A/N: Thank you for the active support from everybody who's been reading! You're motivation in these difficult times - my exams are coming up in January! I hope I'm not alone in saying that I'm completely unprepared...

PS.

I edited the last chapter. The scene with Tamaki and Haruhi is almost restored to it's original form in which Tamaki confesses. Still no confession. Not yet.

Chapter 11: The Velveteen Rabbit

She has been avoiding me, as I predicted would happen. It's fairly obvious that Setsuko-san is well aware of what I know. The question is — of what importance is my information? Why has she gone to such lengths to avoid speaking of David Scott? I am finding it difficult to rid myself of the notion that one day, her negligence of disposing everything to me will soon become highly consequential.

The rest of the trip went relatively smoothly.

More accurately, the Hosts didn't think an innocent beach vacation could endure any more drama than what had already been had, so they avoided all possible arguments.

Frankly, Kyoya was eager to be heading home.

The remainder of the trip, after having spoken to Tachibana on several other accounts, that is, had been spent lounging about on beach chairs and inflatable plastic rafts that drifted on the rippling waves. While that may have been satisfying in any other situation, Kyoya found that he was becoming restless, fraught with information and tired of containing it.

However, there were far too many witnesses to speak with Setsuko about such things.

Not to mention that she had been making poor excuses to never be alone with him. Kyoya detected her uneasiness since he mentioned David Scott and noticed her strenuous efforts to avoid him.

He knew he would have to remain quiet for the moment.

But it was damn near bubbling over.

They left on the last afternoon of the long weekend, packing their suitcases grudgingly and taking the overlong journey back to Tokyo.

It was generally uneventful, aside from the seating arrangements. Hunny, Mori and Hikaru and Kaoru silently regarded that Setsuko and Kyoya sat next to eachother — Setsuko animatedly narrated Kyoya's novel, which caused him to look quite sour — and Tamaki and Haruhi sat together in near silence.

When they arrived at home around evening, Kyoya was intent on discussing his findings, but Setsuko seemed to be in an overly merry mood (she had been since the evening of the date; Kyoya thought she was too merry.)

The latter half of the ride home, her and the twins engaged in several rounds of loud, obnoxious singing and it seemed the music had not left her. She was humming a jaunty tune and springing around the entrance hall like a ballerina, pirouetting and nimbly bounding about.

He was not eager to beat around the bush any longer; she was purposefully delaying him, he knew.

"Ky-o-ya-kun," She twirled on the tips of her toes. "May I have this dance? You know, I've been dying for you to hold me in those fantasticarmsof yours."

"I decline."

"Ahh, I forgot," Setsuko said, sounding scandalized. "Ootori Kyoya has two left feet."

He rolled his eyes, shrugging out of his jacket. "I assure you, were that true, that would be the least of my worries."

"Haa~? So, the all-knowing Ootori Kyoya can dance too? You must demonstrate. I don't believe we would be hard-pressed to put on some ballroom music in the hall," Setsuko hummed, imitating a waltz with an invisible man. "What do you say?"

"Are you really willing to risk it? Who knows — by the end of the dance, you may forfeit our game."

"Goodness! You're truly arrogant," said Setsuko. "You're tempting me, dear, to see if you can really back up all that bravado."

Kyoya advanced her, peering over his glasses at her miniature frame below. She'd stopped dancing for a moment. "I'd much rather do something else, Setsuko-san."

She seemed distressed for only a second. Then, she began to sing 'two-left-feet' around the hall at an increasing volume, pirouetting towards the dining room, being pursued by Kyoya. "Setsuko-san, you can't avoid me forever." I can corner her in the dining room... I'll block the exit...

But Kyoya never got his opportunity.

When they both toppled into the room, Kyoya with one hand roughly clasped on her upper-arm, they saw, to his immediate horror, Yoshio, Kyoya's two brothers, Akito and Yuuichi, and Kyoya recognized the sleek black hair of his sister, Fuyumi. Kyoya's mouth was bone-dry; he was too busy being mortified to marvel at how rare Yoshio sharing a family dinner was.

Setsuko promptly stopped twirling and singing but let out an involuntary squeak of laughter.

Yoshio (aside from a momentary twinge of disdain), Akito and Yuuichi remained poker-faced but Fuyumi, who had not visited in several months, looked perplexed. Still, it seemed she understood that the heavy feeling in the air was tension and spoke, however uncertain, "W-welcome home, Kyoya-san?"

He placed a hand at his middle and bowed, regaining his composure in an instant. "Thank you. It's been a while, Fuyumi-nee-san."

He shifted a furtive glance toward Setsuko attempting to send a telepathic message. It seemed that she understood, because she swiped her curls out of her face, yanked her blouse neckline up to the collarbone and curtsied. Instantly, she transformed into an unrecognizable version of herself; a mild expression and her body elegantly lowered like the smooth curve of a swan's neck.

"Good evening, Yoshio-san, Akito-san, Yuuichi-san. How do you do?" she said, lifting her head to smile. She was greeted with nothing more than a queer grunt from Akito. Setsuko was not phased. She looked at Fuyumi. "I don't believe we've been acquainted. However, I've heard good things about your kindness as Kyoya-san's older sister. I'm Setsuko."

Fuyumi gave a sincere, albeit tentative, smile. "How nice to meet you. I'm Fuyumi."

"Pleasure."

"Likewise."

"Fuyumi-nee-san, it's uncommon to have you visit without the company of Shido-san," said Kyoya. "He is alright?"

Fuyumi, who was a dark-haired, fair-skinned woman with an uncanny resemblance to Kyoya, nodded. "Yes, Akihiko is healthy. He had a prearranged engagement and couldn't visit today. He'll be here for the party in a couple of weeks," she explained. "I believe your father is visiting as well, Setsuko-san?"

"Yes. I'm quite excited to reunite."

Yoshio interjected with a shred of disapproval, "I expect the two of you had a relaxing vacation."

"Yes, sir," she said as she rose from her curtsy. "I must thank you for allowing me such a privilege. My father is known to be quite inflexible at times; I'm sure it was a hassle to bargain with him to get me permission."

"Please. Kyoya was solely responsible for such."

"Ah? I shall be sure to thank him as well."

Kyoya found his patience waning and knew that she would attempt to prolong her stay in the dining room for as long as possible. "You must excuse us, father, we've just arrived and need to unpack our things before we can converse."

"Kyoya-san," said Setsuko. "I believe we can spare a few minutes before we organize things. After all, I noticed you haven't eaten today. You must be famished."

His eyes narrowed. "Not. Particularly."

"Are you feeling sick?"

Kyoya grimaced down toward her. Her beseeching eyes were widening, trying to signal him. "Perhaps you should have a meal and we'll tend to your health later."

He ground his molars. With a mere 'hn', Kyoya relented and sat diagonally from his father, adjacent his sister, and allowed Setsuko to be seated on his left.

The dining room was possibly the plainest room in the Ootori mainhouse. Other rooms, aside from Kyoya's own bedroom, were lavishly decorated, adding splashes of colour to the walls and floors which were metallic gray. The dining room was a large, chamber with an immensely high ceiling; the circular lights were installed directly into it in two perpendicular rows running length-wise, opposite each other. The gray panels that composed the walls were utterly spotless. The room was nearly empty with only the mahogany high-backed chairs and the dining table (which was spotless itself; one could see themselves reflected upon the glasslike surface) and the deep plum rug that had gold thread embroidering creating spectacularly detailed webs along its perimetre.

Kyoya frowned down at his dinner plate and at the diminutive figure beside him, Setsuko, who sat innocently, upright, like a proper lady.

How annoying.

He watched her with a swelling resentment. He noted that she prodded the green vegetables to the edge of the plate, glowering.

Throughout the dinner, the men were relatively quiet aside from Yoshio's sporadic comment toward one of three of his sons ("How are you progressing with the...?") but Fuyumi and Setsuko were conferring quite fluently. It happened that Fuyumi was a fan of Setsuko's fashion career. Setsuko gushed with pride. The two of them spent a large amount of time happily clucking on about Fuyumi's frilly olive-coloured dress, and had moved on to the brand of her ruby lipstick.

He had a suspicion that the two of them would form a friendship. His head throbbed. A friendship between them will be nothing but a ghastly headache.

Kyoya's mind was still teeming with information and boiling questions — questions that needed bloody answers.

And now he was angry, very angry, toiling in his anger as Setsuko and Fuyumi made polite conversation and his father chewed and Yuuchi coughed and his own damned fork kept scraping on his plate.

Yoshio rose and excused himself, only bidding goodnight to Setsuko as he retired. One by one, they began to file out of the room. However, as Setsuko noticed that the men had left, she fled before finishing her lemon tiramisu, leaving Kyoya and Fuyumi alone.

Kyoya made a jerking motion like he was going to dart after her and tackle her to the floor, but refrained as Fuyumi began speaking.

"Kyoya-san, Setsuko-san is adorable!" she exclaimed. "She's a sweet girl."

His eyes kept flickering desperately to the door but he settled back into his chair. "Hn, is that so?"

"Don't you think so?"

He ran his tongue along the top row of his teeth. "Yes. Setsuko-san is fairly amicable, if that is what you mean."

Fuyumi frowned. "My my, does that sound mechanic!"

"Fuyumi-nee-san, whether or not I approve of Setsuko-san is irrelevant. It is father's wish, as well as the wish of Abukara Yuuji, that I chaperone her to the fullest of my abilities, and it would be unwise to either question that request or defy it. I will simply fulfill my place as an objective chaperone; unprejudiced."

He mentally acknowledged each of the several flaming lies as he spewed them.

"Ahh, I was expecting that answer from you," she sighed. "I was only thought that the two of you seemed to have chemistry..."

He scoffed. "Chemistry, indeed. You are not the first person to have that misconception, unfortunately. I never expected everybody's skills of perception to be so dismally low."

"Methinks thou dost protest too much."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard," she smiled. "Don't you think you're denying it a little too enthusiastically?"

When he looked to his sister, she had a look of smugness.

He grated his teeth against each other and did not give himself time enough to consider if there may be truth in what she said.

"Please. I implore you to impose your fantasies on somebody else."

Fuyumi looked further argumentative, but Kyoya could not ignore that Setsuko had probably locked herself in the bathroom at this point. "You'll forgive me this rudeness, but I must go unpack my suitcase. Tomorrow, I return to the academy. You understand."

Without waiting for a full reply, he made his way to his room and only paused to speak to Aoi who was waiting obediently by the front entrance. Kyoya absentmindedly ordered him to bring the suitcases.

Before ascending the staircase that lead to the hallway that contained his and Setsuko's bedrooms, he noticed that her door was closed.

What a fool to think she can hide from me forever, he thought. I suppose this is the natural advantage I have as her chaperone, the one that my father insured from the beginning. After all, that door has no lock.

With only the intention of storing his suitcase in the closet, then going to see her, he stood by the door frame and waited for Aoi, who had brought in both pieces of luggage from the trunk of his car to lumber into the room, panting and exposing his sharpened fang. "You want me to deliver Setsuko-sama's luggage as well, bocchan?"

"No thank you, Aoi. I can man-"

The trilling of the telephone interrupted him. An idea dawned on him; Kyoya made haste. He picked up the receiver.

Before he could say 'hello', a woman's voice croaked over the phone. "Hello?"

He froze.

"Hello? Hell-"

The woman hung up.

Kyoya did too.

Everything makes sense, he thought. He rummaged through his bedside table drawer, searching for something... something... Found it.

Without further delay, Kyoya walked briskly to Setsuko's room. He entered without so much as a knock to find her standing bedside in her silky nightgown once more, swilling a glass of water. He shut the door behind him.

"Do you have an explanation?" he asked. "Or shall I share my findings first?"

Setsuko did not seem surprised. She sat on the mattress and netted her fingers with her usual vacant expression. "By this point, I should think you know the natural order of things. You first share your theories, and I will tell you whether they are correct or not."

"Very well," he said.

"I phoned a private investigator concerning these frequent phone calls. I had him delve into the history of your old cellphone, the Nakamura estate, and very extensively into the Ootori mainhouse itself," he explained. "Unfortunately, the mainhouse drew empty, unusable results. However, I was very interested in the similarities between your cellphone history and that of the Nakamura estate the same weekend we resided there.

"One number which was recurring on your cellphone had phoned a few times in the three day duration. When I traced the number to a location, I discovered that it belonged to a flat in Brooklyn, New York," he said as he watched her scrupulously. "My investigator sifted through the neighborhood history to find any relevance to the apartment. There were, in fact, minor newspaper articles concerning it.

"It just so happens that the flat is rented to an absentee tenant, strangely, a David Scott. The landlord, an elderly man named Zachary Hamil admitted to only meeting with the man a handful of times, but was offered amounts of cash that far exceeded 6 months rent, up front. He claims that during his brief meetings with Scott, the man was hooded; Hamil could only describe him as Caucasian, bearded and middle-aged. Hamil has yet to meet again with David Scott and is sent cheques through mail for monthly rent.

"Neighbors admit they've never seen him but have heard noises, evidence of life within the apartment. Due to this, that flat was under suspicion from local authorites of being grounds for drug production or other unsavory activity. There was a brief investigation, but it turned up blank; the apartment had nothing in it aside from the utilities, a bed and a telephone."

Kyoya waited for a reaction. Setsuko remained impassive, but prompted him to continue with a quirk of her eyebrow.

"Indeed, this struck me as quite strange," he continued. "As I have never heard of a David Scott while researching your background, I concluded that it was an alias. And what a clever alias, indeed, as the names 'David' and 'Scott' are extremely common; searching databases for a David Scott would be as tedious as searching for a John Smith.

"However, a new piece of information has come into light most recently. You see, it's become apparent to me that the David Scott in question is not necessarily a man." Kyoya crossed his arms expectantly. She remained unresponsive. The burden on his mind was lessening, but his own confusion still weighed down; he continued.

"Now, as of sixty seconds ago, I have shaped two theories. The woman harassing you over the phone is a woman, not as you so falsely stated, a man; your non-existent ex-boyfriend. According to a background check I ran on you months prior to present, you have no apparent ties to any women aside from these two — apparently, your only connections were to your parents and your private tutor, a man named Emmet Greer."

This was the first time he saw a reaction. Setsuko cringed at the name and fixed her eyes to the floor. Kyoya had not expected her to react to something he deemed insignificant.

He considered pressing the matter, but her choked voice implored, "Do not tell me what I already know. What are your theories, Kyoya-kun?"

Now hesitant, he began again. "The woman I spoke to mere minutes ago was aged. This leads me to believe it is either Maria Hale, your adoptive mother, or your biological mother."

She gave a tiny gasp. Her sapphire eyes blazed, but she seemed less concerned with his theories; she looked horrified that he had spoken to somebody over the phone.

"Please, Kyoya-kun. Do not stop there."

"Your father has three main properties where he and you frequent. One is in Japan, but you have never visited until this year, in fact, only months preceding your stay here. His other property is his largest, a mansion in Poughkeepsie, New York, where he set up his first theater/arts institution and gradually pushed south to Broadway. His third property is closest to David Scott's apartment; a penthouse in Manhattan.

"His penthouse allowed you to indulge in nighttime New York City and after the divorce, you would illegally visit your mother, correct?"

"That is a hefty accusation," she remarked. "Do you have any evidence?"

Kyoya drew a small, leather-bound notebook from his pocket that he had hurriedly shoved in before leaving his room. It was his own composition of newspaper and magazine articles concerning Setsuko had he had made immediately after being assigned as a chaperone, his most potent weapon against her yet.

He unfurled a particularly crumpled clipping. "You were allegedly spotted roaming around New York at nighttime. One person says, specifically, that they spotted you loitering outside a train station at 11:45 pm, although that source wasn't very reliable, rather a drunkard, and was therefore dismissed."

"I admit I was suspicious when I came across that, so I checked the schedule. A train arriving at approximately that time would take one from Queens to Manhattan. Miss Hale lives in Queens, does she not?"

The blonde, in spite of herself, looked impressed. "How very thorough of you, Kyoya-kun."

"Hmm. Naturally." He found himself smirking. "That leaves the last location, David Scott's flat in Brooklyn, which neither Miss Hale nor your father own... Has your biological mother been contacting you from this location?"

He felt he had hit the nail on the head from the look on Setsuko's suddenly pale face; straining, searching for words, it seemed. Finally, after muttering to herself and nodding feverishly, she looked as though she had resolved something with herself.

"Would you like to know everything, Kyoya-kun?"

"Everything?"

"Everything about me. I'm giving you an irreplaceable opportunity. You have a thirst for knowledge otherwise you wouldn't have bothered to confront me as you are. I'd be happy to satisfy it, while giving myself some relief. It isn't good to bottle things up, after all. So. Would you like to know everything?"

All things considered, the dark-haired boy was not reluctant in nodding. "Good. I've been thinking about it most recently, anyway. You know it's almost a month to their divorce-anniversary?"

"Is that relevant?"

"Quite." She gave a benign smile, though her eyes did not change, nor did her cheeks lift. "Still, a bit of a solemn anniversary, isn't it? Much like a funeral. Horrid thing to celebrate, that. Sometimes I wonder if any people do."

He paced backward and seated himself into an egg shaped chair that had been moved into Setsuko's room a couple weeks prior (on her command) and waited more patiently now for her to speak.

Setsuko waited until he was comfortable settled. "Now. You'll be happy to be informed that you are right," she said. "However, not about my biological mother. I have never known her and I have no desire to find her. I am content in my ignorance."

He couldn't refrain from feeling slightly deflated by this but that feeling was soon eclipsed by the information she was about to divulge.

"The person calling me was my adoptive mother," she said tersely as if the words were sharp in her throat.

"Do explain."

Setsuko suddenly seemed fatigued as she massaged her scalp, eyes squeezed tight. "That apartment isn't hers, and as far as David Scott, I can assure you, I know no such man. However, I would venture a guess and say that it is either my uncle or one of his... subordinates."

He shifted forth, to the edge of his chair. She continued, "Naturally, children don't take sides with any one parent during a divorce, correct? As was the case with my mother's and father's. I was twelve. However naive I still was, I knew that they would divorce. For me, I wasn't shocked, nor particularly devastated. It was more than apparent to me, the nature of my parents. My mother smelled like Scotch, my father smelled like Chanel, and the entire house reeked of misery and of everything in their marriage that had rotted inside." She smiled. It hardly seemed appropriate.

"From what I've gathered, my father married her purely because of her appearance. After all, before the marriage, she wasn't anybody particularly worth mentioning. Her parents were rather ordinary. However, I suspect that she looked like my biological mother, who was, perhaps, somebody who my father wasn't able to marry. Thus, keeping both women hidden until they were married and I was born, my father was able to pull the wool over the media's eyes for about twelve years.

"Perhaps I'll give a unpleasant impression of them in explaining all this but they were good parents. I never blamed either of them for the awful things that happened there, in Poughkeepsie. Sometimes, of course, we would stay at the penthouse. Perhaps it was my father's idea of changing the scenery, but I digress... Admittedly, some awful things did happen. My mother had mood swings; violent, really. She was like a tornado at the height of these. When she was drunk, she would hit anything standing in her path. Sometimes it was the furniture, sometimes it was me."

Kyoya was astonished at how composedly she was explaining this. In fact, it was all very anti-climatic; she had simply said it, with a smile no less. He half-expected her to show him bruises or scars or to break down sobbing. She remained still.

"It wasn't ongoing; I would barely categorize it as abuse. It was merely an occurrence. Still, at those times, my father would be my lifeline and save me from that situation," she said. "Oh, but my mother loved me very much, Kyoya-kun," she added hastily. "Don't misunderstand. Even if she was a prisoner to the drink, those small moments of sobriety was when she showed it. The guilt could eat her alive; how could I blame her?

"Now, my father's affairs did not affect me directly, but rather through my mother. I suppose it contributed to her alcoholism. Anyway, as young as I was, I understood that my father did not sleep with other women for his pleasure. It was for his career."

Kyoya was less surprised at this. He had suspected such.

"He believed that the shortest route to infiltrating a man's mind was through his woman. Of course, he carefully selected which women to apply this method with; the ones who would keep their mouths shut. He would sleep with them, leave them wanting more and eventually, these women would advise their husbands to maintain a close relationship with him and even convince them that partnering would be beneficial. It was merely give-and-take. That was what I deduced anyway."

Setsuko twisted her curls absentmindedly — this persistent habit of hers seemed to return fiercely as she ended up curling her entire head as she spoke, Kyoya noted.

"Needless to say, my mother was never happy when she found out; although, like me, she always really knew. She would drink even more, if possible. She threw a lamp at him once, I think. Terrible injury, it was." Kyoya recalled when a particularly neurotic Yuuji came around the house in an arm cast.

"Anyway, when the divorce was finalized, obviously my mother, who had lost custody, took it harder. My father took me to Poughkeepsie while my mother stayed with an old roommate in Queens. We didn't end up speaking until I was 14, almost two years ago, when I began to sneak out and walk around New York City. We met secretly in Queens, even though I knew it was horribly wrong. It was not, and still is not, in my capacity to hate my own mother, but I knew then and know now that she is unstable.

"These meetings were often regulated by," she paused, sneering. "a man I detest."

For the first time, her facial expression changed, now in an alarmingly severe look of revulsion; her peach skin was beginning to get pink and blotchy. She stared at the wall as if the taintless creme paint had been smeared with something revolting like the squashed innards of an insect.

"Emmet Greer?"

She was startled by the mention of the name, then stared at him incredulously. "Goodness, no. Never."

It seemed she was aware of how suspicious the reaction was. She cleared her throat, awkward. "Right then. No, the man I despise is one by the name of Theodore Hale, goes by Ted or Teddy."

The name sounded vaguely familiar to him. After struggling to recall exactly how he recognized the name. "Hale?" Kyoya raised an eyebrow. "A family member?"

"An uncle," she replied. "Theodore is very close to my mother, as they have been since childhood."

"And why is it that you detest him so?" Kyoya asked, becoming impatient with the pace of the story.

Setsuko froze, seemingly affronted by his interruptions, but also as if it were inconceivable to her that any human wouldn't hate him. "Because. Theodore is not a good man. He was raised under the prejudices of my grandfather, and while they did not stick to my mother, they certainly were embedded in young Teddy. He's a pigheaded racist who hated my father as he hates all foreigners and was elated when they divorced. He, or one of his inferiors, is your David Scott.

"You were right in assuming that it was an alias, if it was, in fact, the man himself. But chances are that it was not. Theodore will always have a man to do his dirty work for him. Not very honourable; calls himself a 'business' man. Quite pathetic, really. It will come as no surprise to you that the 'business' he specializes in happens to be of a rather corrupt nature. There isn't a hallucinating, drooling burnout in New York who doesn't know his name. I would be doubtful if there was one in all of America. You see, Theodore was prudent enough to get himself a day job as a cover... I'm a little astonished that you have not identified him yet."

At this, Kyoya was offended. "Should I always be an encyclopedia?"

Setsuko's eyes betrayed amusement. "Touchy~! I was only speculating; you see, he's affiliated with a international shipping company. You must have heard of Bailey&Maude, of course?"

Then, those muddy memories that were rather insignificant and, thus, untouched and deserted in a very dusty corner of Kyoya's mind came surging forth, flaring like a great, red beacon as if it had been so obvious before.

Bailey&Maude was the middle man; the shipping company that Ootori Group used when it came to hospital supplies, pharmaceutical supplies and equipment. Theodore Hale was a higher-up, working in an executive job, rather than in a warehouse. Kyoya had seen his name several times on shipping forms, as he normally sifted through combed through the company paperwork.

"And his position at the company," said Kyoya. "allows him many advantages when it comes to shipping his personal products."

"Precisely. If only it were that bad. Theodore has built himself an entire empire of illicit products; anywhere from drugs to counterfeits to weapons (of course, he's always had a disturbing fascination with guns since childhood, mother tells me). Everything he touches turns to filthy gold and everybody he touches is infected with his immorality. His friends are his workers, his customers are his workers and the ones indebted to him are slaves. He wields power like no man should. Especially not a man like him, violent and hateful..."

Such venom engulfed her words. She hissed and snorted viciously halfway through sentences; her eyes were narrowed into slits and she looked almost cat-like. "He hates me, obviously, since I'm what he would call a 'Half-Breed'. But his love for my mom is undoubtedly deep," she uttered, apparently repulsed. "Since the divorce, since her depression, he's been fixed on getting me to live with her illegally. Anyways, David Scott's apartment is probably a safe house for him and his workers, one of their many bases.

"My mother tells me that he gave her a key so that when she gets wasted and needs a place to sleep, she can use it. I should suppose that is why there was only a bed and a telephone in the flat. That is how she has been contacting me."

Something in her tone was conclusive and it let Kyoya know that her story was finished.

Setsuko fixed her sapphire eyes upon him, inviting him to say anything.

He removed his glasses from his face and burnished them in a tiny revolving motion with the bottom of his shirt. "That is quite the load you've unleashed."

She exhaled as if she had been holding her breath for minutes on end. "Is that all?"

"Hmm. I hadn't expected your explanation to be so in-depth," Kyoya goaded, perching his glasses back on his nose. "There is, of course, the obvious question."

"Proceed."

"Why do you pick up the phone?"

Setsuko pursed her lips. "Why, indeed. I've told you..." she released a long, audible gust of breath as she fell back onto the cloud-like mattress, the duvet and the downy pillows billowing around her tiny body. "Lie with me, Kyoya."

A rumbling throat-clearing told her that he was not disposed to do so.

"Oh, please. I'm almost certain that we're past all the implications of lying in the same bed, what with all the pillow-sharing we've done in the past month, hmm?"

"Perhaps not true. You are due to fall for me any day now."

They shared a smirk before Kyoya flopped down onto the bed next to her. She thrust her hand up into the air, making shapes with her fingers as if she were modelling imaginary clay. He felt something tickling his neck; he had lain on some of her sprawled out golden hair.

"Obviously I would answer the phone..." she began abruptly. "Like I've said, I've been unable to harbor any bitter feelings toward either her or my father. I miss her, no matter how unstable, no matter how intoxicated — no matter how she may poison my life. What daughter wouldn't jump at the chance to hear her mother's voice from a thousand miles away? At the same time, I know that to touch her, be with her, would be too much..."

After a while, Kyoya sighed and found the itch to laugh. "Such a simplistic reason."

"Of course," Setsuko remarked. "I'm fifteen going on sixteen, why do I need a melodramatic reason? I'm still only a girl, after all."

"Hmm, a fact that seems to regularly escape your mind."

The blonde girl giggled. "So it seems~! My mother always reminds me of that," she said in her characteristically wispy voice.

"Concerning that, as a chaperone, I should be administering these phone conversations if they are to occur at all. If Miss. Hale is as unstable as you have described, it is my obligation to prevent any dangerous circumstances."

Setsuko shook her head. "No need. I won't be speaking to her. It will only enable her."

He was astounded at how responsible she was. It reminded him of Tamaki, being unpredictable in every meaning of the word.

"I see..."

There was a long space in which nothing was said, but he could hear her calm, steady breathing as if she were directly in his ear. It must be the closeness, he thought, because he could also smell her, but that felt like strangely like an understatement. Rather, Kyoya was inundated in her scent; that aroma of cinnamon and frosting and cake batter and all he could do was wonder how the devil she smelled so richly. It was certainly unhinging, that he was overwhelmed with her fragrance. It reminded him very dimly of the afternoon on which she was sick and he was inching toward her... inching... unconsciously...

"Ne, Kyoya-kun?"

He was snatched from his reverie. "What is it?"

"Have you ever read 'The Velveteen Rabbit'?"

Disconcerted, he replied, "No, I haven't."

"What a shame," she whispered. "It's beautiful. About a velveteen rabbit, obviously, who is loved by a boy in a nursery... and he wants so much to become real... and because the boy loved him, and because he cries a real tear and because of some... magic Nursery Fairy, or something silly like that, he does."

There was a tremor in her sigh.

"That was my favorite book when I was little. It was a symbol of unity in our house because the only time we became a real family was when they read me The Velveteen Rabbit. Whether my father met up with a woman that night, or my mother opened another bottle of wine was completely irrelevant... I would be sleeping by then, of course..."

Kyoya felt as though he were encroaching on a private moment, the way she spoke.

Setsuko rolled over on her stomach, now a mere hairbreadth away from his face. "You know what else?"

"Hmm?"

"When I first heard about the divorce, about eleven going on twelve, I read another book, not a storybook. I thought it was spectacular."

"Is that so?" He shrunk away from her slightly. "And what book was that?"

Setsuko traced shapes on his chest with her fingernail. "Beatty's Big Book of Birds."

Kyoya gaped, then found himself faintly smiling, beyond his control. "And why, might I ask, were you so fascinated with this book?"

"One chapter really captured my interest," she said. "I read about swans. I'd never thought they were particularly special until I read that a swan has only one lover. One lover for their entire life. If their lover were to die, they would die too of brokenhearted-ness. Isn't that remarkable? It's dedication! I thought, that was dedication on a more refined level than any human I knew. Humans are supposed to be the most to be the most intelligent creatures on Earth. So why, then, is a swan capable of a more profound love than my own parents? If a swan has a predetermined soulmate, why do we not?"

"I figured you would be the type to believe in soulmates."

"No," she said. "If there were soulmates, I would have thought I found mine by now. But unfortunately, it's an unrequited love."

"Haruhi?"

Setsuko laid her head on his chest. Kyoya became uneasy — she would surely feel the vibrations of his thrumming chest. "No. A man."

He froze for one delusional second. Then, shaking the embarrassing thoughts out his head, he suggested, "Emmet Greer?"

"Actually, yes."

"I'm sorry?"

"Yes," she repeated. "Mr. Greer. He was my tutor, you know. I have to show some respect."

The thought of her showing respect to anybody was laughable. "Was he not older than you?"

"Indeed, much older. He must be 25 by now. He must have known, too. It must be strange to tutor an eleven year-old girl who is smitten with you. Mr. Greer was much too decent to say anything." The admiring tone in her voice bothered Kyoya. "Anyway, I've always had the impression that he was fond of my mother. Not that it matters much. Not now, anyway."

He shifted beneath the weight of her head. Her hair smelled nice too; a wafting scent of vanilla. "I presume you've..."

"Gotten over it? Of course." She lifted her head to grin at him. "Have you ever known me to dwell on things?"

Kyoya simpered. "How very mature."

"Thank you."

He pushed himself upright, causing her to slide off his chest. He began to leave when she clutched onto his wrist. "It's time for bed," he said.

"It's too early!"

He wrested her claw from his wrist and strode away from the bed, toward the door. "You forget, Setsuko-san. You need your sleep. How else do you expect to grow any taller than the common golf club?"

She made a noise like an irate cat. "Shut up."

Kyoya left the room with a wave of dismissal over his head, shutting off all the lights.

On the way to his bedroom, however, he noticed that somebody was standing in the reception area of his bedroom, at the foot of the staircase.

Disbelieving, he saw that it was Yoshio.

Hurriedly, Kyoya descended the stairs to stand before his father. As he was approaching the bottom, he realized that something was peculiar about his father; then he realized that something was dreadfully wrong with him.

Yoshio rarely varied facial expression, but at the moment, he somehow looked distraught. His clothes were ruffled, his tie slightly askew. There was a nervousness about his face. He shared the same look as Abukara Yuuji, all neurotic and twitchy, however, not nearly as much.

"Kyoya."

Kyoya's face hardened.

"What were you doing?"

The dark-haired boy did not flinch. "Tucking in Setsuko-san, of course, as she requested of me."

"Hmm," the man grunted. He did not seem so concerned with this. His voice was strangely watery as he said, "The vacation. On your vacation... I trust that there were no unforeseen complications?"

Utterly befuddled, Kyoya shook his head. "No complications, father."

"Setsuko remained under your vigilance for the duration of the trip?" Strength solidified in Yoshio's voice as it was commanding once more. "Answer me truthfully, Kyoya."

"Yes." He did not lie.

Yoshio entangled a hand in his hair and nodded, apparently absorbing this. "Rightfully so. Thank you. You may leave."

There was a strained pause before Yoshio realized that he was in Kyoya's room, at which point, he turned and left. Kyoya stood there, barely processing what had just happened.

Father... what is happening?

A/N: Chapter on Emmet Greer next (probably). Reviews would be nice :)