DISCLAIMER: Shinji wanted to do the disclaimer explaining that Prince of Tennis is not mine (also please see the A/N) but his explanation took too long so I had to delete it . . . . .

WARNING: Spoilers for Genius 307 & Fudoumine's fate at the Nationals

RATED: Only friendship in this part . . . . M for a little swearing.

PAIRINGS: Kamio/Shinji, Tachibana/Atobe, An/Kirihara, every doubles pair, ever.

A/N: Lately I've had such a craving for Fudoumine . . . yes, I'm sorry, I like Kamio/Shinji even more than HijiOki . . . and then I remembered a fragment of story from Neynaoe at Ibu-Shinji . com . . . . and I truly and humbly hope that wherever that person is, because I couldn't find any way to contact them, they forgive me for taking their premise and running with it. The first italicized part of this section is a paraphrase of the original story I'm building off of, and thus is not mine, although I edited and tweaked. And while I don't actually think Shinji would ever run away because frankly he's not that active, wow, what a lovely idea it is.


Finding Shinji


Part One:

In which Shinji is lost and then found


The whole situation was nasty. If that was the fitting word for it which Kamio really doubted. They had spent so much effort – effort was also an inadequate word – hoping that they could rise to the challenge of Nationals and not quite realizing that there was a limit to how far and fast a human could rise and they had used up an entire year's reservoir already.

They didn't admit it, wouldn't admit it, and then Shinji broke down, legs, wrist suddenly collapsing, looking completely lost like a little child under the unexpected onslaught of power from someone who was just a child. That was when they knew it wasn't going to be a fairytale ending, just an inevitable fighting collapse.

They did fight, and they did collapse; they did their best and everyone knew it. They did their best and when their game was over, when it was clear that 'giving your best' wasn't enough . . . they got on the public bus and left.

One of them did even more.

Nasty. Not heart-breaking or soul-shattering. All Kamio could think of was nasty. Shinji was the one who was good at writing, after all.

When Shinji didn't come to school even on the third day after their loss, it was clear that nasty was indeed the wrong term. Kamio walked – sprinted, really, heart pounding – over to Shinji's house and found that it wasn't Shinji's house anymore, just an empty building with a Sold sign in front.

It was a western-style house, had always looked like something out of a horror movie, but now it felt that way too. Some Thing had come and taken his best friend away. And Kamio hadn't been fast enough to stop it.

--

Shame wasn't the right word, it was too simple to describe what he felt. Everyone had given their best, all of them had made Tachibana-san proud of his team. Everyone except for him. Hadn't Tachibana-san warned him he needed to work on his strength, that technique alone couldn't always beat an opponent. He never beat anyone when it mattered. Still, he had thought he could win. So stupid. Ridiculous. Right there in what seemed like seconds, he had lost harder and faster than he ever had in his whole life in tennis – in anything.

Even when none of them talked about it, it was obvious what they all thought – An-chan, Tachibana-san, Akira - everyone on the team, everyone the team knew. Even the people who just passed by, saw the brace on his wrist proving he had been too weak; they all knew that it was his fault. His fault for not winning the first game, his fault for not showing their opponents their place; his fault that the players hadn't made mistakes in the later games because they felt insecure, worried because – "We already lost a game to him?! What if the others are even better?" That was what they should have thought. Not "We won easily, this team isn't even worth breaking a sweat over." Not "He freaked in the middle of the game, what a bunch of losers."

Nobody had said it out loud but he could see it in their eyes... and his team saw it too. Tachibana-san, Akira . . . they knew. So when the game was over and everyone was gone, even Seigaku who just came by to watch them lose, he made the decision that it would never happen again. Fudoumine would never again lose because of him. Akira and Tachibana-san, Ishida and Sakurai, Mori, Uchimura, An-chan . . . they would never have to look at him like this again.

It was something like fate. His father had gotten an offer from a big firm just two days before the disaster happened; Shinji would of course stay behind in an apartment, stay for Fudoumine. But that had been two days ago.

Two days ago... everything was fine, the team, his friends, the Nationals. Everything was possible back then. Now he went to his room and came down with everything was neatly packed and ready to go. He was ready to go. There wasn't much, really to pack, since he wasn't taking any of his tennis equipment, anything that reminded him of Fudoumine or his failure.

No, no fairy tale ending, unless it was the kind where everyone got eaten at the end.

--

High school came. Kamio hadn't forgotten about his missing friend – none of them had, even when they went to different schools. They still played tennis, maybe not on the same team but they still could meet at the street tennis courts, where everything was fine and they still were "Fudoumine". Whatever the uniforms they wore, they were always still Fudoumine.

Just that one member was missing, a member who never got replaced. No one had wanted to try continuing the last year in Junior High. A Fudoumine Tennis Club could barely exist with Tachibana no longer captaining but just dropping in as much as possible – but it couldn't exist without Ibu Shinj as well.

They were scattered over various schools now, Ishida and Sakurai incorporated into Seigaku, taking over Doubles 2 in their second year when Ooishi's preparation for medical university meant the Golden Pair retired from active duty. Mori and Uchimura were at trade schools preparing to follow in their father's footsteps, still playing as much as possible of course. Kamio still wasn't quite sure how it had happened, except that Tachibana-san had asked – but he had ended up in Hyoutei of all places, along with Tachibana and An. Atobe, the first freshman to make vice-captain, the first sophomore to ever make captain, had scouted Tachibana right after those deadly Nationals, and Kamio had never found out if arranging for Kamio's eventual scholarship (although Atobe had loftily denied rigging anything) had been part of Tachibana's stipulations to agree to enter the school.

Kamio could see it in Tachibana-san's eyes, too; he played for Hyoutei but he never really felt Hyoutei. They always felt Fudoumine, even spread across Tokyo like they were. It wasn't so much odd luck, perhaps, as the fact that Fudoumine needed its missing member. They were looking for him. It was obvious Shinji had moved outside of the city, most likely out of the entire Kanto region, but the hope remained.

The hope didn't dwindle, but life moved on and the last year of junior high and then the first year of high school buried some things and unearthed others. Kamio thought he might finally talk about some of the things, maybe with someone like Ootori, who was loyal and friendly and never talked about secrets because he had spent a lot of junior high having secrets of his own. Kamio's secrets weren't exactly secret to anyone, really, but by the summer of sophomore year, after another Nationals tournament (just barely beaten for the win by Rikkaidai) he was beginning to think that if he talked about them, maybe just once, then they might disappear a little.

The very day he thought he would try, he saw someone he nearly couldn't recognize.

Scratch that. The day he decided to give up on the past, he saw someone he recognized instantly.

Painfully.

The school uniform the boy wore was western-style and dark grey. His hair was longer, tied back and slightly bleached. But it was him. Even through the sunglasses it was the eyes that told Kamio the truth. Instantly. Instantly. Instantly.

--

It had taken him years to come back to Tokyo. Bandha High was a good place to lose yourself and he had done his best, but it was hard with a memory as good as his. Pictures and names and voices remained crystal clear; he could remember all of the details even when he never talked about them. His memory didn't let him forget that he had left his team for his own sake; he couldn't change that, maybe he still wouldn't if he could. But he missed them more and more each day and his memory was nothing like the gift his mother called it when he laid awake for nights because all he saw when he closed his eyes was Kamio.

He wanted to see everyone. He wanted to see Akira.

He had skipped any school trips to Tokyo up until now, but now it was different. After three years of swim club his hair was bleached from chlorine, longer; his skin had more tan, he was taller, not quite as delicate as he had been in junior high. With sunglasses, as long as he didn't speak, he didn't think anyone could tell he was who he used to be.

When the school bus stopped at the famous park across from Hyoutei, he didn't bother to file outside to look at the statues, just sat in the bus and scanned the crowds of exiting high school students through the window, finding Ootori Choutarou, even taller now but still with the same calm face and smile and Shishido Ryou right next to him, long hair once more grown out. He noted the way they moved together – ah, so they were officially a couple now. Then came Gakuto Mukahi, who didn't seem to have grown at all and was yelling into a cellphone – oh, that was right, Oshitari Yuushi had retired from tennis to concentrate on film studies, there had been an article in the Osaka papers, he had begun winning awards already or something . . . .

And then Tachibana-san walked out and all Shinji could do was stare. His hair was still blonde, longer, a little wilder although his smile as he spoke tempered the impression of power. His old captain – it hurt to see and yet he was glad to see – and An was there too, unbelievable pretty with her short cut hair and 'Lucky eight' punk necklace.

Would he have tried to do something? Say something? It was too late, the bus was full again and pulling away from the curb, and someone asked him a stupid question so he looked away from the window, missing the second Kamio exited the gate, missed the change in the boy's face when Akira's brain gave a clear Shinji-Alert.

He missed the second Kamio came out of his paralysed state and started to run across the street, in the middle of traffic, only to realize that the bus was gone and Shinji with it. And just as Kamio fully understood just what had happened, tears running down his face, he felt a hand on his shoulder and An was panting, waving one hand with ink scrawled across it.

"I got the name of the school on the bus!"

--

Two days later, in the middle of the day, Kamio showed up at Shinji's school.

Shinji was watching the sky out the window when his name was paged over the school intercom. He didn't mumble much thesedays, but classes were still easy and he didn't bother paying much attention to them, especially when he had other things to think about. He heard his name clearly enough, however, and after permission from the teacher made his way to the office and was told that someone was waiting for him at the gates and that it was urgent.

For a minute, when he saw Kamio, Shinji wondered if he was actually asleep, and had just dreamed about going to school that morning. It was almost summer vacation after all; maybe it was vacation and he had been dreaming that it wasn't all day. Because this was Akira standing there looking so very familiar with the same glowing hair and flustered eyes, looking at him with just the mix of shock and anger and blame that he had always imagined when he dreamed of the redhead.

They walked silently away from the gate to a quiet patch of grass, and looked at each other. Shinji thought about saying "You found me", but that seemed oddly dramatic.

"It's a school day," he said instead.

Shinji wondered if he looked as pale as he felt. But then with the tan from swim club, maybe Kamio wouldn't be able to tell if he was paler than normal. Kamio didn't look pale, he looked flushed, probably because he was angry – and he was obviously angry whether or not he was real. Well, that was no surprise, he would be angry, too, if he were Kamio. Although if he were Kamio than he wouldn't have failed so badly and run away and hid like a coward and then there would be no reason for anyone to be angry . . . Shinji thought - and then caught himself because it had been a long time since he had started to mumble this badly.

Kamio punched him.

Maybe he was real after all, then.

"That's okay," Shinji nodded, picking himself up. "It's good for you to hit me. I should have let you before I left. It's not good for a person to have to wait so many years to express his frustration. I deserve more for breaking down so badly in the middle of the game, but –"

"You think I'm worried about the game?" It really was Kamio, Kamio's real voice, shouting and not just angry but enraged. "You think I was ever worried about that?! You think any of us were? Shinji!" Akira's voice cracked. "You were supposed to be fucking smart, you moron!"

"I let down the team," Shinji said, and his small voice seemed to infuriate Kamio even more.

The other boy lunged, wrapping a fist in the front of Shinji's uniform, pulling him up close, and three years hadn't changed the fact that Kamio showed his emotions as freely as ever on his face and in those pained, angry eyes.

"You let down the team when you left us alone," he cried and Shinji flinched, because of all the ways he had felt guilty, he had never quite thought of it that way. "Do you have any idea what we thought might have happened to you?" Kamio continued passionately, confusion and hurt and raw pain in his voice. "What I thought might have – we were so worried Shinji-!"

"I'm sorry," he said.

He thought Kamio might hit him again, wouldn't have minded it because he had meant it when he said he owed him that much, but instead the other boy just slumped forward, head leaning against Shinji's shoulder, as if the tension that had been fueling him had suddenly evaporated.

Shinji was, he was oddly surprised to find, a little taller than Kamio now.

"I'm sorry," he said again. "I didn't want to be away from Akira and everyone. I was just so shamed. I didn't know how to stand it."

Kamio wasn't quite looking at him, but Shinji could tell his hair was still as red and deep as ever, his expression still that sharp and earnest. "There was nothing to be shamed about, Shinji," he said, and his voice was tired. "I'm sorry too. It was really my fault. I was upset about my performance too, you know. I thought we all just needed some time - but I shouldn't have left you alone like that."

"Akira played beautiful tennis that day," Shinji said sincerely. "I didn't – I didn't want to see you after you played such beautiful tennis and mine was so ugly. I'm sorry. I really am."

Kamio's voice was muffled against Shinji's shoulder. "It wasn't ugly, Shinji. Your tennis could never be ugly."

"Akira . . . ."

Kamio looked up at him, moving away from him, and Shinji had half lifted a hand to touch that red hair, confirm it was real, before he realized it. He carefully lowered the hand and shook his head. "I didn't want to stay away," he said again, hoping Kamio believed him. "I thought about everyone a lot. I wanted to know how everyone was doing."

"They're okay," Kamio sighed, running a hand through his hair as if unconsciously responding to Shinji's aborted urge. "We go to different schools but we still get together all the time to play. Tachibana-san is getting scouted all over the place," he added with a quick proud grin that made him seem more like the boy Shinji remembered so clearly. "He says he won't make up his mind until he finishes high school, but everyone knows how good he is."

Shinji found himself nodding automatically. "Of course they do. They would have to be pretty dim not to notice, even if Tachibana-san is in the same year as people like Hyoutei's Atobe or Rikkaidai's Sanada or Yukimura. Tachibana-san isn't flashy, but anyone can see how good he is. Although maybe now he is flashy, because sometimes I see the tennis magazines and he looks flashier – but in a good way. That's okay. Someone like him can pull that off without seeming annoying. It just means it'll be even easier for people to realize his skill."

A little distantly, Shinji realized that he was talking again – something he had rarely done for the past several years. His silence was legendary around the school, born of first of not wanting to mumble and then having nothing much he wanted to say. His parents had been worried about him, but he just hadn't felt like talking much. It had been a long time since he had had so many things he wanted to say; it was a little overwhelming, not to mention irritating, because Kamio would probably think he hadn't grown up at all in the past years, even though he had and actually it was Kamio's fault he was reverting like this. Not that he was going to complain, because he didn't want Akira to think he wasn't glad to see him, and then again Kamio wasn't really acting much different either, so maybe it was okay for Shinji to be acting the same, too, even though it was still annoying because Kamio -

Kamio was watching him with a slight smile on his face, and some of the tension in his frame had melted away.

"Shinji, you're mumbling."

Shinji flushed. "I don't do it very much anymore," he muttered.

Kamio's smile grew wider, and Shinji felt a little awe at the sight, like the last three years really had never happened and they were just the same as they always had been.

Maybe Kamio was feeling the same way, because he stretched out a hand and caught a piece of Shinji's hair, fingering it critically. "The color's different."

"Aa. I'm on the swim team and the chlorine isn't good for it. The season is over now, but when I'm swimming a lot, it gets really blue. That's the worst part about swim team."

Something almost like shock was passing over Kamio's face.

"But you still play tennis, right?" he demanded.

Shinji shook his head and Kamio's expression clouded instantly, growing angry again. "Dammit, Shinji, what a waste! You could've gone farther than any of us!"

He had forgotten how dizzying Akira could be, changing emotions so fast. None of the people he knew now were so mercurial, so full of life. He wanted to be able to say something to make Kamio feel better, but he had already apologized and while he would be willing to apologize again, he didn't think that would help anything.

Kamio fixed a searching gaze onto Shinji's face, dropping his hand from his hair. "Do you miss it?" he asked quietly.

The question, so simple, made Shinji freeze, almost shuddering as all of the memories came surging back over him. It might have been better if he could lie, but that still wasn't a skill he had learned, especially not with Akira.

All he could do was nod.

Instead of becoming angrier, however, inexplicably Kamio's expression cleared, then firmed. "Yoshi. Come on."

"Where?"

Kamio caught his arm and tugged. "To the tennis courts. Any tennis courts. It's time to wake you up."

Shinji opened his mouth to protest that he didn't belong to any tennis clubs, that he hadn't played in years . . . but somehow all he said was "We don't have rackets."

"We can rent them somewhere." Kamio made a face, still dragging Shinji relentlessly toward the school gates. "I would've brought some with me, but it was hard enough sneaking off without trying to bring tennis equipment."

Shinji stopped. "You sneaked off? You mean your parents don't know where you are? They'll be worried."

"Shinji, the irony of you saying that is killing me," Kamio sighed, shooting him a quick look from under his bangs. "But don't worry, I left them a message. They'll understand, so come on!"

"Oi, Ibu! Class ended and Abe-sensei said to tell you that the study set is due tomorrow and remember it's a half day since it's the last day before break. . . ."

Shinji blinked as two of his classmates approached. He had almost forgotten that other people existed.

Beside him, Kamio muttered "Ibu" under his breath. It was true that no one in this school called him by his first name like people had at Fudoumine. But really, even then that had only been the tennis club. Most people he wouldn't want calling him by his first name. Not that he didn't like the members of the swim team and his classmates here well enough, even if they weren't as interesting as Akira and the rest, but he just didn't want them to call him by his first name, since he wasn't all that close to them, either.

He'd been surprised when the tennis club started calling him by his first name, but he hadn't really minded, either. That was just the way they were. If someone here started calling him Shinji he probably wouldn't care, either, but no one had bothered to try and that was fine, too. It was just another example that things were different here – although he probably shouldn't tell Kamio that, or else the redhead might get conceited and think there was a special reason for letting him call him Shinji, which there wasn't, really, even though he wouldn't like it if Akira started calling him Ibu, which would be too strange after all these years, after all . . . .

Nakao and Yamane slowed and stopped as they reached Shinji, a bit off-put at the tableau of their normally subdued classmate standing with a vague expression and apparently muttering to himself, while some redhead was attached to his wrist and grinning.

"Hi!" said the redhead brightly. "I'm Shinji's friend Kamio from Tokyo. Do you know where we can find some tennis rackets and balls?"

They blinked successively at "Shinji" and then "Tokyo" and finally "tennis".

"Ibu, you have friends in Tokyo?" Yamane asked, surprised.

Kamio's eyes narrowed at the question. "Yes," he hissed.

Yamane held up his hands placatingly. "Hey, hey, no offense meant. I was just surprised because Ibu didn't mention it the other day when we went there on field trip."

Shinji scowled and looked down. It was true he had never really mentioned his Tokyo life to people here, but he didn't want Kamio to think he hadn't thought of them while he was in Tokyo.

"I asked if we were going to be near any areas I knew," he reminded them.

"Oh yeah," Yamane agreed vaguely. "Anyway, I know swim team is mostly over now, but we're going to get together after school and practice a bit anyhow."

"He can't come," said Kamio.

Shinji nodded. "Aa. I can't come. Please give coach my apologies."

The boys looked at the two again for a minute.

"Uh, okay," Nakao said finally, deciding that Ibu, although a nice enough guy, was always strange and wasn't worth working too hard to figure out, even if he did look somehow . . . different . . . right now. Maybe it was because, although he wasn't smiling – he never did after all – he sort of seemed to be. It was, Nakao decided privately, a nice look for him.

"Anyway," he said, "you can probably borrow some rackets from the tennis club, since they're finished for the season."

Shinji nodded. "Aa, thanks."

"Yeah," Kamio said with a grin, " 'preciate it. Over there? Okay, Shinji, let's go."

Kamio started walking and Shinji followed, leaving two very bemused boys behind.

--

Shinji stood on the street court and looked down at the racket in his hand with almost fear.

"Don't worry Shinji," Kamio prompted, "You probably deserve me grinding you into the dust, but this time I'll go easy on you. Really easy."

Shinji started to frown, eyes narrowing petulantly. "You don't have to sound so cocky, just because you're bound to be better than me. I haven't played in three years so of course I'll be pretty bad. But don't assume I won't still remember some things. Just because I haven't played doesn't mean I haven't been exercising, or thinking about tennis. I tried not to think about tennis, but that doesn't mean I never did, just like I tried not thinking about tennis club, because it hurt, but I kept thinking about it anyway . . . ."

Kamio laughed. "Shinji, were you serious when you said you've been quiet in high school?"

Shinji nodded. "I guess so. There wasn't much I wanted to say."

Kamio reached out to lightly touch his hair again. "Thanks for saving it up for me," he said, then blushed and turned away. "But I'm still going to run you into the ground."

They played in the street courts all afternoon, and Kamio was reasonably correct in his predictions. The first matches were all 6-0 and 40-Love, as Shinji tried to remember just how to return shots and control the ball. He should have been upset about being beaten so comprehensively, when the same thing had been what had driven him away from Tokyo in the first place, but this was Akira so instead he was just getting annoyed. Kamio had always been pretty well matched with him, but if he tried, he could always beat the redhead. Now he was growing more and more determined to at least win some points.

Shinji glowered and focused harder, ignoring the way muscles used to swimming but not tennis were beginning to protest, and equally ignoring just how widely Kamio was grinning as he watched his friend become more and more focused, more and more like the person he remembered. More real. More Shinji.

By the time the sun had set, Shinji had actually won one game, and Kamio had surprised him by jumping over the net with a whoop and grabbing him by the shoulders, beaming.

"I knew you'd remember fast," Kamio grinned, breathing heavily after half a day of tennis, but nowhere near as hard as Shinji. He let go of Shinji and flopped onto his back with a contented sigh. "Right, let's leave it at that until tomorrow, okay?"

Shinji frowned; although he could feel his arm shaking, he didn't want to stop. "I don't want to stop just because I had one okay game," he said, frowning. "You're going really easy on me and still beating me all the time, so it's not fair to stop at the only moment you're not."

"Yeah yeah," Kamio agreed good-naturedly, "but we've been playing all day and I'm starving. I didn't have any lunch and – what time is it now?"

Shinji consulted his watch. "Almost 8."

Kamio groaned. "Please tell me there's somewhere cheap to get food around here!" He paused, twisting to regard Shinji, who had settled onto the ground next to him, and watched him surveying his borrowed racket with a frown.

"How's your arm?"

Shinji reflectively flexed it. "Not bad," he decided. "It'll be sore tomorrow, but not so bad that I can't use it or anything. Swimming uses a lot of different muscles, so I'm really out of shape for this."

Akira gave him a friendly smirk. "Yeah, I noticed. Don't worry, we'll get you back in shape in no time," he promised, flopping back down on his back to rest.

"Aa," Shinji agreed.

"You are going back to Tokyo with me, you know."

"Aa."

"Like, tomorrow."

"Aa."

"I brought transfer papers with me. That's why it took me the extra day to come. The others don't know yet or else they all would have come, but I asked Atobe-san and he says if you do well enough on the test you'll definitely get in, so that's no problem. They have dorm rooms, too, that's where I stay, or there are some cheap apartments around. You can stay with me as long as you need to, too."

"Aa."

"And don't leave again," Kamio continued, picking at his racket. "I mean, if you really hate tennis now you can join the swim club again. But don't go away." He looked sharply at Shinji. "Because if you do it again I'll really never forgive you."

"I won't go away," said Shinji softly.

"Okay, then," said Kamio.

And for the moment, everything was.


tbc! Reviews obviously appreciated :)