Part 7:
Trust
Well, here I am with Chapter 7 after slightly more than a year. If anyone is still interested in reading this, I hope you're not too annoyed at me. I tried, really and truly, but circumstances made it impossible, and I'm just glad I've been able to get this chapter out. It's not what I originally intended to do at this point in the story, but I find it works well enough. Expect a long wait for the next chapter, but probably not nearly as long as this one took. Glad to be back. Well, without further ado, here goes the chapter, and I hope it was worth how long you had to wait. If it isn't, I apologize.
The winds of Reikai were high and fitful, keening at a level above human hearing and buffeting Botan from side to side as she escorted Yuusuke and his companions to the palace. She made minute corrections to their course, slowing down what she hoped was an imperceptible amount, her pulse thudding dully in her ears.
The unrelenting landscape brought her no relief from her thoughts; the yellow ground that seemed to stretch into infinity was unbroken by anything save the river, and that wound gently toward the palace as it always had, too familiar to help. Even the clouds seemed static, affected little by the wind and moving only sluggishly across the horizon.
None of the Tantei had spoken to her, not a word, since she had appeared to ferry them to Koenma; the silence between them was unnatural and unnerving. It prickled along her nerves until she was certain she was broadcasting guilt and discomfort clearly for all to sense, tempered by a healthy spurt of fear -- for she was afraid, of the set of Yuusuke's jaw, of the whiteness of Kuwabara's knuckles, of the helpless distress on Yukina's face.
There's no telling what they're capable of now, she thought anxiously.They're sure to be feeling betrayed, and for them, betrayal is the highest sin . . .
And she had played a part in that betrayal.
Reikai's pale lavender sky dimmed before her dark thoughts. She couldn't guess what they would do once they were in audience with Koenma; it might be that they would quit their service of the Reikai entirely, leaving the worlds with no real defense. They might try to kill Koenma, or even some of the oni in their anger, and she would probably be forced to have them arrested. She dreaded that duty, and doubted it was even possible to fulfill.
She wished fervently that she did not have to do this. She would accept any other position from Koenma, anything that didn't require her to lie to her friends like that ever again -- but it was impossible. She remembered little of who she had been before becoming a ferrygirl, but she did remember one thing: it was forever. She might exist for millennia, caught between life and death, ferrying souls to and from the Ningenkai one by one in a ceaseless parade. Until King Enma himself dismissed her, she would have no reprieve.
She had not cared, back then. She couldn't remember what had driven her to accept her position, knowing what it would entail, but she could recall feeling no regrets for her decision. But now . . . she regretted everything.
I knew I shouldn't have gotten close to them. They're mortal, and mortals die, and even demons will wither while I remain young. But I can't help it. Oh, Koenma, if you knew how weak I was, you would never trust me again . . . and neither would I.
Their destination was upon them sooner than she had hoped, and she slowed again to deposit her passengers before the gate. They touched down without a glance at her as she sent her oar to otherspace and made to follow. All her attempts at catching their eyes failed.
They probably hate me now, she thought miserably, and hung her head, trusting to long familiarity to guide her feet.
It was because of this that she did not see Kuwabara step in front of her until his blue uniform came into her vision, and she squeaked softly, coming to a halt only inches from him. Looking up in surprise, she was caught by his eyes—and the unexpected compassion they held.
"You don't have to feel so bad, Botan," he told her, before she could even form the question in her mind. "I know that whatever Koenma told you to do, you didn't have a choice in it. Whatever punishment you ferrygirls have for disobeying orders, it has to be worse than getting fired or something, or you would have told us about all this. I don't blame you for anything, Botan -- our deal is with Koenma, not you, okay?"
Caught speechless, Botan could only nod mutely, and Kuwabara turned around to lead the way in.
That was . . . startling . . . Her spirits almost dared to rise at the unasked-for reprieve -- until she caught sight of Yuusuke.
Sick at heart, she hurried past him to catch up to Kuwabara, not wanting to see again those dark eyes telling her, in no uncertain terms, thathe did not so easily forgive.
x . o . x . o . x . o . x
The plump white rabbit whuffled in the snow, burying its tiny snout and then pulling it back again, twitching furiously to bring warmth into it. A stray blade of grass dared to poke up from the thick layer of whiteness, sheltered from the fiercest weather by overhanging trees, enticing the rabbit to again delve its sensitive pink nose into the cold.
It was not the scent of the greenery, however, that held the attention of the silver-shadowed figure hiding just upwind in the sparse bracken. Narrow golden eyes gazed with unblinking intensity, muscles held absolutely still beneath sleek fur, muzzle open slightly and fogging breath concealed within the snow. The silent predator waited with infinite, confident patience for his moment to come to him.
Hiei was bored.
Patient as he was, he had never had the desire to draw things out in the manner Kurama seemed so very fond of. This hunt would have ended long ago if he had been the fox crouched in the snow, rather than extended to a maddening length.
Just so you can make a perfectly clean kill, ne, fox? You'd wait there all day if the wind didn't seem right.
And yet despite his boredom, he was content to watch his former partner at the hunt. It gave him pause for thought that he was so complacent, and had been nagging at him ever since the realization had occurred that he would have been satisfied to watch no matter what Kurama had been doing, so long as it was Kurama. He couldn't even pretend he had some ulterior motive for staying -- he had already admitted to himself that he had missed the kitsune. Not until he had seen him again, sleeping in the koorime's forest, had he realized just how badly.
He was being sentimental. He needed to cease with this nonsense immediately.
Lassitude. Well, so what if he was being a bit reflective? It meant nothing.
He looked away, surveying the edge of koorime territory from a distinctly unique perspective, one he had never had access to before his death. On the one horizon, the faint tinge of green that signaled a distant, warm forest; on the other, a dazzling strip of silvered white, broken by splotches of dark brown, black and bits of blue. Hiei had been glad when Kurama had headed for the edge of the ice country and all the memories it contained, but he wished the kitsune he was following would not have become hungry before they could be entirely clear of it. Sitting here while he hunts rabbits is notmy notion of fun.
He snorted wryly. I suppose I could be doing less enjoyable things. Like following the fool, for instance. While it might be amusing to haunt him, I doubt I would be able to withstand his noxious presence for very long; if Meikai had anything worse to offer, I'd probably take it. Although if he dares touch Yukina, he will live out his miserable life without a moment's true peace. I'll skin that ningen bastard with nothing but my astral hands.
His thoughts gentled as he watched the rabbit move a little through the snow. Yukina. I wonder how she fares. Hn. Probably much better without me. For all that Koenma can spout his lies about them needing me, they're all probably better off in the long run.
That particular thought was not at all new to him. In point of fact, he couldn't remember the first time it had crossed his mind. How longhad he felt that way? Long enough, he supposed, for it to have become reflexive -- the hypocrisy almost amused him. He was fiercely proud of his fighting ability, to the point where he would do most anything to preserve his skills and his reputation, but he couldn't shake the feeling that it was all for nothing, that it would make no difference for those to whom he lent his competence.
He musingly contemplated the possible reasons for this. Perhaps because he often held back when he could have aided? That was unlikely; an honor code he might have, but declining help when it was not strictly needed did not violate that code, and to say that he felt guilt for anything outside its limits would imply that he had an overactive conscience. He didn't think he'd slipped that much since he had become a Tantei.
Although, what else had changed since he had become a "good guy", he shuddered to think.
Guilt in itself was an emotion entirely new to him, and an uncomfortable one at that, which had presented itself like a neatly-wrapped present at the first opportunity. Thus far, only the fox had caused him to experience it, and the sanjiyan resented him highly for it. You seem to delight in making my life complicated, kitsune. I wonder if it's another of your little amusing games. The redhead was a source of endless puzzlement, to say nothing of the endless headaches that brought with it. Hiei blamed Kurama for a good many changes in himself, none of them changes he particularly welcomed, but the clever Kurama seemed to be curiously opaque when it came to the Jaganshi, and had never noticed his pique.
A stray beam of light from the rising sun drifted over his eyes, startling him into realizing that it was dawn. Oddly enough, the light didn't sting, though he flinched reflexively. Was it because it could no longer touch him, like everything else in the corporeal world?
Pah. He was thinking too much.
He didn't care for the amount of thinking he had been doing lately; it seemed superfluous and generally wasteful to spend his time like that. Then again, without his physical body, it wasn't as if he could really train any longer -- and there was another of those damned 'then again's. Since when had he spent so much time contradicting himself? This was pointless --
Below him, Kurama pounced.
Hiei felt something prickle along his skin, like a chill breeze -- in a dead calm where there was no wind. The trees with their broad needles had not even stirred an inch.
Every instinct the Jaganshi had ever possessed snapped to attention with a suddenness that nearly overflowed his mind with input. Narrowed, scanning eyes detected nothing out of the ordinary; his acute hearing yielded the same result. His Jagan eye was dormant as it had been since his death, and the reflex to rely on it had to be overridden with some effort; that left him with only his neo-physical senses, and a strange premonition of danger.
He knew what it was without having to think.
So. Those sniveling cowards back at the Reikai have finally organized a search for me. How predictably slow. He felt for the danger sensation, trying to pinpoint a direction, but it was too general, seeming to hang in the air around him. He would have to hide. A wry reflection on the irony in "the peace of death" entered his thoughts; he had had more peace during his arguments with Kuwabara.
He glanced down at Kurama, who was now tearing into his prey with uniquely vulpine enthusiasm, and sighed, annoyed. Again, prevailing upon the fox's good grace was a necessity. Hiei supposed there were better places he could hide, but he wasn't about to leave Kurama alone now. The baka has already proved he needs my help. Now he has the opportunity to return the favor.
He drifted down closer, and smirked sardonically as he settled into his friend's spiritual shadow, ducking under the aura and using it like a shield. It wouldn't keep them from finding him for long, but it would at least buy him some time to consider his options. He waited patiently for Kurama to finish his meal, and then clung to the aura as the two of them sped for the Makai gate.
Hn. Hiding from the weather in the fox's room. Nothing changes, does it?
x . o . x . o . x . o . x
The walk through the hallway was the longest walk of Yuusuke's life.
Step. Step. Step.
Their feet echoed hollowly. They walked in step out of long habit, save Botan, who levitated nervously ahead of them on her oar. This corridor had never been so silent that Yuusuke could remember, though he could recall times when they had not spoken; this quiet was heavier, colder, and more oppressive. An empty quiet.
Step. Step. Step.
This was a new kind of pain, to match the strange new silence. He had never felt pain this way before, not this deep in his chest or this high in his throat. He felt its distinction in a calm, almost detached way, completely independent of the rage that bottled in his body and ki.
He knew why it felt different. He had seen friends die, be humiliated, and be tortured; he had had all three happen to him on numerous occasions. But never, not once since he had given his trust to someone, had he been betrayed. Not by a friend.
Step. Step. Step.
Trust. He had believed so few worthy of it, and never granted it lightly. Those few had to earn what was given, and only his fellow Tantei had ever earned unconditional faith. He trusted them with his life and the lives of those he cared for. Only one other had come close to reaching that level -- and he could not have fallen farther.
Step. Step. Step. Step. Stop.
The door.
Anger made his chest tighten with each breath he took through his clenched jaw. He let go of the calm in a few taut exhalations, giving himself over to the rage that would sustain him through this confrontation. He hardly saw the oni as he passed them, didn't notice them draw back from his deadly expression; he didn't even see Botan disappear down a corridor, leaving them alone, or Yukina hang back in fearful reluctance. His eyes were only on the door to Koenma's office. He stepped into that office as though stepping into the ring -- teeth bared, eyes slitted, heart constricted into a cold, hard lump of steel.
This was hurting him, more than he could stand, far more than his reason told him it should. The anger was as much a defense against the pain as it was a true emotion; it was like needles in his throat and chest as he stared his boss down.
The boss he had thought was also a friend.
Koenma was sitting at his desk, for once not rummaging through the papers on it, wearing his teenaged form -- the only one Yuusuke liked. The toddler body just seemed incongruous and unsettling, but this older, more poised visage suited his position much better. In a way, it made what Yuusuke was going to say easier; this was a Koenma who knew full well what he had done, and wasn't hiding behind his toddler form and pretending to be naïve. Yuusuke held a sort of grim appreciation for that.
He didn't bother with a preamble. Striding with barely suppressed rage, he approached the desk and slapped the amber half-sphere down with a loud, ringing clop. The sound resonated in the cavernous room; Koenma automatically reached for the artifact, but Yuusuke had not removed his hand. For a moment, silence glittered under the hot lights of the office.
"You lying bastard." The hiss emerged from his mouth as an unplanned, unrecognizable thread of sound, nearly impossible to hear beneath the diminishing echoes the artifact had kicked up. A change came over Koenma's features -- a change that did not include surprise.
Another, more familiar voice spoke behind him: "Let him talk, Urameshi." It was too calm, too reasonable. Yuusuke refused to acknowledge it.
What it did was make Koenma bold; he straightened a bit in his chair and smoothed over his initial reaction. The black-haired detective did not even allow him to open his mouth, however.
"He doesn't get to talk," he said, rudely slicing off whatever Koenma had been about to say. "You know why, Kuwabara? Because there's nothing he can say that can even come close to justifying what he did." He never took his eyes off Koenma's. "Hiei'sdead because of you. He's dead because of your stupid lies, and you've probably got him doing some shithole community service for his entire afterlife because you can't make him come back. Is that it?"
Blackly embittered satisfaction sprang to life at Koenma's wince. Yuusuke wasn't done talking.
"Kurama can't even bring himself to be in the same world as you are, and the only reason I can is that I don't want my world to be french-fried by some demon. I can't speak for Kuwabara, but as far as I'm concerned, you've still got a lead detective -- but what youdon't have is a friend." He straightened up. "And that's all I have to say to you."
And with that, he pointedly turned his back on Koenma's poleaxed look and began to march purposefully towards the door.
Kuwabara grabbed his shoulder as he went past, detaining him. "Hold on, Urameshi! I wanna hear what he has to say!"
"Then stay and listen," snapped Yuusuke coldly, jerking himself free. "I'm leaving."
"You owe it to him to stay!" persisted Kuwabara.
"I don't owe him anything!" Yuusuke exploded.
"He's been our boss for a long time now and he's saved our lives more times than I can count, so if you're never gonna to speak to him again at least stay here and hear him out! He at least deserves a chance to try and explain himself!"
"Shut up, Kuwabara! I don't care how many times he's saved my life! I don't care how many times he's saved your life! All I care about is that he got Hiei killed, and I will not forgive him for that!"
"I'm not asking you to forgive him! I'm asking you to stay in here for a few minutes and pretend to listen because if you don't, I might decide to not ever speak to you again!"
That hit home. He'd lost Hiei; he'd more or less lost Kurama, and he'd lost Koenma and Botan. If he lost Kuwabara as a friend --
Yuusuke glared at his companion, fought down icy barbs of fear and hatred and turned back to Koenma, who was staring at them with the most peculiar expression on his face.
"Fine. Talk."
The silence stretched long between them.
"You don't understand," Koenma said quietly, his tone subdued. He picked up the amber artifact and clenched his fingers around its scraggy edges. "I had no choice. Don't you know what this is?"
At these words, Yuusuke snarled and almost turned to leave again, but held his place, Kuwabara's threat fresh in his mind. He said nothing.
"This -- this is more important and more dangerous than anything in the three worlds. More lives than Hiei's were at stake; more lives than you can imagine." His eyes held pleading when he looked up. "I'm a god, Yuusuke. I have to make decisions based on what's best for everyone, not just a favored few. Getting this back was worth Hiei's life, and yours, and even mine -- I had to do what I did."
Yuusuke's vision went red, and it was all he could do to confine his rage to words. "That's a load of --"
"Why weren't we allowed to know?" asked Kuwabara roughly, interrupting. He put a hand on his teammate's shoulder, an obvious sign to stand down, and Yuusuke shrugged it angrily away. A tiny modicum of self-control prevented him from ripping it off.
The kami was silent for a long moment. He wouldn't meet their eyes. "For your protection."
"And I suppose it was for Hiei's protection, too?" snarled the black-haired boy.
"Yes, dammit!" Koenma's fists hit the desk. "I wanted you all where I could keep an eye on you! I knew you'd stay in Ningenkai until I called for you if --" He halted, shut his eyes, and drew in a deep breath, beginning again. "The only way to be sure that you wouldn't get concerned about Kurama and go to check on him was to tell you he was dead, and given the nature of his mission, there was a high possibility that would turn out to be the truth. If you had disrupted that mission, all of you would almost certainly have died, and to prevent that I lied to you. I didn't expect you to forgive me for the deception, but I was prepared to accept your resentment; I did not expect Hiei to react as he did. In fact, it was the last thing I expected him to do. My plan was to get Kurama through his mission as safely as I could, then tell you everything once he was out of danger -- it was never meant to cause any deaths, least of all Hiei's." His voice was as angry as his Tantei's now, though much more level, but it was threatening to lose that stability.
If possible, the ruler's self-righteous logic enraged Yuusuke even further. "That's bullshit! Why the hell didn't you just tell us he wouldn't be back for a really long time and not to go looking for him? We're not toddlers like you, we can listen to simple instructions!"
"You're not toddlers, but you're certainly as insubordinate! I knew that if you were worried enough about him, you'd go no matter what I told you to do, and I couldn't take that risk!"
"The least you could have done if you were going to lie anyway was tell us he was fine and didn't need help! Did that ever occur to you?"
"Do you think I don't know that you don't trust me? Hiei especially has almost a sixth sense about lies --"
"Youbastard! Don't you dare!"
"Will you both shut up so I can get a word in?" yelled Kuwabara. "Stop shouting at each other and just let Koenma finish what he's got to say! When he's done you guys can yell all you want, but I'm not gonna spend all day listening to you fight!"
"Kuwabara, SHUT UP!" roared Yuusuke.
"Stop acting like a kid, Urameshi! If --"
The Tantei didn't allow this friend to get any farther. Driven beyond reason, his fist lashed out, catching Kuwabara on the cheekbone and sending him flying into the office wall. The crash scattered a stack of papers and reverberated vacuously in the silence that followed. Koenma's eyes were wide.
Yuusuke's anger vanished before realization. He lowered his arm, stricken. "Kuwabara --" he began, then stopped.
Kuwabara levered himself off the ground, putting a hand to his face. Yukina, who had until then been standing speechless in the doorway, dashed to his side and knelt, touching the already purpling bruise.
Yuusuke felt rooted to the spot. Guilt washed over him, and he reached out a hand, taking a step forward to assist as Yukina struggled with her much heavier companion. Speech forced its way haltingly through his lips. "Kuwabara, I didn't mean to -- are you all right?"
Just as his hand closed around his friend's arm, Kuwabara pulled himself fully upright and threw Yuusuke off of him with some force. Yuusuke stumbled back and caught his balance. He stared into Kuwabara's eyes, and fear thrilled through him at what he saw there.
"Fine, Urameshi," the larger boy said. His voice was hard. "If you won't listen to reason, then you can just leave and not come back."
Koenma broke in. "Kuwabara, that's not your decision to make." A pause. "It's Yuusuke's." As both the Tantei turned their attention to him, his posture slumped in a gesture of defeat. "I won't keep him here if he doesn't want to remain, and if he doesn't want to stay on as a detective, he doesn't have to."
Wind completely taken from his sails, Yuusuke groped for words. The rage that had given him momentum had dissipated, but he found stability in his own guilt. "I already answered that, Koenma. The worlds are more important to me than what a bastard you are. But I'm not staying here any longer, and I'm not coming back. You can take your cases to me when they come up, or not at all." He turned to his friends. "Kuwabara, Yukina -- if you don't want me around anymore, I won't come around. But it's going to be a hell of a lot harder to work together if we aren't speaking. At least let me pretend I'm still worth having friends."
Unable to think of anything further to say, he pivoted on his heel and paced out of the office. This time, no one stopped him; they all watched him go in silence.
x . o . x . o . x . o . x
In Ningenkai, a figure crouched on the branch of a very old tree, sniffing the lingering scent that remained there. He gazed sadly into the window of a familiar room, taking in things already committed to heart and memory and reinforcing them.
Kurama wasn't sure why he was here. Though he had asked Yuusuke to take care of his kaasan, intending to remain in Makai, as he wandered lost in his own thoughts he had ended up back in the Ningenkai, in the place he had watched his home from so often during his mission: Hiei's favorite branch. The Jaganshi's scent was everywhere, clinging to the tree bark like an invisible mist, etched there by his daily visits and long naps; that scent combined with that of his kaasan struck him with nearly physical pain.
He wanted to go inside. He knew he should go inside. But something stalled him -- he didn't know what to say to his mother. All those times he had secretly visited her during his mission, she, like all the others, had thought he was dead. The rest of the Tantei, as his friends, would have told her. He couldn't just walk in as if he'd never left and expect her to welcome him -- there would be shock, pain and perhaps even fear.
He wasn't certain he'd be able to handle his mother's fear. Through all the times that he had resolved to tell her who he really was, that alone had held him back. He did not want her to fear him, no more than he wanted Yuusuke or Hiei to fear him, though he knew they did not.
Kurama had no idea what to do. This particular quandary, one that he had ignored or rationalized away for the last three or four years, had suddenly been thrust in his face and could not be stalled any longer. Whether he revealed his identity or not, no matter what he said or did, his mother would know that he was not the son she had always thought him to be. He didn't even know enough about what she had been told to come up with an ostensible cover story. He would have nothing, forced to present himself to her and face whatever her reaction might be.
The more he brooded on his situation, the more hopeless it seemed to be. He knew it was not something he could unravel all at once, but the enormity of it was suffocating him and clouding his reason. He was in too dangerous a position to afford that; more dilemmas than one faced him now.
He bit his lip pensively, mentally switching topics to one other that had been bothering him. Something big is coming, Hiei had said. Something that Hiei didn't know anything about -- but Kurama did.
Gendou and Donari.
That was the only thing that made sense. Donari would have missed him days ago, and she was fast enough to have caught up with Gendou and told him what had occurred. She had also had time to send out spies to find out who Kurama really was, and who had sent him, which meant she might know significantly more about him and about the Tantei than she had when he'd served her. Greater knowledge meant greater power -- and she had been powerful enough.
At least, now he knew why, and how. His youko side spared a disdainful snort for Koenma. Tch. He must think that my human years have made me an imbecile. To think that I would not see what was plainly in front of my face -- that "artifact" is half of the Kurainaku. It explains Donari's power perfectly. She was clever to have hidden it from me for so long, I'll admit, but Koenma's clumsy attempt to recover one half was amateur at best. Trying to send the rest of the Tantei after it while I was safely out of the way was not wise of him. And then again, he has been clumsy this entire time; the spy who delivered it to the koorime as a "peace-gift" must have been his best agent at a moment's notice.
But I have been clumsy as well, and I can no longer ignore the foolishness of my actions. I did what I had to -- but I could have done it better. I was careless. I should have formulated a diversion at least, or an alibi, or taken the time to cover my tracks. I was so hasty -- so worried about them -- Yuusuke, Hiei . . .
He closed his eyes tightly.
I'm a fool. And I may very well die because of it.
He shook his head, hair falling into his face and catching on a twig.This does me no good. I must focus on staying alive. After all, I wouldn't want to face Hiei if I died. A sad smile tugged at his lips as he shifted position on the tree branch, freeing his trouser leg from the snagging bark. So. Where can I go? The most I can do is stall; I'm not safe in Ningenkai because of Koenma, and the Reikai is out of the question. However, if I stay in the Makai, Donari will find me eventually, and I would stand little chance of surviving. But -- Reikai agents or none, Ningenkai might allow me some cover; if I stay with my kaasan and don't draw attention to myself --
He didn't finish that thought; it took him back to where he had started.I'm not getting anywhere. If I don't talk to my kaasan, I have no place to go; but if I do, I risk losing her -- a gamble even the youko might not have taken. I wish I knew what was best. Yuusuke and Kuwabara may need my assistance, but I don't know if I truly have the willpower to keep from committing a capital crime. I would rather die than be locked up in Reikai prison for all eternity, and I've already promised Hiei I'd try to avoid that eventuality.
As he mulled over this predicament, he caught a glimpse of movement inside and froze immediately, hardly daring to breathe. His mother had just walked into his bedroom, with something in her hands. Trying to get a better view without being spotted, he leaned forward over the branch, trusting the leaves to screen him as effectively as they had always hidden Hiei. She was holding a planting pot -- a bush of some sort.
His eyes went wide. He would recognize those blooms anywhere; they were his favorite. Roses.
Quietly, Shiori crossed the room to the bed, setting the pot down gently just outside his field of vision in the dusty swath of sunlight the window afforded, before turning and departing as silently as she had come.
Kurama sat in the tree for a very long time, watching his empty room through a thin curtain of silver tears, trying to find a solution to a problem that had none. The tree branches began to bend slightly under the wieght of his distress, closing comfortingly about him like an embrace.
Hiei . . . what would you have done?
The rustle of leaves, and a faint, ghosting sense of presence, were his only answer.
Kurama sighed. Taking one last look, he jumped down from the branch to land catlike on the ground beneath, and walked towards his front door. If he wasn't ready now, he never would be.
Well, that's it for this chapter. More tangible things will happen next chapter, and you can expect more action also. I've scrapped my plot summary; I felt it was tying me down and might well have had a lot to do with how long it took me to get this chapter written, so although I know vaguely what I'd like to do with the end of this fic, I'll pretty much wing it from here and just adhere to loose, important plot points. I've acquired what I hope will turn out to be one of those oh-so-elusive creatures, a steady beta reader/co-author, and more work is being done as I type. Missed working on this story, I did; glad to be back after that unforgivably long hiatus.
