Disclaimer: So very not mine. Hannibal Roy Bean would've been created by Wuya if canon was my playground.

A/N: This is a fic I started writing back in June 2005. However, for one reason and another I stuck it on the back burner and didn't remember it again until I watched Time After Time I and II, the Season Three double-episode finale. Suddenly my XS synapses were all fired up, so I dug out my earlier (supposed to be an) opus and got working again. Therefore I'd ask people to be gentle with the first few chapters, as they were written when I was in a very different frame of mind than I am these days.

Continuity: Early Season Two.

Feedback: Yes, please!


Divided We Fall

© Scribbler, April 2006.


Did you say everything you could?
Do the things that you thought you would?
Did it ever occur to you that this could be your final day?
Did you go where you wanted to go?
Learn about what you wanted to know?
Did you ever really give something back instead of always taking in?

Did you find what you're looking for?
Did you get your foot in the door?
Can you look at yourself and feel proud of all the things you've done?
Did you inspire the ones that you knew?
Make a difference to those who knew you?
Did you finally figure out what it is that makes us who we are today?

-- From Did You, by Hoobastank.


1. Be Careful What You Wish For…


Kimiko launched herself with fists bunched. Raimundo evaded the attack so swiftly he seemed to slip between moments, and she went flying past with an arm outstretched. Cursing herself for making a beginner's mistake, she brought her body up short, pivoted on the balls of her feet and struck out with her left fist, then her right, and then spun into a roundhouse kick. He dodged both punches and leaned backwards to grab her ankle as it skimmed by his face. Then he yanked on her leg – hard. Her balance thrown, Kimiko tilted sideways and fell, bracing her hands to stop her nose from making friends with the hard floor.

"Dirty trick!" she exclaimed.

"Hey, all's fair in war and workout." Raimundo smirked, still holding onto her ankle so that she sprawled on her hands and right knee, left leg in the air. "And by the way; had this been an actual showdown, I'd be long gone with the Shen Gong Wu right about now."

With a furious growl, Kimiko threw her entire bodyweight into a twist that made her spine shriek like a little kid who'd lost his silver coin down a storm drain. It was a reckless move. Had Raimundo been expecting and prepared for it, her vulnerable position left her wide open for an attack. Luckily for her, he'd assumed the fight was over. He stumbled when she wrenched her leg from his grasp and flipped to her feet.

"It ain't over 'til the fat lady sings," she said with a fierce little smile.

"Better break out the arpeggios then." He took up a ready pose and flashed her a you-really-have-no-idea-what-you're-up-against grin. "You've been overdoing it on the chow-mein lately, Kimiko."

"Hey!" Incensed by his taunt – exactly his plan – Kimiko threw herself at him in a whirling dervish of angry, but easily avoidable punches and kicks.

Sat on a set of narrow steps nearby, Omi and Clay watched the fight unfold with differing levels of interest. Clay concentrated more on sewing up a tear in one of his tunics, a jam jar of threads, needles and pins placed next to his feet. For him, the fight was incidental, since he'd only come outside because the light was better. Omi had no such activity to divert him. He wore a small frown as he watched Kimiko clumsily batter at Raimundo's defences.

"I do not understand," he said at last, after Raimundo leapt out of Kimiko's reach onto a wall and made faces while she yelled insults at him.

Clay looked up. "Understand what, lil' buddy?"

"Master Fung has given us a 'day off'. And yet still Kimiko and Raimundo train with each other." Omi shook his head. "While I am understanding their eagerness to train, I do not understand why they complain so very much about Master Fung's instruction, and then train some more when they do not have to."

Clay watched Kimiko leap onto the wall from a cold stand and land a good haymaker on Raimundo, who had obviously assumed she'd need a running start to get that high. "Shucks, Omi, this ain't about trainin'."

"It isn't?"

"Heck no."

"Then … why do they fight each other in the manner of training if it is not, in fact, training that they wish to accomplish?"

Clay looped his needle around and tied off his neat and even stitches. With no mother, and a father who didn't 'do' such menial tasks, the Bailey children had learned to take care of their own basic domestic needs from an early age. "I don't know. Cabin fever? Payback for a prank? Some bet we don't know about? Maybe you should ask 'em when they're done. All I knows is, when those two got their hearts set on beatin' the snot outta each other, tryin' to talk either of 'em out of it is like tryin' to herd cats."

Omi considered this for a moment. "I had not realised your home cared for cats as well as cows, my friend."

Clay rolled his eyes good-naturedly, and was about to correct the misunderstanding when there was a loud cry from the courtyard. Both boys looked to where Raimundo had jumped from the wall and finally taken a more offensive tack, catching a just-landing Kimiko with an open-palm strike that sent her pirouetting to the floor.

Sweeping around like a scythe blade, Kimiko tried to knock Raimundo's legs from under him with her own, but he danced lightly away, going into a needless handspring that was as much to show off and show her up as help him fight better.

She gritted her teeth, making a conscious effort to keep her temper under control. After all, there was no point in losing her cool. That would just cloud her judgment, which would mean Raimundo would win, which would mean him being unbearable for the rest of the day. She could already imagine him heckling her about her defeat, right down to the tone of voice he'd use – and if there was one thing she loathed, it was Raimundo when he was lording it. He hadn't even been a Xiaolin Apprentice that long. Winning their match had a degree of honour at stake.

In truth, this particular fight had started because of a number of things. Defending her honour as an I've-been-one-longer-than-him Xiaolin Apprentice was as good an explanation as any, should Master Fung or one of the other monks ask. Sometimes they did – usually when medical patching up was involved afterward – and it was good to have a sound reason handy, even if 'sound' was rarely a word that could be employed for their tussles. It was difficult to tell whether Master Fung approved of scrapping after-hours, but the other monks habitually clicked their tongues as they applied bandages, band-aids and poultices to their wards.

Really, Kimiko told herself, they shouldn't have to justify themselves. They were doing exactly what they were supposed to do. They were the Chosen Ones, collectors of the Shen Gong Wu, defenders of the innocent, and occasional saviours of the world. They were meant to be primed for action, always ready to jet off and battle evil at a moment's notice. That sort of lifestyle demanded they keep in shape and stay sharp. After one showdown when she'd been briefly transformed into Lard Girl and introduced to what it might feel like should she not stay in shape, she was keener than ever to stay in tip-top condition.

Recently, however, things had been quiet. Dojo hadn't sensed any new Shen Gong Wu in almost two and a half months, and the young Apprentices were getting restless. They trained with Master Fung, trained with the Shen Gong Wu they already possessed, trained in both ancient and new arts of combat, made up some of their own, and trained in the development of those uncanny powers that made them Chosen. They trained hard – perhaps sometimes a little too hard – but day after day without something to break the monotony was a bit much. They were still young, and with youth came impatience.

Kimiko grasped that training was a vital part of becoming a full Dragon warrior. Intellectually, she knew that with every training session she was spending her time, as Omi put it, 'most wisely'. Nevertheless, when things on the Wu front were slow, that was when a bit of doubt might creep in; doubt that she really was keeping her edge without some challenge to test it on. She wasn't quite going stir-crazy, but after months of upheaval, adventure and several near-impossibilities that pretty much left the laws of physics whimpering on the ground, plain old training was dull.

What she needed was some action, some adrenaline, and a nice juicy showdown or two. She would even have settled for one of Spicer's Jack-bots. See Kimiko. See Jack-bot. See Kimiko kick Jack-bot's butt. It was what she needed to keep her focus.

For now, though, Raimundo would have to do.

It was no secret that she and Raimundo sometimes rubbed each other up the wrong way. They had the most explosive personalities of their little group, and having them live together was as unpredictable and volatile as mixing chemicals from unlabeled bottles. Things had been especially strained after the whole Wuya-regaining-her-body-and-taking-over-the-world incident, but considering Rai's role in that, Kimiko had felt she was entitled to a bit of hostility.

Of course, he had eventually rescued them all, and in the weeks following had gone a long way to proving himself once again worthy of the Xiaolin cause. The fact that he'd now graduated to Apprentice status spoke for itself. Like a candle slowly deprived of oxygen, her hostility and natural suspicion had dimmed to an ember.

She kept any possible doubts firmly tucked away at the very back of her mind, simply because it was easier to operate that way than spend hours worrying about what would happen should a better offer come along again. She saw Raimundo every day without fail, slept less than three feet away from him, and each owed the other his or her life about a dozen times over. She figured she owed him the benefit of the doubt for that. Plus, Omi and Clay seemed to have completely forgiven him, and who was she to stand in the way of good team dynamics? And if she was really being honest with herself … she wanted to think he was really back for good. When it came down to the wire, they were just four kids fighting a battle of global proportions. Of their generation, they were the only four with elemental powers – the only four Chosen. Sort of a Buffy the Vampire Slayer deal, only with more dragons and less staking. Life would have been pretty lonely indeed were they not friends.

Still, for all her good intentions, sometimes Kimiko just couldn't help but get irritated with and by Raimundo. It was like some special talent he had – the Dragon of Ticking Her Off. He knew all her buttons, made a special effort to find out what made her mad and, what was worse, seemed to delight in stirring her up into one of her legendary rages. If ever a boy liked living dangerously, it was he. Bugs in her bed, replacing her toothpaste with glue, itching powder in her shoes, drawing on her face as she slept, replacing her 24-wash hair dye with permanent ink – the list went on and on. He did it to Omi and Clay too – Clay's hat was most often a casualty – but Kimiko gave the best reaction. She had challenged him to more payback fights than she could remember. Certainly enough to win all their Shen Gong Wu at least twice.

So it was not unusual for them to be out in the courtyard in the blazing sunshine, watching each other with the attention that only comes from long hours spent learning to scrutinise body language. True, like Omi had said, today was one of those rare days off from actual training, but even that didn't deter them. Where Clay was content to coast over conflict, and Omi liked to resolve it peacefully if he could, Kimiko and Raimundo took a more physical approach. When a challenge was issued, neither stopped until it had been settled.

Kimiko darted forward first and pressed her attack. Twice her blows missed, but now she had extracted herself from the moment, examining the conflict as though it were a chess match. She'd never liked chess when her father tried to teach her, but the analogy fitted nicely. Her attack now was merely a feint to draw another strike from Raimundo. When he tried to come at her with another open palm, she was ready. She sidestepped, grabbed his right fist and twirled into his arms as though they were in some ballroom dancing contest instead of a fight. Having incapacitated his right arm with her left, she thrust a short but powerful punch at his chest.

Raimundo stopped her fist with his left hand. Her knuckles cracked, and his palm had to have hurt from taking the brunt of the blow, but he effectively immobilised her right arm just as skilfully as she had his. They were deadlocked.

He grinned. "Care to give up?"

Thinking quickly, Kimiko batted her eyes at him. "If you don't let go of me, I may have to do something you really wouldn't like."

"What, beg me to let you win?"

"Not quite."

"Braid my hair? Hide my MP3-player?"

"Nope, and nope. Last chance, Rai. Give up, or face the consequences."

He shook sweat-soaked hair from his eyes. It really was a glorious day. "Ummm, how about no way, José?"

She shrugged. "Your choice. Don't say I didn't warn you." And with that, she drew back her foot and kicked him squarely in the crotch. He went down faster than dot-com stock.

On the sidelines, Omi and Clay winced. "Is she being allowed to do that?" Omi wondered.

"I reckon their rules are a lil' different than when we spar," said Clay. He screwed up his face in sympathy. "Remind me never to challenge Kimiko 'less I'm wearin' a shield."

"But Clay, I did not think you fought girls."

"True. An' besides good manners, there's a real good reason why."

Raimundo, in a foetal position on the ground, wheezed, "Below … the … belt."

"Well, duh." Kimiko flicked hair from her face. She'd started the day with a set of three fuchsia braids, but ended up untying and retying them into a more manageable ponytail when Raimundo's tripwire emptied a packet of muck saved from a week of dusting over her head. "You were the one who said 'all's fair in war and workout'."

"Ohaeeurgh…" he moaned.

"Oh, stop being such a big baby."

"Hey, Kimiko, give the guy a break." Clay folded his repaired tunic, stabbed his needle back into its pincushion, and got to his feet. "Y'just revalued the family jewels. Give the guy some dignity to walk away with, huh?"

"I do not think Raimundo is going to be doing much walking away at present," Omi said without a trace of irony.

"Geez. You guys think Jack Spicer wouldn't do something sneaky like that if it meant winning a showdown?"

"Don't … go giving him … ideas."

Kimiko raised her eyes skywards and considered going to change her clothes. These weren't really suitable for this extra sunny weather, and fighting had made them all grimy and sweaty and ick. A care package from home had arrived the day before yesterday, complete with several new outfits courtesy of Tokyo's newest fashion protégés. Everybody wanted to impress her father – which was irritating when she had to work to maintain his reputation, but did have fringe benefits.

After a long moment and a grimace, Raimundo rolled into a sitting position. "Overkill much?" he panted, holding out a hand for her to help him up.

Kimiko just look at it. "Nu-uh. I know where that's just been. No way am I touching it."

He grunted and got up by himself.

"So who's the winner?"

"Mmmrf."

"I can't hear you," she sing-songed.

Exhaling noisily, he replied, "You are."

"Right. And as the winner, I claim my prize as … you cleaning the vault staircase."

"What? But that's your job!"

"I know." She smiled sweetly. "To the winner go the spoils. And you owe me for that tripwire."

He folded his arms. "Dude, so not fair. I already did my chores."

"For once," she sniped.

"On the contrary, Raimundo my friend," Omi interrupted, walking up to them now there was no chance of getting caught in the crossfire. "This is a very fair occurrence, much like when you challenged me to a contest of containing small pig-flesh sticks between one's teeth."

Kimiko shot Rai a depreciating look. "You had a contest over how many hotdogs you could fit in your mouths?"

"Yes, and Raimundo was clearly the winner. I, unfortunately, choked when I reached six sticks, whereas he contained a further three."

"It figures. That's such a … a boy thing to do. So what did he win?"

"Potato peeling," said Clay, also joining them, his tunic slung over one arm. "Or not doin' it, I should say."

"Oh, so you've already done all your chores, have you, Rai? I thought the food tasted better this week." Kimiko rolled her shoulders a little. They were already beginning to stiffen. She really should have warmed down. "I always said you had a big mouth."

"Hey, if it gets me out of peeling potatoes, it can be as big as it likes, dude."

"It won't get you out of my winnings." She pointed her thumb in the general direction of the Shen Gong Wu vault, also home to the Stairs of Grime That Refuses to Budge. "You. Cleaning. Now."

"But it's our day off!"

"Yeah, well, you should've thought of that before you pranked me."

Raimundo looked as though he wanted to argue more, but then thought better of it. Shoulders in a petulant hunch, he rammed his hands in his pockets and grumbled under his breath. Words like 'joke', 'unfair' and 'can't take' were the only things audible, though everyone could guess what else he was saying.

"Well," Kimiko said, melodramatically dusting off her hands, "I'm going to go change."

"Thanks for the update," Rai groused. "Should we schedule a parade?"

She was about to reply with some cutting comment about sore losers when a familiar voice cut across her. "Guys! Where are you? Omi? Clay?"

"Over here, Dojo," Omi called, as the small green dragon appeared around the corner of the building. Dojo spotted them and waved a greeting, wriggling on his arms and belly at a speed that would have rivalled creatures with four legs – or more.

Dojo was a dichotomy. He was one of the strangest parts of living in the Xiaolin temple, but also one of the most comfortable. Kimiko, Clay, Rai and Omi were Dragons, but Dojo was literally a dragon. That was weird in and of itself, but it wasn't even as if he fitted into the fairytale mould of what a dragon should be like. Dojo could change his size at will, fly, sense magical objects, and was over fifteen centuries old, but he had no wings, didn't sleep on a hoard of gold and could just about breathe soot.

Moreover, he was as up to date with popular culture as he could have been had been living anywhere except the middle of nowhere in the Chinese countryside. He knew more about civilisation than Omi, could name at least ten bands and singers in the Top Forty, knew the difference between a Honda and a Cadillac, and claimed he knew the secret to setting a VCR. It was odd that Omi hadn't learned more about the world outside the temple from living with Dojo, but Omi was so devoted to his calling that it was easy to imagine him shunning everything but training, eating and sleeping before the other three Dragons arrived.

Clay tugged at the brim of his hat. "Howdy, Dojo. What's up?"

"The sky."

"Dude, that joke's older than you." Raimundo tilted his head a little to one side so Dojo could perch on his shoulder.

Dojo shrugged. "So I like the classics. Sue me. But first," he slapped his hands together and rubbed, "lunchtime."

"Oh dear." An insincere note of apology appeared in Rai's voice. "But that means I can't scrub the stairs in the Shen Gong Wu vault. What a total shame." He snapped his fingers. "Darn it."

Dojo arched an eyebrow. "I feel for you. Now mush before the rice gets cold."

They started to walk off, but Kimiko reached out and grabbed Raimundo's elbow. "Oh no you don't. Let's get something straight; immediately after lunch, you're going to clean those stairs. And just to make sure you don't fink out or try to get away with only doing half the job, I'm going to watch."

"If you're going to be there anyway, why don't you help me? Or better yet, do it yourself."

"Raimundo…" There was a warning edge to his name.

"Don't you have other chores you could be taking care of? Like reordering your nail polish collection or something?"

Today, Kimiko had painted her nails with black polish. It was meant to match her pink and black ensemble, but actually gave her hands the appearance of an Arctic explorer with severe frostbite. She examined them for a second, and then transferred her attention back to him. "No dice. A deal's a deal."

Raimundo looked disgruntled, but raised his hands in defeat. "Okay, okay, I'll do it. Now can we please go eat? I'm starving."

She released his arm and they all started towards the main buildings.

Dojo, riding shotgun, rested his elbows on the top of Raimundo's head. "Let me guess: another prank been paid back?"

Omi nodded. "Most assuredly. Kimiko has washed the ground with Raimundo, and now he must complete her outstanding chores in repayment."

"Uh, that's wiped the floor, lil' buddy," Clay corrected.

"Oh no, my friend. That is what Raimundo will be doing." Omi laughed at his own joke. Kimiko hid a snicker behind her hand, while Rai rolled his eyes at the little monk's work-in-progress sense of humour.

Since dinner was the main meal of the day, lunch was a light affair. Of course, it involved rice – something that Raimundo often complained about.

"I'm not saying I don't like rice," he would say. "It's just that there's a lot more food in the world, y'know? Would it kill anybody to try serving some French fries or pizza once in a while?"

Kimiko was used to eating rice a lot, as was Omi. Clay was happy with whatever was served, provided he got a large enough portion. They ate in companionable silence for most of the meal, though Kimiko found herself remembering Rai's taunts from earlier and going for boiled brown instead of egg-fried.

"So, Dojo," she said after a while, "any word on some new Shen Gong Wu?" She couldn't quite hide the despondency of the request. It was a daily question, with a daily answer.

"Nada." Dojo shook his head, clicking his chopsticks together thoughtfully. "I gotta tell you, even I'm finding this a little weird. Since the first Shen Gong Wu activated, I've never gone this long without something happening. Longest was a few weeks, tops."

"Yeah." Clay reached to refill his bowl and ladle plum sauce over it. "An' we all know what happened that time."

They had been forced into four separate battles for four newly revealed Shen Gong Wu. Unfortunately, three of those battles had ended in defeat and capture, with only Omi emerging victorious. He had mounted a rescue operation with the Sun Chi Lantern, and they had eventually been reunited. It was an experience nobody much wanted to repeat. They worked better when they were all together, whether actually covering each other's backs in fights, or just standing on the sidelines giving moral support.

Raimundo paused with a blob of rice halfway to his mouth. It had taken a while, but he was now as practised with chopsticks as he was with cutlery. "Wait a second, does this mean we're going to get a whole bunch activating at the same time again?"

"I shouldn't think so." Dojo scratched the back of his head with the tip of his tail. "At least I hope not. While there can be times when accumulations of Shen Gong Wu reveal themselves, Dashi never mentioned anything about a big lull meaning a motherload."

"From what Omi told us, Grand Master Dashi never mentioned a lot of important stuff." Kimiko poked at her food with her chopsticks. "Or else he wrapped it up in riddles first so nobody could understand him."

"We all have our eccentricities," Dojo half-defended, though everyone knew the enigmatic legacy of Grand Master Dashi often exasperated him as much as it did them. "At any rate," he went on, snagging the last wonton, "you guys should be able to deal with it if several do appear at the same time. You've certainly been training enough. Does anybody want this?"

They shook their heads.

"Providing Jack Spicer does not attempt to once again imprison us." Omi chewed and swallowed the last of his rice quickly. "But if he does, I promise I shall once again save you, my friends."

"Gee, that makes us feel so competent," Raimundo muttered. "Clay, is there any of that plum sauce left?"

"Sorry, partner."

"Figures. Hey, Kimiko, share the wealth?"

Kimiko passed him one of the two remaining vegetable spring rolls, taking the other for herself. She stared at it for a moment. "How many calories do you reckon are in one of these things?"

"Cah-lor-ees?" Omi was nonplussed.

"Never mind." Perhaps a little defiantly, she bit into it.

When they were finished, the four young Dragons gathered up their dishes and carried them to the sink. A quick scan of the rota told them it was Omi's turn to do the washing up. While he rolled up his sleeves and got stuck into his task, Clay excused himself to go finish a letter he'd been writing to his father. Kimiko vanished for a few minutes, but reappeared holding her PDA as Raimundo was sloping off. She took hold of his elbow before he could and marched him across the courtyard.

"Aw, can't I have a rest to let my lunch go down first? A guy could get indigestion this way."

"My heart bleeds for you." She shoved him towards the broom cupboard.

He grudgingly reached for the door handle, but paused before opening it. "What killed your sense of humour today?"

"There's nothing wrong with my sense of humour."

"Suuure."

"All that dust in my hair didn't help, if you must know."

"That? That was just a joke. I think you're being a little excessive for just one prank." He looked at her earnestly. "Is something the matter? I mean, like, really? 'Cause if there is, I'd like to help."

"Dry up and get the bucket, mister. You're not guilt-tripping me into letting you off."

His expression instantly switched to a smirk. He shrugged and opened the cupboard door. "Can't blame a guy for trying."

He pulled out a bucket, several old rags, a bar of carbolic soap, a large wooden scrubbing brush and a mop. Kimiko helped him carry them across to the vault, but once there she placed them on the floor near the spiral staircase, propped herself against a pillar and tapped idly at her PDA. Raimundo got to work, still grumbling, but when it became apparent she wasn't really listening he fell silent.

An hour passed. Kimiko checked her emails, which held nothing more interesting than an invitation for car insurance and a funny forward from Kohana, one of her old friends back home. Kohana liked slumber parties and Ricky Martin and reading romance manga. She and Kimiko had little in common anymore, but they still forwarded each other things.

Kimiko had downloaded a new set of cheat codes for Goo Zombies 3, but didn't feel like playing. Every so often she would raise her eyes to see Raimundo's profile slowly disappearing below the ground, as he worked his way from step to step. Sometimes he caught her attention by exclaiming about the thick crust of grime down there. She had to admit, she'd never really figured out how a catacomb like the vault got so dirty either. It was hardly a major thoroughfare. They only went down there when they needed to bring up or replace Shen Gong Wu. It was lucky they only had to clean it every few weeks – though not so much for the person assigned the job.

She was just considering closing down her PDA and going to take that shower she'd promised herself when Raimundo resurfaced. "That's it," he said, wiping his hands on his slacks and frowning when they didn't come clean. "I'm taking a break, dude."

"I suppose you've earned one by now." She stretched drowsily, warmth suffusing her muscles from sitting still for so long.

"Your permission makes me feel so much better." He slumped down by another pillar, tipping his head back and linking his hands behind his neck. "Aw man, crouching over like that gives you such a crick in the – nhhg – neck."

Kimiko gave it a moment, then asked in her best Master Fung voice, "So have you learned anything from this, Rai?"

"Sure have."

"Good to know."

"I learned that you can be really mean and underhand when you fight. And that if I'm going to get this kind of punishment for pranking you, I should make it a real good prank."

Her brows knitted. "I'm was kind of hoping you'd learned not to prank people anymore."

"What?" He sounded genuinely surprised. "This little clean-up operation was supposed to do all that? I think you overreached yourself, Kimiko. I'm going to get you back good for making me do this. And that kick in the nuts," he added.

"Hmm."

Silence arrived in a limo, tipped the driver and blanketed the scene. Outside, Kimiko could hear two of the temple monks walking by, chatting about the weather. Somewhere not-too-distant someone was banging a pot and yelling at the rats that had made a nest in the far corner of the grounds. She wondered if she should offer to take care of the pest problem. It would give her something to do other than train, and she so desperately wanted a change of pace that even rodent hunting sounded good.

"You know what I think?" Raimundo asked, breaking her from her thoughts.

She sighed. "No. What do you think?"

"I think that maybe we already found all the Shen Gong Wu, and that's why Dojo hasn't sensed any lately."

Kimiko processed this idea. Then she snorted. "That's one of the stupidest things I've ever heard – even for you. Dojo may not know where all the Wu are, but he'll know when we've found them all."

Raimundo huffed indignantly. "Uh-huh, yeah, sure. Remember, we're talking about the dude who took us around the world looking for the Sands of Time because he didn't remember it was hidden in the temple he's lived in for the past 1500 years. His memory's not all that great."

"It's still good enough that I trust his judgment."

"Whatever. I was just saying. I don't hear you coming up with any better ideas for why things have been so slow lately."

Kimiko stared at the screen of her PDA. It was true; she didn't know why there had been no Shen Gong Wu recently. Both Dojo and Master Fung had assured them it was perfectly natural to have a lull sometimes, and that they couldn't expect to have action and adventure constantly on tap. It still reeked, though; having nothing to do but sit around and wait for something – anything – to happen.

Silence offered around a bag of hard candies and settled back down. The person banging the pot stopped, presumably to go back inside. The glorious sunshine of the morning was starting to turn into an uncomfortable, oppressive sort of heat – the kind that made clothes stick to every available piece of skin and had sweat rolling down your back with the slightest movement.

Her PDA beeped when she pressed it off, and Kimiko got to her feet. "I'm going to go get a drink. You want one?"

"Is this a reprieve I'm hearing?"

"Not a chance. I'm still dusty, and you're not done cleaning."

"Humph. Yes, please. I would love a drink. That would be so very kind and generous of you. Ooh, you're so considerate, Kimiko."

Taking no notice of his mock-simpering tone, Kimiko pocketed her PDA and left the vault for the kitchen. Omi was long gone from the sink, the lunch dishes washed, dried and neatly stacked in their proper places. She took down two glasses and filled them both with cold water, drinking hers and then refilling it to take both back to the vault.

When she entered, Raimundo had started working again. She could hear him grunting and coughing belowground. It surprised her a little that he hadn't taken the opportunity to run away, and she chastised herself for such an unkind thought.

"Here's your drink," she called from the top of the stairs. He was all the way around the corner already. Water sloshed with an echo.

"Thanks. Just give me a second. Man, we have got to clean our shoes or something before we come down here. I don't even want to know what somebody stepped in to make this cr-"

"Guys! Hey, you two in there!"

Kimiko looked up to see Dojo careening around the corner and catapulting himself into the room. He skidded on his coils, flipped end over end and finished up in a squashed heap against a pillar.

"Dojo?"

"Dojo?" said Rai. The water stopped sloshing. "What's he doing here? Has this humiliation become a public event?"

Pulling himself out of his own knots, Dojo scuttled the last few feet to Kimiko. He was carrying a large wooden-ended scroll.

Kimiko felt her spirits soar. "Is that what I think it is?"

"Only if you think it's a new Shen Gong Wu revealing itself." Dojo shot her a toothy grin and wrestled with the scroll to open it. "I didn't know where anyone else was, but I figured you two would still be in here, so I came to you first. Especially since you ask me about this stuff every day, Kimiko."

"Guilty as charged, and good choice."

"What's going on up there?"

"We have a Wu on radar!" Kimiko called down to Raimundo.

"Really? All right! I am so done with this scrubbing the floors thing." There was a clatter, and the sound of something falling down the stairs. "Uh … hold that thought. Runaway bucket." Footsteps led off into the gloom.

Kimiko rolled her eyes. "So what's the Shen Gong Wu? What's it do? Does Master Fung know about it yet?"

"Nng. Like the boy said, hold that thought."

With a heave, Dojo finally managed to prize open the scroll. The centre of it glowed a faint blue, the moving images depicting two figures throwing kicks and punches at each other. Abruptly, one of the figures held up what could have been a either a rubber band or a set of knuckledusters – the latter of which seemed more likely when it slipped them over its hand and held out its fist. Immediately, a large disc appeared in front of it, sheltering it from the other figure's roundhouse.

Dojo grinned toothily. "Presenting the Saladin Shield. Only one in stock, prices rising by the second, not available in stores."


"So what's it do, already?"

"Patience, Raimundo." Master Fung had a voice that he didn't need to raise to command respect. It had a quiet authority; the kind that rings in the ears long after the speaker is done talking. It was the kind of voice teachers wish for and drill sergeants hate, because it defeats the idea of noise equals attention. "When we are all assembled I will explain. Ah, Clay, Dojo."

They all looked to where Clay was just coming through the door.

"Finally." Raimundo threw up his hands. "Maybe now we can get some info."

"Sorry, y'all. There was such a heap of sunshine out, I went for a walk. Dojo only just found me."

"Not that it was difficult." The little dragon was perched on his head, long body coiled in the brim of his hat. "He was singing."

Kimiko blinked. "Clay? Singing?"

Dojo nodded, a wicked smirk stretching his jawline so high it was practically sitting on the back of his head. "The hills are aliiiive," he warbled, "with the sound of muuuuuuuuuusiiiiiiiiiic. With songs they have suuuung for a thousand yeeeeeeeeeears."

"Lots of fellers sing when it's nice out. T'ain't that unusual."

"Dude," Raimundo patted him on the shoulder, "I'd give up while you're losing."

Omi looked at each of his friends faces, clearly confused. "My head is filled with much bewilderment. Our hills are musical? I have never before heard them perform any music. And why is it bad for Clay to be singing about them?"

"They aren't actually musical, Omi," Kimiko tried to explain. "It's a song from a musical."

"A musical what?"

"No, that's it's name. A musical. It's like a play, but with lots of random singing to move the plot along and show how much characters care for each other."

"And to get people to buy the soundtrack," Raimundo added.

"I … understand," said Omi, who obviously didn't. "But that does not sound like a bad or laughingable pastime."

"It's, uh…" Kimiko started. How to explain that one? "Have you ever heard the term 'traditional gender roles'? Or 'hegemonic masculinity'?" She looked at his expression and got her answer. "Thought not."

"It's all to do with being manly," Raimundo quipped, striking a pose for good measure. "Like me."

She punched him lightly on the arm. "You scream like a girl."

"Don't insult me. That's Spicer's territory, not mine."

With the mention of a more familiar topic, Omi's eyes lit up. He seized upon the name of their … well, sworn enemy wasn't quite right. Jack Spicer had indeed aided them before, and they him. Notorious rival was still pushing it a little, but minor annoyance was too trivial a term. He was something in between, with a borderline in Annoying Jerk Who Uses the Word Evil Too Much. "Ah! Jack Spicer will no doubt be trying to also find this new, overdue Shen Gong Wu!" Omi clenched his fists. "We must retrieve it before him."

"I heard that," said Clay.

"I know you did. You are standing right there."

"That's not what I mea… never mind. Master Fung, what's this new Shen Gong Wu I hear tell about?"

Master Fung opened the scroll to show the same images Kimiko had watched before. Two figures, then a set of knuckledusters, followed by a big disc. "The Saladin Shield is a defensive Shen Gong Wu. When worn, it produces a protective barrier in front of the wearer. No weapon forged by man can pierce it, nor magic penetrate it."

Clay whistled. "Sounds mighty handy."

"Handy!" Omi laughed uproariously. "Oh, very funny, my friend. Because it is worn on the hand, yes?"

"Not what I meant, 'lil buddy, but I can work with that."

"So where is it?" As ever, Raimundo was impatient. This time, however, Kimiko had to agree with him. It had been too long since they got to go out looking for Shen Gong Wu, and her feet were just itching to get on the road.

"It's in the Sahara Desert," Dojo supplied, sniffing the air to make sure. "Yup. My Dojo senses are tingling."

"Excuse me?"

"Pop culture reference, Omi. Don't worry about it."


To Be Continued …