Anxiety and tension wrapped around her like a fog smothering the very air she breathed. How could so much happen to change even to the core of who she believed herself to be?

A hiccup startled the silence from the little one sleeping on the bed. Turning to check on the sleeping infant increases the aches and pains caused from the trauma of the last week. Hobbling over to the chair next the bed, she sinks down only to find the child still asleep and her own body still in agony.

She knows that she needs to make the call. That single phone call will bring in the cavalry to support her and to drive her further into insanity. The insanity she lived with for years she can handle but breaking her pride and confidence in herself to ask for help, regardless of the need or fact that she would do anything for them, is hard to overcome. Looking over at the mirror, she cannot even see the faintest image of that androgynous go-getter from those fateful high school years. The girl who held hands with those rich bastards, as they taught each other about their drastically different worlds, and grew into adults when deciding about their dreams and responsibilities. How many times did they rescue and help each other, have adventures and then get tossed around by the slightest whim? That thought put a smile on her face, though the pain of that smile brought her right back to her situation and the cowardice of not yet making that phone call.

They will already be upset at her being in this situation. They hounded her time and again to join with their companies and work with them. Only knowing she was following in her mother's footsteps and her dad's support kept them from holding her back. Yet now this is so far beyond her capacity to keep herself or the baby safe that she needs help. She the one who stood firm on right and wrong and the individual being important regardless of gender and status in life, discovers she is at her limits and needs to rely on her connections to stay alive.

The clock's red number reads 3:20 in the morning. That means its after 4pm in Tokyo if that's even where he is now. She has been so wrapped up in her own life and work she lost track of her friends lives. Well, as long as he isn't in the Americas, she stands a good chance on not waking up the evil monster her friend can turn into. Grabbing the cheep pay as you go-phone, hat, and jacket, she slips from the room and makes her way to the gas station down the street. She slips inside to buy baby formula and some sludge the fine establishment calls coffee. After adding an international phone card, instant noodles, and other food that seems palatable she pays and heads back to the dingy motel. Fortunately, the baby still sleeps.

Now there is nothing left for her to stall in making the call. She dials the number and prays he doesn't answer. Of course, as nothing else has gone her way for the past few months, he answers with a growl. "Who are you? How do you have this number and you better answer well in the next 3 seconds, because YOU JUST WOKE ME UP!"

"Kyoya, it's Haruhi … I need help."


AN: I have only ever read on this site and I love the host club. I often wonder though after they put aside the freedom of high school what would they be like. Would the forget the lessons learned and revert back to what the thought they should be or would the grow into the individuals they wanted to become? This story is to stretch my abilities as a writer (I always welcome constructive criticism), my imagination and love of the host club, and an issue that I am starting to learn about and be concerned with how I can help. So join me or not as I look at the Host club almost ten years into the future.