Memory served him well, and he found the grove where he had first called her out to him. The warmth of the memory of that night flushed his cheeks and parted his lips with quicker breaths. He held out the feather and inhaled to call her name.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," said a voice that sounded neither male nor female, "Then again, maybe I would."

Kenshin looked around, his hand automatically falling to his sword, "Who's there?"

The form in between the two trees took shape. It was nether male nor female, but attractive all the same. It's eyes were warm and loving, and its willowy height seemed to sway as it moved into the moonlight.

Kenshin almost smiled, "Agape."

"Who else?" it answered, spreading its hands, "Just trying to protect and foster."

"So why not call her here?" Kenshin asked.

"Because that's your last one, right?" Agape found a place to sit and did so with a feminine grace.

Kenshin nodded.

"She may not answer your questions. Even if she does, you wouldn't remember it anyways. If you want to forget her, then by all means go right ahead. But I hate the thought of you giving up something like this. I thought I could at least warn you."

Kenshin looked at Agape in confusion, and knelt not far away, "Can you explain that?"

"She gave you five feathers, give or take," Agape began, "When she did, she intended to clear your memory of her, so that you would live a happy life without concerning yourself with what happens after. But that was before Farral took your soul. When you use the last one, you'll forget her and anything attached to her"

Kenshin tilted his head, "I don't know if I want to do that."

"On the one hand, you might not think it a bad idea," Agape continued, "If the knowledge of her existence is causing you that much pain and discomfort, then maybe relief from that knowledge will relieve you. That way, when your time comes, you can go over the bridge just like everyone else and find enlightenment in the lie that was your life. Or you can accept the suffering for what it is, which is part of what makes Love such a desirable thing, and go into your next life with the knowledge of her love and your choice."

Kenshin frowned, "She came for me today, but didn't take me, why?"

Agape tilted its head, "Because she didn't come for you. Your seeing her today was accidental. She made a promise to you, and she keeps it."

"Why do you always seem to have the answer?"

"Because its my job to understand the intricacies of relationships," said Agape, "But Love is much more fun when you don't already have all the answers."

Kenshin tucked the feather in his gi, "Can you ask her to come see me?"

It's face screwed up in thought and hesitation, "Well, I don't know. What's in it for me?"

Kenshin's brow furrowed in confusion.

"Love is selfish and demanding," Agape said with a grin.

He didn't know how to answer, "What do you want?"

Agape seemed to think about it, "Put that feather back where you hid it, and never use it. I would rather you know the delicious suffering of truth than to live a blissful lie."

Kenshin looked down, "I will not use it tonight, but I can't answer you honestly, or make a promise like that until I've seen her."

Agape frowned at him, it more of a pout, seductive and ripe, "Why? You had all but forgotten her before today. She has kept her promise to you and asked nothing in return from you. You are not being fair to any of us."

Kenshin's eyes narrowed, a deeper bitterness than he had known rose up within him, "And how fair were any of you to me?"

Agape's pout thinned to a tight pursing of lips into whiteness, as if the color and juices had been drained from the fruit of them, "As fair as we can be," Agape rose, "Use it, and forget her. She might suffer less without the weight of you."

Its tone was so cold and bitter it literally stung Kenshin as it turned away and vanished into shadows. He hadn't meant it, not any of it. He was confused, and his confusion had made him lash out at a Kami that had always been honest with him. He stopped, and thought. All the Kami had been honest with him. Hikari had lied to him before, but only because she knew he would see the truth in it. Firrin and Agape had always answered his questions directly, just not always with the answer he wanted to hear. It wasn't a fair accusation, and he regretted the saying of it.

He bowed his head and whispered, "I'm sorry."

"You should be," her voice was familiar and warm as it wrapped around him with the comfort of a blanket against winter.

"I didn't mean…" He didn't know what to say, as he looked at her. She leaned against a tree, her hair loose, not tied back or up or anything. Just streaming in black rivulets to the ground like a waterfall on the River Styx. Her gaze was as cold and detached as it ever was, but it seemed deserved somehow.

"You didn't know what to mean, so you thought of the most hurtful thing you could think of," she finished for him. It hurt her to see him like this. His shame seemed to drain the life from him. He seemed sort of gray all over with regret, even the brilliance of his hair, which she had played with countless times seemed darker and duller with the pallor that came over him.

"Things are different now, Hikari," Kenshin said, his voice still halting.

"And they will be different tomorrow," she finished for him again.

"I have a son," he said, and the first touch of color lighted his face.

"I noticed."

"I can't abandon him. He'll need me," Kenshin desire to plead for his life intervened on his regret.

"Then don't abandon him," Hikari said. She made things sound ridiculously simple. But in the views of the Kami, who minister over a particular aspect of human behavior or ethics, things were simple.

"Then don't take me away. I want to see him grow up," Kenshin shook off the simplicity of her statements; he had been trapped in them before.

"I think, Kenshin, that no matter what happened to you, you would see him grow up." She turned her face away from him then, down and away.

"I am not ready to die," he tried.

"Who is?" She answered.

He looked at her, exasperated. She answered him so literally, he felt as though even she gave direct answers to his questions, he couldn't get a straight answer out of her. "I am not going to let you take me yet."

She shrugged, still not looking at him, "Not that you get a choice in these things, but, to set the record straight," she raised her head slowly to meet his gaze, "I do not handle death. Quit talking to me as though I were some angel of death come to take you to the promised land. I am not a symbol of your impending doom. Today was literally a chance meeting. Sort of."

Kenshin's question didn't need to be asked, he waited for her to answer it.

She shrugged, "I have a promise to keep. I made that promise to you and you should know that you don't need feathers or rituals or any of the usual trappings. I promised you I would be there for you. All you ever have to do is ask."

Kenshin sighed, "Asking you sometimes is like taking the shortest most indirect route to get where you are going."

Hikari half smiled, "We call it going around your elbow to get to your arse, but I guess it's the same.

Kenshin looked down at her words, not sure if the bluntness or the language had embarrassed him. He tried not to smile at the image, and pursed his lips together to force the smile down. He cleared his throat of the building laugh, "All the same.."

Hikari tilted her head to the other side, and smiled at him, "All the same. I'm here. No feathers, no prayers, no incense or theatrics. Just you and me. Justice, and the one who thinks he deserves it."

Kenshin's smile diminished, "I don't mean to offend you. I'm just concerned now."

Hikari shook her head and sat down, "That's going to change, too, sadly. I can't explain it or even try to make it make sense to you. I can tell you that you are going to learn the best thing about having a home; and the worst thing."

He knelt as she sat and didn't even bother to voice his confusion.

"You'll see," she said.

Kenshin, unable to think of any way to make it make sense, changed the subject, "So you are always there?"

Hikari rolled her eyes, "Not like you can reach out and touch me or anything. And not entirely. There are other things to be done. But I do keep an eye out for you to be in trouble, If you need me, I'll intervene. And sometimes I do just check in on you to make sure everything is okay. You never know, because you can't see me unless I want you to. I rode with you on the boat for a little while yesterday, and played with your son."

Kenshin stared at her before asking, "So why show yourself? If you can only be seen when you want to be seen…"

"Because I didn't think we would run into you. Sano and I were going to go into town and get something to eat and walk around temples for the day," she spread her hands, "That's all."

Kenshin nodded, "What can I do? Not trust you?" He tried to make the idea sound incredulous, but Hikari saw through the lie. It was difficult for Kenshin to trust people, even if they weren't people and especially when he cared about them.

Hikari let it slide, "Go home. Our time is not now. Our time will come. Go be a good father while you can."

Kenshin looked at her and started to ask the question that had rumbled between them several times before. She stopped him with her upraised hand, "You didn't seriously expect to outlive your child, did you? No parent should be so cursed."