She had finally managed to cry herself out.
Her eyes only ached now, ached and burned as her forehead throbbed. She was motionless, inert, in the spotless backseat of the car that had come to take her away. The car that carried all her luggage in the back. The car that her father hadn't stopped her from getting into.
He had just walked away.
He'd just said goodbye forever and turned his back on her.
The man who was in the passenger seat, the nervous-looking one, he'd put the child lock on her door, she was certain of it. He must have been afraid of her opening the door and flinging herself onto the highway to end her life under a passing car. She would have, if she could summon enough energy to move. If she could even lift an arm to pull the door handle. She couldn't bring herself to even lift her head.
He was gone from her life. Just like that.
The pain had subsided, as much as she could expect it to. It had been thirty minutes on the road, the last twenty being long, twisting, back roads that she had never seen in her seven years living in the area. Not that she was paying much attention, really...Her eyes were too blurry...were her reading glasses in the luggage...? Of course they were, of course they were. 'Tou-san wouldn't have forgotten them, never, he had been the one who had taken her to get them the first time, and they had laughed over how hers looked so much like the ones that he used to read every now and then...He hadn't worn them for a long time, but she didnt know why...
And she would never see those glasses again.
It was the most absurd thing, but it was that thought that brought tears welling up in her eyes again.
The car slid to a halt suddenly, and she blinked stinging tears hastily away, glancing up through the window in bewilderment. "This...this isnt the orphanage," she informed, voice scratching.
"This is your new home, young lady," the woman behind the wheel informed crisply. "You won't be going back to the orphanage. You were adopted."
"Wha-?"
She couldn't manage more than that, staring dumbly at the huge white house that dwarfed the soft, snow-blanketed lawn that flanked the driveway the car was idling on. Adopted...? Already? She had been taken from 'tou-san only an hour ago, how had she been adopted already? Was there a waiting list? Had the agency known the decision that early, that they could already find a replacement?
And for God's sake, why would someone who lived in a house like this be so desperate to adopt her?
She could hear the trunk opening, her luggage being lifted out. No one had gotten out of the car. Then her door was opened. There was a man in a dark blue suit there with his hand on the door. A butler. He was waiting for her to get out of the car.
This couldn't be happening.
She lifted numbly, almost staggering out. Her shoes scraped over the pavement, where the snow had been carefully brushed away, and the butler or servant or whoever he was shut the door behind her, not reaching out the steadying hand that Sano-otou-chan would have. Or asking after her well-being. Or evincing any evidence of being human at all.
"Kaoru."
Hands took her shoulders, and Kaoru found herself crushed into a warm chest, what seemed to be a tie tack digging hard into her cheek, slender fingers tangling into her ponytail and stroking her neck, the back of her head, the other hand dropping from where it had caught her close to curl around her ribs, holding her tightly, holding her close.
She had caught only the briefest glance of his face, but it had been enough- enough to recognize those unnaturally blue eyes. Enough to know the rigid molding of his platinum blond hair.
"Mr. Snow," she managed to whisper into the white lapel of his suit.
"Oh, Kaoru," he whispered into her hair, the smooth voice she remembered hoarse. "Oh, dear Kaoru, I hope it isn't too late...the things that man must have done to you..."
She was silent, limp in his grip. His words made no sense. His desperation made no sense. Why...?
"You're safe from him now," Eric breathed into her hair, cradling her to his chest. "You're safe from him now, beautiful little Kaoru, you're safe from him now...You're with me now...You're with me now..."
She stared blankly, the snow that still fell from the heavens not even melting on the tip of her nose.
"You're with me now..."

*** *** ***

It was only a minor setback.
She hadn't even bothered to unpack her luggage. There was no use to it, really. It wasn't like she was going to be spending much time here. There was school, and drama, and then she'd probably go visit her dads and Aoshi-sama. So she'd be sleeping here, but that was it. Like a free hotel with bad food.
Her "dads"...
Misao grinned fondly, bouncing on the mattress and listening to the springs squeak. She had two dads. She'd figured it was only a matter of time until 'tou-chan fell head over heels for some guy...he didn't have it in him to love someone halfway. He was just lucky he'd fallen for someone who was just the same way.
Sano-otou-chan would take care of him. 'Tou-chan would be fine, as long as Sano-otou-chan was by his side. They made a good team.
So she'd go off to see them, and take 'nee-chan with her. And everything would be normal, or at least kinda normal.
"Misao?"
She blinked up from the floor, and smiled brightly at the doorway. "Hi, Sara!" she chirped. "Cmon in."
The long-haired girl pulled the door shut behind her and plopped cross-legged onto the floor, arranging her long legs gracefully. "Nicole says to say hi," she informed. "She's trying to get her Trig homework done still."
Misao nodded, bobbing her feet. The two girls were rarely seen far apart, nearly identical but for hairstyle; Sara wore hers down, and Nicole wore hers in a bun. Both were dancers, and both were in the drama club with her. Both also had lived at the orphanage all their lives.
"Didja' see my sister?" Misao queried offhand. "I should go see her soon as possible, get our plans in order for visiting home."
Sara blinked at her for a moment, then her lovely brow furrowed. "Your sister isn't here," she said softly, confused. "She was adopted already...didn't the old man tell you?"
"Adopted?!" Misao jumped off the bed, jaw hanging open. "Adopted, already? What the fu-"
"Misao...! So nice to see you back again!"
"DAMMIT, GRAMPS!" She hadn't even heard the door open! She whirled on the old man, glaring as darkly as she could bring herself to. "Bargin' in on a teenaged girls room, what if I was NAKED, you pervert?!"
"I dressed you until you were ten," he retorted, wizened fingers toying at the pink ribbon that was still ever-present in his long beard. "Nothing I haven't seen before, my dear."
Misao scowled only a moment longer, then grinned and grabbed the old man in an enthusiastic bear hug. "Good t'see ya, Gramps," she said fondly.
They separated after a few moments, ruffling hair and ducking punches. They had always been close, the two of them. Unlike her sister, the orphanage hadnt been a bad experience for her. Probably because she talked to people more. 'Nee-chan had always been a little shy.
'Nee-chan.
"Hey, Gramps-" Misao grabbed his thin shoulders, staring deep into his face. "Where's my sister? How on EARTH was she already adopted? Where is she? Can I see her?"
"Look, Misao," he interrupted, stopping her. "I couldn't do anything, it was out of my hands. A rich young man adopted her immediately after the decision. I don't know where she is, Im sorry."
The air of mirthful reunion that had been so light in the room was gone, her heart pounding in her throat. 'Nee-chan. She'd have to find her...she'd see her in school, on Monday, or at least be able to find her change of address at the office. There were things she could do, of course there were. There were always things she could do.
"Yeah. Thanks, Gramps." Misao smiled brightly, reassuring. Of course there were things she could do. And she'd do them, and everything would work out fine. When the going gets tough, the tough get going. Never put all your eggs in the same basket. Never aggravate a starving ferret. They were all truths of the world.
But the most important truth of all was that no obstacle was gonna get Himura Misao down. No sir.

*** *** ***

They had been taken away that afternoon.
The quiet glow of the computer screen was the only thing that illuminated his small study, the steady clicking of the mouse beneath sure fingers echoing in his ears. The two girls had been taken away, and Battousai had left. He'd left on foot, so silent that his senses had barely picked up the sounds of his exit. Not the way the man had moved about for the past six years, no clunking and swishing of socks over floorboards. It hadn't been the walk of the man who had lived above him for so long.
It was the furtive motions of the assassin.
The two boys had left soon after. They had taken the car, and left a hurriedly scrawled note that they might not be back for some time. There was no doubt that the child had been sequestered someplace safe. The other...the young man whose fighting spirit was so uncontrolled it burned anyone tracing it, he had gone after Battousai.
He had gone after Battousai, and he would die.
It was sad, but it was a sad fact. The boy would die, as would anyone who got in between Battousai and his apparent goal.
It was fortunate Misao had gotten away from him. Or been ripped from him, however it had happened. She cared for Battousai. But she had been in danger every moment she was near him. And he had been powerless. Completely powerless to protect her from the man she loved as her father.
The man who had to be the killer who had orphaned her. And yet...somehow...
Aoshi shook the thought off, stroking the mouse absently, staring blankly at the scanned picture the man had given him, the picture that had been taken in Misao's infancy. He had been terrified, to be saddled with a five-year-old girl, a baby who could walk and talk and write her name. But she had seemed so unafraid...as though she didn't comprehend what was going on, or just...didn't accept it...
He had given her to the orphanage as soon as he had found one he thought he could trust. And he had watched. And watched.
It had been pure coincidence that Battousai had chosen to live above his dojo. But if he hadn't, he still would have watched Misao. She was his duty. She was his charge. He had promised a dying man he would take care of her, and so he would.
Shinimori Aoshi did not break promises.

*** *** ***

The sun was setting.
The wind had picked up a little, playing over the stiff, gelled spikes that covered his head, stroking his cheeks with a absent coolness that chilled him to the spine.
Joe yawned expansively, stretching out on the shaded picnic table, twisting to the side in an unsuccessful attempt to crack his back. He'd been doing a bit of heavy lifting for the past couple hours...well deserving of a break, he'd say. Anthony and Frederick were still working, but they were about the only ones. Aimee had never started working in the first place, preferring to hang on Sherman like she always did. Kelsey had worked diligently for a long time, but now sat blissfully putting barrettes in Sydney's short hair. Sydney was just smiling patiently.
The hull of the boat was taking shape.

*** *** ***
"And this is your room," Eric announced calmly, opening the last door in the hallway.
She could only stare into the bedroom, lips trembling in more disbelief than she could manage. There was a four-poster bed with a ceiling canopy. The walls weren't painted, they were paneled. In mahogany. The carpet was as thick as a golf courses lawn, and colored a deep wine. There was a walk-in closet. An ajar door that led to a bathroom. A full bookshelf. A computer. A flat-screen television mounted against one wall.
"Go on in, then," he encouraged, laying a hand in the small of her back and edging her forward. "It's all yours."
She took one tentative step into the opulent bedroom, eyes wide. It was bigger than their living room had been, almost twice the size. Even the carpet was enough to make her feel plain, homespun, like peasantry.
"Why...?" she mouthed softly, turning back to him. Her hands were weak, fingers quivering. "Why did you...why did you do this, Mr. Snow...?"
A smile curved his thin lips, and Eric moved easily into the room. "Because you deserve better," he said obliquely, then cast his eyes down to her. "Kaoru...I'm not going to carry this charade of being your father. I'm barely older than you..." He trailed off, then his face brightened, as if coming to a realization. "How about, you just think of me as your...your brother?"
All she could do was nod dumbly, and he smiled with delight. "Good, then," he murmured, one hand suddenly and swiftly settling on her arm. "I'll leave you to your room then...sister."
When his lips brushed over her forehead, the shock was cold and immediate.

*** *** ***

The sun was setting.
The hull was taking shape.
He breathed slowly, feeling the scars in his lungs stretch and enlarge, sharp eyes taking in the fire of the twilight, the fire that would be real for the helpless gaze once his plans were complete.
Aimee had left his side only moments before, fussing over Sydney as she did constantly. The girl meant well, but she was entirely useless to him as anything more than someone to watch after his inhaler and a soft place to rest his head at night. Though, he had to admit, she was remarkably good at that.
She would be tossed aside sooner or later, just as they all would. In the end, most of them were nothing but willing pawns to him, living and dying as he pleased. Just as the men he had once called his comrades. Soldiers in a worthy cause. A cause they would champion without even knowing the reason why.
It had been an accident.
And yet, the discharge had been one of a criminal. He had been cut away as swiftly as though he had never existed at all. After all, if he had existed, if the instructions to set that boiler to that exact temperature and pressure had indeed been given him to his superiors as he had claimed...
It was true that the explosion had taken out the informants. It was true that the information they might have provided would have shown the US attack to have been baseless after all, that the alleged Iraqi soldier who had committed those atrocities against the embassy to be an American agent of that strike force that didn't exist and had never existed, the force he had been a member of all those years.
And because of that fortunate tragedy, a political upheaval was averted. The weak corruption of the government remained in place.
And yet it was he who was ostracized as a fool, a traitor.
It was useless to be bitter. It served him no purpose, not now, not when he was so close to grasping his destiny, his truth. The government was weak. All it took was one sex scandal to bring it all crashing down.
He was strong. He had survived the fireball of that furnace exploding in his face. He had lived. While they had expected him to die, to die alone in the cold, to fade into history forgotten and useless and silent...
He had lived.
The strong live. The weak die.
Mack Sherman watched over his Key Club, most exhausted and spent, some spread over park tables and benches, other on the ground. And yet the rest continued tirelessly. Shaping the recycled metal with the most inexpensive of tools. Consulting architecture manuals. They worked now, and they would continue to work until he told them to stop.
Joe Richards had stopped working some time ago. The blond had neurotic energy, excited ambition, but once that was spent, he wouldn't lift a finger for anyone. Somehow, the boy had learned of the plan before he had been indoctrinated into it, somehow. Somehow, in the same way Joe always knew things. Perhaps he had been told. But none of that mattered.
Because when it came to protecting their interests, Joe was the one to trust it to. He was quick and athletic, a soccer player. He had taken kickboxing lessons since he was five, and was an accomplished school brawler- he had won against every combatant but one. And beneath that wholesome and cheery exterior...there was a man with quite the healthy fixation on knives, medieval swords, and anything else that drew blood.
He had seen the boy castrate a wood roach at one of their meetings, in one swift, bold stroke.
Sprawled over the bench next to him was a shadow in grey and black, stringy hair falling into a gaunt face where it contrasted with pallored skin. Henry never made it to the after-school meetings, but he was always there when they met in the evenings and on weekends. He was reliable for work that involved any sort of electronics, with his delicate fingers...as well as security. His appearance was enough to scare away snoopers, as was his reputation. The track marks of needle injections along his thin arms, his cheekbones bloodied with heavy rouge, his reddened eyes. He was their intimidation, if nothing else.
Seth was asleep near Henry's leg, lax in his duty of watching Frederick. The two weren't related, at least so far as he knew, but he had never seen them far apart. Seth was a mousy, singularly unattractive boy, pimpled and shriveled beyond repair. Frederick was plain-featured, muscled, tall and broad...and stupid beyond repair. Frederick was still working diligently, large fingers curled around a screwdriver and listening obediently to Anthony's orders.
Anthony. Anthony Morrison. The dark-haired boy was paging through a manual, sharp eyes narrowed and flickering quickly over each word. The boy was intelligent, as much so as Sydney, if not more. He had joined the Key Club in his freshman year, and when he had been introduced to the plan, there had not been even a moment of surprise in those eyes. Only a silent nod. And just that simply, Anthony was one of them. He had never deigned to find out where his cold anger had come from. Why he still wore a cross every day, under his shirt.
Eugene sat by him, staring blankly at the hull of recycled metal, jaw slack. There was nothing to say about Eugene, nothing to think. He was only there. He was manpower. That was it. He was a lump of manpower, no more.
Sydney sat with the two "girls"...Aimee and Kelsey, the whore and the transvestite. Those two fought just as he had expected, and yet the conflict only spurred them to deeper and deeper expressions of their loyalty to him and him alone. Aimee, he had found on the way to his job interview...working in the truck stop. She had latched onto him then, and clung to him since...Kelsey had come soon after. He had rescued him from a group of teenagers who, being not from the area, werent under the apparent impression he was female and decided to act accordingly. Kelsey viewed him as a saviour, perhaps. It didnt matter. Love or obsession, it mattered little.
And that left Sydney.
The smile never left that round face now. That smile that had been borne of tears, of fear, of the fire that had billowed from the house behind him, of the blood streaking his baby-soft cheeks and hands.
Sydney was his pride, if ever he had one.
Horace was nothing but an organizational force, no matter his zeal for the cause. Oliver was cannon fodder who would, hopefully, take a few out along the way.
They were pawns, only pawns of his, his soldiers in a vastly powerful army, an army that would be strong enough to live over the weakness and the corruption. If they lived, they lived. If they died, it was no matter.
The fire that blazed against the far water was dying now.
And yet the dream rose.