Title: Balance
Pairing/Characters: Ozuma/Hilary (yes, I know)
Status: (1/4) - Incomplete
Disclaimer: Beyblade © Aoki Takao
Time Line: Post-Season 3
Author's Notes: I know I haven't been very active in this fandom in awhile, but, well... I come bearing multi-chaptered crack!pairing fic now. Yay?

This was really fun to write – I had actually started this a long time ago, and it was only meant to be a short one-shot, but... um. It didn't turn out that way. /flails/ Enjoy!

CHAPTER ONE: LEAVING

"When they say
You're not that strong
You're not that weak
It's not your fault
And when you climb up to your hill
Up to your place
I hope you're well..."

- "Not Enough," Our Lady Peace

Hilary never imagined she would be traveling alone. But it seemed like a lonely little journey that brought her closer to them, even if they didn't know it. Her head was hung low as she remembered all their days together; a happy little family where she was the pet with loyalty that sometimes made her cry. It was wrong to feel that way, she knew. But sometimes she liked the dark quality her thoughts held, and she would poke at them in her spare time when she was on a plane or gathering her courage to go and visit someone she knew would look at her strangely.

The day the Bladebreakers finally disbanded was the day she felt herself being pulled back and forth in a game of Tug-of-War. She had expected disappointment and sadness to be resting on Tyson's face – and it had been. Just a little – but he hadn't had the same reaction as did in the Third World Championships. Alone and afraid, Tyson had climbed a ladder, she realized. And he had grown up, like she always nagged him to do.

And she was still a kid. And she knew it was never her influence that had sparked such a maturity, and that it was the game he loved that had really helped him advance.

And the words, "Never again," rang in her head like shrill chime bells. Kai had always held an air of finality to her, but she had always been able to persuade him before. She remembered going to him, asking him to stay. But he had just shaken his head, and said, "Not this time," and had turned away from her. And it had been that way with the other boys, one after the other. And after they were all finally gone – no more chances – she had cried. Just a little.

Hilary visited them each year to see how they were doing. Max was always pleased to see her, and he would tell her about his latest accomplishments that somehow had less and less to do with Beyblading each time; but he would always mention it. No matter what. And Rei would look at her with something she could only describe as pity. She wanted to grab hold of his hair and yank at it.

She had even went to Russia to visit Kai. His face had scrunched up into an expression she couldn't describe, but he listened to her anyways whenever she would come. Hilary noticed his blue face-paint was gone once. Off with the paint, the scarf, the gloves, and with each piece gone where a business suit took their place, Hilary felt like she was still a kid where someone had to hold her hand.

Every time she saw one of her friends grow a little higher in height, or when the talks would no longer center around Beyblading, Hilary felt herself coil into a little ball as her clothes suddenly seemed too tight and her throat dry.

One day, she had asked Kenny to replay some old video clips he had recorded when he was still intent on studying opponents. He had looked at her strangely – and a little wearily, too. He knew she wasn't all that great with computers – and reluctantly let her go through them. It was slightly surprising he still had them after all these years, but it made her heart flutter in joy that he had kept them.

She watched for a long time. Probably longer than she should've, as Kenny was telling her he had to leave and that she should get some sleep when she realized she had watched them all night long. When he had left, Hilary let herself think back to them – some were old. She had mostly stuck to the ones that she had already seen with her own eyes, but she couldn't help but let curiosity take over – and she felt the mouse under her hand click one after the other, as she stared at them all.

There, the boys were younger. She had seen a picture with them like this once. She had looked at it without much care – other than noting Kai looked particularly cute – but she seemed almost amazed at how young they could all be. It never seemed to register to her before that they were all World Champions before they had even met her.

And then she decided.

It was her turn for a little adventure.

Picking himself up from the dirt, Ozuma steadied himself, glancing down at the spinning blade that sat at his feet, as if awaiting orders.

He held out his hand, and the familiar feeling of metal in his palm sent a shiver down his spine. He liked this feeling of being powerful; of being competent. Sweat trickled down his forehead, and the surrounding trees covered him in a way that made him feel secluded.

It was then that he would remind himself that he was no longer hiding inside these treetops with the Saint Shields. Ozuma remembered how the elder had looked at him with those old eyes that held pride – and if the others hadn't been standing there beside him, he would've thought the elder was looking at him alone after they had come back home after their long mission.

All his training had paid off in the end, because he had done good for the tribe, and for the sacred bit beasts – and –

There were no more Saint Shields.

With a twist, Ozuma's mouth curved into a frown.

He had always respected their elder. But as he remembered what he had said – how they were finished – how things have changed – how there would be no more missions afterward -

- and how they weren't needed.

Ozuma had always found pleasure when he thought about returning home when he and his teammates were isolated in that damp, dark warehouse when they were still chasing after the Bladebreakers. It was a quiet comfort for him, and he would sometimes burn with it just like Flash Leopard. But never – never had he ever wanted –

- a rustling of leaves startled him.

"Geez," muttered Mariam, climbing out of the bushes and over to him. "Just how long to you plan on sitting around here for?" she asked, tsking. She had her arms crossed, and was looking at him in that same critical stare she would always give. "Well?"

"I was training, Mariam – maybe you should try it sometime." He saw her roll her eyes at him, and he shook his head.

Mariam uncrossed her arms to give him another look – he didn't like it. "Come off it already, Ozuma," she said. "That was over a year ago. Don't you think you should try and get over it? Joseph and Dunga left months ago, because, unlike you, they don't need some mission to go out and do what they want."

Ozuma gave a quiet growl, eyebrows rising. "Haven't you already said this before? I told you, I'm -"

"Leaving."

At her sudden interruption, he stopped and stared. She stared back at him with those same eyes from years ago, but her hair was longer and her goals were obviously different. It had never really occurred to him how much she had changed, or when such a change had transpired. It left a vile taste in his mouth.

"How long do you plan to be gone?" he asked, now crossing his own arms over his chest.

Mariam shook her head, as if she had expected this answer. "That's the thing, Ozuma," she said sharply. "I don't know. I want to move around and travel like Joseph and Dunga; maybe go and meet a few people. We're all older now, and all I know is that this place has been bringing me down big time," she said. "And you're not exactly helping either," she added, hands balled up and curling themselves into her pockets.

He felt his own hands ball up into fists, and a slight tremor shook his body. "Oh? And why is that, Mariam?" he questioned, words sharp and direct.

She threw up her hands in exasperation, and the once cool, pointed gaze she had held flew away instantly. "You just don't get it, do you? You're like a zombie!" Here she shifted, the balls of her feet moving back and forth. "It's as if you think the elder is suddenly going to call us in for another mission. But you know what? The Bladebreakers are the ones who are taking care of the four sacred bit beasts now, not the Saint Shields. That was what we all decided when we left afterwards. Or did you just not think of the after?" Mariam seethed, face reddening as her glare returned.

Ozuma opened his mouth to retort, but the words died away. He suddenly felt as if there was sand stuck in his throat.

Mariam tsked again, lifting her shoulder in a shrug. "As I said, I'm leaving. I don't know when I'll come back – we never have before." With that, she turned around and began to pad over toward the bushes again.

"Fine," he spat, eyes narrowed as his head fell to look at the dirt he had kicked up. "Do whatever you want."

Mariam sighed, craning her head over to look at him over her shoulder. "Ozuma," she said, softer this time, and he could practically see the gears turning in her quirky head. "Be a leader."

And then he watched her walk away.