TRIGGER WARNING—DEPRESSION. I've never experienced this particular brand of depression, so putting it into words was a synthesis of stories I've read, experiences I've heard, and what personal experience I do have with depression/anxiety in general.

If you are struggling with postpartum depression, know that you are more than good enough. You are the only mother/father that child has. You are loved, you are needed, and you are worthy. Never be afraid to reach out for help; you will always find someone just as human as you are reaching back.

"She turns out the light anticipating night falling tenderly around her

and watches the dusk

the words won't come."

—The Tower, Vienna Teng

Dusk

"Honestly, I don't remember much about labor and delivery," I admit, shifting uncomfortably under the Undoer's unwavering gaze. "It was so long ago. It hurt, of course it did—but it was nothing special other than it was early. No complications. Completely typical."

The Undoer waves a little. "Go on, then. What is the next part of your story?"

I hesitate, acutely aware of my audience. The Undoer of course, with his unnervingly rapt attention. But it's easy to tell a stranger your darkest secrets. You don't know them, they don't know you—it doesn't matter. It's the people who do matter that make me hesitate and squirm.

Hiei. He appears bored, leaning in a dark corner, not even looking at me. I know that he's listening, and that even outside the room, he would be able to hear. The fact that he remains means that he wants me to know that he has heard, and will hear, every word I've said. But he doesn't matter nearly as much as Kuronue.

Kuronue, who had been absent from my life thus far. Still attached to him is the same unsettling feeling I feel settling in my stomach. Resistance to vulnerability, exposure. These parts of the story—the ones that came after he left—he doesn't know about any of it yet. What will he think? Will he hate me? Or worse, pity me?

I don't know, but I do care. I care about what he thinks just as much as I did all those years ago—when he was still my friend. Though I've known Hiei longer, Kuronue's opinion holds more weight.

But the Undoer is waiting, and I have a story to tell. I brace myself, and continue.

Hours after our son had entered the world, Kurama and I were still trying to figure out what to name him. A good portion of those hours were spent in silence, trying to process this new chapter of our lives, and a bit of bragging on my part. (Kurama had so wanted a girl, but my guess had prevailed and we now had a son—our son. It still floored me every time I thought of it.) The name game had been an undercurrent of everything else, mostly consisting of him suggesting names (Kurama, ever prepared, had a long, written list,) and me shooting them down.

"He is pretty small," I hinted. "Daisuke doesn't really fit him. Remember that Scottish name Jin was sending our way—Gara? Apparently it means small."

"Gara," Kurama tried. He frowned.

"Garasuke?" (1)

His eyes twinkled with humor. "A blend of Jin's idea and Yusuke's name? Must we feed his ego?"

I snorted. "Consider your point made. But I still like it."

"Hm…" Kurama traced his finger around the edge of our child's face. "It does fit him. Garasuke it is." And just like that, done.

Minamino Garasuke, I thought, as if in a daze. I stared down into his little face, wondering. A new name for a new life. What would he become? The question, all my thoughts, rang a hollow note in my head—detached, no expectations, no hopes attached to them. Mild curiosity, if anything. I frowned, confused.

I looked down into the face of my baby—met his clear, strangely intelligent eyes, and let the ringing in my ears drown out everything around me. Every voice, every sound in the hallway faded into the background. Kurama's child, my child, wrinkled his little face and his eyes became slits. Instead of feeling sorry for him, instead of wanting to stop his crying, I mutely asked him: What, what is it? Why're you so mad at me?

And then:

Is it my fault?

His mouth was a perfect, pink circle in the middle of his red features. I knew that he was screaming; I could feel his body shaking with tearless sobs. But I was deaf to them. I blinked, and he was out of my arms. I glanced up, and saw Kurama's back facing me—he walked in a small, slow, swaying circle, a few strands of hair escaping the tie at the nape of his neck as he bent down, intent on the child in his arms. As his soothing dance slowly spun him to face me, his eyes met mine, and he smiled.

'Please, rest. I'll do my best to keep him quiet.'

My frayed nerves splintered, and I flinched. "Can you please stay out of my head right now?"

He stared at me in silence, unconsciously rocking his arms a bit as tiny fists waved. Concern clouded his features, and doubt. I registered trace amounts of chagrin—I'd all but screamed the words at him. Abruptly, I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, and my torso spasmed in pain.

"Reina—" he said softly.

"I need to take a shower. Let me be; I've got it."

I heard him edging closer. "How can I help?"

"Leave it." I took a deep breath. "Just, take care of…"

"Garasuke." I caught him nodding in the reflection of the mirrored bathroom door, a faint smile forming in response to our child's new name. "Take all the time you need."

When I exited—feeling clean and somewhat refreshed, Garasuke was (presumably) sleeping in the bassinet by my hospital bed. I didn't really want to climb back into it, but there wasn't anywhere left to sit really, and I was tired from standing for so long. I shoved my legs under the covers and started untangling my hair with my fingers. Kurama, who had been standing near the window, crossed the room and sat at the foot of the bed. He didn't look at me.

"I'll never forgive him for sapping your joy from this moment," Kurama murmured. The side of his face that I could see was hard, resolute.

I sighed. "It's not…" I hesitated. It wasn't Kuronue? Then what was it? Nagging doubt shook loose a few dark thoughts. I stowed them away to hide them from Kurama's perusal—and so I didn't have to think about them too much.

"I'm just tired, that's all. And don't they say that your hormones are supposed to go crazy?" I snorted, and it felt stiff, false.

"Baby blues?" Kurama asked skeptically, twisting to give me a searching look. I gave him my best smile.

"Sure, why not."

A wry smile stretches the skin on my face, already thin and taut on my hollowed cheeks.

"I'd love to tell you that I did everything right—got help, confided in my friends, saw a shrink or something." The Undoer is watching me closely, face unreadable, but my words, I feel, are more for Kuronue than anything. He stares at me, stricken, face pale. He doesn't know any of this. It all happened after he left. "But no, I didn't. Kurama noticed something was off, of course, but I played it off as exhaustion. I stayed home with the…" the word is difficult to navigate, "the baby, for the first few months, so he knew that I was taking the brunt of it. It made sense to him."

"He's not that stupid, though," Kuronue bursts out, unable to contain himself anymore. His hands grip his knees, white-knuckled. "He had to have noticed—had to have seen something!"

"Stupid, no," I agree. "But in his… eagerness to fully embrace a normal, human life—he gladly saw what he wanted to see, especially when I affirmed it at every turn. He wasn't neglectful, by any means," I add quickly, as Kuronue's face darkens. "Although I can't say that I didn't hate him—or at least envy him—for a little while. But I did go to great lengths to convince him that I was fine. I don't blame him, and even if I did, it's been eight years. I did, eventually, pull myself out of it, and holding it against him for so long... that would've been selfish."

Hiei looks thoroughly bored with the proceedings; no doubt the thought of postpartum depression—or mental illness in general—disgusts him. Weakness of the mind, to someone with a Jagan eye, must seem especially undeserving of sympathy. Not that I wanted it, certainly not from him. At least the Undoer was intrigued.

"What do you think caused it?" he asks quietly. "Your… distress? Do you love your child?"

"My child—!" I bite off the startled sentence, shaking my head quickly. My heart staggers in my chest. It is deafeningly loud in the quiet room, save the faint humming of the lights overhead. How could he say that? So calmly, like… oh. I shake my head. "You don't know the rest of it… of course you don't. I'm getting there, but for now, I'll tell you this—I love my son—of course I do! More than anything. I just wish that I didn't." I meet his gaze, and somehow, I don't see judgment there, only mild surprise.

I draw a shaky breath. "It's why I came to you."

A passing midwife popped her head into our room. "You have visitors—family friends? They're all downstairs." Her expression became amused as she said that—all—and with an inward groan I realized that she was talking about the entirety of Team Urameshi and Co. Not that I was displeased to see them; it was quite the opposite really. I just didn't realize that they would all come at once.

"I'll let them know that two visitors at a time is our policy," she chirped helpfully, winking at me. I smiled with real warmth.

"Thank you," Kurama said with relief evident in his own voice. He turned to me with a question in his thoughts.

"I'm fine," I said, putting on my best tired-but-happy face. "Go downstairs and find them—order of preference is who is more likely to cut you if they aren't allowed in first."

Both sets of our parents had visited already this morning—staying until lunch, bringing us food from the cafeteria before saying their goodbyes. I was due to stay for another few days, so they were perfectly find with their short visit—I wasn't going anywhere, and they'd be back to capitalize on that.

Kurama chuckled, and leaned forward. "So, Keiko and Yukina first then."

"Naturally."

He smiled, that same, soft, peaceful expression that he'd been wearing since Gara had entered the world. The face that held peace I was at least a little envious of, with my nerves buzzing and singing like angry bees. I closed my eyes as he bent forward, kissing my forehead first, and then Gara's. "I'll be back soon," he murmured, and when I opened my eyes, he was gone. In his wake, a little bit of precious warmth lingered.

Hey, it's okay, I thought to myself. I smiled down at the sleeping infant in my lap, wiping a spot of drool from the corner of his lip. The warmth surging in my chest felt a lot like love. That meant that I could still feel something—that I wasn't as hollow as I'd thought. I could love. I did love.

I knew, deep down, that there was something wrong with me. Kuronue's leaving sucked, but… that was just it; it sucked. It wasn't devastating. It hurt, but this hollow feeling in my chest? Like something was missing? It was eerily reminiscent of the time my memories had been stolen—where my love for Kurama had vanished.

My hesitant smile faltered as I stared down at my baby's face. If Kuronue hadn't taken my love for this tiny, precious thing… then who did?

Me?

How could I not be happy right now? Of course I was writhing in a sea of guilt. This should me among the happiest moments of my life.

What was wrong with me…?

Abruptly, I was glad that Kurama had left. It would give me time to collect my thoughts.

Should I tell him? I pinched a tuft of our baby's hair between my fingers, rolled it gently. It was brown like mine, boring save his father's reddish undertones.

The answer was immediate: No. Of course not. Telling him would be a very dramatic thing to do, especially since he was under his own amount of stress as well. No need to pile my own troubles on top of his. If I thought I felt bad now, well… with him reflecting my own hollow misery back at me, along with his own worry and anxiety and…

Gara squirmed, released a small, mewling cry, and opened his eyes. My thoughts stopped, and I took the opportunity to really get a good look at him.

They were a dark slate, for now. There was a faint, light green tint to them—I hoped that they would lighten over time to Kurama's hue. They wandered and darted around aimlessly—I knew that he couldn't focus on anything at this age.

"Hey," I said softly, and he stopped squirming, his eyes fixing at a point above my head. I shifted my hands and arms, tilting him towards me as I leaned forward, pressing my lips against his nose, his chubby little cheek, a waving, balled-up fist. His tiny body released a low whine in protest, and I laughed at the absurdity of it all as his hand accidentally smacked me in the side of the face.

"You've got a mean right hook," I murmured, retreating a safe distance. "Your uncle Yusuke will be so proud."

The door creaked, and I instinctively arranged my features into a welcoming expression as Keiko and Yukina bustled in. Keiko, her arms laden with takeout containers (I made a mental note to thank Mr. and Mrs. Yukimura for sending food with their daughter,) was beaming ear to ear. Both of their eyes glanced off of my face and settled on the tiny bundle in my arms. As Keiko and Kurama worked on putting the containers in the tiny hospital fridge in the corner, Yukina pounced.

She sat on the edge of my bed and grabbed one of my hands in both of hers. Her touch was cool, calming like a mother's. A mother. Doubt fluttered under my ribcage. Did I have hands like a mother? Was my voice gentle enough? Would I be able to sooth grief with just my voice? Vanish a fever with just a touch? I thought of my own mother, everything that made her my mother, and saw that Yukina was worthy—of course she was—but I could never imagine anyone, let alone this tiny, precious thing, see me how I saw them.

"How are you?" Yukina asked in her soft, earnest tones.

And my heart broke, the sinking feeling somehow more complete, more final than before. I couldn't do this. I had already failed my son; I was sure of it. I could never be what he deserved.

"F-fine," I managed, and offered the tiny bundle to her.

The distraction worked instantly; Yukina's arms created a perfect little hollow for me to safely tuck Gara into. I ignored Kurama's searching eyes—there was an unsettled frown on his face now, night and day to Keiko's expectant grin.

Yukina rocked the baby slightly, her fingers pulling the blanket away from his face. She cooed at him when he squirmed and released a stalwart fist from his swaddling blanket. Of course I couldn't even swaddle him properly. I sighed and looked down at my hands.

"What color are his eyes?" Keiko, who had moved to hover over Yukina's shoulder, asked.

"Blue," Kurama answered confidently. That evoked a small smile.

"He's convinced that Garasuke will end up being my clone," I murmured, glancing up at the two women fawning over our kid. "I see green in his eyes, and hope that they'll turn. I also see red in his hair, though I think the brown genes are going to win that battle."

"Hm…" Keiko gave Gara's scalp a once-over. She grinned mischievously. "I think I see some red, too." Kurama rolled his eyes.

"Why the long face? He'll win more points with the ladies if he looks like you, Red."

"Yusuke!" Keiko protested, jumping off the bed. "The nurse said only two visitors at a time!"

"Yeah, we all know that's bullshit," he said, grinning at Kurama and me. "You two just didn't want to see all of us at once. I'm hurt. Now, where's your freshly baked potato? I wanna hold it."

I started laughing, really laughing, and Kurama's uneasy expression melted into a smile of his own.

"Yusuke!" Keiko exclaimed, appalled. "I—I…" She glared daggers at him. "He is not a potato, he is beautiful, and I haven't even held him yet! Go away!"

"You should let Keiko have her turn," I snickered. "She'll cut you."

Yusuke gave his girlfriend a searching look, and grinned wickedly. "Don't get any smart ideas, Yukimura."

She blushed like her life depended on it, and didn't answer—because at that moment, Yukina relinquished Gara to her, and she was immediately enraptured. I watched her curiously as she lifted the tiny bundle to her face, closed her eyes, and smiled.

"New baby smell gets you every time, huh?" I asked with a conspiring grin. Keiko nodded in a contented sort of way, and Yusuke watched her with a strange expression on his face—like equal parts amusement, nervousness, and peace. I watched him as he edged closer—Keiko saw his advance and immediately shot to her feet, turning her back on him.

"Mine," she growled. Yusuke snorted.

"Put the claws away; I'm not gonna take him from you." Yusuke walked behind her and put one of his hands on her shoulder, resting his chin on the other. "I just want to look."

For a few moments, the room was quiet and still. Keiko seemed to relax and lean into Yusuke a bit, and Yusuke even brought his hand up to brush a stray piece of hair out of Gara's face. He pushed it out of the way carefully, with a single finger, and rested his palm on the top of Gara's head, turning it gently (under Kurama's watchful eye) to get a better look. The baby didn't even stir.

"Hm…" Yusuke said, pausing as he considered what to say. "I think he looks more like a beet than a potato."

Keiko gasped, offended, and swung her body to elbow him—but Yusuke danced just beyond her reach, cackling like the little gremlin he was. I rolled my eyes at his antics, not really offended—this was the Yusuke I knew and loved. I would be skeeved out if he started waxing poetic about the miracle of birth or some shit like that.

Keiko fixed me with a helpless look. "I'm so sorry about him." She shot a vicious glare in Yusuke's general direction, and then sighed. She checked the tag on his wrist, and beamed after reading his name. "Garasuke is beautiful. Just perfect."

Yusuke perked up. "Garasuke? Aww! Named after his favorite Uncle Yusuke!"

"I might change it if you keep comparing him to root vegetables," Kurama warned, but there was no annoyance in his voice. Yusuke grinned and clapped him on the shoulder.

There was a little more chit-chat, and eventually Gara was handed over to Yukina once more. Keiko and Yusuke decided to leave and send in the two Kuwabaras. The youngest turned almost as red as his hair when he saw Yukina cradling Garasuke in the chair by the window, and I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes. More vicarious pretend parenthood, then. Shizuru edged past her younger brother and leaned against my nightstand, crossing her arms and shooting me a sidelong look.

"You want the lovebirds out, consider it done," she hinted in her usual brusque way, but there was a faint grin playing on her features.

"Nah; it's fun to watch. Yusuke had to hide his nervous breakdown at the expense of my handsome offspring."

"I would've paid to see that." She rummaged in her pocket and popped a piece of gum in her mouth. I lifted my eyebrow.

"Quitting?"

"Always," she muttered, shoving the wrapper back in her pocket. "Figured now's a good a time as any, what with the kid." She nodded in Kuwabara and Yukina's direction. Kuwabara was now sitting in the chair, and Yukina was coaching him on how to position his arms properly. With one arm expertly cradling Garasuke, she snatched a pillow from the windowseat and tucked it under his elbows for good measure. With that done, she leaned forward and safely deposited the (now-awake) newborn in Kuwabara's frozen arms.

"W-whoa," Kuwabara chuckled nervously, glancing in my direction. "I didn't think they came this small. I swear he's only as big as my hand!"

"He was a little premature," Kurama provided. "But healthy."

"Little baby," he murmured in a strangely singsong tone, no longer talking to us. He moved his stiff, nervous arms a bit, attempting to rock Gara but at the same time hold his body perfectly still. I could see why Kuwabara was so nervous about hurting him—the wrapped bundle was impossibly small next to his bulk. "Little dude—hey, his eyes are open!"

"He does that occasionally." I couldn't help myself, winking at him to take the edge off of my sarcasm. Yukina sat on the arm of the chair, leaning into Kuwabara's shoulder to get a better look at the child in his arms.

To give them a bit of privacy—fully knowing that they wouldn't be able to experience this for themselves for quite some time—I got out of bed and went to the fridge, busying myself with heating up some of the ramen that Keiko had brought in the small microwave by the sink. Kurama knew better than to stop me at this point, and Shizuru and I caught up as Kuwabara and Yukina enjoyed their time with Gara.

It was silent—blessedly silent—for a time. I'd just polished off my ramen when Gara released a single, piercing wail. Everyone in the room looked over at poor Kuwabara, who was already scrambling to get words out.

"I-I didn't do anything, he was just lookin' around and wiggling a bit and then he just—"

"It's okay," I soothed as Gara let loose a series of small whimpers. "Babies do that. And I know you didn't pinch him with Yukina staring you down like that."

Garasuke decided that his needs weren't being attended to with sufficient promptness, so he let loose another cry and started to really work himself up. Time for intervention.

"Uh, 'kina? What do I…?" Kuwabara stared down at the fussing baby with eyes as wide as saucers.

"Hungry," Kurama decided. He had an uncanny ability to tell what Gara wanted or needed—it was either his new dad reflexes kicking in, or his preexisting demonic abilities. Either way, I trusted him. Kuwabara handed over the baby when Kurama walked over to him, and I reached out as he then turned to me expectantly.

Kuwabara was up and out of the chair like a shot. "Oh, uh—he ain't getting a bottle, huh? I'll just…" he edged towards the door with a red flush creeping up his neck.

"I don't mind," I assured him, shrugging. "It's not like you can see anything. But if you're uncomfortable, you can go, no hard feelings."

Kuwabara chuckled nervously. "Yeah, I think I will—look, I'll send Maya up. You okay with that?"

"Of course." I grinned, my chest feeling a little lighter. "Thank you for coming," I said with real warmth. "Really. It's been great." And I meant it.

Both he and Yukina took their leave, leaving us with only Shizuru (and then Maya, once she arrived.) And when Gara had his fill, Shizuru was sent downstairs with the task of bringing up Maya's boyfriend, Yana. Maya, while she held the baby and studied him for a while, seemed a bit uncomfortable, and neither of them partook in any of the blushing-because-significant-other-sees-me-holding-a-baby nonsense that was apparently rampant earlier. Mostly, they just talked to Kurama and I, and kept the baby talk to a minimum. They weren't disinterested in Garasuke, but not nearly as enchanted as the others had been. It was a little refreshing, honestly.

We didn't expect Genkai to come and she didn't surprise us; I had delivered outside of the expected window so Botan was a no-show too. She knew, of course, but was struggling to find the time to visit, especially when she had just visited not too long ago. As for Kido and Kaito—honestly, we'd fallen a bit out of touch with them. We still shared the news of course, but they left it at a congratulatory phone call, which we both understood.

Kuronue's absence hurt more than all of theirs combined. Because while I knew I would see all of them eventually—Kuronue was gone. And he had left hurt, and angry.

I would never be able to make things right with him again.

"I guess it goes without saying that I was… really selfish. And stupid."

"Don't forget stubborn," I mutter, avoiding his gaze.

"Yeah." Kuronue snorts and hangs his head. "Almost a decade's worth of stubbornness."

I try to give him a forgiving smile. "I know time passes differently for you."

"But it still passes."

I hesitated, unable to deny the truth of it. My mind swirls back, way back, to when things were simpler. Before I had a child. Before the fighting, before the death, before all of it—when we had been friends. Now, I'm not sure what we are. He is more lifeline than friend, and I am more sinking ship than lover. Neither of us are what we want each other to be, and yet, after all these years, he is still here. And with his old reasons dead and gone, I still haven't figured out why.

"Yeah," I murmur. "I suppose it does."

Gah-rah-ske. "suke" is pronounced just like Yusuke's name—with just one syllable. Not Soo-Keh or anything like that. So while the kid's name seems like a mouthful on paper, it's actually only three syllables. And of course, you know me—there is a hidden meaning within his name, in a portion of it, that I'll explain in due time. :3 (You won't find it by Googling it; I checked. Duh.)

Things have been cray in this place. My husband and I recently celebrated our one-year anniversary (we survived!) and took a trip to Hot Springs for some hiking to celebrate. Good times were had by all. Anyone from Arkansas? The last time we passed through it, we literally were driving through rain and hail over a deep chasm and I thought we were going to die. Our second trip back was much better! It was nice to hike in some hills for once. We don't get those things here in Louisiana.

And as I said in the last chapter—Kuronue is still (technically) gone, although we are seeing him in the flash-forwards. But now we have a number—eight whole years he will be absent from this timeline. Yikes. What an ass.

Obviously, there will be a few major timeskips in the coming chapters. More than likely within chapters as well. Just gotta get the words on the page!

Hope you liked it, and to all those enduring crazy winter storms—send some snow down here! It's SPRING and I'm APPALLED. Trees are budding, flowers are doing their thing, and we actually had to break out the pushmower this weekend. It's been just so miserable. :3 (Sounds like bragging I know, but I would give up everything for real seasons. In Louisiana, we have humid and hot, humid and warm, and humid and wet. That's it, and I hate it. Grass is always greener…)