The storm was dark and heavy all night long.  By morning, the rain still was coming down, but not quite as violently.  It changed into a very fine but dense mist as the skies lightened from black to deep gray.  The sun was out there…somewhere.

            Nadia had gone to bed early.  She was never very active when the sun refused to show itself, and the grownups' conversation was confusing and, consequently, boring.  She had played with the dolls on the rug a little more after the stranger had woken up.

            She headed up to her room after supper, since she didn't feel very comfortable around adults she didn't know.  She looked through the books and picture books she owned and then drifted off to sleep, the adults' voices hushed and serious a floor below.

            But now it was early morning and the child lay restless among a tangled web of sheets.  She could still hear the rain dribbling on the shutters as she placed bare feet on the floor.  Cold.  She retracted her feet, the toes tangling just above the bare floorboard.

            Still listening to the storm's soft grumble, Nadia slipped on her flip-flop shoes and shuffled across the floor.  She was wearing shorts and her papa's old shirt.

            The shirt was much too big for the girl, even as a nightgown.  It was faded blue, enormous, and had been patched and re-patched many times.  It was an old shirt and both Kairi and Riku had wanted to throw it out or use it as a dishrag or something, but Nadia was wise to their tricks and would dig it from the trash every time.

            Now it had a big coffee stain on the right shoulder and the whole patch that used to hang over her knee was gone.  The shirt persisted to smell like Papa, so Nadia insisted on wearing it.  Her mother would just shake her head at bedtime when the child pulled on the ragged old shirt.

            Nadia plodded across the room to the mirror propped up on her small table.  There was a big bushy brush there.  The seven-year-old was quite content to squint at herself in the glass and pull the brush through her hair until it hung relatively straight.  Some mornings, her mother would braid it or pull half of it up into a ponytail or something equally as stylish.  Nadia always liked that.

            The old grandfather downstairs began to play.  Nadia froze near the door, waiting to count the chimes.  She rather liked counting.  Maybe Papa could give her another fun math problem today.

            She held her breath.

            One…  Two…  Three… Four…  Five…

            Nadia paused, suspended in the air.  The clock had finished.

            Five in the morning?  That was a little early, even for Nadia.  She usually woke up at six or six-thirty.  Nadia finally remembered to breathe out and went to the window to look outside.  The rain didn't seem so scary right now.  Last night she had been a little afraid, but the adults were too busy so she didn't go down and ask for help.  She hadn't much liked being among the three of them.  They all kept looking at her.  They hadn't been so serious because of something bad she had done…had they?

            Nadia knelt on her trunk and unlatched the window and pushed out to look down on the ground.  She was up on the second story out of three, so it was a little high.  She wasn't scared, though.  Only Mommy was afraid of heights.

            Papa wasn't afraid of anything.

            Nadia scooted forward so that her thighs were pressed up against the wall and her elbows were on the very edge of the sill, practically outside.  The mist began to wash her face.  It tickled a little.  The girl laughed.

            Nadia could see Papa down there on the stretch of ground that lay between the house and the village.  Papa was only wearing his shorts.  He must have been cold.

            Nadia peered forward.  She could see her father's face contorted with emotion, or maybe just strain.  He kept turning and turning, kicking the air before him.  Sometimes he would duck as the invisible enemy tried to strike.  Other times he would punch back with his full fist.

            Nadia had once asked her Papa why he did this and his reply was "training."  Training for what, Nadia had no idea.  She did know, however, that Papa was sure to defeat any opponent, be he imaginary or of flesh and blood.

            Her papa went to the side and picked up a large wooden sword that he had carved out of a log last year.  It was a very thick, very heavy weapon.  Nadia had tried to lift it once and found it made her wobble and collapse.

            Papa must have been the strongest person in the world.

            The man held it in one tightly balled hand and then the other, throwing it back and forth in front of his face.  He would leap in the air, twirl, and bring the sword down to the ground.  Muddy water splashed into the air, like he had hit a geyser.

            He spun again and again.  He slashed, dove, ducked, and then flew back up to attack.  His bare shoulders heaved with fatigue.  The veins on his huge arms bulged.  His face stayed distorted.

            Was Papa angry?

            Suddenly, the wooden sword clattered to the ground.  Papa held his left hand in the other and folded in on himself a little.

            Nadia knew why.  She wasn't supposed to tell, though.  Papa had made her promise not to say anything about it, because Nadia wasn't supposed to have been there.

            A little less than a month ago, Nadia had discovered her father inside the cavern known as the Secret Place.  He had been saying something to himself, and then he had made a fist and punched the wall.

            Hard.

            He pulled his hand away and it was all bloody and one of the knuckles all messed up.  It was when she saw the blood that Nadia gave herself away.

            "Nadia!  What are you doing here?" he had said, drawing back.

            Nadia had cried softly.  Her papa was so angry!  Even if he had instantly transformed into his original self upon seeing her, she had still witnessed him shatter his knuckle on the wall.

            "Nadia, it's all right," he had coaxed, once again her loving father.  He rested his good hand on her head.  "Would you do Papa a favor and not tell anyone about this?"

            Nadia hadn't wanted to make her father upset, so she agreed with a hasty nod.  Maybe not telling the truth wasn't quite like lying.  After all, Papa had asked her to do it.

            She had been a little upset when Papa had not had Mommy bandage up the wound.  He had even worked hard not to show her his hand until it began to look halfway normal.  Kairi had seen it now—a few days ago—and Riku had brushed it off as a recent and "nothing" accident.

            Presently, the rain was getting a little worse.  Nadia stayed at the window long enough to make sure her Papa headed back inside and then closed up the shutters again and went down to see him, pretending she had only just woken up.

~*~

            Last night, the reason had returned.  The reason brought sadness and joy, and Riku felt horrible for his mixed feelings.

            First and foremost, Sora was his friend…

            Sora was also the savior of many worlds.  And, if he had succeeded in opening the Door to the Light, Sora was the reason for piece in all parts of the universe.  Sora had saved Riku's life and the lives of how many others?

            And yet…Riku had mixed feelings.

            The man slipped in the kitchen door, the back door, water pouring off his body.  He had left a towel on the counter and he used it now to dry himself and rub his hair.  He felt a little cold but didn't shiver.

            He mopped up the water that had dripped on the tile and then threw the soiled towel into the wicker laundry basket.  Then he slumped down on the stool by the fireplace and tried to warm up.

            "Papa?"

            It was Nadia.  Riku looked at her and then looked at the clock.  5:20.  He looked back at her.  "Isn't it a little early?"

            "You're up," she pointed out.  She came over and plopped down on the hearth next to him.  "Good morning, Papa."

            He just smiled at her.  "Papa forgot his manners.  Good morning to you, Nadia."

            She flashed him a smile, revealing a pair of missing teeth on the left side.  There was one big hole created by twin gaps on the top and bottom.  She poked a pink tongue through this chasm and giggled.

            Upon seeing his daughter, Riku felt a bit better.  He put his palms on his knees and pushed down, slowly coming to a stand.  "Go and brush those teeth of yours.  I'll get some breakfast."

            She nodded, giggled some more, and disappeared for the time being, the click-clacking of her flip-flops echoing throughout the house.

            Riku watched after her, seeing the long sleeve of that grubby old shirt drag along the floor.  She was so terribly fond of it.

            It gave him…a warm feeling.

            Riku went about warming some oatmeal and cutting up fresh fruit, his hands performing the motions and his mind not there at all.

            He couldn't shrug the guilt.  It sat inside his heart and festered.  It was painful.

            Sora's alive.  Sure, I'm glad for that.  He's back here—of course I'm glad for that!  And Kairi…is overjoyed to see him.  I should—I am happy that she's so excited.

            But he couldn't lie to himself, not all the way.  The words rattled around between his ears, almost mocking.

           Besides, he should continue worrying for Sora.  That man was downright scarred when you got right down to it.  Kairi had timidly asked him what happened, how in the world did he get back to the island…all of that.  And Sora had just squeezed his eyes shut and shaken his head.

           Scarred.

            Riku was scarred too.  He had lived, for a time, in the darkness.  Behind the Door.  For two years he had battled, trying to find a way out.  The last part was a blur to him too…  How he got back.

            Did it matter how?

            The important thing was that Riku had come back.  Two years after he left, in fact.  Eight years before Sora.  The two friends, once enemies, were alive and safe and they could put all that business about destiny behind them.

            But…now there were matters at hand that seemed more important than destiny.

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eek, the chapters are remaining short.  (can't be helped with the school year ending and all that work work work!  only a month or so to go!)  but the author *might* have a plan for riku…  hmm, she really is a horrible person…!