Notes:

+ so yeah am I the only one shipping this? …nah it's fine it's cool

+ Noragami spoilers for chapters up to 42

+ Didn't use shinki-form names because I couldn't find them for some characters :T

+ "Chijo" — "perverted woman," the name Yato tells to Ebisu.

+ hope you like it~~

She was always aware of him, but she was taken by surprise the first time they spoke. It was her second — no, maybe her third? ...yes, the third god conference — it must have been the third, because others had finally stopped challenging her title, had finally come to believe her (however grudgingly) when she told them she was the strongest god of war.

As if their disbelief wasn't annoying enough, god conferences took time away from hunting for Yato. She wouldn't have bothered going at all if Kazuma hadn't pointed out the possibility of finding him there.

As if a bug like that would ever have the power to show up here. Still, there was a chance. So she went, and kept her eyes peeled, just in case.

When the god conference had drawn to an end, when she was heading back to resume the hunt, someone called out to her.

"Bishamonten." The voice was firm — the same voice that had droned on and on during some kind of financial meeting that she had had no interest in.

"Ebisu," she responded. She met his gaze, and they stared at each other, calculating. Eyes narrow, framed with creases. Tall, slim, but not skinny. She might have considered him a fair opponent if she hadn't witnessed him trying and failing several times to pour tea into a paper cup during a break. The pool around his shoes had grown considerably before his shinki had rushed over to assist him.

"Well?" she asked impatiently. "What is it?"

He cleared his throat. "I've heard that you've accumulated a fair amount of shinki. Is that true?"

"I certainly have much more than I could bring here," Bishamon told him. Her bristling must have been obvious because he cleared his throat again and said, quickly, "No, I — I believe you."

"Then why ask?"

He drew closer, and she kept her ground, chin lifting. "I was just wondering," he said, low, "how you did it."

"I did it," she answered, "by becoming strong."

It was the same answer she gave everyone. Ebisu's eyes narrowed.

"I'm not joking," she told him, unable to stop herself from smiling smugly at his confusion. "It's the truth."

"I see," was all he replied, and, sensing there was nothing left to their conversation, they nodded at each other, and turned, and left.

:::

She saw him again at the next god conference, though she didn't recognize him at first. She didn't even realize he was there until he crashed into her.

"Ah — p-please excuse me," a voice stuttered from the floor, and Bishamon blinked and looked down. There was a young man there, rubbing his head; he squinted up at her, and then hesitated.

"My apologies..." He trailed off, and she realized he was searching for her name.

"Bishamonten," she told him, and his eyes widened. He shoved himself to his feet, and she was surprised to see that his head barely came to her shoulders. He seemed fresher too, somehow: his eyes bigger and brighter, louder and more free.

"Bishamonten-sama?" he repeated. "Really?"

"Really," she said, eyes narrowing, and he must have sensed her bristling because he and cleared his throat, and straightened, adjusting his clothing.

"M-my apologies, Bishamonten-sama. It's just, I've heard a lot about you...and...is it true that you have a lot of shinki?"

"Yes," she said, too startled to say anything else, and he looked around as if expecting them to leap out at him at him right then and there.

"They aren't here," she told him, and he rubbed his head again.

"Ah — yes — of course. Well — thank you," he said, bowing deeply, and as he left it occurred to her that his whole form was looser, more gangly. His footsteps echoed in the hall alongside the whipping flap of his untied shoelaces. This was not the same Ebisu as before. But that could only mean...

Had Ebisu, one of the seven gods of fortune, really died? How? Fortunately, she didn't have to ask aloud: talk of it was floating all around the conference.

"There's another one again, of Ebisu."

"Again?! What happened?"

"Who knows?"

"How many times has it been now?"

"I don't know. There have been so many, who could possibly keep track?"

"How fortunate! Such a powerful god, to keep on existing over and over."

Yet not powerful enough to stop it from happening in the first place. What could possibly have the power to kill a god again and again? Was he bad at choosing shinki?

She watched him during the next meeting, but couldn't spot any hint of blight on him — just nervousness. He sat at the head of the table despite his newness, and spent the first hour clearing his throat and scratching his head. As time went on, however, his voice grew stronger, and his gestures firm, until Bishamon found herself with the definite sense that she could trust Ebisu to handle...whatever it was they were talking about.

He was a fine god indeed. During the midday break, she prowled around for Yato and, failing to find him, headed back to table where they were serving food. Ebisu was there, and he had just begun lifting a large pitcher of tea.

"Let me," she said, and grabbed the pitcher just in time to prevent Ebisu from pouring its contents all over the table. Ebisu smiled apologetically as she poured him a cup.

"Ah, thank you, Bishamon-sama..." He tried to take the pitcher back, but she switched it to her other hand, out of reach.

"It's fine," she told him, and poured her own cup herself.

She set the pitcher down and took a sip, and when she looked at him next she realized he had been staring at her. He smiled.

"You must've known from my predecessor that I don't have any sense of balance," he said.

"I might have had an idea. But," she told him, "something like that is solvable, you know, with hard work."

"I know. I've been trying to find a shinki to help me, but haven't found any suitable ones yet...a problem you probably haven't had in a while," he realized. He sipped his tea, and instantly began coughing; he wiped his hand across his chin when he spilled.

"E-excuse me — wrong pipe," he explained, blinking rapidly. "Anyway, Bishamon-sama, if you don't mind, I have been wondering. How do you —"

"I manage having so much shinki by being strong," she told him, and he shook his head, brows furrowed.

"Ah — that's not — that is, that's impressive, but not what I was going to ask."

"Oh? My apologies then. What was it?"

"How," he asked, "do you make people happy?"

He scratched his head nervously, but his voice was fast, excited. "I was just thinking, during the meeting — that maybe all this may go over the head of humans — and you know, maybe my predecessors were all..." He trailed off. "Well, I don't know what happened to them. But I'm sure I can do differently than them. Better."

His eyes were practically glowing. She couldn't help but smile at his brightness and she patted his shoulder, lightly, so as to not tip him over.

"The answer is different for everyone. Do your best."

:::

When she saw him next, it wasn't the god conference that brought them together, but human wishes, pulsing and throbbing in the air, squeezing the two of them together on the eve of war. Ships were gathered in droves along the coast; the horizon was limned with livid reds and oranges. He was much older; his eyes were narrowed against the smoke, and his fingertips were gray with ash, and he was wearing Western clothes. She directed Kuraha to land beside him, and dismounted.

"Bishamonten-san," Ebisu called. "A pleasure." He held his hand out, and she stared at it in confusion until Kazuma whispered, Shake it.

"What?"

Shake it. It's a greeting, a Western one.

Feeling silly, Bishamon reached for his hand, and held it, and shook. The gesture was foreign and oddly intimate. His hands were large and uncalloused, but the grip was firm. When it loosened, she took her hand back and couldn't resist bowing a bit anyway.

Something else felt wrong but she didn't figure it out until he said, "Bishamonten-san, is it true that you have many shinki?"

She sucked in a breath. She didn't speak until Kazuma prompted her to answer. Even then, she could only manage "Yes."

"How many are with you now? Out of curiosity."

She counted out their names in her head. "Fifteen," she answered, and his eyebrows lifted.

"As expected of the strongest god of war." He looked down at the pillars of smoke below them, inhaling from a pipe. His exhale was a heavy sigh.

"Tell me, Bishamonten-sama," he said. "How can we make humans happy?"

This question again? But then, looking down at the flames eating their way to the sea, the answer certainly seemed more unclear than it had ever been.

"The answer is different for everyone," she said. But she knew what she was meant for. She slipped back onto Kuraha's back, drawing Karuha and Kazuha from their holsters.

"Do your best," she called, and descended into the floating embers.

The gods of war and…fishing. Unexpectedly, she ran into him often, as neighbors might, but their activities differed so much that they never made it past introducing themselves to each other before parting again. Sometimes he was a man that looked as young as Kazuma; at others, a man not unlike the salarymen whose boardroom meetings she surveyed, with the same severe gaze and frown. She never saw him old.

One year, they converged on the same road, in front of the same house. Bishamon strode forward, heels clacking on pavement, and was surprised to see a businessman's silhouette in front of the target house, fumbling with the gate.

"Ebisu," Bishamon called out, and he jumped as she stuck his hand toward him. He straightened immediately, patting down his clothing.

"Bishamonten-san, I assume," he said, and she nodded. They shook hands.

"What brings you here?" Ebisu asked. "There isn't talk of war, is there?"

"No. Not yet," she muttered. "But I can recognize the situations that can lead to it well enough."

And — despite what Kazuma had said — she could recognize the work of certain little abhorrent gods of calamity as well. Her blood was already starting to simmer.

Veena, Kazuma whispered in her ear. His diamond glinted in the streetlight. Please — just remain calm —

"I am calm," she muttered, but her hands shook as she opened the gate lock, and her fingers flexed on Akiha as she led the way inside. She rapped on the door, so hard it cracked a bit beside the hinge. Inside the house she heard, "Yyyyessss! Coming!"

It's just — you don't want to scare Kofuku-san, right?

"She has nothing to be afraid of," she said, but spoke too soon, because as soon as the door opened and they saw what was within, Ebisu roared.

"What — are — you — DOING?!"

Daikoku, who had opened the door, narrowed his eyes and made to close it again. "Oi, you — don't you dare speak to my kami-san that way —"

"Nonono, Daikoku, it's okay! It's okay, it's just Ebisu!"

The inside of the little house was littered with alcohol bottles, greasy crumples of money, and loose feathers. Kofuku lounged in the middle of it all with fishnets and a wide gaze, and she waved over at the door enthusiastically.

"Hiiii, Ebisu! And — ah —" She craned over and her eyes went even wider. "B-B-Bishamon?! You're here too?!"

"I can't believe you!" Ebisu shouted. "Do you have any idea what you're doing to the economy, Binbougami?"

"I just wanted to ask if you've seen the Yatogami," Bishamon said, "though I suppose the economy is also an issue," and Kofuku stood, tugging her bustier into place from where it had slipped.

"Bishamon!" she said loudly. "W-wow, what an honor to see you, Bishamon — I'm just — so surprised you're here — what did you say you were doing here? Bishamon?"

"Looking for Yato," Bishamon said in confusion. Binbougami or not, this was unusual behavior. Was she drunk? "I thought I spotted him in the area so I was wondering if you've seen him. Why are you talking like that?"

It's probably nothing, Kazuma said hastily, she's — she's probably just nervous because of Ebisu —

"Are you even listening to me?" Ebisu yelled. "Binbougami! This is getting out of control! You must. Stop partying. This instant."

Kofuku pouted. "But—! It's so fun. And the bubble is so pretty. Really, Ebisu, you should try partying yourself —"

"Me? Partying?"

"Ye-eess! Come on, it would get that stern look off your face! Though it also would be really unfortunate if you lost it," she realized, holding her cheeks with alarm, and Daikoku frowned at her, sternly.

"Maybe you should," Bishamon snorted, glancing over at him with a slight smile, and he gave her a hard look.

"Bishamonten-san — you, of all gods — I would never have expected —"

Bishamon shrugged. "You've just been looking severe, is all. There was a time before when you weren't like this."

One time — many centuries ago — many existences ago. Ebisu's eyes narrowed.

"If you're talking about a predecessor of mine," he said, "I plan to do much better than him — severe or not. And it starts with you" — he pointed at Kofuku, who jumped — "not putting this whole country into economic destruction!"

"The whole country?" Kofuku echoed, sounding impressed.

"The whole country!"

"That's my kami-san," Daikoku said smugly.

"No! This is not good!"

There was a crash behind the house.

"What —" Bishamon started and glanced up toward it, but Kofuku hurriedly grabbed her arms and said, "Ne, Bi-sha-mon, don't you agree with me? That Ebibi is so much cuter with a stern face?"

"What was that noise?" she asked.

"Oh — oh, you know, there's so many rats that live back there — they make such a racket all the time, it's nothing to worry about."

It definitely sounded like a rat, Kazuma added, and Bishamon stepped back. The sound seemed louder than anything a rat would make, but Kazuma was never wrong.

"Very well."

Kofuku sighed in relief, and Ebisu glared.

"Are you even listening to me?" he demanded. "This is a matter of utmost importance. Do you hear me, Binbougami? If you don't sober up," he said, stepping forward, "there will be — AAAUGHH!"

"Ebisu —?!"

"Ebibiii!"

He'd walked forward and stepped squarely on a sake bottle, which had rolled beneath his foot and caused him to fall backward. Bishamon watched in shock as he fell, skull slamming into and breaking through a paper screen door.

"Ebisu-sama!" His shinki immediately materialized around him, crowding around as Bishamon lifted him up off the ground.

"It's alright," Ebisu mumbled, waving them all off, but the moment he got on his feet he reeled forward, dazed, and Bishamon gripped him harder to prevent his face from hitting the tatami. She hefted him up, slinging his arm around her shoulder.

"Ebisu-sama, are you truly alright?" one of his shinki asked.

"Ebisu-sama, maybe you should lie down a little longer —"

"I'm fine," he murmured hazily. He muttered the names of his shinki and they returned to various pockets in his suit. Bishamon blinked in surprise. Well, it looked like Ebisu was well-beloved of his shinki, severe or not.

But, in the back of her mind, she had always assumed it was the blight always got him. If his shinki were fine, why did he die all the time?

"I'm fine," Ebisu repeated, trying to brush Bishamon off, but no sooner had he started to stand again than another bottle had found its way beneath his foot, and Bishamon sighed and this time caught him before he could fall back.

"Listen, Kofuku," she said. "You've had your fun. Stop."

Kofuku sighed and lied back on the tatami. She spun her arms, rustling the bills and feathers, rattling the sake bottle caps. "I was already going to stop," she admitted with a yawn. "I just wanted to see Ebibi's cute face."

"Well," Bishamon said, putting her hands on either side of Ebisu's face and thrusting it at her, "here. Satisfied?"

She eyed him carefully, leaning in and squinting, while Daikoku scowled. "Yeah," she said finally, with a yawn. "Okay."

And thus ended Japan's economic bubble. Outside, there were no more sake bottles lying around, and Bishamon trusted Ebisu enough to release him and stand beyond arms length. He straightened his tie and smoothed back his hair, but the motions were so harsh that strands still poked up, unkempt.

"I can't believe her," he grumbled. "How can I make people happy like this? How how is it possible for someone to so things that cause people so much unhappiness?"

Bishamon thought, and couldn't come up with an answer. She sent a questioning thought to Kazuma, and relayed his response.

"Happiness isn't straightforward. We should know that best, of all gods," Bishamon said. "Catching many fish in a place may mean one family has wealth and another doesn't. When a battle is won, it's lost for someone else."

The next words were hers, dampened by the sobriety of Kazuma's observation. "All that's left for us is to do our best for whenever we are helping at the moment."

"That's not good enough," Ebisu snapped, and though she didn't understand it then, she would later — the fire in his narrowed eyes, the shake in his fingers as he pulled out a cigarette and jammed it into his scowling mouth.

"I can help all of them," he said, fumbling with a lighter. "I know there's a way. I can help all of them, and I will."

He flicked the lighter lid open, closed, open, closed, and still couldn't get a flame to emerge. Gently, Bishamon took it, flipped it open, and procured a flame instantly.

She held it out to the tip of his cigarette. He hesitated, and didn't lean forward until she said, "Come on."

His frown softened into a grimace as he inhaled. He sighed out smoke, and pocketed the lighter when she handed it back to him.

Maybe it was because she was a god of war, and she sensed the fight in him, and wanted, naturally, to nurture it. Maybe it was because even this newly met Ebisu felt like an old friend. Whichever it was, before she knew it, she was reaching forward and pushing her hand through his hair, smoothing the stray hairs back down.

"Do your best," she told him. He blinked at her in surprise, and then the corner of his mouth lifted in a very slight smile.

"I will. Thank you, Bishamonten-san."

:::

For some reason, at that moment, it was that smile that she thought of — that little crack in his rigid armor. It was the first time, in all of his lifetimes, that he had ever smiled at her with something resembling genuine happiness.

She held him now in her arms, his body broken and heavy and bleeding into the shining puddles around them. He was shaking and losing warmth and her sight of him blurred as tears flooded her eyes. Her heart surged with fear — and then, a desperate relief.

"Don't — don't worry," she said, summoning a smile, tightening her grip. "We'll meet again. You'll be resurrected. So — don't worry!"

She had failed him, but the world and all its wishes would bring them together again, to meet, to exchange their names. It always had. It always would.

It was a reassuring thought, and she thought then that he might smile, and agree with her. Instead, his face fractured.

"No," he sobbed. "I don't want to die!"

For an instant the glowing rain stopped falling. Her pounding heart stopped beating. And all of Ebisu stopped, too.

But unlike everything else, in the next moment, he didn't continue. He bloomed, and fell apart in her arms in a tide of glittering blood.