Disclaimer- I don't own Negima.

I actually liek this chapter. I don't have anything else to say, as I don't have many readers and have had no reviews, so...

Enjoy! :)


"Could you tell us a love story?" asked Konoka hopefully.

Al laughed. "I thought I already did."

Chisame rolled her eyes. "Your idea of a love story is severely warped. Don't you know they're supposed to have happy endings?"

Al had already decided which story to tell, and this request fit nicely. "I have one that ends with everyone still alive, if that meets your criteria. I think you'll like this story. It hits a little closer to home than you'll think."

"Sure," compromised Chisame. "Why not?"

Asuna rushed in late. "Did I miss anything? Please tell me I didn't!"

"Do we really have nothing better to occupy our days with?" muttered Chisame, knowing full well it was a rhetorical question.

"You're just in time." replied Al. "Now, this story takes place in Japan in the early twenties...bad things were happening in Manchuria, and the Japanese people were just beginning to adjust to the drastic changes made in their lives..."


Al drank out of his mug of coffee, keeping his eyes on the bar in front of him. There was nothing more surreal than listening to American music with a few Brits in a Japanese bar. He was dressed in a three piece suit reminiscent of the 1890s, complete with pocket-watch. He always made a point to be at least thirty years behind current fashion, subsequently causing to attract odd stares wherever he went (this didn't work in the Magic World, where robes and skimpy clothing were always in fashion).

He was listening to the slightly out of tune saxophone player when a young woman plopped into the seat across from him. She was wearing a very bizarre mixture of a yukata with a casual dress shirt thrown over it, and her greenish-black hair was disheveled, two long strands of hair poking out in very noticeable antennae. She were thick black glasses, and had a drawing pad in her arms.

"Hello," she said brightly. "Sorry for the intrusion, but could I sit here?"

He sipped his coffee and smiled his classic smile. "Of course. It's not every day I get a pretty young lady barging in on me."

"Really? That's surprising. You're handsome." This woman was unusually blunt for a Japanese woman. He wouldn't be surprised if she had spent her entire childhood being chastised for it. She winked at him.

"Do you think I could draw you? I'm trying to do an illustration for a drawing magazine I really like. I like drawing androgynous men, and you're the most girly guy I've seen all year."

"Thank you," replied Al, flattered. "Feel free."

"What's you name?" asked the woman. "I'd like to know, but you don't have to tell me."

"Al."

"Oooh la la, foreign," snickered the woman. "But that's obvious just by looking at you. What's it short for, Alphonse, Albert?" Her Japanese accent was thick on the English words, and it was endearing to Al, almost cute.

"Albireo. Albireo Imma."

"That's totally weird. And cool. Weird and cool, just like you. I'm Suzuki Saotome, a starving artist."

"It's nice to meet you, Saotome-san."

"Call be Suzuki. It's less troublesome that way."

"All right then, call me Al."

"I'm glad you said that, since that's what I was going to call you either way. What brings you to Japan?" she asked, starting her sketch.

"I like to travel. I haven't been in this part of the world for some time, so I decided to visit."

"Must be nice being rich." she said casually.

"I paid very dearly for the luxuries I have in life," he chuckled. "Being miserable in comfort, I suppose you would say."

She patted his cheek, which was so incredibly rude that he almost liked it. "Aw, poor little Al, all alone in his penthouse suite."

"I don't have a penthouse suite." he protested weakly.

"Mind sharing some of your riches with me?"

"It's dirty money, I doubt you'd want it." he admitted. It was true- he'd acquired his fortune through prostitution, shady business deals, murder, and fortune-telling. Most of this had been done centuries ago, and he'd always been smart enough to transfer his funds into the newest big currency before the last one became defunct.

Suzuki cackled. "Any money is fine with me, I don't care if it's the zaibatsu's. I wouldn't even care if it came from the hands of Satan himself, I'd take it."

"That's slightly worrying." commented Al.

Suzuki held up the drawing. "Done!"

"You're very efficient...that's quite good. Actually, it's extremely good. You should certainly win any contest you enter." Art was becoming increasingly good lately, and Al loved to see it, mostly because when he was born "art" was little most that stick figures on a cave wall.

Suzuki smiled. "Thanks. I'm sure I will too."

"I'm curious, how did you get through school with that mouth?"

"Private school. With enough tuition you can do anything."

"Hmm...sounds like you don't need my riches."

"Just expanding my horizons...hey, waiter, can I get a drink? Whatever he's having." The waiter she beckoned to scurried off to fetch the drink she requested.

"And what brought you to a scene like this? As far as I can tell, this bar is frequented by foreigners."

"Maybe I'm a foreigner in heart."

"I doubt that. Japan is a wonderful, if somewhat confused, country."

The waiter arrived with Suzuki's drink, which she downed immediately. She made a face. "This isn't very strong. What is it?"

"Tomato juice." smirked Al.

"And...?"

"Just tomato juice."

"What, you some sort of recovered drunk?"

Glad to see common courtesy hadn't died out.

Al sipped his drink with dignity. "Not at all." He was technically lying, if you counted a drinking binge that lasted 40 years back in the 12th century. That had been a pretty pathetic time, but the 12th century was a pretty pathetic century.

"Hey, do you want to go back to my apartment?" suggested Suzuki.

Al raised an eyebrow in response.

"To do modeling!" continued Suzuki, although the promise of more hung in the air. "For my art. You're the perfect man to draw, slender but masculine. Please?"

Albireo wasn't called masculine nearly enough for his taste, and this comment won him over entirely. "Sure." he agreed.

"You're a rather agreeable fellow, aren't you?"

"I think we're a rather agreeable pair." replied Al.

"Most certainly." agreed Suzuki.

"My point exactly."

"So, you coming to my apartment? There's not much going on here."

Al glanced around critically. "I think I should warn you before we do. I'm not especially interested in a long term relationship."

Suzuki smirked. "What, you got lots of baggage?"

"Something like that."

"Don't worry, I'm not either. So let's get this shindig started, shall we? you have a very nice body."

"Hmm..."

She winked. "I might just want you to pose nude. For the purposes of my art."

"Of course."

"Let's go."

Suzuki grabbed his arm, and he obligingly followed her back to her apartment, where they did a great many things in the name of "art".

Al once again found himself in the same damn bar, drinking the same damn tomato juice and listening to the same damn jazz. Japan may have been a changing country, but it wasn't changing fast enough for Al's tastes, at least not on a day to day basis.

"Hello there." said a cheery, familiar voice.

"Hello, Suzuki." he greeted warmly.

"I have something to tell you." announced Suzuki, and Al knew he wouldn't have to wait long. Suzuki was the kind of woman who held no secrets, at least not for very long.

"You're the first one I've told, so be ready."

He sipped his tomato juice in preparation, ready for a spit-take if needed.

"I'm pregnant!"

The spit-take was not needed. At over 2000 years old, he'd fathered an inordinate amount of children, and supported them all (well, all the ones born since A.D.- he hadn't always been a particularly good person).

"And it's mine?"

Suzuki rolled her eyes. "Well, obviously. Why else would I be telling you?"

"A shoulder to lean on?"

"How loose to you think I am?"

Fairly loose, if she'd had a night of wild sex after knowing Al for about an hour, but he thought it prudent not to comment. Seeing the look on Al's face, she stuck out her tongue.

"Don't answer that. Yes, it's yours."

"What do you want me to do? I'll give you money."

"Help me raise the thing. I'm no good with babies."

This was an unusual request, and Al swallowed hard. He liked shoving money and the women he impregnated, not staying around to help them grow up. This may be bad parenting on his part, but it was necessary for his mental state, as he was sick of watching his children grow old and die in front of him. It wasn't healthy, and he really couldn't stand much more of it...but it looked like he'd have to make an exception to the rule.

"I may be able to offer...assistance..." he said hesitantly.

Suzuki saw his face and patted him on the head. "Don't worry. I can tell what kind of man you are. You don't have to stick around forever, just for a little while. Past the diaper-changing stage, at least. That's all I'm asking..."

It was cruel. It was cruel what she was asking of him, crueler than she could possibly know. She was throwing him a glimpse of what a real family was like, until she'd aged ten years and he was the same and she realized something was amiss. He didn't alter his appearance with aging spells anymore. He wasn't looking for love, just happiness. For him they were very different things.

"I'll be here," he replied, to his own surprise and chagrin. Damn conscience.

She threw her hands up in relief. "Awesome. Honestly, I don't really known what I would've done if you'd said no. Probably been shipped off to the country to have the kid. You're going to have to marry me now, you know."

"Marry you?" he echoed.

"Do you want me to live in shame? Just a couple years, than you can disappear. We better do it soon so we can say our baby was a honeymoon baby, though. Is tomorrow good?"

Al felt like he was being strung alone in some elaborate ruse. "Sure?"

"Cool deal. Be here at six P.M. tomorrow. Look sharp!" She hurried off, leaving a bewildered Al wishing he had something stronger than tomato juice.

The marriage was quick, and the only witness was the janitor, who happened to walk in at that time. Al later got to know this janitor, whose name was Toshiro Akihito, and they became good friends. Suzuki was pretty in a sort of I-just-got-out-of-the-shower-and-didn't-have-time-to-put-makeup-on sort of way. He wore a suit and felt overdressed for his own wedding.

Suzuki's birth, on the other hand, was not quick. She was in labor for fourteen hours, and crushed every bone in Al's hand during that time. When the baby was born she decided to name it Kiba Theodore, became she like the way the names sounded. Al had no say in any of this, but, hell, he'd heard worse names. He knew a man, immortal like himself, who'd gotten stuck with the name Gwenevieve and had to live with it forever.

Little Kiba Theodore grew quickly, and the years passes at an alarming rate. with each day Al became more scared to see his son, because he'd doubtlessly get older and older and older and then die, as had all his children. He hid it from Suzuki, but Suzuki was a very perceptive woman and Al couldn't hide much from her for long. She noticed that he wasn't aging, and seemed to accept it, and the night after Kiba Theodore's eighth birthday she approached him.

"You have to go, don't you?"

"Hmm?" Al evaded her confusing question, his brain tired. He had no idea why she'd decided to wake him up in the middle of the night, but he knew better than to ask.

"You're going to have to leave soon." She kissed him, and this helped wake him up.

"Huh?"

"It's getting painful for you, isn't it? Staying here, watching Kiba grow up." She knew. He didn't know how, but she knew.

Al was hit with the realization that she knew him much better than anyone had known him in at least five hundred years. The realization that she would grow old and die saddened him. She was so lively. If anyone should live forever, it was her, not him. She might be able to make use of eternal life.

"Yes." he answered simply.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you, Al," she whispered, uncharacteristically serious.

"I'm the one who's going to be leaving you."

"No. You're the one being hurt here. I'll die, but you'll remember this. It must hurt to live this long."

He smiled sadly in response, then kissed her in response, a mournful broken promise of a kiss.

He was awake now, and fueled by her understanding of why he couldn't stay, hehugged her awkwardly (hugging had never been natural to him) and wished he could grow old. Damn, how much he wished he could die right then.

But he didn't. Instead he left that night, waking Kiba up to say goodbye to the confused eight year old. He didn't bother taking anything with him. He was rich, and the world was his fucking oyster, the same way it had been for the past two thousand years.

Every year, Suzuki recieved a large sum of cash and a short, handwritten letter from Al. He didn't know if Kiba ever saw them. He didn't want to know. But in those letters he said many things to one of the few women who ever understood him. He loved her unconditionally, but it was a lot easier to love someone unconditionally when you knew you would outlive her.

He wondered if Suzuki had ever thought about replying. He wondered if she'd remarried or fallen in love with someone else. He wondered how Kiba was. He wondered, but did not think it his business to find out. Still, Al thought there was something vaguely romantic about it all.


"You call that a love story with a happy ending?" objected Chisame loudly.

"No one died at the end. In my view, that's a happy ending." replied Al cheerfully.

"That's sad..." said Konoka, her face grave.

Asuna crossed her arms. "That Suzuki reminds me of someone..."

"Now who could that possibly be?" said Al innocently.

"The drawing, the boisterous personality, the way you described her..." continued Asuna, thinking hard.

"You're right," agreed Konoka. "She does remind me of someone..."

"What ever happened to Kiba Theodore?" asked Chisame suspiciously.

"He grew up." stated Al.

"And what was his last name?"

"Imma. But he did change it to Saotome when he grew older, probably because the war was on and having Theodore for a middle name was suspicious enough. He didn't want to seem any more Western than that...and me not being there for him probably had a factor in it."

"So his name was Kiba Theodore Saotome, not Kiba Theodore Imma?" confirmed Chisame.

"What's it mean?" asked Asuna.

"Isn't it obvious?" roared Chisame. "Saotome! Kiba probably had a son, who had a daughter. And you know who that was?"

It was a rhetorical question that neither Asuna nor Konoka had the answer for.

"Haruna! Haruna Saotome? Oi, ero-nasubi, does Paru know?"

"Glad to see Eva's nickname has caught on." smiled Al.

"Stop avoiding my question," growled Chisame. "Does she?"

"Yes, Chibi-Chiuu," replied Al. "She knows. She's coming over tomorrow to do my hair."

This revalation was met with the sound of barely suppressed giggles.

"Don't call me Chibi-Chiuu," grumbled Chisame. "It's just..."

"You like it whe Negi calls you that."

"Yeah, but that's Negi. When you do it it's just creepy..."

"Apparently I can make any sentence creepy," shrugged Al. "It's nothing new."

The girls exchanged glances. "We better get going. Why didn't you tell Paru this story?"

"I will when she comes here tomorrow. I'd hurry if I were you. Your curfew's almost up."

Konoka glanced at her watch. "Oh, my, it is! We have to go!"

The girls hurried out, and Al yawned. He was going to get his rest before the ordeal he was to go through tomorrow.

He was going to need it.


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