Days later, alone and drunk on rose wine once more, like she'd been for weeks on end after her mother had died, Ai remembered that Isaya Shoto had spoken of photographs. Maybe it was a ghost of her past, or maybe even a ghost of his, now that she had his memories lurking within her blood, but...something niggled in the back of her mind and she went to her parents' bedroom. There was something there she had to find, even if she wasn't quite sure what that something was.

Inside the bedroom, everything was exactly as it had been the day her mother had passed away. The bed was made, the wardrobe polished, the carpet vacuumed. The maids continued to clean this room, even when no one else made use of it. Neither Ai or Ren had even entered this hallway for 34 years. And just as she'd known would happen, the moment she did enter it, she felt her mother's spirit here, lingering in the corners.

There, on the bed, beckoning for Ai to join her.

There, at the vanity, brushing her hair.

Or there, at the window overlooking the garden, watching Ren tend to his plants.

Ai pressed her hands hard to her chest and felt them climb up her throat until they clasped over her mouth, containing an unvoiced sob. She stumbled to the bed, lay down at its center, and pressed her nose into the sheets. But there was no scent there. Her mother's scent had been gone for years. Decades.

She could see Yuki through Shoto's eyes now, too. See her in her youth and innocence, proud and full of life. The Yuki that had walked through his door was not the one that Ai knew. Ai knew a subdued, mysterious version of her mother. A version that had been walled off from her, as though she had known her mother through layers of glass that distorted the person behind them.

"I miss you," she whispered. "I did want you to be happy..." Even if happiness did not necessarily include Ai, she still wanted it for her mother. Had always wanted it for her.

Ai sat up and began to open drawers in the dresser and the vanity. She poked around under the bed and in the closet, and finally found the box she was looking for in the back corner. She wasn't sure if it was her own memory or not, but somehow she remembered its existence. Maybe it was a dream, but she thought she could recall her mother stowing it away and saying, "This is for a rainy day." It was small and faded, but there in her hands she felt that it was important.

She took the box back to her room, sat on the floor, and peeled away the cracked tape that sealed it shut. Inside was a single stack of photographs. With shaking hands, she picked them up, began to flip through them.

There she was, perched on Zero's shoulders.

There Ren was, held in Kaien's arms.

There was her mother's smile and Yori's laughter and Aidou's first days at the lab.

There were Takuma Ichijou, Akatsuki Kain, Ruka Souen, baby Seiya.

And there, there, in three different photographs, was her father. Her father, not just reflected back from Ichijou's blood, but really there. She wasn't seeing him through any lens but the camera's. He was beautiful, alive, real.

Those pictures could not begin to piece together everything that was her father. He was a collection of negatives, of colored prints and black and white shots, of profiles and close-ups, and no matter how many fragments of him she was able to assemble, her father would never be complete until he had been brought to life once more. Yet, it was more of him than she'd ever had growing up. More of him than she'd ever known, and he had been here all along. In this little box. Her mother had kept him away from her...

Suddenly, the little girl in some of those photographs, the one with the curly black hair and the wide smile, didn't seem like her at all. Perhaps she and that girl had once loved the same things, once had the same aspirations and dreams, but all of that was gone now. The tilt of her head, the vitality in her eyes, those things seemed as though they belonged to a stranger. That little girl had been blissfully ignorant of all of the hard truths that had come with adulthood. She'd been blissfully ignorant of how little her mother had given her. Of how easy it would have been to give her this much.

Shadows clouded her vision, dripped down hot and liquid onto her fingers, and she threw the photographs away from her, about to burst from the live-wire tension that vibrated just under her skin. If her mother had these pictures...if she could have shown Ai her father's face from the beginning, then why? Why? If Yuki had loved her daughter at all...at all, then wouldn't she have shown her those pictures?

You really didn't love me, did you? Me or Father Kaname...

The lines of the room warped with grief and rage, and Ai curled up in the center of it, wishing the haze of the rose wine hadn't worn off so entirely. She could feel everything. Every ounce of regret and disillusionment and longing. Ai loved her parents, loved her family more than anything. But her mother...her mother had never loved her. Ai had only to remember all the secrets Yuki had kept, all of the things she'd held back, to know it was true.

Her fingers scrambled for the clasp of her bracelet. She didn't want it, didn't want anything that had been her mother's. Didn't want anything that had once been connected to Father Zero, because he wasn't her real father anyway. She had no family. None except for Ren, and even he was pushing her away now. Maybe one day he wouldn't love her anymore, either.

Through watery vision, she couldn't find the clasp. Angrily, she tore the silver chain from her wrist, ignoring the faint pop as the links broke, and threw it across the room. She couldn't stand the touch of it against her skin.

Her mother had never said such words to her. Never said, "I don't love you." But Ai felt a certain conviction in her heart, deep and sunken into her chest, as though she had always known, always suspected, that Yuki had never loved her. Never wanted her. Had only resigned herself to raising a child she hadn't expected or needed. But no matter what, in spite of everything...Ai would always love her mother anyway... She choked on a sob, folded in on herself, and felt her new power surge through her.

Across the room, the timeless rose cracked and fell from her dresser.

Mikage and Naoki lived in a shit apartment. Sometimes, the electricity cut out for no reason, other times the water. The paint was peeling, and sometimes when the upstairs neighbor got too rowdy, little bits of paint would fall off and drift down to the floor. It was kind of like snow, and a lot like poverty. They slept in bunk beds to conserve space like a pair of elementary school kids, and even their living room furniture were all hand-me-downs and Good Will finds.

It wasn't as though they couldn't afford better. They could. Both of them made a decent salary, and Mikage liked to gamble sometimes. He wasn't bad at it, either, which meant that they could usually score some cash that way. So they had the means to move out, but they didn't. That wasn't the point. The thing was...well...maybe there were a lot of things. He didn't know where to start.

The thing was, Mikage liked living the way they did. He liked letting the fridge run empty and begrudging the money it took to refill it. He liked the grit of their neighborhood, liked how the majority of people who lived there shone with desperation and ambition. They wanted out and they were willing to fight for it, and Mikage respected that. Besides, living in luxury felt like such a damn waste. There were starving people around the world, and he could feel just a little better about himself and his choices if he wasn't contributing as much to that reality. So he didn't.

The thing was, he wanted to be there to protect the people of this neighborhood, because they needed it so much more. He had stopped muggings and knife fights just by being around and awake and night, and he was the first responder when there was a rogue Level E in the area, which happened sometimes. It was easy to target the poor. He didn't want to be a hero, either. He didn't want people to remember him, or to gain a reputation. He just did it because it was the right thing to do. It was what his father would have done.

The thing was, he never had gotten along with so-called "normal" people anyway. Here, his drinking, smoking, and gambling habits didn't raise eyebrows. Here, he kind of fit in. Eventually, he'd have to move, of course. Vampires couldn't settle down in one place because they didn't fucking age, but if he could settle down here, he would. And when they had to move again, he knew where he'd end up: in some other neighborhood just like this one.

The thing was, his brother wasn't like him. Naoki was sophisticated. He played shogi and liked to paint with water colors. He practiced calligraphy and tea ceremonies, and wore suits on a semi-regular basis. He slicked his hair back and used an expensive facial cleanser and got his clothes dry cleaned on occasion. It was too much. Too different. Sometimes, Mikage wondered how they had been born as brothers, much less twin brothers.

The thing was, sometimes they weren't so different. They both loved soju, for example, and fried chicken. They both had the same eye smile when they laughed, which was rare for either of them, and they both liked to shower before bed rather than after waking up. Neither of them liked to lay in the grit they gathered during the day. Both of them slept on their side, sometimes with one hand between their knees. Maybe it a habit they'd picked up when they were kids, he didn't know. They just did it.

So anyway, the thing was...

The thing was, they'd finally reached a crossroads.

"I'm staying with Ai-sama," Naoki told him, and he knew that.

"That's fine," he said, and it was. He shouldn't be so fucking upset that she had killed the old man, but he was. Sure, Isaya Shoto was a pureblood, but he was a harmless one. Besides, that action had shown what Ai was capable of, and he realized abruptly that he couldn't side with a damn pureblood queen, not when she was worse than others of her own kind, and he hated purebloods to begin with.

"He didn't want the cure," his brother said, making an excuse because it was a true one anyway.

"I know," he mumbled. He finished his beer and tossed it into the trash. The light above them flickered ominously, but stayed on. A miracle.

He shouldn't have to explain himself to Naoki. They'd been twins long enough that his brother should understand, should know what was going through his head. Ethically, it didn't sit well up with him. His job as a hunter was to protect the innocent, and to take care of threats to the general populace. Isaya Shoto had done nothing wrong, nothing worthy of execution, and Mikage wasn't sure if being tired of living was a good enough reason to kill a person. And that was coming from a man who fucking hated purebloods. But, killing an old man in cold blood? He'd be lying if he said he supported it, even while he knew he should be frigging grateful that there was one less pureblood in the world.

"You still like her, after seeing that?" Mikage demanded. He wanted to hear his brother say it, just so that Naoki could feel the perversity of it on his tongue, even if it wouldn't change his damn mind.

"Yes, I still like her..."

"Beauty is a bitch," he cautioned. "It means next to nothing."

"Ai-sama is a...sad person. I think she needs a friend," Naoki answered.

"A friend?" He raised an eyebrow and scoffed.

"A friend," the other repeated firmly.

"Sure," he replied easily, still chuckling with a vague amusement. It was probably the six-pack of beer he'd drunk in the past...hour? Hour and a half? It was enough that he was pretty well buzzed.

"You won't come back, then?" his brother pressed.

"Hell, no."

Hell, no. He didn't care for the crap that Naoki would spout about duty and loyalty, about how the Kurans, or rather Kaname Kuran, had saved their mother's life. Ai was like a baby viper, and in no time at all she could grow into something both treacherous and cruel. So, no. Just hell fucking no.

"Hell, no," he said again, and that was that.

"Excuse me, you're what?" Seiya stared at him, sandy brows lifted up in disbelief.

"Moving in with Ai-chan and her brother," Takuma repeated.

"I'm sorry, I think I've gone deaf out of this ear..." The scientist rubbed the appendage as if to prove his point. "What, now?"

They were walking back along the brick walkways that spider-webbed the campus after meeting up for lunch. The weather was warmer than it had been lately, and both men were wearing thick-rimmed sunglasses to ward off the sun's rays. Seiya had spent the night in the lab with his father, discussing details for the next stage of the cure, provided it worked. Weariness showed through around the edges, but those edges were blunted by his perfectly coiffed hair, Ralph Lauren blazer, and Doc Martens. Beside him, Takuma just looked tired. He was simply that: tired.

"After Isaya Shoto's passing, there's been a lot of...talk, Seiya-kun," the headmaster explained. "Talk that maybe Ai-chan is becoming dangerous. It's not really safe for her right now. I know that Shoto-san was old and asked her to do him a favor by ending his life, but nevertheless it's raising quite an issue in the council as well as throughout the nobility. The more protection she has, the better. It's only temporary."

"What about school?"

"I'll still come to work," Takuma affirmed. "And once this dies down, I'll move back into my place on campus."

"I thought the twins were staying with her."

"One of them is. That isn't really enough."

"Okay, well do you remember our conversation at the coffee place?" From the glint in those green eyes, there was no mistaking which conversation Seiya was referring to.

"What does that have to do with this?"

"Nothing." Seiya smirked.

"How long have you been waiting to bring that up?"

"A while," the other admitted. "So, we established you liked my sister, but-"

"We did not," Takuma interrupted. "I never said I liked her. And I'm very sure I made it clear that even if I did, I had no intention of pursuing it." He glanced at his imaginary watch. "Hey, it's getting late, and I've got to be back at my desk soon, so..."

"Uhuh. Well, just in case you do decide to pursue it, it'll be hard for her to understand if you don't spend any time with her."

"I do spen-" he protested, only to be cut off by Seiya.

"You don't. You always leave." The shorter blond stopped, pulling the headmaster to a halt beside him with a touch to the arm. "Look, I think it's hurting her feelings. She would never admit it, but I'm her brother. I can tell."

Takuma sucked in a breath. Remembered. "Sorry. I mistakenly thought we were close...but we aren't, are we? The one you're close with is my brother." He remembered the hurt in her voice, the glint of tears in her eyes, the stiff set of her back as she turned away. He should have let her go. But, something scared and selfish inside of him had pulled her back. Something that recalled all the others who had walked away from him, all the others he hadn't pulled back. None of them remained close to him now...

He smiled, felt it splinter at the edges. "Okay. Let's go play tennis soon."

"I sort of meant just the two of you, but alright. Hoshiko doesn't bite, you know. Well, not unless you want her to." A chuckle.

"I find blondes to be very intimidating," Takuma joked, easing the strain of his thoughts with humor.

"You are blond, Ta-kun."

"I intimidate myself." He winked. Then, "Also, don't call me that."

"Okay, kiddo." Seiya shot him a pair of finger guns.

"Seriously."

"Don't talk back to your elders, kid," the scientist retorted.

"I could say the same to you..." Takuma directed an exasperated look towards the shorter vampire, who entirely ignored him.

"Friday sound good for tennis?"

The headmaster decided that continuing to argue with the sandy blond would just be fighting an uphill battle. With that in mind, "Sure," was all he said.

AN: As usual, when posting a new chapter I keep seriously thinking to take this fic down... Haha...-sweatdrop-