Changing Death

RL issues still happening, but much less detrimental to internet than expected.

21: Not Playing Anymore

(The Funeral - Band of Horses)

-July, 1993-

"I don't think you quite understand, Yuusuke," Kurama said patiently. "I'm going to Makai at Koenma's direct request."

"But what for?" the detective demanded for the third time, his temper rising. The heated questions and Kurama's non-explanations had already gone in a circular pattern several times, a cycle Yuusuke was reluctant to break. Kurama was clearly unhappy about keeping this from him (which made him perversely more determined to pry), and he suspected it was both difficult and dangerous, and probably had to do with something he and Kuwabara weren't good at, like stealing. Koenma wouldn't have ordered Kurama to keep quiet otherwise, and Yuusuke didn't trust that toddler when it came to missions, any more than he had the day he'd met him. Anything else, but not missions; he was always an asshole about those.

"I'm not at liberty to say," the kitsune told him yet again, as unruffled as if he had not just repeated himself four times. He did, however, add, "This isn't going to get you anywhere. I have to leave, and soon, and I cannot tell you why." He held up a hand to forestall yet another protest. "If it makes you feel better, I should be back in a month or so." His smile was wry.

There didn't seem to be much Yuusuke could say to that, at least not without sounding like an ass, so he merely assumed his sourest expression and replied, "Fine, but I don't have to like it." That was an understatement. Solo missions were rare for the Tantei anymore, and they always made him nervous; this one was long, too, and he didn't like the secrecy. Who was he going to tell, anyway? It wasn't like he even had any friends who weren't involved in Spirit World stuff somehow. He sure as hell wasn't going to tell his mom.

"No one is asking you to, Yuusuke." Damn Kurama, taking this so lightly, with one of his usual amused half-smiles.

"You'll be careful, right?" Yuusuke had to ask him.

Kurama accepted his implied surrender with a nod of acknowledgment. "I will." He paused. "I have a favor to ask of you."

"Sure." Crap. He'd agreed too fast. That was never a good idea with Kurama.

"I would like you to keep my mother company in my absence, from time to time," rolled out from those mirthful lips, which twitched at his answering expression before they went on. "I haven't been away from home for this long before, and I fear she will worry. She already knows you and will appreciate your time."

Yuusuke glared at him, already stuck with his hasty agreement. "Like I'm gonna have anything to talk about! I'll probably break something and get kicked out of your house!" Or accidentally say the wrong thing and get Kurama in trouble.

But Kurama appeared not to be fazed by this possibility, still smirking at him in his weird, somehow-not-insulting way. "Follow her lead for conversation, and don't fight any demons in the house," he said.

Yuusuke could always tell when Kurama was making fun of him―he was suspicious that this time, it was to keep him from being so agitated about the mission. He glowered to let the fox-boy know he'd figured it out, but eventually nodded as well. It wouldn't kill him to cut school for an extra day every week and visit Mrs. Minamino. Keiko might even be understanding enough not to yell at him for it. Probably, trying to think up creative lies about his friendship with "Shuuichi" would occupy him enough that it wouldn't be too boring.

"Thank you."

"Hey," Yuusuke said as Kurama was about to turn and leave.

Green eyes blinked innocently. "Yes?"

"Send me a postcard or something. I don't wanna have to bug Koenma to find out if you're still in one piece."

That earned him another amused smile, but the eyes warmed. "I will do what I can. I'll see you in four weeks, Yuusuke. Enjoy your summer vacation."

He pivoted smoothly, and walked away. Yuusuke gave him a wave and headed in the opposite direction. That, at least, he was sure he could do―the arcade had some new racer games this month.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

The door was locked to her, for the first time.

She had freer access here than even Ayame. She was privileged above the other ferry-girls by virtue of her long personal service to Koenma, and had free run of every room in the palace that Koenma did, excluded only from those areas restricted by Enma himself―long, darkly snaking halls and hollow corridors where the dust had layered to ankle height for want of footsteps to brush it away. Koenma knew what lay beyond most of these, as no one else did, though he had never before violated their quiet, save once, now. Two days ago had seen his shoes blackened and filthy, a transgression he had kept to himself from everyone but her.

Of all the strictures broken in his choice, this was the gravest―the use, or so he had told her, of a forbidden portal to reach his team in time to save them. If she went now through the maze-like passages of the palace, into places where the lights dimmed to nothing and the echoes became so sharp that they pierced the ears and thrummed down the smallest bones, she could see if she wished the tracks made in his taboo flight, where none had trod for uncounted years. But she might tell no one; she was under orders not to let any of the Tantei know what their rescue had truly cost him.

And yet it was all marginally forgivable, taken as a calculated risk in protecting some extremely valuable resources―the most powerful Reikai Tantei in generations―except for one thing.

The Orb would damn him more surely than any forbidden portal ever could.

She was cold and numb, which had kept her immobile and silent even during most of the Tantei's strategy council yesterday, for Koenma had confided in her one final thing: he was done running, and the secret she had kept for him for so long would no longer be a secret. When, and not if, his father came to confront him, he would speak nothing but the truth. Just a few rapid words before the meeting had begun, whispered under his breath―the closest thing to a farewell that he could give her.

There was no fear, when she felt she should be afraid. But there was no reason for fear. The end of this was all but inevitable, and where there was no hope, fear was a waste of energy. But to contemplate the final hours of her centuries-long companionship―for she would surely be denied any chance to see him again―was to feel something at least, or so one would think.

She was past that. Things had escalated to their terrible peak, and to the point where they merely were. For what could she do? Become a mortal again and join him in the Ningenkai? That was utterly impossible. Her tenure as a ferry-girl absolved her of judgment. She was guaranteed an afterlife of relative happiness as payment for her service, but she could never go back now; it was part of what she had given up to become what she was. Koenma would be lost to her forever.

Soon―very soon―she would have to leave for the temple. She had promised to help the Tantei, and would honor that promise. But―how could she go, when she might yet be allowed one last glimpse of him? Could she go at all?

She stood paralyzed before the sealed door, arrested by indecision, and was yet there when that door opened before her. The room beyond it was empty.

She left the Reikai.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

There was a knock on the door. Though it was early in the day, and no one should be calling, it was a smooth, reflexive action to replace the enameled teacup on the table and stand up quietly to walk down the short hall, and step down into the genkan. A moment of hesitation only―a slightly heavy hand, reluctant to rise from her side―and she turned the knob, smiling a polite and vapid smile. It wavered only slightly when she saw who her visitor was.

"Hello, young man," she said courteously. "What can I do for you?"

He had significantly less composure than she, and fidgeted nervously from foot to foot. "Can I talk to you?" he asked finally.

She regarded him, not letting the smile slip. "What's your name again?" she asked, unsure why she didn't remember.

The boy looked puzzled in addition to his obvious nerves, but answered her anyway. "Yuusuke Urameshi."

She let her smile widen as if in recognition, and nodded. "Come in."

-o- -o- -o- -o-

"Get me King Enma, if you please." As the words left her lips, her anger heightened.

"I'm afraid he's not here right now," the very polite ferry-girl said.

"Horse shit," snapped the old woman bluntly. "Don't try to pull that one on me, girlie. I want to speak to him immediately, and I don't care if he's napping or playing chess or out of breath from yelling at his son―you will get him for me or I will come up there myself."

There was a distinct pause as the exhausted-looking girl calculated the odds of that actually being possible; Genkai being who she was, it was not really that improbable. As an old friend and ally of Koenma, she had certain privileges and powers granted her, and no one but the prince himself knew exactly what they were, and she also wasn't the sort of old lady to make idle threats. That this was, in fact, a bluff made Genkai almost smile in vindictive satisfaction when the other woman (evidently convinced) said, "One moment," and replaced the transmission with the visual equivalent of elevator music―Koenma's idea of a joke, probably―without waiting for a response.

"Hah. As if I know how to make a gods-damned Reikai portal. Those things are far too fussy for an impatient fossil like me." Not that she didn't know where the fixed portal was, but it was in the middle of the Makai and she wasn't about to go hiking for several hours just to prove a point.

So she waited, eyes trained on the tiny compact/communicator screen that Botan had given her, and let herself be a trifle amused by the polka-dots and tiny dancing ogres even though she by no means intended to relinquish the pissed-off momentum she had spent the morning building up. Her flippant verbal comment had been as much to keep her rage in check as anything else. This morning had been one of the worst in her memory next to the day she had died―in point of fact, she might have preferred to repeat that experience again rather than do what she had done today.

Just as that particular wish entered her mind and kicked on another set of reactions, the air before her burst with a loud snap and she was face-to-face with the same ferry-girl with whom she'd been arguing on the communicator screen. Her startlement stayed under wraps, and she twitched a brow: "So I'm to go up there after all, then?" A glance at the compact in her hand―the screen was blank now. "Nice hold pattern."

Earnest but reserved brown eyes studied her. "I have been instructed to take you to King Enma. Please board." She proffered her oar, and Genkai took a moment to arrange herself sidesaddle in a way that (hopefully) wouldn't jar her bones too badly.

"You have no idea how long it's been since I've done this," she remarked. "Your boss had better appreciate that. This is very important or I wouldn't bother making the trip; it's not my ideal vacation destination."

It was a harrowing ordeal, actually. Having had no physical body during her last venture to the Reikai, she had forgotten the vertigo, and also the faint drop-sickness, and the pain in her bony hands from clutching the oar reflexively was an exciting new addition that she was certain she hadn't had the pleasure of experiencing last time she'd done this while still alive, probably because she'd been quite a bit younger. It only made her less genial, if possible, and so by the time they reached the vast Reikai palace, she was ready to disembark and move straight to dismemberment of the next living being she saw. Fortunately for the oni clerks, the pilot at her side kept her from venting her temper, which was just as well; there was no sense in wasting it before it could be unleashed on its proper target.

Once they got to the interior and contrary to her expectations, she was not made to wait for long. After a mere few moments cooling her heels in Koenma's lobby (presuming it was still his) while the pilot departed to announce her, yet another one appeared to usher her down more hallways than she cared to count, a walk that took her nearly ten minutes, before a pair of massive brass doors loomed at the end of the passage and her guide evaporated like sweat in the sun. Irritated all the more by being left on her own in this ridiculously grandiose place, she shoved open the doors and walked inside with her eyes smoldering and narrowed in preparation.

Even in her visits of decades ago, she had never been admitted this far―nor had she had any desire to be. This was a dim antechamber of truly ludicrous proportions, with spiraled columns, grand tapestries, and a vaulted ceiling that stretched up almost beyond sight. The walls were farther away than her range of vision extended, giving the impression that the hall continued indefinitely in the darkness. It did appear to be necessary, though; the King himself, seated at the far side of the room on a throne that was surprisingly unadorned in contrast, nearly made the space seem normal.

Genkai suspected that he could have been human-sized at any time he wished, and was scornful that he thought she could be intimidated by his sheer size and presence, no matter how daunting others had found it. In the several minutes it took merely to cross the chamber, she steadfastly ignored the luxury and the atmosphere of determent and pulled out a cigarette, lighting it as she went. She did not at all wish to be accidentally perceived as reverent in Enma's presence.

There was the first pilot, hovering to the kami's left and maintaining a posture of subservience and respect; Enma himself was patently wise and inexpressive. That was expected and preferred, since it gave Genkai the opportunity to speak first. She did so just as the other woman was beginning to open her mouth, and perversely enjoyed stealing the thunder.

"Good to know you've finally decided to be timely about things," she began. "I didn't have to wait for six months for an audience."

The King's voice was as large and booming as he. "Make your case brief. I have matters to which I must attend."

"So do I," she replied with irony. "I'll get through it at my own pace, thank you. Fortunately for you, that probably won't take long."

"It had best be important. This is not a time during which I am lightly distracted. The situation at hand is grave."

"You're damn right it is. To make a long story short, I'm not happy with the way you've handled it so far."

Enma stood in his ubiquitous impassivity and regarded the tiny mortal who had the temerity to second-guess his policies. He'd heard about this one. "Your file is accurate."

"I should hope so." Her tone deluged him in irritation. She blew smoke up towards his distant face. "Now own up."

It had clearly been a long time since the King had been told anything of the sort; the ferry-girl at his side blanched all the way to the roots of her hair. But he did not seem especially wrathful, and merely studied his visitor, who herself was actually calming down a trifle. There was obviously a good amount of real common sense to work with here, as she had feared there might not be (having only his son's example to reference), so instead of insolently prodding him to answer, she held her peace.

Five minutes or so later, Enma said, "What do you want?"

"Well it's about time someone asked that instead of trampling over an old lady's feelings," Genkai answered dryly, inwardly grateful. She went right to the meat of her visit. "I want you to let your fool son go."

This time his response was immediate. "Denied. He is to be punished."

She shook her head. "He most definitely deserves it, but he was about to be useful when you yanked him out of my house. We need all the help we can get down here. Besides, he's not nearly as clueless about what he's done as you may think he is."

"Whether or not he is aware of his failings is not consequential. He is unfit for his position; he will be removed."

"Fine. Remove him." She hated to say that so bluntly, but it was foolish to think that anyone sane would keep on a ruler who had behaved as Koenma had; however, "And then give him another chance," she continued. "Let him stew for a while on Earth until he's had time to be properly afraid, and then ease him back into things once he's learned his lesson as much as he can. He's fairly far along already, I can assure you."

"That is for me to judge," said the King. "You waste your time, and mine."

"Is that so?"

"Your opinion is irrelevant. You are partial."

"Hah! Partial?" Genkai snorted rudely. "I've known Koenma longer than any other human alive, and I think he's a ninny and a blockhead. He's got the most half-assed, questionable morals I've ever encountered next to most demons, and he can't even keep them straight most of the time. He screwed up my apprentice and my apprentice's friends and just about everyone he's ever had contact with. The only thing to which I'm partial is the thought of denting his forehead with my fist." She sighed. "But he's still a damned kid just like the rest of them, and you'll only make the situation worse if you give him the sack now. Let him learn from his mistake and save yourself the headache of running this place by yourself." And then after a moment's pause for breath she added, "But keep an eye on him instead of letting him run free like you've been doing the last few hundred years. It'll stave off more fiascoes like this one."

"Your opinion is irrelevant." There was no change in inflection.

Genkai's temper spiked. She tossed her unfinished cigarette to the side, and it sparked as it struck the marble floor. "Divinity is no excuse for narrowmindedness," she snapped heatedly. "Koenma illustrates that quite nicely. Get your all-knowing head out of your ass and think about what you're going to do in the future if you kick your son out permanently. He was kind enough to let slip that you've got some other projects going, which I take to mean that you're understaffed, and stop me if I'm wrong, but you probably don't have replacement candidates lined up out the doors. Don't be a jackass―even kami can't do everything at once, and even kami are stupid if they try."

Unable to contain herself, the hitherto-silent ferry-girl blurted, "You cannot speak to King Enma that way!" Her lips had gone tight at the corners and her eyes just a bit wild as Genkai's tirade had become more and more irreverent.

Genkai eyed the dark-haired, kimono-clad woman and let some of her ire divert from Enma. "I'll speak to him as I like, god or no god, because he happens to deserve it. If he takes offense he can tell me himself." Her voice was harsher than she'd really intended, but since she'd intended fairly harsh anyway, its effect was close enough―the ferry-girl's mouth clamped shut and her eyes retreated behind a mask of damaged dignity, glancing up towards the King as though waiting for him to defend her. His only action, however, was a slight motion of his hand: a crystal-clear dismissal.

With anger sharpening in her gaze, she vanished without even twitching a muscle.

"And where did you find that one?" Genkai asked wryly. "Or do all of your staff focus so much on protocol and so little on practicality?"

"She is young," Enma rumbled. "And she is not the focus of this meeting. You have disregarded your station and mine in coming here, and interrupted a vital task that only I can undertake. You are a presumptive and arrogant mortal."

Hah! Genkai smirked and pulled out a second cigarette. This meeting was hers. "I notice that wasn't a denial."

A pause, and a fluctuation of the electro-magnetic field in the room. "It was not," admitted the King. "Your words are accurate. I do not wish to attempt management of this world once again. However, you cannot assure me that my son will become any more capable than he is, or that your own world will not suffer for his administrative mistakes." He seemed to shrink a little, to come closer to Genkai's level as he conceded her point.

She lit her smoke and smiled. "There are no assurances, you know. Only give him the chance before you put yourself and everyone else out instead. His efforts may still take care of this situation―his team is a good one, even right now." Her voice strained just a bit. She had reminded herself. "It's true he's ruined his lead detective," she continued over the reaction, "but the others in the Tantei are more than capable of coming through this with a little luck and a lot of planning. The planning is already out of the way, and they've got a better chance than anyone. Don't take it away from them by making their sacrifices meaningless. This fight is all they have now―let them try, at least." And she added, "And you can look at it this way if you want: Koenma may have made some stupid mistakes, but he also managed to hide them from you for hundreds of years. That's got to count for something."

The kami was silent again, considering. It was almost audible in the cavernous hall, as if it had its own echo; a god's thoughts might have that power indeed. But Genkai wasn't worried at all, not now. She knew she'd won this round.

"Very well," came the expected answer. "I will reinstate him, on one condition: that his team does not require any further assistance to rectify this disaster. If they succeed, he will be given the second chance you ask. If not, he will be rendered mortal, and released to you for schooling. Should he prove tractable, he may yet be given another chance in the future. That is my word."

Genkai made a distinctly sour face. "More work in my old age? That's a hell of a reward for trying to help you." She deliberately flicked ash on his floor.

"The judgment stands."

"Fine. Then I can go home." She looked around. "I presume someone will return me?"

"Indeed. You may depart; your escort will meet you at the door."

Turning to leave, his guest blew another cloud of smoke up to him. She weighed her parting words, and decided to keep them short. "I'm glad you're finally being reasonable. I hope I won't have to do this again." A pivot and she was on her way.

She was nearly to the door before he answered her: "Likewise."

-o- -o- -o- -o-

Yukina was wearing her brightest smile like a badge when the first set of eyelids flickered and the first of six slow breathings changed its pace, and the scent of frost tinged the air in the silent temple. Her people were awakening at last, and she alone would greet them in this foreign house under whose roof they now sheltered and healed. This was for what she had been waiting all morning, and she had not wasted that time. Pushing all else from her mind, she had prepared herself well.

She had prepared to tell them of the village's fate. She had prepared to tell them of the threat remaining and of those on whom they must now depend. She had prepared to be kind, to be gentle, and to gather their tears for them.

And she had prepared to tell them of herself, and her life, and that their own way of living was no longer possible―that they would be forced to adapt to things they abhorred, perhaps forever. She had prepared to accept their hatred even as she relinquished her own, and to be an example for them.

Yet in her heart, she cooled just a little, for one final preparation had been made as well: her acceptance of her new role in her people's dwindled society. She might have been given it eventually, with many years, but these circumstances had allotted the maiden what had always half-enthralled and half-repulsed her. It would fall to her, and her alone, to be the Elder.

This woman's eyes were an icy green, like Kurama's when angered (a comparison Yukina might once have made in reverse), clouded and unsettled and clinging to a sense of urgency. As they latched onto Yukina and filled with pain and questions, she found that her smile had become genuine after all. For the first time, her people needed her―and for the first time, she was willing to give them what they needed.

This was the chance of which she had always dreamed, and for which she had never really hoped. Many things were going to change.

-o- -o- -o- -o-

One form flowed into another in ripples and ebbs of energy and flesh; the now-human Kurama straightened and let his inferior eyes refocus on the group that stood waiting for his verdict. It was too bad, really. He could have just remained a fox, which would have expedited the search (not to mention saved him a measure of energy), but it did put a damper on verbal communication―not that, at present, he had much to share.

A head-shake, and their faces fell with mixed relief and disappointment. "I can detect no trace of their scent beyond a faint marker that was left at least six hours ago," he elaborated. "In these arid conditions, there is little to hold a scent for long. We have missed our window."

"Then the trail has ended?" Touya inquired, unruffled by the implications (at least outwardly; Kurama knew him to be more canny than that). The blank blue gaze was almost challenging.

"Were it scent alone, it would indeed be," he replied, "but we may extrapolate from their direction thus far and assume they have continued east. Their heading has deviated little for the past few miles."

"Good enough. Let's proceed." Touya glanced at Botan. "You scout now. We'll continue east; go ahead and watch for them. Return in an hour."

Her reaction at being spoken to unexpectedly was to jerk out of some sort of internal reverie, and nod hastily. "Yes. I'll come back sooner if I find anything." She hopped on her oar, already in hand, and took off on an upward slant, towards the sun as it began to climb laboriously westward to its peak. In a moment she was a tiny speck, and growing smaller.

(She had reappeared in the early morning, deathly silent, a well-painted figure on her wooden oar with knuckles gone white and her features sharp with some undefined emotion, and no one had spoken to her until―)

"I wish we had that demon compass," Kuwabara muttered in that obvious way he had. "Then it'd be easy."

"Be patient," said Kurama mildly. "We're making good time, comparatively." He resumed walking, a trace of the fox's lope in his stride, and Touya fell into step beside him. Behind, Kuwabara belatedly began moving again, and his complaint was not repeated. Kurama had not expected it to be. Kuwabara was subdued today, as was Botan; Touya and Kurama himself were not, but only because they didn't have to be.

It was several hours past dawn here in the Makai. They had departed the Ningenkai at that world's high noon―having no compass, their target location had been the last known position of their enemies. From there they had followed a trail of scent and sketchy tracks eastward. They had, indeed, made excellent time under the circumstances, although the necessity of following a physical trail (the demons were, apparently, out of range of even Kuwabara's ki sense at the moment) kept them on the ground when flying on Botan's oar would have been much quicker. Still, they wasted little time. They had only recently begun to walk rather than run, to conserve their energy, and the four of them were outwardly alert and ready for anything.

(―until, strangely calm and no longer unstable, he had planted his feet and addressed them all with conviction: "I'm not going.")

"Kurama," Touya said to gain his attention. When he had it, he continued, "What are our chances?"

Kurama recalled with some irony asking Hiei that before they began training for the Dark Tournament. "I am not as proficient in calculating odds as my last partner," he responded coolly, "but according to what I can tell, you probably don't want an answer to that question." A sharp glance directed itself at the other demon. "And you would not have asked, had you no speculation of your own. So why don't you tell me your own estimation?"

He found himself on the receiving end of one of his own critical half-glares. "I ask because you have direct experience with these demons, and I do not. In our meetings we avoided speaking of our potential for loss; I, unlike the rest of you, require a numerical statement. It will help me to coordinate our group."

"I understand, and apologize," Kurama said immediately. "Your point is a good one. Our meetings were less than productive, especially after we unexpectedly lost someone this morning."

"Someone?" repeated his companion with significance. "Yuusuke is not just someone."

("Ha ha, very funny, Urameshi! Stop yanking our chains! This is way too important to joke about and you know it!"

"I mean it. I've got crap for energy, I missed the meeting, and I'm not feeling my best just now. I'd weigh you down, and you don't need that. So I'm not going."

"That's stupid! You'd have to be totally useless for that to make sense!"

"You wanna tell me what I'm worth right now, Kuwabara? 'Cause I don't think you do.")

Kurama conceded with the tiniest incline of his head, a movement that he knew spoke volumes to a demon as intelligent and perceptive as Touya. "Quite. Our hasty revision of last night's plans was my point, however." Pausing for some thought, he gave Touya his answer. "Based on our preparation, resources, skills and energy levels, and those of our enemies, I would give us no more than a forty-five per cent likelihood of success. Less than thirty for emerging without casualties."

An eyebrow elevated with a negligible effect on the expression as a whole. "I would have estimated higher, given that I am to take point. I have no ki deficiency as you do."

"I have taken that into account," said Kurama frankly. "You are not likely to be able to find the demons' weapons easily or at all, and in a straight fight you will be at a disadvantage since there are two of them. Without some way to separate them from their parts of the Orb, even you will stand little chance of defeating them." He watched the dust whorls at their feet with fixed eyes.

"I suppose so," Touya replied. "I would place the deviation at no more than five per cent in either direction."

"Likely more. As I said, odds are not my forte."

"Ten, then?"

"Closer."

Kuwabara quietly broke in. "I can hear you guys, y'know." He did not sound at all happy. "I'd kinda appreciate it if you'd stop talking about how bad our chance at winning is, okay?" As they turned to look at him in unison, he dropped his eyes downward. "I knew we were screwed when Urameshi left, but I was trying not to think about it."

(Eyes as dead a green as stagnant water, watching Yuusuke's face with flawless, calm intensity as he spoke to the rest of the group. "Leave him be. It is his decision, and it is a sound one. If he does not feel he is able to fight, he will only be a detriment to us all."

"But you never back down from a fight, Urameshi! You always―"

"I'm backing down from this one, Kuwabara. I'm probably a dimwit just like Genkai says, but I'm smart enough to know when to cut my losses, even when I'm one of them."

And the old woman, appearing in the doorway: "Fine load of crap you're spouting this morning. Get out of my sight―I don't waste my time on cowards. I don't want to see you here again until you've grown back your spine." Her first words to him, and her last.)

"I'm sorry, Kuwabara, but it's necessary," said Kurama in a gentle voice. "Those of us with a marked mathematical inclination―"

"We'll stop." Following his interruption, Touya pulled ahead by quickening his step, ending the talk without any argument.

Kurama bit his lip, aware that he had just blundered, and shot Kuwabara a contrite glance; he was uncertain whether he ought to catch up with Touya or remain behind. The conversation had been centering for him, but he had not anticipated its effect on the group as a whole. Safe subjects were few at this delicate juncture, but that one ought to have been blatantly obvious as upsetting for the other two (though thankfully Botan had been out of range). Touya, at least, had had the sense to halt the damage the moment it became apparent.

Truly, it was not something Kurama had particularly wished to discuss in the first place. He didn't mind the mathematic evaluation of their chances, and had been glad to focus on that end result, but there were certain variables in the weighing that were difficult to contemplate. He refused to do so now. Where yesterday he would have dwelled on such a thing, now he could not afford to think of anything besides the imminent battle and their road to locating it.

Touya was the ostensible leader of the group as of now; he was to use the weapon, and he was not emotionally involved with these circumstances, and was best suited to the task of managing the team's tactics. The others were the primary search party. Botan was the visual scout; Kurama scouted by scent; Kuwabara scouted with ki sense. Between the three of them, they were effective enough, and there was little doubt, as they were only six hours behind their quarry, that they would catch up within the afternoon. They had decided against allowing Botan to jump them randomly to points along the projected line, not wanting to be spotted and surrender the element of surprise, but they were making decent time and would have no problems unless they had to fight an unexpected enemy. Kurama considered that unlikely, given the trail of devastation they followed―there was very little chance that anything dangerous had been left alive along this path.

Coupled with this, the amount of daylight left ensured that there was no chance they would have to wait until tomorrow. They would fight today.

Without Yuusuke.

("It'd be nice if I didn't deserve that." A wry, apologetic smile, and a flash of reaction that kept itself confined to his eyes―)

Perhaps dwelling was inevitable.

"Kuwabara," Kurama found himself saying. "May I ask you a favor?"

"Uh, yeah," was the startled answer. Kuwabara took several long strides to pull alongside him.

"I would like you to speak to Yuusuke once this is over, if I cannot."

Kuwabara looked away. "Don't talk like that."

Kurama was becoming familiar with the way this soft, bitter smile felt on his lips. "I have yet to apologize to you for my actions last time," he said. "Or, indeed, to thank you for your own. I am ashamed of myself, and of what I put you through as a result of my foolishness. I am glad that things did not turn out for the worse, and I very much hope that the outcome will be as fortunate today."

"What are you talking about? Of course it will!" Kuwabara was uncomfortable in the extreme, and it showed on his face, piling on his already weary visage. He looked less tired but no more enthused about this fight than he had the afternoon before―even his trademark triangle of orange hair appeared bedraggled and lackluster and very unlike the way it had always been. It took pride and self-assurance to wear that style, and for it to look out of place was discomfiting. Still, there was determination, even optimism, resting just at the surface. He still had hope. It was wounding to that hope to hear Kurama speak of loss; he felt another pulse of remorse.

Still, this had to be said. He owed it to Kuwabara―and to Yuusuke. "You heard our chances. You are aware that it is unlikely we will all survive. If I do not, I want you to convey to Yuusuke what I have just given to you: my apologies, and my thanks. I have acted badly, and you have all suffered for it; I do not wish to leave that behind me. You are the only true friends I have had in my life as a human, and I owe you more than I may be given time to repay, so I only ask that you help me mend what I can." The smile had not left his lips. "That said, I will be happier to do it myself, given the chance."

(The crisp, reasonable words of the ice master had spoken for them all. "If you are leaving, then leave. We have no time for goodbyes.")

Kuwabara stared at him, looking almost―dismayed? Kurama wasn't certain, and it made him uneasy. He had just spoken something very personal―

"That's not fair."

He was nonplussed. "Not fair?"

"Look, Kurama, you can't just do this kind of thing," Kuwabara said, sounding a little angry and even hurt. His distress was plain, and his voice rose so that Touya glanced back. "You had plenty of chances yesterday to tell Urameshi yourself, and I don't wanna have to do it for you if you get killed just 'cause you were too mad or something. That's not my responsibility." The last few words were lower again, and seemed difficult for him.

The frank honesty struck deep; Kurama dropped his head. His friend was right, and he was a fool again. That request had been neither kind nor fair. He ought to have been less cautious―less afraid, perhaps―of Yuusuke's anger towards him, and it was not Kuwabara's place to take up his loose ends.

Still the youko, I see. Forever asking more than I am willing to give in return.

I give enough.

Never. Never enough.

"I am sorry," he said finally, barely audible even to himself. "You are right, and I should not have asked that of you. Please consider it withdrawn." He let the hollow sensation of loss he had felt days ago return to permeate his chest; he had wasted what might have been his sole chance to regain a friendship he valued more than any other, and he had only himself to blame.

But his faith in Kuwabara's innate compassion had not been misplaced. Though it came after several silent minutes of self-reproach, the hand set on his shoulder was gentle, and squeezed once to make him look up. Kuwabara's expression was as regretful as his own.

"Hey, I'm sorry too. I know you didn't plan things this way. None of us knew Urameshi was gonna leave, and maybe you weren't ready before." He smiled for only a moment, but it was a genuine smile. "So I guess I can do that for you. But―I really don't wanna have to, so be careful, okay?"

And this is something that only days ago I was prepared to throw away. Kurama felt doubly ashamed at the undeserved generosity, and marveled through his shame at the selfish demon in himself that had somehow managed to hold onto loyalty such as this. It hardly seemed fair at all―but he could not refuse. Always youko, always taking, always―

"I will do my best," he promised. He knew that this time, he was entirely sincere, and hid nothing from himself.

As Kuwabara dragged behind again, leaving Kurama once more in the center of the strung-out group, the kitsune dimmed his emotions to nothing and concentrated fiercely on their battle plans, as though that concentration in and of itself would make his unkind, unfair request also unnecessary.

("See you, Grandma; it's been real. I'll be at home when the rest of you guys get back, if you feel like saying hi―if not, don't sweat it. Good luck.")

-o- -o- -o- -o-

It was an exhilarating feeling―being powerless.

It was so calm that even the birds dared not break the silence as he held a hand before his face, and willed it to tingle with visible reiki, and watched as nothing happened at all. He was still too tired, so tired his bones ached and his eyes swam behind a cloud-soft film of disconnection. He supposed if he tried harder he could make that glow happen, but there was no point in it; if it took so much effort, it would never be worth anything. And even if it were, what would he use it for out here? He was, after all, only in the park.

In a quiet corner of the city, the park was situated in a relatively narrow aisle between houses and buildings, a bright strip of green in summer, green and pink and red in spring. These, however, were the last of the summer days, and soon autumn would remove all color from this place. The brilliant hues as the leaves died would last little more than a few weeks, and the snow was never far behind.

Yuusuke wasn't really sure why he'd picked this particular part of his neighborhood to stand and do nothing in, now that he'd finished the only thing he felt compelled to do. It was kind of gloomy right now, under haze-filtered sunlight across grass baked into submission by the months of heat, with no sound besides wind in the trees and no prospective activity for the rest of the evening (it was too hot now, and would not cool off until supper-time). What made this place perfect for him also made it uncomfortable as his last, mostly-suppressed urges to be doing anything other than nothing tickled his skin from underneath. He resented his inability to enjoy the peace he'd stolen for himself today.

He was being an idiot. He knew that. He had no good reason to be where he was, and plenty of good reason to be somewhere else. Being far away had its merits versus being around, well, anyone else―he wasn't in the mood to let someone share in his self-loathing frame of mind. What good was feeling sorry for himself if he let someone get close enough to talk him out of it? Deliberate hypocrisy was a solo venture or it tended to fail.

Here, though, he was alone and could stay that way. Solitude was important and it helped him focus his stupidity. There wasn't anything else he could call being in the Ningenkai when right now, his friends were probably fighting for their lives and his.

It had seemed so wrong at first―he'd been the next thing to shocked that he'd even thought it―but as the sleepless hours had passed him by with torturous slowness, it had begun to make a vindictive, perverted sort of sense. Turning it over and over in his mind had yielded no refutation he could not put down, and what had begun as an uneasy feeling almost like shame had modulated into resolve that comforted and soothed him, and ultimately had been the only thing to release his panic's choke-hold and allow him to sleep at all. He had woken feeling immensely better―or rather, feeling nothing at all. It had seemed like a sign, almost.

Yuusuke had never had the illusion that it was a good idea, just that it was the only one that felt anything close to right. Not a whole lot felt right, right now, so he'd grasped at a straw and gone completely the wrong direction for the first time in a long time.

And who knew? Maybe he was wrong about being wrong; maybe this was what he should have done anyway. How the hell was he supposed to know?

Maybe if he stood here long enough…

-Just what's keeping Enma so busy… is a secret. At least for the moment.