Title: No Blissful Ignorance

Author/Artist: Amethyst Hunter
Pairing: Ban/Akabane
Fandom: Get Backers
Theme: #2 – "news; letter"

Rating: PG-13 (m/m, language)

Warnings/Spoilers: Semi-heavy canonical references to Akabane's and Ban's histories, and manga arcs/characters, all tweaked to suit my purposes.

Notes: The song "Que Sera, Sera" (as sung by Doris Day) is written by Jay Livingston and Ray Evans. No profit or ownership is claimed by me, I'm only using the lyrics in the spirit of good fun.

- Makubex's Trium Astral Unlocker is a real data entry – you'll need a good slow-motion pause button to catch it, but if you look carefully on your TV while watching the anime during the IL arc, you can see a very brief flash of it in a corner onscreen.

- The Biblical verse Akabane references at the end is Ecclesiastes 3:1-8 – "To everything there is a season."

- Ban's knowledge of the Serpens constellation is courtesy of the Wikipedia entry.

Disclaimer: Don't own any of the above, the usual blah.
Summary: Akabane and Ban learn of things they're probably better off not knowing.

--

Makubex is reading.

This in itself is nothing new. He's always loved to read, has done so ever since he was a toddler and could grasp the languages taught to him. The difference is that his reading is done mostly by computer rather than print form – though he enjoys the weight of a book cradled in his hands as much as he does the flow of syntax across a glowing screen.

Sakura sits across from him, patiently working away at a piece of cloth as she weaves a scarf she's been making. She looks up from her threading to watch his calculations for a minute and then says, not unkindly, "You should rest soon, Makubex."

"Later I will," he promises, fingers dancing in a blur over five keypads he's manipulating simultaneously, without taking his eyes away from the computer monitors he's currently engaged with. "I want to see if I can beat their latest system. I'm so close…"

'They' whom he's referring to is the ubiquitous shadow that touches every aspect of this limitless fortress: the unseen, impenetrable malignancy that is Babylon City. More specifically, its Brain Trust, which controls – or used to – all the life that dwells within its borders. Masaki's defection from their ranks has proven most useful in providing Makubex with information, one of the news bits being that they've changed the Archive's security access so that it can't be so easily hacked again. They haven't forgiven the boy wonder's previous trespass, which is why Makubex travels with an armed guard these days if he ventures out of his headquarters into Lower Town. Assassination would not be an unheard-of solution to the upper echelon's problems.

But he is nothing if not intelligent, and persistent, and shortly after midnight achieves the formerly-impossible. The main screen flashes dark blue with a triumphant chime, announcing to Makubex and Sakura that he's just broken into Brain Trust's Archive for the second time.

"Makubex," Sakura says, but the tone of her voice is different than the one she uses when trying to get her charge to take care of basic necessities. Like her brother she takes very seriously her protection duties and is concerned what his precociousness might bring down upon not her own head but his.

"Don't worry," Makubex is quick to assure her, knowing how she fusses over him. "I'm not staying long. I'll just grab what I came for and patch up the hole I made. They'll never know I was in there."

He institutes a 'plug' – a program he created to mask his activities within a system for a temporary period of time. Makubex checks his timer once it's set and begins ticking off the seconds. He'll have two minutes to raid the Archive before he's discovered and the warehouse cuts him off.

Mindful of his deadline he works quickly, surfing from screen to screen after penetrating the firewalls, calling up the information he's interested in and copying that to his hard drive for future perusal. There's so much to see, so much to learn, but Makubex forestalls his immediate curiosity and concentrates on saving files.

He'll only have this one chance to sneak about inside the Archive and he knows if he screws it up he won't get another shot. His earlier words to Sakura weren't quite truthful; Babylon will eventually figure out that their precious storehouse was invaded, but they won't be able to discover exactly who did it without a thorough and tedious investigation. Makubex is certain they'll put two and two together and point the finger in his direction anyway, because of his reputation with them.

"What I found out from Masaki," he explains to Sakura as he tracks the progression of his data-savers, "is that the Archive isn't just a fixed place where Brain Trust stores their data. It's a portal of information, a nexus with infinite possibilities that open any number of gateways to other dimensions. When I was searching for the data on my IL device I found something called the Trium Astral Unlocker, but at the time I didn't know what it was for. Masaki told me it's a program they use to open these doors. When they want to know something specific, they dip into it like a savings account. The balance comes in when they adjust their plans for a new alternative, and this gets deposited into a separate archive. That's how they're able to plan ahead for contingencies."

Sakura nods – though she isn't as well-versed in the technologies as he is, she is smart and quick to grasp the basics of what he's telling her. "Hence their claim that they know past, present and future. It's just as that man Midou said."

"Exactly. What they didn't count on was a few random entities going berserk in their programming. Like Ginji-san. Even though they have all the information on him, they still don't know him, what he's truly capable of." Makubex grins as he wipes his brow, still fixated on the transfer of information whirring past at dizzying speed. "It was a big surprise for Brain Trust when Ginji-san shorted out their system to free me, even if it was a temporary breach. Trium still has its backup power, and it only shut off one of the doors they use to access the flow. But it showed them that they weren't as invincible as they thought."

The timer beeps. Thirty seconds of his allotted period have elapsed. Makubex swivels from keyboard to keyboard, inputting data as needed and trying where possible to speed the flow, to collect as much information as he can before he's forced to retreat.

"Babylon's more nervous these days, Sakura. Ginji-san and his partner taught them that they aren't the gods they make themselves out to be. This 'clock' that I found, it's a limit on the amount of time they have to secure the information they need. For some reason it keeps resetting itself to zero and wiping out the memory banks that had already accumulated. When they opened the main gateway they couldn't force it back shut because the energies were so powerful. Lots of little gateways have been springing up all over since, but it's been virtually impossible for them to recover the information they were able to collect because the portals are constantly shifting. Even if they could track each one down, the gateways are just too numerous to navigate; sifting through them would probably take several lifetimes."

He pauses for a breath, working up saliva in his mouth to moisten his nerves-dry throat.

"That's why Mugenjou feels like it's coming apart at the seams lately. They've disrupted the natural flow of order in this world, and the Fortress's boundaries are dissolving elsewhere through these smaller dimensional doors. Things that shouldn't be showing up even in the virtual worlds seem to be increasing in frequency. Now they're trying to accelerate the process that will allow them to unlock the City's sealed gates so they can tap into this main portal's energy for its fullest power. Once they have that, they can stop the shifting of worlds and manipulate all space and matter the way they want. But first they need to gain control of the three keys. That's the only way those seals can be opened."

"No wonder Kagami was so willing to follow your orders," Sakura says, laying aside her craftwork to inch closer to him so she can watch what's taking place onscreen. "He knew of the keys' locations. He had to, in order to have collected their data to report to the Trust."

"That, and he was giving them my information at the same time," Makubex responds sourly. "All the better to get in my way once the time came for him to switch loyalties."

"One minute," Sakura says, a twinge of alarm in her soft voice as she notes the timer. "I thought that Akabane Kuroudo wasn't one of those keys, though."

"He isn't - not one of the principals for the Babylon Gate, anyway." Makubex falls silent for a few seconds as he facilitates another passage for more data as he frantically mines the Archive in the remaining moments. "Doctor Jackal is something else. I'm not sure what his purpose is yet. Remember how Masaki told us there were other random variables, other catalysts scattered in the system? That's why I'm hacking into the Archive. They have information I haven't been able to find anywhere else, and it might tell us more about how to defeat the Brain Trust once and for all. One thing I do know is that Jackal's important enough for them to want to keep a close eye on him."

"We know he's important to the Get Backers. And he has ties to Himiko-san as well. But there doesn't seem to be any link between him and Shido-san."

"Oh yes there is," Makubex says. "Shido-san hired Doctor Jackal to get involved with the blood feud between the tribal factions. In doing that, he inadvertently alerted the Black Thread users that destroyed Kazuki-san's family. Kazuki-san told me once that when he risked his life in the Beltline he'd come to a great door, shining with 'the light of heaven itself,' but beyond that he couldn't remember anything else that happened."

Sakura's frown deepens as she picks up on the puzzle. "Juubei told me that the Black Threads have some kind of connection with Babylon City. If they heard that Kazuki-san was coming – "

" – the Brain Trust was alerted as well," Makubex finishes. "It had to have been the City gates themselves that Kazuki-san was talking about. Whatever's behind those doors is important enough to keep under close guard. There's a seal on the doorway that prevents unauthorized people from crossing through – on either side. It's as if they want to keep the City in as much as they want to push strangers out."

"Thirty seconds."

"Almost done – "

"Makubex!"

"Just a few more seconds!" Makubex whirls from keyboard to keyboard snatching the information from its etherworld before being forced to concede his headway; with just seconds to spare he backs out of each network and closes up the trail he's made as he 'unplugs' the program that allowed him invisible access.

They both breathe huge sighs of relief and then Makubex springs up again from his slouched position, fist tight with triumph. "Yes! I did it! Sakura, send Grandpa Gen a message for me. Tell him I'll be sending him some important emails soon. I'm going to start sorting all this stuff in the meantime."

"Right away," Sakura promises. "Are you going to send him what you copied?"

"First I have to decode it," Makubex explains. "A lot of their files were encrypted. I can crack what I need to, but I might have to have Grandpa's help with some of it. The older data uses a code I'm not familiar with."

He grins at her and in the glow of computer screens his pale face is an eerie fluorescent shine. "How pissed off do you think Brain Trust will be once they figure out their own network's being systematically turned against them?"

"Makubex, that isn't funny," Sakura scolds, though there is a hint of affectionate pride in her tone, and in spite of herself she feels a twinge of excitement – the hope that their hard-won freedom will someday soon be extended to all of Mugenjou.

--

"Hey."

Akabane doesn't acknowledge Ban's greeting. He knows that the other man will come to him as surely as a hound scents blood. He waits silently, pulling the blanket around his shoulders a little more for further protection against the cold night air.

Ban is well aware of what drove his lover out on the balcony this late, even if he hasn't yet asked. It's the same thing that's been bothering them both lately, though Akabane isn't inclined to discuss it beyond simple explanation. Ban understands even if he doesn't much care for the reticence: to admit one's secrets is to confess a kind of vulnerability that threatens to bring hostile recourse, in the hunter-prey dynamic that they're intimate with.

Even so, that doesn't stop him from attempting to seek information. "Can't sleep again, huh?"

Akabane shrugs.

"Another dream?" Ban comes over to the bench the other man is sitting on and plops beside him. He grabs for the blanket. "Gimme some before I freeze."

Akabane relents and unfolds one arm from his body, allowing Ban to squirm closer to him. They wrap the blanket snugly around themselves and sit for a few minutes before Akabane deigns to speak.

"Always it is the same: it is me and yet not me, a figure I recognize as my own but with someone else inside. The dreamscapes vary – to date I have seen deserts, forests, cities and palaces. But always…that sense of watching myself in scenes of lives I cannot remember having lived…though a part of me senses that there is something more to them, that these are actual memories from the mists of time…"

He falls quiet for a moment, and then adds, "Why that is, I know not. I have never, so far as I am aware, expressed any desire to visit the desert, of all places."

"It would bore you," Ban agrees noncommittally. "Hardly anything grows out there, and I doubt you'd find much by way of suitable opponents. Scorpions would rather hide than stick around for a fight."

"Then why do I feel as though there's something out there that calls to me?" the other man asks softly.

Ban starts to reach for his cigarettes and lighter before realizing that they're back on the bedroom's nightstand. He makes a grunt of annoyance and settles for tucking his arms around Akabane. "The ancients believed that dreams were messages from the gods. Omens of either ill or good repute. Modern psychology has it that a dream is really just a regurgitated scrambling of different stuff from your subconscious. So maybe if you keep dreaming about particular places or things, your mind is trying to tell you something important."

Akabane peers over his shoulder. "Oh?"

"Or it could just be the result of too many late-night snacks. Don't mind me, I'm just talking out of my ass," Ban snorts.

"You're the dream-master," Akabane points out. "You of all people ought to know plenty about the science."

"Pseudoscience," Ban corrects. "There's trances that are actually related to my kin's craft, and there's dreaming that's nothing but synapse-and-neuron vomit. It's something you have to learn to take with a grain of salt."

"So which type is your Jagan?"

Dazzling blue eyes blink, and Akabane suddenly finds himself sitting in a field of pink flowers and sprouting pizza in the middle of the Honky Tonk with tare-Ginjis grazing all around him. A minute later, it ends, and he's back to staring in surprise at Ban.

"Both," Ban says with a grin.

"Midou-kun!" Akabane swats him, but he can't find it in himself to be truly annoyed. "I was being serious."

"So was I."

In the semi-darkness of the moonlit night, it's hard to see Ban's expression clearly, and Akabane can't tell whether this is true or not. He sighs, a whisper carrying more affection than exasperation. "I never know what to make of you sometimes, Ban-kun."

Ban reaches up and tousles his hair. "Feeling's mutual, Kuroudo-liebe."

They sit in silence for a while, content with nothing more than each other's oddly comforting presence. Eventually Ban speaks, gesturing at the sky. "Want to see the serpent constellation?"

"Where?"

Ban points out the northern star as orientation, then traces a winding path above with his finger. "One of the original 48 constellations listed by Ptolemy. Serpens – or actually, Serpens Caput," he explains, finger outlining the head of the snake in the western half of the sky, "and Serpens Cauda – " his finger travels the length of the body to the tail in the east. "Between them you have the legendary Aesclepius. Grandma told me all these fucked-up fairy tales about it. How disobedient children would find themselves swallowed up by the stars' fangs if they didn't straighten out. The kind of thing that probably would've landed her in hot water with child protection agencies, you know."

He pauses, then reluctantly concedes, "Although there was this brief period when I was about six or seven and I had to take a flashlight with me every time I went to the damn bathroom at night. The old hag had told me Aesclepius could travel through the plumbing."

"Oh dear." Akabane shares a little chuckle with Ban. He looks up and smiles thoughtfully. "I can't imagine you ever being afraid of anything."

Ban doesn't smile back. "Everyone's afraid of something. Some of us are just better at hiding it than others."

"I see." Akabane lowers his gaze. "If I may ask, what is it that you fear, Midou-kun?"

"Besides the obvious factors, you mean?"

"Yes."

It's Ban's turn to sigh, and he does so heavily. The moonlight catches his eyes in a shimmer of silver-blue, mesmerizing Akabane.

"Forgetting," his lover answers after a stretch of time.

Akabane tilts his head curiously, waiting for details. Ban grasps his hand under the blanket, squeezing gently. Reassurance that this is real - that they are real – in a surreal dreamscape.

"I didn't realize it till after Ginji told me about Fuyuki when we first met him. He said the guy always kept himself to himself, even when he was in the Volts gang. 'Lone wolf' fits him perfectly even without the metamorphosis. Ginji said that was why the Beastmaster fought as if he had nothing to lose – because he didn't." Ban stares up at the sky. "He'd already lost everything when his clan was wiped out in the big feud between the Maryuudos and the Kiryuudos."

"That was what Semimaru said," Akabane says softly. "The Kiryuudo clan believed that a Maryuudo ancestor had stolen the heritage that the tribes were to have shared. It sparked off a bitter rivalry for centuries."

Ban nods. "Witches have always been hated, Akabane. Always. Doesn't matter what kind they are or where they come from. The acts of a few bad ones stained the memories of the majority, and every witch since that time has been persecuted for it."

"People fear what they do not understand," Akabane says, his voice even quieter now.

"And what they fear, they hate, and what they hate, they try to destroy," Ban says, an almost knifelike edge creeping into his tone. "But that isn't what scares me. Ignorance comes in many forms, but the core of it stays the same. I can deal with that." He shivers involuntarily, and clutches the blanket. "That's why the witches of old copied down their histories in hidden texts, and passed this knowledge on to the fledglings through stories. They knew that the mobs could never exterminate every single one of them. Sure, they'd bust hell wide open trying, but it's a big world out there. Somehow the survivors escaped. But without that knowledge, those lessons, what would they be? Nothing. Nobodies."

"Forgotten," Akabane murmurs.

"My father's dead. My mother didn't want me. Grandmother's gone to ground. Maria…she meant well, I know that now, but…it was just too hard, starting over again with someone new. For all I knew it would've ended up as another disaster if I'd stuck around." Ban looks up at the sky again, and this time he's blinking, slow, controlled movements. "It's a miracle Yamato and Himiko even got through to me when they did. When that went bad…" He coughs roughly, reaches for his cigarettes again and remembers: they're inside. "Dammit."

He pauses before continuing. "I know what drives Himiko. And the computer kid, too. A sense of self is probably one of the first things human beings come to understand, and it's arguably the most important. Lose that identity, and what have you got? Are you just something meaningless taking up more space, or are you still someone, still alive?"

"Yes," Akabane says, unable to help the tremble of emotion in his voice. "That's exactly what it feels – " He bites his lip. "What it feels like for me," he finishes in a whisper, daring to meet Ban's eyes.

"Me too," his lover answers quietly.

By unspoken agreement, they huddle closer together, both of them now seeking strength from each other. Akabane is keenly aware of their kinship, and an increasingly familiar and not altogether unwelcome wave of emotion washes over him. He wants to hold Ban close, tightly, and protect him from other, less merciful, hunters of the night. He wants to share that heart-pounding thrill of the chase, the hunt, the capture and bonding if not the kill, and this is the one person who understands that more than anyone else he's ever met.

Ban speaks again. "I don't care if people remember me as some cheapskate asshole with a sea-urchin hairstyle. I don't even care if they remember me at all. What wakes me up in the middle of the night is the possibility that one day I won't remember any of them, good or bad."

Confused, Akabane lifts a hand to stroke Ban's nape. "Why wouldn't you remember?"

Ban looks away. All he says is, "There's a price to be paid for screwing with other people's heads. Sometimes I wonder just how far I can push my luck before it hits back."

Akabane's brows squiggle together in a small furrow before smoothing out. "The solution to that problem is easy, Midou-kun."

"Oh?"

"Keep up your one-hundred-percent success rate of not being defeated."

Ban laughs. "It's a little more complicated than that, Jackal."

Akabane passes his fingers through the back of Ban's hair in repeated caresses. "It can't be any more complicated than my situation," he offers.

Ban's eyebrow lifts in silent request. Akabane obliges.

"The people of Mugenjou look upon Babylon Tower as an unreachable zenith. To them it appears as a modern-day Olympus, and the people up there are the gods who cast down fickle fortunes at apparent whim." He moistens his lips. "But one person's heaven can be another's hell."

"Wasn't exciting enough up there for you, huh?"

Akabane does not respond to Ban's wisecrack with like-minded humor. Unsmiling, he says, "Demons were once said to be angels too."

He starts to get up, to go back inside the apartment where it's warm, but is tugged back into his lover's embrace, Ban having sensed that he'd inadvertently ruffled Akabane's feathers. Akabane surrenders readily, lacking the desire to maintain an indefinite irritation. He leans against Ban and they sit for a while longer, watching the condensation from their breaths disappear into the endless universe's deceptive stillness.

How strange, this existence called life…

Akabane thinks. It used to be that he believed that because he claimed no one to whom he could turn to, no one to whom he had pledged allegiance, he was absolved of any responsibility concerning loyalties. Neutrality allows him the flexibility of freedom, to choose as he will, and remain free of all bindings in his pursuit of curiosity, of testing the limits of his unusual powers.

He thought that, because of this, his freedom would never become the kind of trap that his former environment was. He thought that because he professes loyalty only to himself and maintains a detached professional air above all, he could be neither a betrayer nor a betrayed.

Perhaps…he was wrong…

Akabane speaks once more. "Do you believe in fate, Ban-kun?"

"Maybe. Why?"

"Maybe it is fate that…we should part one day."

"What do you mean?"

"Brain Trust will not let any of us go so easily. You will have to choose." Akabane looks sorrowful as he says this, as if expecting Ban to suddenly decide that their relationship is over.

Ban scowls. "What the hell's that mean? What are you saying?"

Akabane lowers his gaze, blinking rapidly, and looks away to the horizon. It's a thought that has preyed upon his mind for some time now, and though he's loath to bring it up, it's a wound that needs lancing one way or another. He would not blame Ban for making this choice; even though he knows the outcome, he still desperately wants that hope. Midou-kun has made him feel truly alive for the first time in a long time, and Akabane has grown so addicted to this intriguing pleasure that he cannot imagine what hell it must be, to be forcibly denied this guiding light.

Ban's frown turns fierce. He takes his lover's face in hand and forces him to look up, into his eyes. "Akabane. Do you want me to go? Do you want to go?"

A black mass of hair whips around in a blur as the other man shakes his head. "No!"

"Then that's that," Ban declares with an air of finality.

Akabane looks at him, not quite daring to believe such truth. "But – "

Ban puts a finger to his lips. "No more talk of those idiots. We're gonna go to Europe, we're gonna have fun, and nobody is gonna interfere with that. 'Cause if they do, I'll Snakebite their asses so hard they'll be picking their balls out of their skulls."

Akabane utters a nervous laugh. "Midou-kun, how vulgar," he admonishes.

Ban is grinning, but his eyes aren't smiling. "I'm serious. We've fought too hard for what we have, and I'll be damned and dry-roasted on a spit if I'm going to let that be taken from us by a bunch of power-hungry jackoffs too chickenshit to even show their faces." His voice settles. "While we're on the subject, mind telling me what it is that you fear?"

Akabane doesn't need to think on that. His reply is immediate. "Death."

Ban's eye twitches. "You're shitting me, right?"

Akabane shakes his head again, his eyes somber, all traces of sly pretense vanishing in the wake of stark honesty. "There are many kinds of death, Midou-kun. The first death is only the easiest."

I would die without you, Midou Ban-kun. Of all the things I desire to glimpse at your hand, I beg of you never to show me such a nightmare.

"I want to give you something."

Akabane extends his hand and turns his palm up. The flesh underneath his scar ripples slightly, and then a glowing spire of blue thrusts its way up with the swiftness of lightning.

It's an impressive measure of how far they've come that Ban can watch these deadly scalpels emerge with such calm. Like everyone else, he used to flinch every time Akabane brought one out; now he just raises an eyebrow to ask what's going on.

Akabane smiles. He lays the blade flat against Ban's lips and kisses him, sealing the scalpel between their mouths. The chill of the trapped metal, so dangerous if its sharp edge should slip, adds a forbidden excitement to the kiss.

Akabane raises his head and looks into Ban's eyes. "Trust me?" he murmurs. Ban nods.

Pleased, Akabane lowers his gaze to Ban's left hand and cups it carefully in his own. He positions the scalpel directly over the center of Ban's palm and makes a shallow cut. As a wellspring of red rushes to the surface, Akabane tips the scalpel so it stands upright of its own volition, point side down, atop the wound.

Curious, Ban squints at it. The knife wobbles, and then suddenly he feels a stinging burn as it swiftly melts into his flesh like a sinking pat of dissolving butter.

"What – hey, woah!" He yelps and tries to pull it back, but the scalpel burrows into his bloodstream like some kind of tenacious termite. It's gone before he can get a grip on it, and incredibly, the wound seals itself as neatly as if it had never been there in the first place.

"What the shit was that?!" Ban growls at Akabane.

"A gift. For protection," Akabane says sweetly. "I wanted you to have it. It pleases me that you chose to accept."

"Not that I don't appreciate the sentiment, Jackal, but couldn't you have just bought me a CD or something instead?" Ban flexes his hand, staring at the unbroken skin. "It's not going to float around inside and lop off something vital when I'm not expecting it…will it?"

"No. It's harmless in its neutral form. It will only draw forth if you wish to summon it, and I can teach you how to do that." Akabane smiles at Ban and kisses his palm. "I would have liked to have given you a sword. A fine warrior deserves no less, hmm? But that's a little more difficult to manage, I'm afraid." He gives his lover a coy look. "This was the next best thing. You do like it, don't you?"

"It was nice of you to think of me," Ban says gruffly. "I think. It's just…I thought you were supposed to be the designated silverware drawer in this relationship."

Akabane laughs, a subtle merriment that is strangely contagious. "Lovers share, do they not? Am I not free to choose to bestow a token of my affections upon you?"

"You already did, twice," Ban reminds him. "More than that, if you count any bodily donations from Fudou. There was that shish-ke-bab with your sword in Mugenjou and the J in my shirt from the Venus trip."

"Well, they say you always hurt the ones you love…"

Ban cuffs him lightly on the head, and Akabane chuckles good-naturedly. Ban holds up both of his hands and looks at them. "Great. I got a snake in one arm and a knife in the other. What am I, a walking warehouse for supernatural rejects?"

"You still have your faithful Jackal keeping vigil at your side," Akabane ventures.

Ban can't help it. He shakes his head and smiles. "I always wanted a pet. Never thought it would turn out to be a Jackal." He laughs. "A Jackal. In my mind, in my home, my bed, but most of all…" He taps his left pectoral.

Akabane feels that rending of emotion again, this strange, frightening yet enjoyable flutter. He presses his face to Ban's with tender kisses.

"Make love to me," he says. "Build a fire to warm us both. I burn only for you, my beloved snake-charmer."

What kind of tomorrow shall we dream about tonight?

--

"Well. Now you know."

She looks up from the window. Outside, the night beckons with its perfect darkness, and below that, the stars twinkle in their finite landscape. It has been a most interesting conference.

Her companion clears his throat. "Hakase? What do you intend to do about the situation?"

She shifts the timepiece in her arms. In a voice as emotionless as air, she replies, "About what situation?"

The man sighs. "This cannot continue, Hakase. The project has had enough troubles as it is. When are we going to worry about what's left?"

She doesn't move from her place by the window. "And just what do you think we've been doing all this time?"

"I don't – "

She speaks slowly, carefully. "The balance must be redressed. Power unchecked is power that is both useless and dangerous. In doing things my way, we are harnessing that chaos to our will instead of permitting it control over us. That is as it should be. The other Trust members refuse to glimpse this, and that is why they have had the failures their efforts were met with. You of all people should know this by now."

He sighs again, heavier this time, the sound of frustration firmly leashed. "I don't deny that there are certain benefits to your methods. But the other members can't be put off for much longer. They know about the Witch Queen's heir. There's been one attempt already that we know of. It's only a matter of time before they succeed in cracking the seal."

She considers. "I do not believe they will find it so easy. Remember, the Guardian of the Crossroads stalks his shadow now. In order to get at him, they will have to go through the Guardian first."

"They've attempted to remove him from the equation as well."

At that she starts, covering the flash in her eyes before it can be seen as she turns around. "And?" she asks, still composed, still measured in her focus.

Her companion rubs at his stubbled chin. "I don't have all the details, but the Observer does. However, he's currently recovering in sickbay from some sort of accident, and isn't expected to emerge for a time."

She relaxes. "I see. They should know better, fools. The pair has bonded now. They will safeguard each other's welfare jealously until the awakening comes."

"And once that has taken place?"

Hakase – for that is what she is, the Specialist in her field – smiles. It is a colorless gesture devoid of any real humanity behind it. "It is for the will of fate to decide."

Her companion is stunned. "You honestly believe the Archive is to be trusted? After what's happened with the Lightning Emperor and – "

"I didn't say that." She approaches as if gliding on air, so light and smooth are her movements. She reaches out and touches the khaki sleeve of his coat. "You learned for yourself, did you not, Kurusu-san, what it means to choose a path upon the crossroads. The same principle applies here."

She withdraws to the window, turning her back upon him once more to study the seemingly eternal flickers of the empire below. "Rest assured that when the time calls we will act. Until then we are bound to the map drawn by the Archive. The puzzle is not yet complete. Do you understand?"

There is a long pause between her words and his answer. "I suppose in due course that enlightenment may reveal itself," Kurusu Masaki says reluctantly, wishing he could find the faith within himself to believe in such a strategy. Even with his former charge's inspiration, Masaki has seen too much to bring himself to trust freely in the same lighthearted manner as Ginji Amano.

She takes his words as acceptance. "Good. Now, bring me the one called Teshimine. I wish to discuss this with him also…"

--

Makubex takes a drink from the nearby bottle and wipes his brow. Sakura has long since retired to bed, after extracting a firm promise from him that he would shortly follow. His eyes are strained from reading, even with the special goggles he wears when spending long hours in front of the computer screens. He's confused.

The screen is full of garbled coding that he's never seen before.

None of his translation programs have been able to break it. No one he knows presently can decipher it. Still, all is not lost. Makubex sifts through his databases for tricks he can use, applications he can engage that might offer a glimpse into the murky waters he's waded into.

Finally, an internet search turns up a translation program that appears promising. Using software downloaded from Grandfather Gen, Makubex integrates the two programs to utilize their capabilities to the fullest.

It's painstaking work that takes him well into the morning to sort, but his persistence eventually pays off. The coding is a variation on a form of ancient writing; luckily modern methods have enabled scholars to translate the original into an identifiable language. Makubex picks his way through the minefield until he has a coherent document of sorts. It's only several sentences' worth, but it's a start.

He yawns, only now realizing how tired he is. Curiosity calls, but Makubex knows he'd better call it a night – or day, now – and get in some sleep before Sakura wakes to scold him for having stayed up all night. He gives the document on his main screen one last look before powering down the computers:

THE CURSE OF THIRTY FATES

HEREFORTH TO BE KNOWN AS THE TALE OF THE SERPENT AND THE JACKAL

--

The spires loom as an endless needle piercing the heart of the blue skies above. Akabane gives the topmost tiers of Mugenjou little heed – he's seen them many times before, and doubtless will again in the future; thus they are of little interest to him. What is of interest is the job he's been hired for – and by the new boy king, no less.

He hums the first few bars of his favorite song quietly as he strolls along the corridors until he reaches the inner core of Makubex's sanctum, where he is greeted by Sakura and escorted inside. She tells him that Makubex wishes to meet in one of the adjacent rooms where the virtual reality enactments take place. This is unusual for most who obtain an audience with the born-again-Volts leader, but Akabane isn't entirely surprised. After all, his last meeting with the boy took place in just such an environment.

Sakura leads him to the VR room and exits. Akabane waits.

Makubex is prompt. The immediate area in front of Akabane seems to shimmer and warp like the flickers of a mirage, and a pair of stained-glass doors like those one might see in a church materialize. Makubex has taken to using these entrances as his hallmark, knowing that his allies will recognize them for what they are. Akabane reaches for the handle of one door, pulls it open, and goes inside.

White light envelops him and he has to tug the brim of his hat down to shield his face, but the blindness doesn't last past a few seconds and then he can see once more. When he looks up, Akabane receives quite the startling view.

The temple's chamber is dimly-lit, but the torches flickering on either side of the passage provide plenty of light to see the dais leading up to the great altar ahead, over which an enormous pair of outstretched wings holds court. Huge statues of beast-headed humanoid forms flank the quietly-bubbling pool which takes up center stage. Filtered sunlight trickles in from the vent shafts high above, but the light disappears into darkness before it can ever touch the walls. Ageless stories of time immemorial decorate the stones but offer no clues as to the mysteries within. Wisps of strange scents – spices, incenses – breathe curious hints in the back of Akabane's memory, but for the life of him he can't immediately place them.

He doesn't like this place.

"I tried to be creative. The ancients had a gift for architecture, so I based it as closely as I could on descriptions from the old texts," Makubex says, coming around from behind one of the statues.

"An impressive job, for a VR," Akabane says. "What is this place?"

"I was hoping you could tell me." Makubex eyes him carefully. "You've been here before…haven't you." He purposely makes his observation a statement.

Akabane frowns. "I'm afraid you must be mistaken. I've never been to any such place."

Makubex clearly doesn't believe him, but the boy is polite enough not to comment on it. He comes closer to Akabane. "I have a request, Doctor Jackal. I have something I want you to transport for me."

"What?"

Makubex reaches into a pocket of his pullover. He takes out a data disc, gleaming in its protective case, and hands this to Akabane.

Akabane glances at the unlabeled disc briefly and slips it into the breast pocket of his coat. "Who is the intended recipient?"

"I'm looking at him."

Akabane is startled enough by this to look up sharply. He manages to school his surprise in time and regards Makubex with a cool stare. "You went to the trouble of hiring me to collect a data disc that you intended to give to me regardless? You are a strange one. You could have simply asked me to come and pick it up. Or passed it along to someone else to give to me…"

"I couldn't risk it falling into the wrong hands," Makubex says. "That's partly why we're in the VR. I've scrambled the signals in this location to give us some privacy." He pauses, and then adds, "You helped me with my thesis once. It's time for me to repay the favor."

Akabane frowns harder. He feels the first inklings of a bad situation brewing, and though he doesn't understand why, he trusts his intuition. His hand unconsciously presses against the spot in his coat where the data disc rests. "I don't understand."

The boy king isn't smiling either; his seriousness fits one of his youth far more than it ought to. "You will, when you look at that disc."

"I see." Akabane draws the length of his coat around himself and prepares to leave. "Thank you, Makubex-kun," he says quietly.

"You're welcome. Akabane-san?"

"Yes?"

"May I ask you one more thing?"

Akabane turns around again. "What?"

Makubex licks his lips, looking apprehensive now. He speaks – but Akabane doesn't hear it, or thinks he doesn't.

He raises a brow at the boy. "I'm sorry, what was that again?"

Makubex's lips part – and again, nothing comes out that Akabane can remember hearing.

"Makubex-kun, did you have something more you wish to tell me? If not, I will take my leave now."

The boy shrugs and looks away, but not before Akabane catches the paling of his face. "I just wanted to wish you luck," he says awkwardly.

Something isn't right here. Unease grows inside Akabane. He's careful not to let it show – much. "Thank you."

He casts one last look at the chamber. The torches' flames flare and swirl in uniform measure; aside from that, and Makubex's presence, all else is still. Deathly still. The silence reminds Akabane of a violent thunderstorm about to burst, and in spite of the steel in his spine he feels his instincts urging him to flee for his very life.

One of the statuaries catches his attention and Akabane can't help but be drawn towards it, moving as if in a dreamlike trance as he approaches its granite base. The Jackal stands straight, tall, and dispassionate to all pleas as he casts his eternal gaze upon this realm. Akabane is reminded of a similar scenario, a long time ago, when he once stood beneath the scope of this same god genuflecting in a different place, drenched in a spray of blood that had been his first true kill as a transporter.

What might once have been a pleasant memory is curiously now bland, devoid of any emotion coloring it, and in light of Makubex's revelations appears to signal an omen of ominous portent. The Guardian of the Crossroads offers no immediate insight into the situation, however, and Akabane is left with only his whispering restlessness.

Makubex cautiously creeps up from behind him. "Is something wrong, Akabane-san?" he ventures.

"Anpu." The name rolls from his tongue as easily as beaded rainwater, which concerns Akabane even more, though he knows it shouldn't; he knows this culture, knows the patrons' names from history, for it is no coincidence that he took upon the mantle of this one as his professional alias. Even so, the way the syllables shape and flex as they give audible form to the power bespeak of a disturbing familiarity that Akabane knows he ought not to have, no matter how intimate he is with this god's territory.

Makubex rightly senses that he's stirred up a hornet's nest, and keeps a respectful distance from both Akabane and the statue. "You…recognize some of it?"

"Why did you choose this incarnation?" Akabane asks.

The boy looks from the pointed snout's frozen watch to him. "I didn't," Makubex replies softly. "You did."

Akabane jerks his head around so fast the muscles in his neck cry out in pain. He stares rigidly at Makubex, his lips parted on the verge of spitting out an angry demand…but restrains himself. Whatever is going on here, it isn't the boy's fault. Makubex looks just as bewildered as Akabane feels.

"I see. Thank you," he says, after several minutes' silence, having composed himself into calm professionalism once more. Akabane keeps his pace slow, controlled, as he walks toward the VR exit. He resists the urge to look back, knowing that the boy – and the Watcher – have him in their sights.

A gentleman walks, but never runs…not even when he feels on the back of his neck the taint of brimstone from the very hounds of Hell itself.

--

At home, Akabane pauses to shed his coat and hat by the front door, and collect the day's mail and sort through it. Bills, junk advertisements, a letter for Ban and some information on an art company that Akabane had requested some time ago from Clayman. He files the important things in the appropriate baskets on the counter for later investigation and discards the trash. He stoops to offer each chirping feline a welcoming caress, then rises and goes to pour himself a drink of water.

Curiosity is gnawing at the marrow of his bones, but Akabane forces it back behind the gates of containment. He is both anticipating and dreading the revelation of the data disc's contents. A taunting cowardice sneers that delaying the inevitable can't continue indefinitely, but Akabane pretends he doesn't hear that voice, that he's simply going about business as usual.

When it quickly becomes clear that no more stalling tactics are to be had Akabane returns to his coat and withdraws the data disc. He takes it into the room designated as their office, where he and Ban keep their important papers and computer equipment. Akabane's own laptop sits on the desk, and he opens it and boots it into readiness. When the screen displays its setup he inserts the disc and instructs the drive to open it.

The information therein is not a terribly large file, it being mostly comprised of word documents. Akabane selects one from the folder titled Notes and opens it to read. He recognizes Makubex's writing almost immediately.

The following information was obtained without notice and without authorization. Please proceed in strictest confidence. Higher powers are interested as well. All questions should be directed to an outside liaison without apparent connections, as this channel is no longer secured and cannot be guaranteed.

All documents have been transcribed as closest to their original forms as possible. Please be aware that any gaps or errors in description may exist and are unintentional, and solely the responsibility of the transcriptionist. Effort has been made to ensure that this information conforms to the accuracy of its original record; when possible, compensations have been suggested as similar alternatives and are noted as such to avoid confusion.

Be advised that although present evidence cannot confirm it, sources strongly suggest that the Observer may have access to this documentation in addition to other parties. Extreme caution and discretion are recommended pending any further investigation.

Akabane scowls at that last mention. As if things weren't thorny enough. He sets aside the thought of that aggravating spy and shifts his attention to the next document in line. His eyes widen when he sees how Makubex labeled it: Voodoo Blood Cross. Akabane unconsciously folds the fingers of his left hand together as he enters into this file.

Upon first glance it had seemed interesting, but several paragraphs into it and Akabane feels as though he's reading a dry history book. Old stuff, nothing new to see here. Mentions of spirits and ceremonial procedures quickly make his mind glaze over, and he decides to explore this part later. It must have some significance if Makubex had decided to attach it.

He closes it, ignoring the cat that's jumped upon the nearby filing cabinet to watch, and looks at another document.

This one is more fascinating, but quite the unusual offering. It reads exactly like a summary on the back of a romance novel's cover, for that's what it is – an ancient tale of two star-crossed lovers torn apart and periodically reunited throughout history in order to complete their fated journey. As he scans the text Akabane can't help but be reminded of his own mate, and a smile warms his face. He puts his fingers to his lips in a kiss, and gently presses those fingers to the cocky grin on the face of the man next to Akabane in the framed photograph kept on the desk.

As if summoned by thought, his phone beeps, signaling an incoming text message, and Akabane picks it up and flips open the casing. JOB DONE, SCORE! WE FEAST TONIGHT. SEE YOU THEN. KISSES FROM YOUR FAVORITE RETRIEVAL AGENT.

Akabane chuckles and texts back. CONGRATS. AT HOME NOW WITH PAPERWORK. TAKE-OUT OK? HI TO GINJI-KUN. KISSES FROM YOUR FAVORITE TRANSPORT AGENT.

He lays the phone aside and closes the love story to look at the last document. His smile freezes when he sees its label, which glares at him in bolded type no different than its cousins, yet somehow far more threatening. He never thought he would encounter that name again. Dread fills Akabane like water in a drowning man's lungs, and he reluctantly clicks on the file named Lazarus.

His face curdles like a thundercloud the more he reads. "No," he says out loud, not caring about the disbelief that colors his voice. "No, no, no, no. It's not possible." The text mocks him silently from onscreen, its stark black and white simplicity the perfect rebuttal to his stunned denial. Akabane feels a dark wave rising in his throat. He looks away from the screen to pull his unnerved thoughts together. There is a simple enough way to find out the truth for sure.

He closes the document, then the folder, and ejects the data disc from the drive. After replacing it in its case and putting it into one of the drawers, he calls up a program on his computer and connects to the internet. He systematically proceeds through a series of channels until the site he's looking for finally appears. Akabane types in his password and waits impatiently for the server to permit him access.

Ban would not be happy right now if he knew what he was doing.

The server logs him in with a message. WELCOME DR. AKABANE. PROF. M. REQUESTS MEETING WITH YOU AT EARLIEST CONVENIENCE. SEE INBOX FOR FURTHER DETAILS. Akabane ignores this and types in a command prompt.

REQUEST PROGRAM INITIATIVE #117435-89

KEY: LAZARUS

REQUEST CURRENT STATUS

He taps his fingers against the keyboard while he waits for the search to produce results. It isn't long before the network returns with an unwelcome answer.

RE: LAZARUS OPERATIVE FILE

ASSIGNED TO: RESEARCH & DEVELOPMENT

KEYS: HUMAN BLOODBORNE PATHOGENS, HUMAN REGENERATIVE PROCESSES

SEE ALSO: VOODOO CHILDREN INITIATIVE #117827-90, NOTATION #63-A

STATUS: ACTIVE

IS THIS THE FILE YOU REQUESTED? the network asks, and Akabane types YES, and when the prompt screen opens a new window, he adds, REQUEST DATE OF LAST RECORD.

This time the computer presents its answer without hesitation. Yesterday. The records were updated as recently as yesterday afternoon, according to the timestamp. Far from being retired, Lazarus is very much the active program. They've been monitoring it.

Akabane spits out an expletive, the explosive consonants behind it startling Medusa into a tail-lashing leap. He quickly glances at her and says, "My apologies. Don't you repeat that in front of Midou-kun. It's not polite." Still seething, he turns back to the laptop and files an inquiry into the program. He wants to see what's been added and just who is accessing it.

The screen snaps back with ACCESS LOCKED PENDING AUTHORIZATION PER APPROVED SIGNATURE at him. Akabane enters his name and user code into the little password prompt below the offending message and hits send.

Invalid entry, he's told. They must have removed him from the project's list after the cataclysm, believing he'd have no future interest in it and therefore no reason to want to continue his work in that branch. In spite of his earlier admonition to the cat, Akabane lets loose with another profanity, and another. He needs to speak with the Professor and find out what the hell is going on.

He tries several more user access prompts, but every one is rejected. Finally admitting defeat, he logs out of the network and abruptly stands, shoving the chair backwards hard enough to topple it over.

To say that he is most displeased would be the understatement of the year.

Akabane hugs himself tightly. He closes his eyes. Deep breaths. Deep. Slow. Calm. Calm. Calm. With some effort, he succeeds in slamming a lid on the virulent emotions surging like a wildfire in his heart. Blood pounds in his temple and he presses a hand to his forehead, willing the tempest to subside. He lowers his hand, still breathing slowly, those pesky emotions leashed now.

Akabane opens his eyes, his face composed into perfect blankness. He looks at the window, seeing only a vague impression of his form. He is pleased to see that this image remains calm and quiet and in control, the very model of respectability that a professional would aspire to.

The man in the mirror, however, lies. When Akabane breaks the stare, the glass misses most of what the laptop's screen's final moments capture, and Medusa the cat has only the warning of her human's exposed fangs as he whirls around and slams his scalpel-studded fist through it in a shower of sparks, blood and hissing electronics.

--

"It's Makubex," Ginji says to Ban after giving his phone a puzzled glance. "He wants to talk to you. He sounds worried."

"Huh?" Ban balances the steering wheel in his hand and takes the phone from Ginji. "Computer boy? What's going on?"

"Midou-san, I'm sorry to bother you, but how soon can you get to Mugenjou?"

Ban frowns at the urgency in the kid's voice. "We can be there in fifteen. What's wrong?" he asks sharply.

"I'd rather not say over the phone," Makubex says. "I have to show you something. Is Akabane-san with you?"

"No, he's at the apartment – "

"Good. Please don't tell him about this, Midou-san. I…I don't know what he'd do if he knew. I've been looking up some information on the Vodun curse you once mentioned, and the things I found scared the crap out of me."

Ban feels his blood go cold at the mention of that sorcery. "You should be scared," he says, keeping his voice level. "Magic is no realm for amateurs. What's this got to do with me and Akabane?"

"You'll see."

"All right, calm down," Ban says after hearing the wobble on the tail end of the kid's tone. "Ginji and I will be there shortly."

--

Ren Radou starts when she hears Grandfather curse under his breath in the other room. Gensui Radou is a calm, stalwart man, not prone to fits of temper or outbursts. For something to elicit such a reaction can't bode well for the future. Ren shivers a little. The last time her grandfather experienced this kind of unease was during the time of Makubex's iron rule.

Makubex. Not such a bad guy, she's decided, after having gotten to know him a little better. They've compared VRs a number of times, traded some tips and discussed various theories. They're both very interested in two things – breaking the stranglehold the upper levels of Mugenjou have exerted, and tracing the roots of their questionable heritage as cursed children of the virtual world. Makubex seems to think it's possible to transfer their data into real flesh and blood forms.

Ren has her doubts, not the least of those including her own miserable experiences with the invisible borders that surround the limitless fortress on all sides. Ever since Kazuki of the Strings showed her what lay beyond the restrictions of the little medicine shop, she's tried – and failed – many times to sneak past the force field, to see how far she can push her boundaries before that black hole swallows her bytes up to be forever lost, completely irretrievable from all ether.

Still, as the Knight Toshiki pointed out, everyone needs to follow their own path in some way or another, if only because each person is struggling to discover the meaning of their own existence. Makubex is a gifted strategist; if he believes there is a way to transform virtual into reality, there must be something more to his calculations than wishful dreaming.

Ren sets these thoughts aside for the moment as she pushes away the medicine she was bottling and enters the workstation to see what's agitated Grandfather. She wonders if it's the same thing as before. She knows he was once a part of something very secret, something so forbidden that simply asking about it sends him into stony silence. "It is foolish to question the inevitable," he'd said with a surprising and fearful rumble of anger when she'd once raised the subject. "Let it go, and do not test this with me, child." And he'd turned back to his desk and refused to say another word for the rest of that night.

The elder is not at his computer when she arrives inside the room, though he can't be far away. She hears the rattling of clutter from somewhere in one of the back storerooms and decides this is as good a chance as any. Ren reaches for the scroll button on the computer and quickly browses the screen's contents.

Why would mythology upset her grandfather so? As far as she can tell, the data displays nothing more innocuous than the tale of fallen seraphim who dared the wrath of a God by falling in love from opposite sides. She reads on, curious to learn anything of value, but she can't understand why such a story should be so important to Grandfather.

Growing footsteps remind her that she's risking a lot. Quickly, Ren drags the screen back to the starting point where she found it and darts from the room. Outside the door, she peers through the crack by the hinges and watches as the older man returns to his seat. He's carrying a bottle that's half-empty, and he takes a firm drink from it before setting it on the table nearby.

Ren's eyes widen. She can count on one hand the number of times she's seen him imbibe alcohol in response to a stressful situation. Even then, the elder Radou's preferred beverages of choice are light sake or wine, because a proof too strong will aggravate his ulcer. What's in the bottle looks suspiciously like whiskey or cognac, both of which she's pretty sure pack a significant punch to the gut.

Worried, she stands in place for several minutes, not knowing what to do. Talking to Grandfather is out of the question. He'll either placate her with meaningless words or angrily shoo her away. She can't contact Makubex and ask him, because his information remains known to only a few people, none of whom happen to be her. Security precautions, she was told when she asked Grandfather.

Ren thinks some more. There is a roundabout way she can find out. She goes to her room and takes her radio out of its charger. Knight Toshiki had presented it as a gift to her recently so that she could keep in sporadic contact with him and Kazuki – due to the constantly shifting magnetic waves secreted by Mugenjou, cell phones tend to have an inconvenient habit of cutting out. Radios don't seem to be as affected, perhaps because they operate on their own signals instead of relying on a network carrier.

She dials the frequency, and waits for a response. If anyone should know, or be able to find out what might be going on, it will be Kazuki. Not for nothing is he known as the Threadmaster, when so many of his fingers can skillfully tap the unending strings of information embroidered throughout this world…and the other.

--

All it takes is a clipping of security wires, and the cameras that would have recorded his unauthorized entry and the alarms that would have announced it are rendered useless. Akabane slips inside the building as noiselessly as any ghost and locates the visitor's map directing him to the exhibit he's most interested in. They've changed the layout since last he was here, no doubt to try and purge the public's memory of the infamous discovery all those years ago. In time, remodeling has done for newer generations what no amount of cleanup could for those who remembered, and the museum has managed to attract steady patron revenues in spite of its notoriety in modern local history.

Anxiety aside, a part of him takes careful note of the renovations. Gouzou Maguruma will find his report interesting later on. As well he should. Akabane saved his life here that night.

The Egyptian wing has been reset, the artifacts rearranged into a visually pleasing display. Surprisingly, they haven't removed the statuary. Amazing, what a good chemical bath can do. None of the stains are remotely visible.

Akabane goes directly to the largest of these and pauses before it. A part of him expects to feel something, a little tremor of recognition, or perhaps reticence, but nothing comes. Finding himself unsure of the proper conduct to take, he reverts to uttering a soft prayer from his youth, impulsively making the sign of the Christian cross as if in genuflection at an altar.

One could take it as such, considering that this place was his baptism in first blood. He pictures the statue as it was then, form splattered with the ooze of a fresh fight, its offerings lying in crumpled disassembly with their eternal gazes fixed upon their underworld guide. He goes by many names and has many forms, but in this pantheon he is known as Anubis-Anpu, the Watcher of the Night, He who ferries the dead to their final accounting before the Lord of the Great Halls, Asar-Osiris.

Akabane remembers suddenly looking up after cutting down the last enemy, and receiving the distinct impression that the god had been judging him, taking a measured satisfaction from the sacrifice.

Such tithing, however, exacts a price of its own. In stepping into the crossroads and accepting this mantle of escort conferred upon him by Anpu, Akabane has also tacitly agreed that his own life is forfeit, subject to heavier weighing when at last it becomes his turn to cross over and stand before those scales. The prospect neither pleases nor displeases him. It's all a part of the covenant, after all, and a true professional honors what bargains he makes – especially when those contracts are written in blood.

Akabane comes closer. The statue is more than twice his height, being carved from stone as ancient as the sands from whence it was fashioned. The granite is rough, pitted, its skin having weathered the passage of time with remarkable strength. Anpu's face was not quite as fortunate, a part at the end of his snout having chipped off so that it appears as if the god is exposing a bemused smile, or perhaps a fanged snarl.

Akabane likes to think that it is both – a gentlemanly acknowledgement of kindred…and a warning to those who would tread foolishly upon the crossroads of the Guardian.

"I suppose it would be a rather presumptuous request at this hour," he says aloud, gazing up at the inscrutable patron, "but, perchance, might you be kind enough to spare a bit of shelter for a weary traveler?"

Anpu says nothing. He doesn't need to. With him, what's often more important is what is not said rather than what is. Akabane bows his head, deferring to the unspoken answer, and takes refuge at the base of the figure as he rests his forehead on his folded arms and ponders his dilemma.

He doesn't remember dozing off. But he must have. Perhaps he's just so lost in thought that he barely notices how much time passes, and when a shadow off to the side eventually stirs and approaches him, Akabane resigns himself to the inevitable discovery.

"Had a feeling I'd find you here," Ban says in a neutral tone. "Nice touch, knocking out those guards with Himiko's sleep scent. How'd you get her to share?"

Akabane doesn't look up at him. "I asked her."

The scowl is evident in Ban's voice. "How come she'll grant you favors but not me?"

"I asked her nicely," Akabane replies, without a trace of scorn.

They fall into silence, until Ban stoops on bended knee in front of him. "I get worried, you know, when I come home and you're not there like you say you'll be," he says quietly. "I think we need – "

" – to talk," Akabane finishes, before he realizes that his lover also has something of importance to share. He looks up from beneath the brim of his hat, trying to keep his surprise hidden. "You first," he says.

"You had anything to eat yet?" Ban asks.

Akabane shakes his head.

"We'll go downtown."

"Not there," Akabane says quietly. "In private. Please?"

After a moment, Ban nods. "We can get something to go." He looks closer at Akabane and gestures at his hand. The padding of bandages beneath the glove is obvious, even in the dim glow of nightlights on the walls. "That have anything to do with the dead laptop I found in the trash?"

Akabane slowly peels off the glove and unwraps the bandaging. The inside layers are caked with dried scabs of brownish blood. He flexes his hand, the skin marred now only by its starburst scar in the center. Out of habit, he extends his scalpels, fingers curling over slightly in battle reflex, but makes no move to deploy his weapons. He wills them into retreat, and starts a little when Ban gently takes hold of his hand.

"Too bad you can't kill spam that way. I bet computer kid would read you the riot act for wasting a perfectly good machine," the other man says with a hint of wry amusement.

The corners of Akabane's lips twitch, but he resists the smile. Willing his eyes to meet Ban's, he says softly, "Makubex-kun is the reason for that destroyed laptop."

Something flickers in Ban's eyes, but he makes no comment. He squeezes Akabane's bare hand before letting go and standing up. "We'll talk about it over a bowl of Paul's best. Nobody can think on an empty stomach, least of all me."

--

Not for nothing has Paul Wan acquired his reputation as the perfect confidante. Shopkeepers, much like their bartending brethren, have a talent for coaxing forth even the most stubborn of closed mouths, and then quietly absorbing everything into percolation until such time as information becomes needed. When he sees a subdued Ban and Akabane enter his establishment this late, he silently puts on a fresh pot of coffee and goes into the kitchen to heat up the stove. The tab will just have to wait.

Ban plops on the nearest stool and places their order once Paul returns, while Akabane withdraws his pocketbook from his coat and proffers the required payment. Paul accepts it without his customary wisecrack about Ban's stinginess and tells them their meals will be ready shortly, then, tacking on as an offhanded note, "I have some work to do in the basement. If you two want to stick around it's fine. Just let me know when you leave so I can lock up." He goes to the front door and turns the "open" sign around, now denoting that the Honky Tonk is officially closed for the evening.

Ban waits until the food has been served and Paul has disappeared to the lower storeroom levels before opening up the conversation. He takes an impossibly huge bite of his sandwich and says simultaneously, "I malked mif Makumex tonight. Kid had some innerefting mings to say."

Akabane tenses, his back stiffening. He sips his spoonful of soup carefully before answering. "What did he tell you?"

Ban swallows his chunk of food. "How far back do you and Babylon City go, Akabane?"

A peculiar numbness takes over Akabane's insides. He feels quite like the proverbial deer trapped in the blinding glare of an oncoming car's headlights. "Far enough," he says in measured tones.

Ban doesn't seem terribly surprised. "I figured as much," he says evenly. "Did you know they were using Doctor Jackal as one of their pawns?"

Akabane pushes his soup away; he isn't hungry any more. He folds his gloved hands in his lap and looks at the counter. "The thought had occurred to me on more than one occasion, yes." He slips out a scalpel and begins to slowly turn it over in his fingers. "What are you getting at?"

Ban wolfs down the last of his sandwich and starts in on his soup. "Take that umbrella off. This ain't no friggin' Wizard of Oz setup. I like being able to see who I'm talking to."

Akabane lifts his head, eyes narrowing.

Ban growls. "I'm not mad at you, Kuroudo. I just want to know what the hell's going on."

"So do I," Akabane says. But he complies with his lover's request and takes down his hat, setting it aside.

"Thank you. That's better," Ban tells him as he slurps away the last of his soup. "You gonna finish that?"

"You may have it," Akabane says, nudging his half-eaten bowl towards him, as well as the sandwich sitting untouched on his plate.

Ban doesn't gulp it down right away. He raises a brow at Akabane. "You sure? It's good…"

"It's all right."

Shrugging, Ban devours the leftovers in short order. "What'd Makubex say to you that's got you whacking laptops now? You didn't even give it the badge of dishonor."

Akabane toys with his knife some more. He feels naked without his hat, so he bows his head, letting his hair hide his face in its shadows. He licks his lips, pausing on the words as he forms them, unsure of how to break the news. "You know about magic, don't you, Midou-kun?"

The wariness is immediate. "What kind of magic?"

"It has standard as well as arcane uses, actually," Akabane says. "But I suppose to a layman, it would all seem the same."

"So spit it out already. Don't dance around the subject with flowery language. I hate that shit."

Very well. Akabane sighs. "Blood magic."

That gets Ban's undivided attention. He drops the partially-gnawed roll he'd been working on and stares. "What sort of blood magic are we talking about here?"

"Life," Akabane says, hesitating, "and death." He waits as he gauges the other's reaction; Ban's alert but calm posture lets him know to continue. "In surgery, a lot depends on the patient's blood. Infections can sicken and kill. Not enough blood available during transfusions, and a patient dies on the operating table from lack of circulation. Too much uncontained and they will bleed to death through open wounds."

He glances at the scalpel still resting in his fingers. He begins turning it over again. "Yet this endless river is what keeps humans alive. Blood brings renewal through the forming of new cells to take the places of those that die, and it helps to transport harmful materials out of the body by fighting infections."

"But not all of them," Ban says. "Some infections are blood-based. And if you're talking transfusions, you need the right blood type, or the incompatibility can kill too."

"Yes," Akabane nods, somewhat reassured to note that his lover's thoughts are on the same wavelength as his own. "That was one of the reasons the experiment was proposed. Even those that purport to be gods still require modern medicine, after all."

"Doled out under restrictions, I'm sure," Ban mutters, thinking of Lower Town's less than fortunate denizens.

"I had nothing to do with its implementation," Akabane says, hating the nearly imperceptible note of desperation that sneaks into his voice. Part of him expects to be disbelieved, and he tightens his hand around the scalpel. "It wasn't even my idea. They used my work, but they didn't involve me until the actual testing." His gaze falls momentarily. "That was how we discovered my ability to produce these." He lifts the scalpel into view.

Ban reaches out, running his fingers over the flat of the shining blade. "I guess that explains the one hundred and eight theory," he muses.

"The forms come with practice," Akabane explains softly. "I'm best with blades, as you've noticed. But I'm not limited to that template. So long as I have a source material, I can replicate a perfect pattern of anything solvent."

Ban nods, still eyeing the scalpel thoughtfully. "Computer kid's been tapping into the Archive again. Much as I admire his brass, he's asking for it, poking his nose into their party favors. People like that don't like sharing." He sighs and rubs his forehead.

"The project was never finished," Akabane says, his eyes revealing a rare hollowness. "It was supposed to have been canceled after the…after an…accident that took place. But someone decided to keep it active. I don't know why." A bitter chord makes his voice tremble a little. "You'd think the successors would have learned from a bloody lesson."

Ban studies him. "You know the people who were responsible?"

Akabane shakes his head. "Even if they were willing, the original leaders couldn't tell us anything. They're dead." He pauses, and adds flatly, "I killed them. All but one, and that person survived only because she wasn't there at the time." He feels a sudden burn in his eyes, and looks away, unwilling to concede to the defeat of tears.

Silence, broken only by the intermittent hum of the shop's ventilation system, reigns steady for a while. Ban resumes polishing off the remains of food, while Akabane broods over the possible ramifications of his confession. Eventually Ban speaks.

"You think whoever's mucking with this blood experiment will try to screw with you again?"

"I don't know. I wouldn't put it past them at this point." Akabane puts the single scalpel back in place and clutches his hands together to keep from further fidgeting. "I think Kyouji Kagami knew, or suspected some association." He forces himself to look at Ban without betraying any sign of emotion. "He asked me if I would consider going back to the City."

Ban steeples his fingers together in a pyramid as he leans on the counter surface. "Damn meddlesome bar host."

"I made it quite clear to him," Akabane says, his tone slipping into frigidity as he clenches one hand around a bundle of half-emerging knives, "that I was no longer interested in any such offer."

Ban lights up a cigarette and takes a long, easy drag on it, waving his hand to disperse the smoke. They sit in more gloomy silence for a while.

"Let's not worry about it until something happens," he says at last. "Till then, there's not much we can do, is there?"

Akabane looks up in barely concealed surprise. "I thought you'd be more upset," he says hesitantly.

Ban looks at him. "I don't like what Jackal does. You know that. I also can't stand these Brain Trust assholes any more than you do. Whatever happened…I'm sure you had your reasons." He looks out the window, into the fathomless night. "God knows I had mine…" He breaks off his muttered thought and looks back to Akabane. "What's the deal with the museum?"

"You haven't heard the rumors?" Akabane tilts his head in mild curiosity. It's practically legend among those in the transporting business. "That was where Doctor Jackal first appeared."

Ban swivels around and sits with his legs propped on the lower bars of Akabane's seat, one arm resting on the countertop. "I'm game for the story." He stubs out the dwindled butt in his fingers and lights another.

"Very well." Akabane combs a lock of hair away from his eyes, tucking it behind his ear. "Gouzou Maguruma and I had known each other for a while, and he invited me to ride with him on several transport runs when I expressed interest in finding new employment. He said if I liked it he would teach me how the transporting business works."

He shrugs. "It was decent at first, although mostly I just sat and watched. Rather boring, at that. But I was glad enough for the distraction it provided. After the war…after I left Babylon," he says, voice lowering to a near-whisper briefly before picking up again, "I didn't want to return to the medical profession."

Akabane's eyes drop to his hands again. "Everyone in the business has their own identifying handle that they operate under. Maguruma, as you know of course, is 'No-Brakes.' Typically, a transporter doesn't become listed until after he or she has successfully completed a series of solo runs. It proves to clients that they are dependable on the job."

"Like gangsters have their 'made' men carry out hits in rites of passage," Ban says.

"Something like that," Akabane agrees, a hint of a smile in his eyes as he looks at his lover. "Since I had no prior experience under my belt, Gouzou said he would call me 'the doctor' because of my background. Hardly anyone uses their real name, you see."

"In such an esteemed, respectable service like underworld transporting? I can't imagine why not," Ban drawls, and they both chuckle over his sarcasm.

"He had an annoying habit of shortening it to 'Doc' in those days," Akabane says, wrinkling his nose.

"'Doc'?" Ban laughs. "I like that!"

"Honestly, Midou-kun. It's undignified! Do I look like a 'Doc' to you?"

"No, you look like an 'Aka-chan'." Ban grins rakishly and reaches over to tousle Akabane's hair. "Or a 'Bane-tan'."

"Midou-kun!" The scolding isn't as harsh as it sounds, for as much as he isn't keen on being teased out of his blue mood, Akabane can't help but appreciate his lover's attempt at comfort. He gives in and offers a small conciliatory smile. "I'd expect that sort of immaturity from Ginji-kun."

He clears his throat softly as a cue to bring them back to the topic of discussion. "Where was I? Oh yes – one night we were assigned a delivery at the museum. Maguruma told me to wait inside the truck and he would go pick up the item. It was quite a while for him to return, and I got tired of waiting, so I decided to go see what was taking so long." Akabane's brows pinch in memory. "As luck would have it, he'd been ambushed inside by a rival transport gang that called themselves the Black Widows."

"Ahhh," Ban says. "I think I remember hearing about those guys." He blows a puff of smoke into a ring and watches it float across the room. Then he snaps his fingers. "Now I know why Ginji was always complaining about ghosts when we went there once!" His eyes shift to Akabane. "Spiritual residue is harder to get rid of than soldered gum."

"But you haven't heard the whole story," Akabane says. "The Widows were upset because they felt that this particular job had been promised to them by the client. That was why their leader had taken Maguruma prisoner. He would have been killed if I hadn't come to investigate his absence."

His eyes close momentarily. "I'll never forget the tension I encountered. I was in a…strange…place, unlike anything I'd ever felt before, and – I remember feeling the blades in my veins for the first time, becoming attuned to them in a way I'd never experienced before." He opens them and flicks a now-neutral gaze out the front window.

Ban frowns. "How'd you take out a whole group by yourself? I assume back then you were still learning the gist of using scalpels in a non-medical environment."

Akabane lifts his chin in subtle pride. "I did rather well for a beginner. When we were stationed together Semimaru taught me some basic sparring. It was only a matter of incorporating the use of blades into those maneuvers."

"Even so, an entire army of yakuza-backed agents? I mean, how many of those guys were there, eight? Ten?"

"Twelve," Akabane lightly corrects him. "But you are forgetting my unique abilities. They had knives too, but compared with me, they weren't very good with them." He takes one of Ban's hands and traces his fingers. "A common mistake inexperienced knife-fighters make is in using the end of the blade for their attack, and they tend to wield the weapon in long sweeping arcs. But that's only good for certain circumstances. The side of the knife is often what does the most damage in a fight, and it ought to be handled the way you manipulate your fighting prowess: short, sharp cuts, quickly, like the strike of a snake."

"You have too much free time on your hands," Ban mutters.

Akabane ignores the slight. "Medical school teaches students the proper way to hold a scalpel. You need a praying mantis grip," he says, demonstrating as he unsheathes a knife and presents it. "This technique lets the blade do the work, and you don't waste precious energy expending unnecessary strength."

"I guess that makes sense," Ban says. "In a very twisted, screwed-up alternate dimension sort of way."

The scalpel retreats neatly with the barest of whispers. "It worked," Akabane replies with a little shrug. "We got our cargo safely, Maguruma survived, and…I found my new calling."

"I'm not sure I grasp the name part of it though," Ban says.

Akabane smiles gently. "The area where the battle took place was the wing of the Egyptian exhibit. They've rearranged everything since then. That statue I was sitting by was the very same one featured in the news coverage. They said the carnage done was fit for carrion-eaters." He reaches up to adjust his hat, remembers he's not wearing it, and lays his hand over his chest instead. "You know what Anpu's function is, don't you?"

"Guardian of the crossroads between life and death, holy embalmer and one of the attendants who measures the heart in the Great Halls of Asar-Osiris, Lord of the Dead," Ban answers. "But I doubt that jackal ever took to making corpses as opposed to merely wrapping and escorting them."

"But it has a memorable ring to it, no?" Akabane pauses. "The Js came later, after I'd adapted and refined my technique."

Ban sighs in resigned amusement. "You need a new hobby, Akabane."

Akabane just smiles patiently. "I appreciate your concern, Midou-kun. However, I assure you, there's no need for it. This is the path I chose."

"I worry about you," Ban tells him quietly.

Purple eyes grow tender with mist. "I like being worried over by you. But you don't have to be so concerned over this – "

Ban interrupts. "Yes I do. That's what you do, when you care about somebody else. I know sometimes you can't help it – those idiots that hired us for the IL. The others you've offed have been bad apples too in one way or another, but most of them probably weren't past total derangement. In passing that judgment on them, you're denying them their free will to make their own choices."

Akabane is confused. "I don't pass any judgment. It matters not to me how others live, or receive their daily satisfaction. I don't belittle or mock their shortcomings, whatever those may be. I'm certainly not so uncouth as to engage in torture. Why is that improper? The point of a battle is to determine each other's strength, push each other's limits. If death happens to be the outcome of an uneven match, so be it."

Ban looks sadly at him. "You can defeat someone and still learn something important about yourself without killing. Oftentimes you can do it without even fighting at all."

Akabane's brows furrow intently as he watches the other man, trying to grasp the concept of what Ban is saying. "I don't understand, Midou-kun."

"Sometimes, neither do I, Jackal." Ban smiles wan defeat in this verbal exchange, having noticed that his cigarette has burnt itself out and there's no more food to consume. "Come on. Let's go home."

--

The cats are there to greet them on arrival, though they only hang around long enough to garner the appropriate attention and then they scurry off to parts unknown, sensing that their human companions require time alone to sort out their puzzling issues. The unexpected demise of Akabane's laptop is still fresh to Medusa.

Both men are quiet as they enter their bedroom. Ban flops on the bed and kicks off his boots, which land with muffled thumps as he's pulling off his shirt. Akabane hangs his clothes in the closet as he always does before changing into pajamas. Another framed photograph on the dresser catches his eye, and he leaves off removing his trousers as he goes to pick it up.

It's not one of his favorites. Though their poses are innocent – Ban perched on the hood of his car, Akabane standing demurely next to him, one arm around Ban's shoulders – there's a singular element of childishness that Akabane finds inappropriate and completely unsuitable for the occasion of the picture. They'd been celebrating a successful joint venture, one in which both retrievers and transporters were necessary, and Akabane, eyes still looking towards the camera, had turned slightly to murmur something into his lover's ear – what, he doesn't remember now – and Ban had taken that opportunity to reach around unbeknownst to Akabane and add a pair of 'rabbit ears' to the back of his head.

Both Get Backers found this quite amusing at the time, naturally; Akabane not so much. He'd made certain later on that they both went away thoroughly instructed as to how to take a proper photograph and the correct conduct for posing in such. To this day Ginji is first to pass the camera to someone else during the rare instance Ban asks for a picture to be taken.

Akabane is unaware of the tiny smile that softens his face as he looks upon this breach of etiquette. Is it really so weak to permit such silly indulgences? They seem so…suitably human…

He's never understood this kind of camaraderie, not even with his associates Mr. No-Brakes and Lady Poison, not even with his friend Kanade Semimaru, despite getting on well with all. Akabane has never been able to comprehend these strange emotions that make humans bond with each other, never quite grasped the paradoxes behind their inspiration. He's certainly not familiar with ever having been a real part of them…until now.

Rejection is something he does know, and he's even occasionally taken pains to cultivate it when he knows it will suit his purposes. But rejection is a two-edged sword: it hurts when it's genuinely applicable, and Akabane, no matter how much he might deny it, still feels the acute burn of that cut when it's made by the few people in this world whose existences he desires to share.

What he'd felt in the café when Ban had expressed his displeasure over Jackal's line of reasoning…

Shame is something new to him, and even before it's nipped at the fringes of his thoughts it annoys him greatly, for it brings to mind its cousin remorse. He's boasted of never having regrets…it would be most discomforting to have to change that this late in the game.

His first instinct is to chase the troublesome feeling away, take a stab in the dark at it so it will bother him no more, but try as he might it's a persistent devil. Akabane continues to feel the insistent nudge of an idea that he ought to make this right, but he knows not exactly how just yet, and so resorts to the simpler and perhaps baffling impulse to apologize – though for what, he isn't sure either.

"Midou-kun, I – "

Ban is there before he knows it, coming up to Akabane and putting a finger to his lips as he takes the picture from his hands and replaces it on the dresser. "No more words tonight. Just you and me."

Confused, Akabane tries again to explain, but further attempts at conversation are thwarted by Ban's kiss, and with some manipulation and last shedding of clothing, they make a natural progression to bed, where they can speak in intimate languages better understood.

Hours later Akabane is still lying awake, tormented by restless thoughts and the nagging in his own heart. He senses Ban is feigning sleep as well, even though their backs are turned to each other. Akabane gathers courage and speaks.

"I keep thinking about Makubex-kun."

A heavy sigh issues from the other side of the bed. "Got a helluva way of springing bad news on people, doesn't he?"

"He can only work with what he's given. He isn't doing this to be antagonistic."

"Could've fooled me."

"He helped us, you know."

"Oh?"

"He told me once of a plot against your life. Had I not received such information in time, I wouldn't have been able to deal with it."

The frown underscores Ban's reply. "How many corpses did it take?"

"It didn't take any. Though I would have enjoyed that, I admit. But not for the reasons you're thinking of." Part of Akabane wants to be irked by the suggestion that he can't entirely control his bloodthirsty impulses, but the other half of him hasn't the strength to bother, and his old enemy guilt rears its head to taunt him with this failure. "I wanted to keep you safe…" He blinks, feeling that most unwelcome sting in his eyes again. "You're important to me."

There's a rustle of bedcovers as Ban rolls over and squirms closer, against Akabane's back. His breath warms the exposed skin of his shoulder as he speaks. "Go on."

Akabane doesn't look at him. He's concentrating on reigning in his turbulent emotions. "What?"

"You were going to ask me if I considered you as important to me."

Akabane's lips part to automatically deny this, but he cannot make himself form the lies. There is too much between them now for them to treat their relationship with such blatant disregard. He swallows the bitter lump down, holding back a wince as it knocks hard against the sides of his throat.

"I know that you feel something…special, for me, in your own way. But I also know that I cannot compete with what you feel for Ginji-kun. I don't blame either of you. I understand now, I think. If this lot is to be my fate, then I accept it, and will content myself with what I have. Perhaps that is all any of us…all I…can ever ask for…" He closes his eyes as he falls silent, unable to continue for fear of losing himself to the threatening tide.

Ban is quiet for a minute or two. He rises up on one arm and leans over Akabane, his voice low. "I wouldn't have gone to these lengths if I thought any lesser of you, you know. I feel the way I do about Ginji because he's my best friend. He was there for me at a time when I needed him most and didn't know it, and I only hope that I've been able to give him something precious in return."

He strokes his lover's face, coaxing Akabane to look at him. "What I feel for you is in no way negated by that. You may not be the same thing as him, but that doesn't mean you're somehow worth less. You're still something important to me, someone I want in my life. Different doesn't always mean bad."

Akabane considers this. "What does it mean, then?"

Ban smiles, though his eyes remain serious. "It means you're my Jackal. Nothing can ever change that. No one can take that from you, no matter what else you've lost."

"Sometimes I wonder. I may not turn out to be the person you thought I was," Akabane says, compelled to offer this warning as courtesy, at least. "Neither of us is any stranger to the terror of the grave."

Ban doesn't seem concerned about this. "It's okay to be afraid," he says. "Fear isn't always weakness. Sometimes it's common sense, too."

Something else interesting to examine, Akabane thinks. "Do you suppose Makubex-kun is afraid? Afraid of losing his reason for existing…"

Ban nods. "That's why he concocted that asinine stunt with the bomb."

"Perhaps he feels alive, too, with the people that are important to him. That's what he wants most, to transcend a world of indifferent death. What difference does it make if that death is erased data or bloody flesh?" Akabane thinks that the dam can no longer hold, waits for hot rivers to wash anew over his face as he closes his eyes again, but surprisingly, the flood never comes. "That's all I wanted too…"

Ban rolls him over and pulls him close, tucking his face against his neck while he rubs his back. Akabane clings tightly to him, unwilling to surrender this last piece of heaven for the abandonment that is more familiar to him. For the first time in his life, he is only too aware of that cold void which awaits all, the deafening aloneness of not even being able to trust in one's own strength to see the long night through. The thought of it frightens even more than it angers him to his very core.

Death is the ultimate intangible enemy, oft-challenged but always unbeatable, and it has dogged his heels from the very moment he first drew breath upon the earth. Hadn't others said that he was destined to remain its agent? If it is inevitable, what use is there to fight against such relentlessness that cares not if mortals live or perish?

But if there is some secret to everlasting life, some elixir capable of transcending the incalculable sorrow of such loss…Akabane can't help but feel that maybe…just maybe…the Get Backers have discovered it – even if they themselves aren't fully aware of it. Possibly this is the one thing truly worth fighting for, something with a value beyond that of transitory pleasure. The notion is intriguing, even if it continues to puzzle and irritate him.

Ban seems to understand his dilemma, and he keeps Akabane close, a silent reassurance that when the time comes he won't have to face that dreadful fall by himself. He's been through these crosshairs himself and knows what it's like to stare down death – literally.

Akabane's world now consists of warm, living flesh, of blood and beat and strength he can trust in, a foundation to center and hold him steady. He presses his face against Ban's skin and inhales deeply the scent he knows to be his lover's. This is life, here, and a sudden and shocking broadside of fierce devotion seizes his heart in a vise and nearly robs the breath from him.

"You're digging again." Ban eases their embrace and lightly takes hold of Akabane's wrists to remind him not to knead the points of his scalpels into Ban's skin as he's clutching him.

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

Akabane gazes into his lover's eyes, fascinated by the eternal blue he sees there. He feels as though he could drown in it and still pulse with the vibrancy of life energy. An impulse leaps from his tongue. "This isn't a dream…is it, Ban-kun?"

"No. This is," Ban says, and the next blink of his eyes has the both of them in a golden field, watching Ginji laugh and dance about plucking sunflowers, which he throws high in the air with all the glee of one truly joyful to be alive.

He comes running to them, squashing Ban in a monster hug, and then surprises Akabane by doing the exact same thing to him instead of offering his usual response when confronted with the transporter's presence. Akabane has never known exactly why Ginji's screaming and running away in fear always hurt deep down inside, but…it did, and to be presented with this kind of welcome for a change gives him a little warming thrill, even if he knows it's not real. Awkwardly, because he isn't used to responding in kind, he wraps his arms around this Ginji and hugs back.

"This is fun, huh Ban-chan, Akabane-san?"

"Yes," Akabane says, hoping that they will chat some more, and is disappointed when dream-Ginji backs away, though this time his withdrawal stems from prioritizing.

"Play nice, you two," the blond mirage says with a wink and waggle of finger pointed at them. "You belong together."

He disappears – to where, Akabane isn't sure because the dreamscape has changed, and now he and Ban are alone, sitting in the middle of a forest with a small lake nearby. Ban is dressed in ceremonial garb, and when Akabane looks down at himself he realizes he's attired in something similar. This shall be their bower, their sacred gift to one another, and this time is theirs, precious to spend as they will.

Akabane feels something leap in his chest, and he leans forward at about the same time Ban is doing likewise. But before they can consummate their union, the Jagan is over with – although they're still kissing in real time.

Blinking away the dream-dust, Akabane regards his lover with polite curiosity. "That's a very nice dream."

"It doesn't have to be just a dream. We could make it reality."

"Do you think so?"

"I know so."

They curl together in restful watch, and Akabane wonders if he might finally have found a reason to believe again. He thinks some more, and after a while entices Ban into fresh conversation.

"About Makubex-kun… I wonder why he stays. Even though he controls the Lower Town with Ginji-kun's blessing, I don't think he's very happy, living in Mugenjou."

Ban fights a yawn and loses. "I don't think anybody living there is, Kuroudo. It's just the way the place is."

"Yes," Akabane says, thinking on the strange miasma of despair and energy that pervades the area. "But he wanted to change that. He dreams large for one so young. But he hasn't any idea how to make those wishes come true."

"Most people don't," Ban says. "They aren't encouraged to dream. Dreamers sow the seeds of rebellion. To the gods of Babylon City, that's the most intolerable thing they can imagine. As it is with all dictators. Taking away the hope that people find in dreams makes it easier to tame a population."

"Rebellion isn't always such a terrible thing, though," Akabane says, the roots of an idea beginning to shape in his mind.

"True." Ban unleashes another yawn and settles against the pillow some more. "Speaking of which, I gotta get some shuteye. My body's decided to stage its own coup." He draws the covers up around them, nestling Akabane against the side of his body. "Mmm. 'Night, Jackal."

"Good night."

Akabane rests his cheek on Ban's shoulder but doesn't go to sleep right away. He lies still and silent, turning over various thoughts. He lifts a spread palm, silhouetted against the faint glow of outside streetlights streaming in from the window. The starburst scar appears more vivid than usual, but it's just the contrasting effects of shadows and light. Akabane's fingers curve half-over and four bright slivers shoot into sight.

He studies these blades for a while, turning them this way and that, noting with absent interest how the light glints and flashes along their unforgiving edges. They are truly the perfect weapons, lacking only desire and will to fulfill their purpose. He sends them into withdrawal, then lets them emerge again, then pulls them back, and extends them again.

This back-and-forth ceases at length, when the drowsiness of settling calculations overtakes Akabane and he has decided upon an acceptable course of action. Now that he has made his decision he dwells no more upon his earlier anxieties, and he closes his eyes after disengaging his knives one last time, wraps his arms around Ban, and drifts peacefully onto that cloud of contented slumber.

--

"Hey, Ban-chan."

Ban is tempted to ignore his partner's inquiry, but doing so will only prolong the agony. He offers a noncommittal grunt by way of reply as they watch the traffic on the street below buzz by. It's been another hard day for the Get Backers, without a job or a yen to show for it.

"Are you okay? You seem kinda quiet lately." Ginji's eyes are uncharacteristically somber, but then he can't help but pick up on the moods of those closest to him.

Ban watches an ant trudge its way steadily along the sidewalk, debating whether to answer honestly or not. He decides on not – no point in upsetting Ginji. Or Raitei, he thinks, suppressing a shiver at the memory of Makubex's revelation. In a way he isn't too surprised, because it follows the theories he's formulated. But knowing what he knows of magical matters, and the type of possession involved, his instincts are telling him there's bad trouble ahead on the horizon. How many more walking wounded are out there, and what kind of parasites do they harbor?

He shoves the worrisome thoughts away and forces a calm smile for his partner's benefit. "I'm just thinking over some stuff," he says at last. "I've got a lot on my plate, you know, what with our jobs and this Europe trip coming up…"

Ginji isn't fooled, but he chooses to play along anyway, if only to make Ban feel better. "Yeah, you've been really busy, Ban-chan. Maybe we should take a day or two off, go to the hot springs with Hevn-san and Natsumi-chan and Rena-chan! Or the beach, even…"

"Maybe. I'll think about it," Ban says. Then, to head off any further conversation, he abruptly stands back from where he's been leaning against the guardrail, and tells Ginji, "I'll be right back. Gonna go drain the lizard," he says, with a thumb-jerk towards the nearby public restrooms.

"Okay."

Inside the men's restroom Ban takes a quick look around to be sure he's alone. Privacy assured, he sighs heavily and takes up position in front of the closest urinal. He's almost done when he feels the unmistakable tickle of someone else's breath against his ear.

"Boo."

"What the – dammit!" Ban curses a fluent string of mixed languages while he checks to see if he's gotten any mess on him. Whether by chance or design, he was able to finish without splashing anything around, so he hits the flush lever and storms over to the sink to wash his hands. "What the hell are you doing here?!"

The laughing specter shakes his head fondly. "Ah, give me a break. A man's gotta entertain himself somehow."

"In the public toilets? You're a damn pervert, you know that?" Ban growls, dousing his soapy hands under the water.

The other man sweeps his arm out as he bows. "Like son, like father."

He can't argue that. Glowering at Der Kaiser, Ban turns off the water faucet and flicks his sopping hands at the navy-suited figure. The droplets pass through Kaiser's form as seamlessly as if he isn't there – which is actually the truth: ghosts know few boundaries limiting their passage from one realm to the next.

"What do you want?"

Kaiser clucks his tongue. "That's hardly a way to speak to your vater. I know I raised you better than that."

"Did you?" Ban asks caustically as he searches for the paper towel dispenser and rips off a whole line of them.

"Okay, so maybe I didn't." The elder shrugs and leans one shoulder against the wall while he watches his son dry his hands. "Cut me a break, Ban. There were other things going on that you didn't know about – "

" – one of which is planning to bite a chunk out of my ass when I'm least expecting it, thanks to all your pals from Babylon Tower," Ban snaps, throwing the used wad of towels at the garbage can and missing. "Did it ever, just once, occur to you that bargaining with the Beltline was maybe the worst possible way of handling the situation?"

Kaiser's eyes – a wealthy blue the same as his son's – turn rigid. "All right. I'll give you that one. There's a fair amount of truth in it, I admit. But that doesn't change the fact that I still loved you and your mother. Everything I did, every plan I've ever made, has always been calculated with the two of you in mind."

"You shouldn't have bothered," Ban says bluntly. "Mom sure didn't," he adds bitterly.

"You know damn well that isn't the reason," Kaiser says coolly, standing away from the wall now. "Frankly, I can't say that I blame her myself, for reacting the way that she did. But that's my fault, not yours. I wasn't honest with her from the start like I should have been and I regret it. If I'd been less of a gutless wonder at the time I'd have laid it all on the line for her straight out, told her about our heritage, the Aesclepius – "

Ban feels his right arm muscles tighten impulsively. He settles for shoving his hands in his pants pockets, grasping onto his lighter for a distraction.

" – if she'd had a chance to see the reality of our bloodline as opposed to believing all the psychotic crap fed to her, she might not have taken it so badly," Kaiser is finishing.

"But she did. That's the truth of the matter," Ban says, jabbing a finger at the spirit of his long-dead father. "And you weren't there when she decided to take matters into her own hands and try and drown me like a rat in the bathtub one morning. Who do you think you are that you can just walk back into my life and pretend like we had some good old times, the fuckin' ghost of Christmas past?"

Kaiser smiles, but his eyes do not. "No," he says smoothly. "I'm the ghost of shut the fuck up and pay attention if you want to stay alive, kid. Babylon thinks they can crack those gates through sheer force. And you know something? They're right. All they need is one perfect sliver to wedge the door open."

He steps closer to Ban, who, though he hates himself for giving in to the urge, automatically backs away. But for a few minor details – Kaiser wears his hair down; Ban prefers to spike his, Kaiser's nose is slightly longer and he's taller than Ban (which pisses Ban off to no end); Ban dresses casual while his father flaunts his impeccable taste – it's like looking into a mirror of himself, a mirror that hints at things he could or could not become…all given the tilt of the balancing act.

Kaiser's smile is decidedly sinister. "Maybe it'll be you. You've got the power of the Serpent Bearer, after all. Maybe it'll be someone else – like your walking-battery partner Ginji. Or perhaps they'll be creative…and pick somebody like a certain transporter – "

"No," Ban spits out in immediate denial, the possibility too horrifying for him to even consider when confronted directly with it. "Jackal knows too much. They wouldn't risk him. He's a part of it, I'd bet good money on that any day, but he's not one of the main players. It's something to do with me and Ginji, I know it."

"Yeah, that's what I thought too. Then that goddamn Voodoo King blew a barn door out the back of my head," Kaiser replies, none too pleased, as he taps the back of his skull. "Guter Christ, what a mess that was. Of course, Sarai apologized profusely afterwards, once he got back and had a look at the battlefield remains. He's a good guy, didn't mean anything by it. His other half's a bastard twice over, though."

"Tell me about it," Ban grimaces. "We've been playing tag with the King and his merry minions ever since Himiko's curse reared its ugly head. Don't even get me started on that," he says quickly with a slash of his hand to ward off any comments Kaiser might have on the subject.

His father seems to agree; he nods his head and approaches Ban again, but not as threatening as before. "Your computer egghead friend's angling for the same fate, or something similar, if he keeps up his antics. Not that I blame him for that either. But you know what they say about curiosity and those of the feline persuasion." Kaiser starts to rifle through the pockets of his suit jacket; coming up empty, he looks up at Ban. "Got a light for your dear 'ol dad?"

Wordlessly Ban withdraws his cigarettes and lighter and fires two of the sticks up. He passes one to Kaiser, who accepts it with a grateful nod and tokes deeply, eyes closing briefly as he savors the nicotine.

"Ahh. Contrary to popular belief, there is a smoking section in heaven. Just not as big as I'd sometimes like," Kaiser chuckles. He spots the lighter just before Ban puts it away. "'KY'? I thought you were seeing a transporter, not a tube of ointment."

"Screw you," Ban answers. "It used to be Yamato's. You know, the plunderer I used to run with? Himiko's older brother."

"Ah. I remember him," Kaiser says. "Ran into him upstairs a while back. Can that boy win at cards, I tell you," he whistles appreciatively.

"Yamato used to work in a casino before he turned snatcher," Ban says. "He'd take the shirt off you in more ways than one if he could – and he could." He inhales another hit of nicotine. "Makubex knows the risks. He's had one run-in with Brain Trust that we know of. Kid has some balls, sticking his nose into the Archive a second time after they tried to kidnap and delete him."

"Like you wouldn't have done it if it'd been you in his place," Kaiser needles, a low laugh rolling on the end of his sentence.

"I'd have done it," Ban agrees, puffing on his cigarette and blowing a smoke ring into his father's face. "I just wouldn't have been so obvious about it. And I wouldn't get caught, either."

"You should be more grateful, then, for the danger he's courting on your behalf," Kaiser says, not so much as batting an eye at the smoke surrounding him. He draws firmly on his cigarette and gusts a spiraling serpent back at Ban. "It's not every day that you find out, thanks to a teenaged boy matching wits with a supercomputer and a rabid cabal, that you're dating a doctor and a demigod at the same time."

Ban feels cold suddenly, and rubs his arms, reminded of the video he'd seen several days ago. He'd been almost as white-faced as Makubex upon seeing the way that Akabane became a perfectly blank host, triggered by the words voiced by the New Volts leader – words that, as fate would have it, are part of a spell embedded unbeknownst to him into his mind. "I almost can't believe it – "

"Pretty bizarre, eh," Kaiser says with a shade of sympathy before his voice turns ominous. "But that doesn't make it any less dangerous. You know that."

"Yeah," Ban sighs.

"So what are you going to do?"

"What else can I do? Deal with it." Ban scowls at the raised eyebrow his father gives him. "Look, there's got to be a way around it. I don't care to spend the rest of my life treading on thin ice wondering if Doctor Jackal or Mr. Hyde is going to be there to greet me when I come home at night."

Kaiser shrugs. "As a concerned parent, I'd suggest breaking it off entirely, but it's obvious you're smitten bad, so I guess it's a little late for that."

"You think?" Ban loads his reply with sarcasm.

Kaiser grins. "It was the same way for me and your mom. Love at first fight."

Ban holds back a laugh and partially succeeds; it comes out as a raspy cough. "Anyway, I couldn't break it off now even if I wanted to – which I don't, mind you. We've formed a spirit bond. If that connection gets tampered with it could kill one or even both of us." He notices his cigarette's about gone and tosses it to the floor, grinding the few smoldering embers to dust with his boot. "I'm well aware that Brain Trust could use that fact to screw with us, believe me."

Der Kaiser regards him thoughtfully, tilting his head to one side as he studies his only son, his pride, his heir. Finally he says, after relegating his crushed cigarette butt to the floor alongside Ban's, "In that case, my advice is to go see Maria. Yes," he presses in spite of Ban's repulsed glare. "You need somebody with firepower, kid, no matter how much you might think you can bust it alone. Trust me, I've been there, done that, got the shirt and the postcard and mailed 'em myself and all I got in return for my trouble was this lousy souvenir," Kaiser says as he turns around and points out what is now a gruesome open crater showcasing what's left of his cranium.

He turns back to face Ban and the wound has resealed itself without a trace of bloody evidence to suggest it was ever there. "I'm serious, Ban. Go to Maria. If anybody will know what to do, it'll be her. No one I know would fool with a Death Knell – well, no one with a functioning brain, that is," he adds with an evil smirk.

Ban considers this. His father has a point. If there's one person in all of Shinjuku who knows her magic, it's Maria Noches, former grandmistress apprentice to the infamous Witch Queen, last of the great witches of the twentieth century. He isn't thrilled by the thought of enduring one of Maria's flamboyant dinners, but at present, it's the only option he's got.

"I'll think about it," he concedes to his sire.

"Hn," Kaiser snorts, knowing that this is the best compromise he can get for now. He starts to say something more, but their conversation is interrupted by the door to the restroom flinging open and a harried-looking businessman rushing towards one of the urinals. While the man makes his deposit, Kaiser leans in closer to Ban.

"Keep me posted."

"Yeah," Ban mumbles, wishing his dad didn't get such a kick out of freaking mortals out sometimes. He hates looking stupid in front of other people and talking out loud to thin air guarantees more than a few odd stares from passerby.

Kaiser slaps him companionably on the back. "Tell Paulie I said hi, too. He still burying his nose in those newspapers of his?"

"Does he ever do anything else?"

Kaiser laughs. "Hey, now. Boy used to be prime trim in our day. Who do you think made the Get Backers' reputation as solid as it is? We didn't earn it from sitting around all day with our thumbs up our asses scribbling with crayons on posters, let me tell you that!"

"Listen, old man, I don't – " Ban breaks off as he realizes there's an unwelcome third pair of ears inviting themselves to the party. He turns and shoots the staring businessman a glare of pure acid. "What the fuck are you looking at?!"

Kaiser joins in, his growl only slightly less abrasive than his son's. "Yeah, what the fuck are you looking at, jackass? Piss off!"

The man can't see or hear him, of course; his wide-eyed jaw-dropping is for Ban's eyes only. But Der Kaiser is not without his considerable talents even in the netherworld, and he takes full advantage of them to send out an icy mental suggestion that perhaps it might not be such a bad idea to heed the wisdom of minding one's own business, a-s-a-p. Obediently, the man scuttles out the door of the restroom a second after he receives the impulse fired at him like a poison arrow.

"Look at that. Didn't even wash his hands after he flushed. He's probably looking at several million worth of microbes there from the door handle alone. You have any idea how foul that is?" Kaiser complains.

"Maybe he would've, if you'd given him enough time to do it before sending out your heebie-jeebie vibes," Ban says.

Kaiser grins unrepentantly. "I'm a dead man walking. Giving others heebie-jeebies is my job now."

"And cleaning up the confusion created by spooks like you is mine, so we're even," his son retorts.

"Nobody's perfect."

Father and son size each other up one more time, then by mutual unspoken agreement dissolve into shared laughter from the sheer absurdity of their encounter with the nosy businessman. In rolling with life's punches, sometimes it's best to just laugh as the blows come.

Eventually Kaiser's mirth settles, and he bums one more cigarette off Ban as he begins to vanish, his image steadily blurring with the smoke into a cloud that's indistinguishable from either ghostly ether or air pollution.

"Well, at least we can agree on one thing, kiddo."

"What's that?" Ban asks, watching his father retreat to the mysterious realm he now calls home instead of the Beltline.

Kaiser is smiling again, but his eyes tell a different story than his mouth. "Your grandmother sure fucked us up royally."

--

"So good of you to come, Doctor," the girl in the white dress says as her colleague enters the room. It's the weekend, and although activity in this place never ceases, it does tend to observe the scheduling rituals of its test subjects. She is gratified by his willingness to put in some overtime and meet with her even on what ought to be his day off; he is ever the professional who works hard.

"I thought it best, seeing as how I received your message. Was there something urgent you wished to share with me?"

"Nothing too pressing today," the girl says, watching him smooth a hand down the length of his white coat. "Would you like a cup of tea?"

"No thank you."

"As you wish. I only wanted to remind you of the upcoming layout our team had drawn up. I'd like to hear your thoughts on it when you've finished your review. If you have any suggestions, now is the time to relay them while we're still able to affect the outcome."

"Certainly."

She idly plays with the ear of the rabbit doll in her arms. "I should like to ask you once more. Are you certain you won't reconsider your objection to the director's opening? Your name was not submitted without due cause, I assure you."

"It would appear that such is not the path for me," Dr. Kuroudo Akabane says, shaking his head. "I appreciate the esteem, though."

Strategy is discussed briefly and plans are arranged, and then Akabane smiles a knifelike edge and asks, "Who reopened Lazarus?"

The girl stops in the act of pouring a cup of tea. As if she were a wind-up toy granted movement with the twist of a key, she lurches into action again, setting the cup down carefully on its saucer and turning to stare at him. "I beg your pardon?"

Akabane continues as smoothly as though nothing has happened. "As I understand, someone is playing a very dangerous game. Who is it?"

The girl's eyes crystallize into hard beads even as her voice remains level. "I am not privy to that information at this time. We are aware that the project has remained active indefinitely; however, for the time being, we do not have the luxury of making any adjustments, considering our investments elsewhere."

Akabane's smile folds into chilling focus. "I have investments I'd like to protect too. This game is fast ceasing to hold any future appeal for me. Before I set foot upon the chessboard, I want to know who has been loading the dice."

"So that you can eliminate them?" she asks without censure.

"A professional always finishes his job."

"A professional also knows when to fall back and study the greater picture before engaging. You know as well as I do that certain liberties must be taken in order to fulfill the destiny as it was projected," she replies in tones sharp enough to match his.

"Liberties, yes. Interference I won't tolerate. They made their bed of thorns. Now let them lie in it." Akabane's eyes freeze over into glacial amethyst. "Tell them, Hakase-san. I've been patient, and I've been polite, and I've let their previous attempts off with nothing more than a stern warning." His voice hardens further, tongue slicing each word off with deadly precision. "This is officially the final one they'll have. After this it gets bloody."

The quiet following this frigid declaration is sharp enough to snap bones.

Akabane speaks again, his voice and smile returning to their typical graces. "I have another appointment I must keep, so if there is nothing further to discuss, I shall take my leave of you now. Do have a pleasant afternoon."

The girl in the white dress doesn't say anything as he exits her office, though the flat red of her pupil-less gaze roasts a hole in his back.

Later, Akabane meets up on the outskirts of Mugenjou with his escort, whom he's pleased to see has obeyed his strict instructions not to wander off and is sitting placidly on a concrete slab, amusing himself by conjuring static electricity to make various pieces of small refuse stick to him.

"I hope you weren't kept waiting too late, Ginji-kun."

Ginji shakes his head. "I didn't know you were gone that long." His concentration disrupted, the clinging items fall from his shirt to the ground. He gets up and walks – not too far from, but not too close either – beside the wraith of black coat that is Akabane.

"Well, it was a minor bit of business. Nothing very exciting," Akabane says cheerfully as the pair make their way through the mazes toward the Lower Town exits. "It was very kind of you to accompany me on this trip."

Ginji nods. "You look kind of happy, Akabane-san." His eyes narrow. "You didn't...have to do…anything…did you?"

Akabane smiles and pats his arm. "Not this time, Ginji-kun."

Ginji heaves audible relief. "Good." He pauses, and then asks, "How come you wanted me to come with you on a transport delivery, anyway?"

"I thought it would be a fun outing for you, seeing as how Midou-kun is off meeting with a client for the day," Akabane answers sweetly. "Besides, I enjoy the pleasure of your company."

Ginji looks surprised. "Really? But there's no battles around for you, and I thought you liked that sort of thing."

"Midou-kun says we don't have to battle to have a good time." An intrigued note hums in Akabane's throat as he muses. "I think, perhaps, he may be on to something." He looks up and smiles at Ginji. "How curious, don't you think? That I should be enjoying myself with you, and not a single act of aggression in sight from either of us."

Ginji brightens. "Yeah. Kind of like friends just hanging out."

Akabane stops suddenly, watching the blond Get Backer with hooded yet warming eyes. "Are we friends, Ginji-kun?" he asks softly.

Ginji hesitates, stopping and turning around to look at him. He tries not to take too long to think the question over, knowing the other man's predilection for impatience. "Uh…I…I guess so," he says finally, holding just shy of meeting Akabane's eyes outright. "If you don't try to kill me during our retrievals," he quickly adds.

Akabane smiles. He picks up his pace where he left off, and Ginji joins him. "I have to make some effort to stop you when we're on assignment, Ginji-kun," he explains gently. "Otherwise it wouldn't be proper. Wouldn't you agree that you'd feel compelled to do the same if our positions were reversed, and I was carrying something you had been hired to take back?"

Ginji scowls despite the understanding. "I guess," he mutters. "Just – why do you have to be so good at it?"

Akabane laughs, a hearty thrum of smooth current that surrounds them. "We're both good at it, Ginji-kun. Why do you suppose that is?"

"Because we're professionals," Ginji announces as if on cue.

"Precisely."

"But it's not nice, what you do to the enemies in the course of a job," Ginji reminds him with a little growl.

Akabane gives him a grim look. "Some enemies you shouldn't be nice to. Being nice can get you killed."

"But friends don't try to hurt each other like that!" Ginji argues, somewhat heatedly.

Akabane stops again, his eyes dark with a sad affection as he studies the man who was once a fearsome, merciless Emperor over all he surveyed. "Ginji-kun, there is a saying that my mother taught me when I was a young boy. I'll paraphrase it for your benefit since it's rather lengthy."

He pauses, and then recites the verse with perfect elocution. "'To everything there is a season, a time for every purpose under the sun. A time to be born and a time to die; a time to kill and a time to heal, a time to love and a time to hate; a time for war and a time for peace.' You and Midou-kun knew this balance when you first met each other, even if you didn't realize it then. Sometimes the crossroads we walk offer only such contentious decisions. You still must choose your path. Not choosing is a choice in itself as well. You'll understand this someday, I'm sure."

Ginji looks almost like he's going to cry now. "But my friends don't usually want to kill me," he says, confused. "Do they? Even when there's a mission involved?"

Akabane comes closer to him, gently placing a gloved palm on his shoulder. "Perhaps not consciously. Even if it were so, it doesn't mean that they don't still care for you in their own way. But they must decide for themselves whether or not that friendship is something worth seeking above their intended objective. Friends are human, but they are also professionals who must fulfill their duties too."

Ginji looks at the ground, his arms hanging loosely by his sides like those of a limp marionette. His eyebrows squiggle like caterpillars as he struggles to make sense of Akabane's words. "I could feel it, when we had our fights," he says. "Makubex. Juubei. Masaki. Yukihiko. None of them really wanted to kill me. But something in them made them feel like they had to do it anyway. Some larger purpose…"

Akabane nods. He slips his hand from Ginji's shoulder into his hand, and squeezes it carefully. "A friend is also someone who will be honest with you when you cannot face truth on your own. Such pain can bring terrible suffering, but also great reward. Never forget that."

Ginji looks up at him, a subdued smile brimming at his lips. "Ban-chan sounded just like you, when he told me I had to challenge Kaoru to get her to spare Sakura from her flame seal. He said I couldn't go easy just because of nostalgia."

Akabane's smile is light, encouraging. He lets go of Ginji's hand and adjusts his hat. "Midou-kun is very wise, isn't he? Truly a worthy battle genius."

"But a kind one," Ginji points out. "You know it too, don't you, Akabane-san? You're easier to be around ever since you guys got together."

"Why, Ginji-kun," Akabane teases. "Are you saying that I wasn't hospitable company before I met Midou-kun?"

Ginji's eyes fly wide open and he hastily holds up his hands. "No, no! Well, err - I just meant – I didn't mean – what I was trying to say is – "

Akabane's amusement never wavers as he watches him tongue-trip over his words. Finally he takes pity on the stammering retriever. "It's all right, Ginji-kun. I know what you meant. I'm flattered by your trust, truly, I am."

Ginji is too stunned to reply at first, especially when Akabane suddenly leans in to give him a slight embrace. Slowly, his arms make a painstaking effort to return the hug. He pats Akabane's back awkwardly, unsure of the correct etiquette in socializing with a transporter with a penchant for part-time homicide. They separate before the touch becomes too uncomfortable, and he looks at his sometime nemesis with equal curiosity. "You're not mad at me?" he wonders aloud.

"Of course not," Akabane says, as utterly charmed by Ginji's baffling innocence as he's enamored of Ban's elusive temptations. "Friends can choose to forgive each other's failings as well."

"That's true," Ginji says, perking up as he thinks of all the ones he's reconciled with since leaving Mugenjou for good. He considers for a few minutes, and then offers, "I guess…that sort of makes you my friend?"

Akabane fairly beams at him. "I would like that, Ginji-kun. I would like that very much indeed."

"Just as long as you remember who your friends are when you go up against any retrievers in the future," Ginji says, his voice laced with imperiousness. "If you really care about someone, you want them to be happy no matter what. Even if – especially if - you don't believe in their choices."

Akabane nods as they fall into step once more. "I hope you know that I take you quite seriously regardless of the circumstances, Ginji-kun. I would certainly appreciate it if similar generosity was returned to me."

"I'll think about it," Ginji promises. "Akabane-san – " He's about to ask another question when he catches the muted sounds of a now-familiar refrain. "What's that song you keep humming?"

"It's my favorite," Akabane tells him. "Have you ever heard the entire version of it? I could sing it to you, if you like. Or you could sing it with me…"

Ginji is noticeably delighted by this, since Ban claims he can't carry a tune if it had a handle and forbids him to join in the choruses when the car radio's playing. "Okay."

In the corridor they're traveling, Akabane starts off the first verse, and shortly thereafter Ginji takes over as they trade off lyrics. Akabane is feeling quite in a good mood, despite the ultimatum he just issued on his visit to the City, and this peculiar peace lends a new richness to his vocals as they waft along the walls of Mugenjou in his and Ginji's wake:

"When I was young, I fell in love

I asked my sweetheart what lies ahead

'Will we have rainbows, day after day?'

Here's what my sweetheart said:

'Que sera, sera'

Whatever will be, will be

The future's not ours to see

Que sera, sera

What will be, will be…"

--