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I wanna see you dancing naked

I wanna see you touch the moon…

I wanna feel you with my senses

'Cause I'm almost sure the texture of your skin

Is gonna tell me who you are

--Jonas Berggren, "My Déjà vu"

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Chapter Seven: Parallels

"See that it doesn't happen again, Chiba."

"Yes, sir," Darien said, relieved that a stern reprimand was all he had received upon his hour-late arrival at his office building. Luckily, he hadn't been so much as five minutes late until today, so his boss let him off easy. Still, he got himself out of his superior's sight as quickly as possible, before the man could change his mind.

He hurried to his cubicle, cursing a particular beautiful blonde as he thought of how hard he would have to work to make up for the time lost. He was already behind, not having looked at any of the papers that he had meant to review last night, and it didn't help to have a late start today. He cursed again, causing a passing board member to glare at him in disapproval. It was all her fault. If she wasn't so beautiful and intriguing and sexy…his train of thought came to an abrupt, screeching halt. Now, hold on a minute, Chiba, what are you thinking? She's probably no older than seventeen, not at all your type. She's a little girl; you're a man.

He threw his briefcase down on his desk, and surveyed with a sad eye the water damage it had incurred before he opened it. See, she's nothing but trouble. She made you ruin your nice leather briefcase, was rude to you when she woke up, and made you late for work. Not to mention that you had to sleep on the couch because she was in your bed. Darien's firm rebuking of himself was interrupted suddenly by a compelling vision of Serena spread across the covers of his bed, cotton sheets long used to rough maleness beneath their fabric laying on silky, feminine skin, shining hair flowing in golden waves over pillows, long lashes resting on smooth cheek in slumber… He shook his head, hard, attracting a curious look from a runner who had stopped by with a message. He had to focus, damn it!

Work. Now, he told himself. He managed to fully concentrate on the pressing matter of an important client's demands for ten whole seconds before the words "water-proof sealing" called an image of raindrops clinging to blond lashes into his mind. He cursed and immediately pushed the vision away. No. I will not think of her. I will think only of work. Work, not Serena. Serena…such a beautiful name. It sounded like the name of an ancient goddess…NO! No Serena. Only work!

At last, he gave up and went to the men's room to stick his head under the faucet. When he returned, the cold water dripping from his hair down the back of his shirt made it slightly easier to concentrate for more than thirty seconds at a time.

~----------~

"Yo, Chiba! It's 1:00, you wanna go for lunch?"

Darien looked up from his frantic rush to complete the mountain of paperwork that he should have started last night. Andrew Swarth, one of his good friends, was slouching easily against the thin wall of the cubicle, taking in Darien's harried appearance with no attempt to disguise his amusement.

"Uh, I dunno, Andrew, I don't think I can…I'm completely swamped…"

"Aw, come on Chiba, it's just lunch. It can't set you back *that* much." Darien wasn't fooled. The way Andrew and the guys ate lunch, it could set him back an hour or more. His friend recognized his doubtful expression and grinned.

"All work and no play makes Darien a dull boy. And a dull boy gets no women," he coaxed, a long-standing joke between them.

Darien laughed. "Oh, all right, but *you're* the one who's going to explain to the boss-man why all my work isn't done if we aren't back in half an hour, Swarth." He grabbed his jacket, slinging it over his shoulder as he followed Andrew and the two other guys they usually hung out with to his car.

He pulled up in front of the café/bar they always ate in, admiring the reflection of his expensive sports car in the glass windows. It had cost him nearly all the money he had, but it was worth it. He gave it an affectionate pat as he got out with the other guys. She was his baby.

The four men sat down at their usual table. They didn't need to pick up the plastic-coated menus; they had been there often enough to be known by all the waitresses and to need no more complicated an order than, "The usual for all of us."

"Hey, Darien," the waitress said, rolling a lock of her auburn hair around a slender finger as she looked him up and down. "You're looking good, as always."

"Beryl," he said by way of greeting, nodding acknowledgement of her presence, then turning away from her. He had dated her briefly, after meeting at a horrendous party, and had slept with her once. He had broken it off after a couple of weeks of being smothered, but she still seemed to feel that she had some kind of claim on him. It annoyed him that she wouldn't leave him alone, not to mention that her threatening all the women who tried to get close to him didn't exactly do wonders for his love life. A brief image of Serena's aquamarine eyes flashed before him, and he pushed it away immediately.

Beryl brought them their food, and Darien ignored the way she leaned further than necessary to set down his plate, displaying maximum cleavage in his face. She left, swaying her hips and casting a sultry glance over her shoulder that Darien pretended not to see.

Andrew reached over and punched Darien on the arm. "She's still got the hots for you, Chiba! Oh, man, you get all the really hot chicks…"

"Shut up, Swarth. I don't want her, didn't I tell you that woman was Queen Obsessive Relationship?"

Melvin, one of the other two men at the table, groaned through his mouthful of hamburger. "If you don' wan' 'er, can I 'aff 'er? That iff one sexay mama," he said with his mouth full.

"Yeah, I'm sure you'll have no problem picking her up, Melv. You can wow her with your flawless table manners." All four laughed.

The male banter continued for a while, Darien only half-listening and checking his watch every other minute. He couldn't follow the conversation, keep track of time, and concentrate on not thinking about Serena, all at the same time. He found that his mind just kept drifting back to her, no matter what he did.

"Yo! Chiba! Are you in there?" Andrew rapped his friend on the forehead with his knuckles. "What's the matter with you, man? The last time I saw you like this, you were tripping on some girl…" His face brightened and he punched Darien on the shoulder. "Who is she this time?"

Darien looked up, startled. "No one. I was just… uh, thinking about all the work you guys are keeping me from."

"Now what have I told you about work, buddy? All work and no play…"

"…makes Darien a dull boy, and a dull boy gets no women," all four men chorused together.

Andrew looked slightly put out, and immediately began arguing the evils of being a 'dull boy'. The other two joined in eagerly, egging him on. Darien tuned them out, not really in the mood for one of Andrew's long speeches. He let his gaze wander over to the small television mounted in the corner of the bar.

". . .they're calling her 'Miracle Girl'. According to nine-year old Sammy Tsukino, this young woman, his foster sister, saved his life. Not more than twenty-four hours ago, the little boy was in grave danger for his life, struck with a rare disease called disseminated intravascular coagulation. That is, until Serena visited him. Using what he describes as a 'bright silver light', the seventeen year-old girl reportedly cured him completely of all symptoms, blasting his room apart in the process and destroying some medical equipment. She disappeared shortly afterward, last seen by hospital staff as she fled the building. Authorities are currently on the lookout for her, so if you have seen Serena, please call. . ."

But Darien wasn't listening anymore, because a small picture had appeared beside the smiling news lady's face, and he could no longer breathe. The girl in the picture looked down on him from the screen with clear aquamarine eyes, her blond hair pulled into two buns and pigtails on either side of her face. He would know that face anywhere.

Serena. *His* Serena.

"…right, Darien? Darien? Hey, what's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost or something."

He somehow managed to get his voice to work. "I…I have to go. Sorry," he said, rising quickly and throwing some money on the table.

"Wait, Darien, we came in your car!"

He paused, then threw the keys to Andrew. "Just put it in my parking space at the office. I'll walk."

The other three men looked at each other behind his retreating back. "Man, something's really wrong with him," Andrew said in a worried tone. "He's never let anyone else *touch* his car before."

~----------~

Darien walked with furious energy, his restless mind pouring recklessness into his movements. He almost knocked several people down, but didn't notice, too caught up in his fevered thoughts.

So that was who she was, why she had been lying under his stairs in the rain. She was wearing pajamas because she hadn't changed them before going to the hospital, or before running away. There were blood splatters on her sweatshirt because her foster brother had bled on her. She had run because the equipment was destroyed and she was afraid of what would happen to her. She had collapsed because she had been walking in the rain for so long, trying to escape what she had left behind. Everything made perfect sense. Except one thing.

'They're calling her 'Miracle Girl'. . .this young woman, his foster- sister, saved his life. . using what he describes as a 'bright silver light'. . .'

What had happened in that hospital room? Did he really believe that Serena had caused some sort of miracle? Her foster-brother, not her real brother. That meant that she had a foster family. Darien drew in a deep breath and sat down on a bench. No real family… strange things happening to her… just like him.

He reached into the pocket of his pants and withdrew what he always carried with him. It was encased in a velvet pouch that could be worn around the neck, but he preferred to carry it in his pocket, instead. He loosened the drawstring closure and tipped it into his hand. Holding it up to the light, he looked at the reflected glory of the sun in the stone's surfaces.

Could it be…



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AN:…………………………………