Please read Disclaimer in Prelude/Chapter One.

Title: Trade Secret (Epilogue)

Author: JaganshiKenshin

Genre: Action/Adventure, Humor

Rating: K+/PG-13 (for anime-style fight scenes/language)

Summary: The hour is late, and the stage set for parting shots.

A/N: If thoroughbred horse racing interests you, look up Thoroughbred Champions or the Pedigree Query Forum.

Idiot Beloved takes place after the Dark Tournament; Firebird Sweet is its sequel. Thanks for staying with Trade Secret, and please scroll down at the end for a preview of an upcoming story.

"Downwind, lad!"

Trace Secret (Epilogue)

by

Kenshin

Eight bells and all's well, thought Father Brian, or words to that effect.

Father Brian, Mr. Narita Shun, the Batman, and Hiei had gathered in the Agency office to wrap things up.

Of the four, only Father Brian and N were seated, and only Father Brian was fresh and ready to go ten more rounds.

Hiei and the Batman remained standing, as though they didn't wish to get too comfortable. A mere five minutes had elapsed since the debriefings had been concluded, no matter how mercifully swift the questioning.

It had been a long, fruitful day for Father Brian, what with a baptism, a hospital visit to old Mrs. Nakamura recovering from her bunions, then hearing confessions.

Mr. Narita Shun-'N'-looked tired.

What with his back to the fine big window, N couldn't appreciate the splendid view of his bejeweled city at night, which might have lifted his spirits.

As for Hiei, he seemed drained of belligerence, thoughtful, preoccupied, perhaps even a little worried.

Father Brian knew how Hiei felt about debriefings, as though he hung from teeth and eyebrows for every tortured moment. Perhaps that explained his preoccupation.

The Batman looked somewhat less the worse for wear, a scowl in a cape, looming over them with folded arms, silent and inscrutable and as much of a cipher to Father Brian as ever.

N was pouring tea into china cups, sweetening the brew with a little whiskey, as well he should for the lateness of the hour. "Once again," N said to Hiei, "we are in your debt."

Hiei came out of his reverie and deigned to grunt in reply.

Ahh, lad, thought Father Brian. Would it kill you to say something akin to acknowledgment, just once? Well, yes, given your background, I suppose it would.

Then Hiei added some words. "Thanks," he said. "It was... interesting."

Batman accepted a cup of tea. Father Brian had to be asked twice. Balancing the tea on the arm of his chair, Father Brian studied Hiei. What was troubling the lad?

Hiei met Father Brian's gaze, allowing the priest a rare glimpse of a troubled spirit. "What'll happen to Jiro?"

Father Brian pondered a bit before replying. On that matter, at least, he might be able to set the lad's mind to rest. "I spoke to Yomohiro, probably while you were driving back from the farm. He believed Jiro had been staying away from the farm because he couldn't stand the sight of horses in 'captivity.' He had no idea things had gone that far."

"Yes, but-"

"Jiro is unlikely to face charges, as Yomohiro will not press them. Autumn Velvet has been returned. Thanks in no small part to your efforts, she will be fine, and so will the foal. The mare sustained a few bramble cuts and bruises, says the vet, nothing that won't heal." Father Brian added that she was getting a bodyguard, in the form of three miniature donkeys that would raise Cain if ever she was again threatened.

Life at the farm would settle down. The boy Mick would make a fine horseman. As for the troubled young Jiro-

Whatever the world threw at Mr. Yomohiro Kiten, Father Brian's old friend could handle it. "Jiro," he added quietly, "will be getting the help he needs. The rest is up to him."

Hiei let go a breath.

Then, downing a little fortified tea for courage, Father Brian in turn inquired of Hiei about Zorro-the-Fox. "And that other job, lad? The one you hadn't time for?"

"My schedule suddenly cleared up."

"The part suits you." Father Brian savored the enhanced tea. So the lad had conquered his fear of horses. But now, lest Hiei succumb to overweening pride-

"Mind standin' downwind of me, boy?" Father Brian wrinkled his nose. "You smell like a stable on legs."

"Which is why I'm eager to get home and marinate in Lysol."

"You came through for us again," said the priest, softly. "Sure and you always do."

Hiei shrugged. "Any job where I end up covered in nothing worse than horse slobber is win-win."

"The cowboy here is right," said the Batman. "And I even skipped the horse slobber."

N held out a cup of tea for Hiei.

"Are we done?" Hiei asked, for once waving away anything to do with food or drink.

The Batman, too, wanted to get on with it. "I imagine Gotham's fallen to pieces by now without my assistance," he said.

"Lucky you," Hiei replied. "You've only got a city in pieces. I've got Shay-san."

Batman handed Hiei the opening line. "And why would that be unlucky?"

"I never brought her Autumn Velvet's autograph."

"Listen, Cowboy, any time you're in Gotham and feel like rounding up escaped lunatics-"

"Sure. Sounds like fun."

"For a fake cowboy who breaks people and kills things, you have quite a knack for this line of work."

"And for a hu-ahh, regular guy, Detective, you're not bad." Hiei turned to N. "Am I free to go?"

"Well," began N.

But before N could continue, the air around Hiei blurred, and in a mere eyeblink, he had vanished from the office.

Father Brian chuckled, helping himself to a drop of Suntory.

N pinched the bridge of his nose. "How does he do that?"

The Batman sipped tea. "Trade secret," he said.

-30-

(AN: This concludes Trade Secret.

Trade Secret's Batman is based largely on Batman: The Animated Series, some of the early Detective Comics, and a little flight of fancy.

Now for the preview. The Yuu Yuu Hakusho manga extra, Two Shots, recounts the first meeting of Hiei and Kurama. But it also gives a glimpse of Minamino Shuuichi's classmate, Kitajima Maya. If you ever wondered what became of Maya, this is her tale.)

Maya's Tale (Prologue)

by

Kenshin

Though elderly, the Kawasaki sisters were neither cowards nor fools.

"Come away from the window, Ruth," called Olivia. "It's past midnight."

"He's out again," murmured Ruth.

"Oh, dear. Well, all the more reason to come away." Nevertheless, Olivia joined her sister at the lace curtains.

The few remaining street lamps bathed the block with a merciful golden haze.

"I can't see him."

Having enjoyed a pleasant, peaceful upbringing, both sisters longed to re-create such a thing in their own lives. It was not to be.

Younger than Ruth by some years, Olivia had married three times. Each time the marriage had ended without the comfort of children, until she had finally realized the fault lay with her.

Ruth had remained single. Both sister's generous mothering instincts were poured out onto every living soul lucky enough to cross their paths.

They had scaled back their antiquities business, and now mainly performed evaluations of items for insurance purposes.

"There," whispered Ruth. "He just stepped into that circle of light. Can he see us, do you think?"

"The way you carry on, you'd think he could hear us."

Sometimes, Olivia and Ruth discussed selling the house, moving to a high-rise in a busier section of town.

But in the first place, the market being what it was, the street being what it was, who would buy their house?

In the second, well, maybe they were just too stubborn to admit defeat.

Ruth pointed. "He's got that camera, again."

Olivia lowered her voice to a whisper as well. "He gives me the shakes."

Strolling down the street was a tall, dark man, of European descent, dressed in a long, fur-collared overcoat, as though for a Russian winter, with gloves and fur hat, for all that it was April. Judging by the loose skin of his jowls, he appeared to be in his 60s, and no one could say whether the neat moustache and curved, pointed goatee were an attempt to disguise or to emphasize that age.

The overall effect would be considered charming, or even comical, if not for his sinister aura.

"I can hear his footsteps," fretted Ruth. "I swear it."

Though not as susceptible to flights of fancy as dear Ruth, Olivia thought she could hear them, too: slow, measured, tolling like a bell, doom, doom.

As if he knows us, she thought, as if he is putting on a display.

What does he do with that camera?" hissed Ruth.

"Perhaps he photographs the moon," said Olivia, seeking to reassure her sister. "Or the clouds. Or houses."

"Don't say that, Olivia. Don't even think it!"

He stopped then, and swiveled his head toward the house.

Olivia's mouth went dry. "That sweet little girl," she whispered. "You don't suppose-"

Ruth made no reply, but in the cold, dimly-lit parlor, she clutched at her sister's hand.

-30-

(To be continued someday)