Please note, if you didn't already: to fully understand what's going on in this story, you must read Tryst and Seams. Also notice that this story is COMPLETE. Don't add it to your alerts or ask for more chapters. A one-shot means one chapter. This is it. The only chapter.

So, here it is. The very last piece of my story. When I had finished Seams, I had been ready to leave it completely as it was; open ended, with no real ending to what happened with Kurama and Rika. But after a lot of thinking and reviews (note the huge time gap between this and Seams), I realized that I had a very strong urge to follow up with these two. This doesn't give much more closure than Seams did, but it's something to make it all seem complete. This is the first time I've written since Seams. It feels very good to have produced something I can be proud of again.

Entwined

Photos lined the cream colored walls, and adorned the end tables and bookshelves; someone had certainly wanted to keep their memories… the frames were simple. Made of wood and probably glued together, they gave off the impression of a family that hadn't been worried about fancy things. In fact, the decorations in the home were modestly simple, just like the wood frames.

The carpet muffled any footsteps that may have been heard through the house, so there was no hurry. Each picture was a glimpse at something that had been missed, something that was too important to let go. To walk by them would be foolish.

One picture stood out from the rest. The colors were soft, and the expressions were inviting; a young man and a woman, holding hands and standing very close as they looked at the camera. It looked like the woman had been crying.

But they glowed with happiness, it radiated from them as if the moment was still happening. It must have been after a wedding ceremony, a western one by the looks of it. The woman's strawberry blonde hair was pulled up in an elegant bun, with perfectly placed tendrils hanging around her rosy face. She had a small fancy comb, and from that was a veil…

It wasn't hard to imagine the moment that it had been lifted from her face. She had probably started crying then, and her brown eyes were still glistening in the picture. It was a wonder she hadn't ruined her dress, a traditional piece with sleeves of lace and all sorts of beads.

The man certainly couldn't out do her in terms of fashion, his only option was to wear a suit, but he matched her happiness easily. Short red hair and glowing green eyes, a charismatic smile that had probably won that woman over; the picture was starting to look like it had been cut from a bridal magazine.

There were other pictures, of course. Other moments of this couple's life that had been too cherished to let slip away; one that was probably taken on the day they had moved to this house. One of the woman and a small dog, and later with a much bigger one; but you could look forever and not find a single picture of the couple and a child.

The house suddenly seemed colder…

Nearly inaudible footsteps moved down the hall and up a small staircase where more pictures were waiting in another cream colored hall. Of friends and family, it seemed, but still not a child to be found. A soft breath was the only sound in the darkened hallway, gray eyes scanning the photos again.

But they weren't important, not now.

Quietly, each door in the hallway opened, leading to a bathroom that had obviously been decorated by the wife, a closet filled with towels and other things, an empty room… and finally a bedroom.

The bedroom was warmer and more inviting than the other rooms in the house; gone were the neutral colors, replaced by tans and reds and a large comfortable looking bed with a dark brown comforter that looked all too soft and tempting.

Of course, there was someone already there, but they weren't asleep. Green eyes, a little duller than the ones in the picture, were watching as if the night time visit had been expected. He managed a small smile out of politeness.

"I had a feeling that you would show up when it was least convenient for me," he said quietly; his voice was smooth, and a soothing tenor, one that hadn't been affected by age. But then, his visage had been barely affected as well. "I see you haven't changed much."

His visitor finally stepped into the room, out of the darkness and into the faint light of a bedside lamp, and the cold light of a half moon. Light brown hair turned to fire in the yellow light of the lamp, but her eyes held the very coldness of the moonlight.

"I would have thought you would be happier this time around, since this visit was voluntary," the man continued, obviously prompted by her silence.

"I'm not sure how I feel," she said, just as quietly. It was as if they were trying not to wake someone, but couldn't be bothered to whisper. "It's been so long."

"It has. And a lot has happened," he agreed, shifting a bit from his position in his bed. A book was by his side, but he carefully set it near the lamp and sat up even more. He was dressed in simple pajamas, but he didn't seem to mind that his company should see him in a state of undress.

"I've seen. You have a lot of pictures… I suppose that was your doing," she commented lightly, practically stalking to the bed and dropping down heavily to sit on the edge of it. Her back was to him, and she was facing yet another picture. "You knew she'd be gone sooner than you'd like, I suppose."

"Of course I did," he whispered. "But I loved her."

The open admission made the woman before him tense, and he watched as her arms were raised so she could cross them in front of her. He could faintly make out the red markings on her arms, ones that had twins on her legs and face…

She had learned to hide them, and her horns, well. If he didn't know better, he would have thought her human.

"What was her name?"

The simple question made him sigh with sadness. "Eri," he replied simply. But there was so much tenderness behind the simple word that the woman turned to him.

"But you never had children. Nothing to live on between the two of you," she accused, leaning towards him in a challenge. He didn't waver, only smiled with a tinge of regret.

"Eri couldn't have children… but it's for the best. I would have outlived them too, and they would have outlived everyone else," he reasoned. "I loved her, I cherished every moment I had with her even without children. I simply took your advice, I didn't wait for you."

"Obviously," she murmured, before suddenly rising from the bed. She seemed to have realized that was where Eri had once slept. "How can you bear to live here, surrounded by pictures of her?"

"I'm not bitter. Her death was quiet and expected…" he said simply, watching her with interest. She was mourning his loss, it seemed, if the glittering of her eyes was any indication. She walked briskly to his side of the bed, before leaning down and gently kissing his forehead.

"You'll be a senile old man soon." Her statement was coupled with gentle fingers touching hair that was barely starting to gray.

"We're both old enough for that," he reminded her. "Rika… what did you do for so long?"

"I traveled," she said simply, withdrawing from him. "I traveled and I thought, and I waited to see if my thoughts and feelings for you would change. Then I came back. Even if your wife was still alive I would have come back, just to tell you…" she trailed off, glancing out the window.

"You didn't plan on staying then?"

"Kurama, it's been so long," she said almost desperately, and he knew what she was referring to. It felt as if they were strangers again. Time had changed them. The only thing that felt familiar was the pull he felt towards her, a possible side affect of their energy being connected for so long.

There was no escaping each other, no matter what their feelings were.

He stood carefully, since he had been laying and reading for a long time, and he walked over to her as easily as he had in his twenties. She didn't turn away from him or his touch, but she also didn't acknowledge it.

"Maybe… the time was what we needed."

"I'll be the second," she said quietly, as if the idea of being with a widower was a difficult one to wrap her head around. She was worried that she would always be compared to Eri, and judging from how happy they had been she was no match for that woman.

"You know I would never think of you that way. It doesn't matter what order love comes to you, if it comes at all," he said gently. "Even while I was married to Eri, you were still a part of me, Rika. I'd like to think it was the same for you."

She scowled, finally moving away from him, and Kurama easily recognized that fear that she was vulnerable because of her feelings. But she wasn't closing herself off, not yet. She met his gaze and didn't cross her arms to ward off any approach.

"I love you," she admitted, though the frown never left her face. "But I still don't know if it's for the right reasons. It's not what you and Eri had."

"No, it isn't," he agreed. "It's more complicated than that."

They looked at each other, as if trying one more time to understand something that was simply beyond understanding. Even after so many years spent learning and growing wiser, of trying to come to terms with what had happened between them, there were no words to say.

The entwining of souls was something that couldn't be explained. It simply was.

The End.