hand throbs unpleasantly and he's starting to shiver since Wakaba still has his coat, for the first time since Muraki started his life as a Shinigami, everything seems…well…just fine. Muraki manages something of a smile as he and Tatsumi hurry to catch up with Terazuma and Wakaba.

***

|Tatsumi|

The next day, Wakaba, Tatsumi, and Muraki are on their way to Kyoto.

It's really a shame that neither of the two men can teleport distances longer than a few miles at the most - Muraki's limit is two people, including himself, and while Tatsumi can envelop more than a few people easily, he can't move them farther than perhaps a half a mile at best. Even flying isn't a suitable option, with the distance being further than 300 miles between the two cities. Though a quick return to Meifu would be the easiest (and cheapest) way of going to Kyoto, even though it's Sunday they'd still be expected to report in if they returned. So, the train it is.

Tatsumi wants to save on the ticket, but Muraki insists on the bullet train. Wakaba doesn't mind either way. They spend a good ten minutes debating the various points of time versus economy, and eventually, they settle via rock-paper-scissors, at Wakaba's suggestion. Tatsumi wins, and they'll take the slower train. Unfortunately, it seems as if there's a problem with that line, so they end up on the bullet train anyway.

The train ride to Kyoto is uneventful, though they spend most of it figuring out a good excuse for why they have to go to Kyoto, so they can get reimbursed for the cost of the tickets.

It's turning silly.

"Giant monster attack?" Wakaba giggles.

"That won't work, Wakaba - we're going to Kyoto, not Tokyo," Muraki says with a smile. "What about hungry ghosts?"

"Oooh, good idea - we're going to Kyoto to make sure they get dinner," Wakaba laughs.

"You two," Tatsumi shakes his head, "should be more serious about this. Don't you know what they do to Shinigami that lie on their expense reports?"

"Eh?"

"Depending on Enma's mood, either one of the hot hells or one of the cold hells. Being force-fed molten metal, or impaled on ice-cold swords, that sort of thing."

"Waaah! That's awful!" Wakaba shivers. "Are you joking?"

"I never joke," Tatsumi's face grows very grave indeed, giving him a cold and frightening look. Muraki blinks, unsure of what to do. "Besides, the two of you haven't thought of the most obvious explanation," Tatsumi continues, pushing up his glasses, half-obscuring his face with his fingers. "Extraterrestrial invasion!"

Wakaba's laughter makes their fellow passengers look at them curiously.

It's late afternoon when they arrive in Kyoto. The Shinigami walk through the neatly gridded streets until they reach Kokakurou.

Autumn in Kyoto. The memory's still fresh upon Tatsumi's mind, and he feels a sense of misgiving as they return to the scene of last year's crimes. Hisoka with the blade, his green eyes shining with anger, the extraordinarily fast movements of Muraki's friend - Tatsumi suppresses a shiver as they walk, the surrounding hills afire with the crimson and gold of autumn. Tatsumi thinks that it's odd how for the last few hours, Tatsumi has been able to forget that hidden behind Muraki's charming exterior is a cold-blooded murderer whose crimes in life put him beyond the pale of redemption. How he could look at Muraki without thinking of the man that nearly drove one of his closest friends to suicide, but instead see him as yet another Shinigami.

Tatsumi frowns at the thought, strengthening his resolve as he watches Muraki and Wakaba's friendly chatter while they make their way through the streets. He mustn't let Muraki distract or confuse him, especially here in Kyoto where they will be playing on Muraki's terms. Tatsumi is wishing that with this visit, Muraki could perhaps tie up some loose ends in his life so that hopefully he can pass on.

They enter through one of the back passages, Tatsumi's shadows easily unlocking the gate that they passed through almost a year ago. Tatsumi blinks, remembering that night when he did the same thing, neatly manipulating the shadow inherent in the lock to turn the tumblers and open the door.

Muraki leads them further into the core of the rambling complex, invisibly bypassing an occasional servant, open doors and long corridors, the beauty that brushes her midnight hair in the shade of the bare branched sakura tree. Finally they make their way into the inner garden. The bamboo font's rhythmic motion signals the passing of time as it clocks against the pressure of the water.

Muraki climbs the short stairs up to the wooden platform on which the building rests and toeing off his shoes, enters Oriya's quarters. Tatsumi and Wakaba stay back, waiting politely to the side. Wakaba points up - Tatsumi's attention is momentarily caught by a flock of migrating birds winging their way across the sky.

"Oriya!" Muraki's voice is a gasp of surprise. Wakaba and Tatsumi look at each other, and in an instant of decision, they make their way quickly over to the open door, clattering up the stairs.

Oriya's asleep at his desk, his head pillowed in his arms, his long dark hair loose about him. Muraki is shaking him, but he's not waking up.

"Oriya? Oriya, please wake up," Muraki is looking upset. He knows Oriya is a light sleeper and that Oriya never naps if he can help it, even when he's deadly tired. It's an unnaturally deep sleep. Nothing Muraki does seems to be able to wake him. Muraki looks about the room, looking for a sign, a hint, a clue. There's an empty glass near Oriya's hand and beneath it, a folded scrap of paper addressed to Oriya.

"Mmm," Oriya wavers at the edge of consciousness. "It's too noisy. Stop that, it's annoying."

Muraki grabs the empty glass, running his finger along the bottom of the cup and tasting the residue. There's a tiny bit of grit to the water - it's almost imperceptible. Muraki's eyes widen - Oriya's not the type to ever take medication that could sedate him. Could he have been drugged? But who would have done such a thing? And for what purpose?

"Oriya, what did you drink?" Muraki demands. "Oriya?"

"What is it, Saki?" Oriya complains, his voice drifting for a moment.

"Saki?" Muraki blinks. "What are you talking about?"

"Saki, I'm tired," Oriya's voice murmurs drowsily. The fingers of his right hand move vaguely, as if a half-hearted attempt at shooing Muraki away. "I promised we'd talk more, but right now, let me…just let me..." Oriya drifts back off to sleep, slumped in his chair.

Muraki's eyes search the desk again before his attention catches on the note. He reaches over Oriya and fumbles it from underneath the cup, and unfolds it. The writing is a tidy scrawl. Over half a lifetime, yet he can still recognize the writing. The note nearly slides from his nerveless fingers before he realizes what he's doing.

"Oriya-san. I'm truly sorry to leave unexpectedly but you fell asleep and then I was paged - there's been some sort of emergency at the laboratory that they need me to work on. Thank you for your hospitality, and for taking me to see Satomi's grave yesterday. Will I see you in Tokyo sometime soon? You have my number. Shidou."

The note crumples in his hand.

Muraki is shivering so badly that he can't do anything but try to remember to breathe. Behind him, Wakaba and Tatsumi look on in surprise, but before they can say anything, he seems to have managed to find some sort of strange inner balance.

"Saki," Muraki's voice catches on the name. His eyes have a desperate gleam to them, and then he smiles, a brittle, frightening thing. His voice takes on a different quality. "Saki." Muraki sounds almost…happy.

Muraki's hand shakes as he clutches the edge of the desk.

*******

To be continued…

Disclaimer: Yami no Matsuei belongs to Matsushita Yoko

Thanks: A massive thanks to my prereaders, RubyD, Danceswithelvis, and Cyrus Marriner. These guys are awesome. Go read their fics on fanfiction.net! You can find Cyrus' work listed under Rowsdower, DWE's work listed under Docky, and RubyD's work listed under RubyD. They're chock full of neat ideas and good writing. Oh, and just to let you know - Cyrus is the one who originally thought of the idea of bringing Saki back. :p Thanks also to you, the reader, for reading so far. Snuzzle!

Author's notes: Fruit inspired by the farmer's market in Westwood. I live in Los Angeles (originally from Ventura) so all the places that Saki talks about are about 30-60 miles northwest of the city (roughly a half-hour to an hour's drive). We actually have a fig tree at my parents' house - I figured it'd be a nice change of pace to have a smutty fruit scene involving something other than strawberries or bananas. ^_- The song that's playing at the restaurant is "Fly me to the moon," which should be familiar to people who've seen Evangelion. I'm sorry I didn't get to Saki's plans yet (whoops) but things will hopefully be revealed soon. As for questions regarding why Saki is still alive, I can tell you that Satomi, who was an accomplished cloning scientist, rescued Saki when he was young. The rest, I'll leave to the next chapter and your own imagination. :D It'll probably be a little longer than usual before the next chapter comes out, since I'll be going out of town. But I'll try my best.

Next chapter: The True Death, Part 3: Checking the book of the dead. Saki's plan unfolds as Oriya is forced to make a decision.

No omake this time. Another side story. Title lines borrowed from from Miyazawa Kenji's "Eiketsu no Asa" (Morning of Final Farewell). Unknown translator.

My little sister, so brave.

Terazuma Izumi turned 64 years old this year.

When she was nine years old, on the night of August 5, 1945, she was kidnapped.

Down the street lived a neighbor. His name was Watanabe Arata, and his mother had just died of old age, leaving him alone in the world.

It was the last straw.

Watanabe-san had a daughter and wife. They used to live in Tokyo where they had a modest house in a nice neighborhood. But then, the Americans firebombed the capital, and tens of thousands were killed.

A heavy missile exploded near his house. What wasn't shattered was burned, including his family. Watanabe-san somehow managed to survive. He didn't want to, though.

That was in March. After that, he moved back to Hiroshima to live with his mother, a tiny wizened woman with stark white hair. Watanabe-san had been a quiet man always, mild in character, meek in tone. He worked as an accounting clerk and had an exceptionally dull life, up until the moment he cradled the broken and burnt bodies of his wife and child in his arms. She was only nine, the same age as Terazuma Izumi. Her charred body had been sheltered in the arms of his wife - the kitchen had collapsed on them, crushing them before the fire swept through. He couldn't do anything about it.

After that, something in him had gone wrong. His mind was tormented, wracked with guilt. Eventually, he believed that somehow, somewhere they were still alive, hidden in a safe place. If only he could find them. It gave him a will to live.

And that's when he saw Terazuma Izumi. She lived down the street with her brother. At first, he used to imagine that it was really his own daughter; after all, they had the same name. Funny coincidence, wasn't it, at first? But then, he started believing it.

It maddened him, that some strange man had stolen his daughter. At one point, it crossed his mind to murder the young man and steal his daughter back. But he had enough reason to keep those thoughts to himself, for the young man worked for the police, and waited for the right moment, watching, always watching.

The right time came the night of August 5, 1945. He waited for the young man to leave to work, crept into the house through an unlocked window, and took Izumi - his Izumi. She was too afraid of him to do anything but comply, as he smashed furniture and glass to make it appear as if a robbery, cutting himself on the sharp broken edge of a mirror. Later, Izumi had wrapped it up for him, all the while crying. For a girl her age, the experience was as shattering as the broken glass that littered the Terazuma home.

They had taken the midnight train out of the city, headed north on the long ride toward Tokyo. It was all part of the plan. They were going home. She trembled under his comforting pats before finally falling asleep, exhausted. He told everyone she was his daughter - look, my precious Izumi-chan is still alive. Tears of joy streaked down his cheeks as he watched the scenery fly by, the nearly full moon lighting up the countryside beautifully. He had his Izumi-chan back.

I too will continue ahead straight onward.

At first, she was afraid. Horribly so. Because what would happen when her brother came home and she wasn't there? Then no one would take care of him, and he'd be lonely. She cried when Watanabe-san wasn't looking. All she wanted was her tall Hajime-niichan back, to tell her that everything was going to be all right, and swing her up into his arms.

But then, news spread. A massive, horrible, terrible thing had happened in Hiroshima. No one knew exactly what happened, only that everyone, everyone was dead. The mysterious American bomb had exploded within less than a quarter mile of their house.

Death. Before then, Izumi had never really understood what the word meant. She had always lived knowing that her parents had died before her, but it never really registered, because there was always Hajime, and Hajime promised that he would protect her, always and forever. But after Hiroshima, she knew exactly what it meant for her.

Hajime was never coming back. And that when she waved to him from the window that last night, and he told her to lock it but then she forgot, it meant that it was the last time they'd ever see each other again in this life.

But bravely, she continued forward. There was nothing she could do about it, and she had nowhere else to go. Pretending to be the mad but kind Watanabe-san's daughter was hard at first, but he was like a real father to her, so even after he died decades later, she never changed her name back to Terazuma. A year after the incident, he had come back to his senses, and apologized to her, but it didn't matter anymore, because after the war, they were all that each other had. In a way they were both orphans, both unintentional survivors, and Izumi had always felt some amount of gratitude for his crime, because it had accidentally saved her life.

Watanabe-san's long dead. Izumi has now been married for over forty years, and has three children, all of whom have their own children. She's a grandmother four times over.

Today, her brother's coming to see her. She doesn't know how it's possible. She doesn't really know why, either. But it doesn't matter, because Hajime's back now.

After all, he promised, and she always believed in him, no matter what.

A knock. It's her Hajime-niichan.

Izumi opens the door.

Questions? Comments? Suggestions or corrections? cori_ohki@hotmail.com. Thank you very much for reading!

Extras may be found on http://eag.squidkitty.org/