Author's Notes:  See chapter one for disclaimer and explanation.

Grr! I'm at least a week later with this than I wanted to be!  I really wish I could do something about being perpetually late like this.  -_-

Separate Destinies By Annie-chan Chapter Fourteen:  The Passing of the Sword

He'd lived for so very long.

Sephiroth, most powerful of the ylfen, had also survived to be the oldest to ever live.  His face and body, forever young and strong, unchanged by the passage of time, gave no hint of his age, but his eyes, his frighteningly deep and wounded eyes, spoke of thousands of years of experience.  He was old even by ylfe standards, his long life both amazing and disconcerting for most of the people around him.  His survival was not natural.  He should have died so long ago.

Fate would not let him, he recalled as he tended to his sword.  He was running a soft cloth up and down the slender blade, buffing the clean metal so it shined.  He was sitting on his bed as he did so, deep in thought.  Some cruel twist in destiny kept him alive, allowing him to recover impossibly, only so he could father a child centuries later with a woman who would barely figure into his life otherwise.  Not only was he left to live with his soul in ruins, but he had been manipulated into betraying the exclusive bond between soulmates.  However briefly, he had liaisoned with another woman.  He had nearly lost his remaining sanity when he had realized what he had done.

"I'm sorry," he whispered softly, his voice barely audible, even in the silent room.  He had finished buffing the sword three times over while he was thinking of this.  Finally, he dropped it and the cloth onto the bed next to him, then fell over backwards, lying on his back on the bedspread.  Staring up at the white limestone ceiling, his mind resumed its path.

For those long years between Wenna's death and Riku's conception, he had been kept alive by fate, death avoiding him completely.  The Keyblade factored into the fate of the Many Worlds so much that Riku had to be born, he being the one most fit to wield it.

Figures that he screwed it up for himself, making the blade choose someone else, Sephiroth thought, bitterness seeping into his thoughts.  If I had died and Riku had never been born, things would have turned out no different, and Sora saved the worlds with as much success as Riku probably could have hoped for.

Immediately, guilt assailed him.  Was he wishing Riku had never been born?  He loved his younger son as much as his other two children.  He could never wish that.  Still…

Fate had kept him alive until Riku's conception, but what about after?  He could have died the very next day, and his job would have been done.  There was no real need for him to stay alive.

I chose to, he thought darkly.  He had chosen to wait.  He couldn't just leave Riku alone to fend for himself.  As his father, Sephiroth felt he had an obligation to the child he had so unwillingly brought into being.  The feeling was so strong that his subconscious had reacted.  His heart had refused to leave.

The heart was the home of the spirit.  The soul did not physically reside inside the heart, but it was the connecter between physical and non-physical, the shortest and easiest route from one to the other.  Joining soulmates feel the sensations most strongly in their hearts, and the Heartless, the unnatural creatures created by Ansem's meddling with emotions, went straight to the heart to suck the soul right out of the person.

He put his right hand over his heart, feeling it beat beneath his palm.  It still ached vaguely from the painful attack in the hallway—how long ago was that, again?—and he felt stinging jolts every now and again.  His attacker had been trying to rip his soul out by the roots, and had nearly succeeded.  A small tear had opened up, jarring his soul's resting place.  Though his spirit had stayed with him, that small tear was enough.  It had initiated his death.

Since then, he had been feeling himself grow steadily weaker.  He had not physically begun to wane, but strength was more than the condition of one's muscles.  He was getting plenty of sleep, but he still felt like he was tired, sometimes exhausted.  His will to live was quickly drying up.  The dreams that came to him were dark and cold, and he felt in them Death's icy tendrils wrapping around him, slowly tightening their hold until he could no longer breathe.  It would be very soon now.

"I'm sorry I haven't come sooner," he whispered hoarsely, feeling tears sting his eyes.  He spoke as if she were next to him, as if she could hear him.  "I've hurt you, too, haven't I?  By not coming?  What have I done to you?!"  Guilt overran him again, and he let the tears flow freely from his eyes for several minutes.  Turning onto his side, he cried bitterly yet quietly, his body wracked with his grief.

Several minutes later, he pushed himself slowly up.  Brushing his hair back behind his shoulders and wiping his tears away, he picked up his sword once again.  It was an ancient weapon, forged so far back in the deeps of time that none of the family history books in the city's extensive library could tell of its origin.  Though some protective spell kept it from being scratched or dulled, it was not wholly unaffected by time's passage.  It carried a heavy legacy with it, as it had been passed down from parent to child in a direct line as far back as was remembered.  The heads of their ancient family had owned it for all of recorded history, perhaps since it was forged.  The sword was no heavier in the hand than when it was made, but if it is grasped, the one who holds it feels a weight on their mind, telling of the countless years, bearers, and opponents the sword has seen in its long existence.  The weight was neither damaging nor tiring, but it was inexplicably there.

I sullied this blade, he thought gloomily, looking at the reflection of his face in the metal.  I turned it into a slaughtering tool, a mere butcher's knife.  He was thinking back to his centuries-long "tradition", killing kitschen in the name of revenge.  Riku is more worthy of this sword.  He turned it over, looking at it thoughtfully.  Yes, this sword must go to Riku.  He is not my oldest, but he is the one I am closest with.  We…we understand one another.  Darius and Samara would understand.  In fact, it was they who recognized it in the first place, that Riku had a special place in his father's heart.  Neither begrudged their youngest sibling this, knowing how and why it was so.

"Just let me do one more thing, Love," he said, once more speaking to the woman who was not there.  "Just one more thing."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Riku-love, what's wrong?"

Riku jolted, as if startled out of a doze, and looked toward the voice.  It was Leiya.  The two of them had been together for more or less two weeks, and they had both adjusted completely to the duel feeling in their souls.  They had been talking idly, sharing anecdotes about their life before their meeting.

"I'm fine," he said.  "Why?  What happened?"

"You just suddenly quieted down," she said.  "You stopped moving and your eyes became unfocused.  Did you…see anything?"  She knew, of course, about his being a psychic and the seeing ability that went with it, and she was both fascinated and a little intimidated by the rarity of his psychic powers.

"No," he said, shaking his head.  "I didn't see anything, but I…I felt something."  He looked troubled.  "It's my father.  He…it's like he's being sucked dry by something.  I've never felt this before."

"Riku," Leiya said, unsure of how to respond.  She knew the relationship between Riku and Sephiroth was far from simple, and she felt it best that she not interfere, since the two men seemed to have a private understanding of one another, cut off from everyone else.  She was not going to intrude on that, though she probably could if she chose to.

Riku opened his mouth to speak, but his voice was choked off when he looked at her again.  She had disappeared, and he was no longer sitting on the couch in his bedroom.  He was standing outside in the Wilds, not fifteen feet away from his father.  Sephiroth's right was to him, and the older man was oddly still, his face serene and yet somehow pained, as if he were calmly waiting for something he had longed after for ages.

As Riku stared, trying to comprehend what this sudden vision was trying to tell him, Sephiroth suddenly gasped and spasmed, his back arching so far that it would have broken if it had been bent any further.  Riku barely noticed, however, his eyes fixed instead on the great spout of blood that had burst from his father's chest.  Sephiroth's face remained unchanged, other than his eyes had closed, and blood now ran freely from his mouth down his chin.

Riku cried aloud when he realized what was happening.  His heart…his heart had burst open, finally allowing his trapped and tortured soul to escape.  Even as he thought this, his father's corpse collapsed limply to the bloodstained grass, and there were suddenly two Sephiroths.  One was very much solid and lay motionless and gory on the ground.  The other, his soul, was translucent, kneeling over the broken form of the other.  He seemed to be saying goodbye to his former home, before standing and turning.  There was a woman behind him…

"Riku!" Leiya's voice finally broke through the vision, jerking Riku back to the present.

"Oh, God," Riku gasped, suddenly shaking.  "Oh, my God!"

"Riku, what in the world—"

"H-he's dying!" Riku interrupted, feeling a whirl of different emotions at the very thought.

Come to me, his father's strong, commanding voice broke through his thoughts, making him jump again.  Come to me alone.

"I have to go," Riku said, standing up and trying not to let the temporary vertigo overtake him.

"What?" Leiya asked, startled at the sudden declaration.  "Where?"

"I just…have to go," Riku answered, not having the slightest clue what was going on.  Did that vision have to do with his father calling, or was it just a coincidence?  "Stay here.  Please.  I-I don't know if it will be safe."

"Riku!" Leiya shouted again, confused and frightened by her mate's strange behavior, but it was too late.  Riku was gone.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The day was warm, and the buzz of insects searching for flowers could be heard if one listened for it.  The sun occasionally hid behind a bit of cloud, and a cool breeze blew.

Just like that day, Sephiroth thought.

He was in the exact place where he had found her, used and mutilated, praying for the quick death that would not come.  This was the place where she lost her dignity, and he lost his mind.  He had not been back here once since then, this being the first time.  The area showed no sign of what had happened.  The vegetation was unspoiled, and the bodies of the kitschen he had killed were long gone, scavenged and decomposed into nothingness, even their bones gone.

Like they would have just laid out in the open, he thought dryly.  Any that's left is buried by the dirt and the grass.

She died here, and now, so shall he.

"Father!" a voice called from the west, making him turn.  As he did so, Riku landed, looking both worried and scared, as if something had recently given him a nasty fright.

"I see you came alone," Sephiroth said, indicating Leiya's absence.

"I know," Riku replied.  "You told me to come alone."  He was a little puzzled that his father would point out that Riku had obeyed, as if it were a rare occurrence.

Sephiroth nodded his assent.

"Father, what is it?" Riku asked, his anxiety subsiding a little.  His father had not begun to spray blood yet, so the vision wasn't a sure thing.  On the other hand, it was very possible that what he had seen was purely symbolic…

Sephiroth faced his son, looking at him steadily, as if inspecting him.  Riku did not flinch, though their eyes met and stayed locked together.  How similar their eyes were.  The shape of the pupils were the only physical difference, the shine in Riku's just as strong and deep as Sephiroth's.  He could see sorrow in his son's eyes, but none that he hadn't overcome like he should have.  He prayed that this younger version of him would never know the anguish that he had endured.

He already knows, a voice in the back of his head told him.  He's looked into your heart.  He's seen everything.  Sephiroth shook his head, not wanting to acknowledge that his son knew all there was to know of his descent into madness.

"Father?" Riku asked again.

Sephiroth tentatively reached out, brushing his fingers lightly over Riku's cheek, resting his palm against the side of his face.  Riku did not move.  Sephiroth did the same with the other hand, touching their foreheads together.

"You've grown up so beautifully, Riku," he whispered.  "I'm proud of you."

"Father…"

"Fight me, Riku," Sephiroth said, letting go of his son and stepping back.

Riku blinked.  "What?"

"I want you to fight me, Son," Sephiroth explained.  "I want to see just how good you really are."

Riku hesitated.

"Go on," Sephiroth urged.  "Call your weapons."

"But—"

"Do it."

Riku hesitated a second more, then did as asked.  He often didn't fight with weapons, but when he did, he used two blades that could be called both long knives and short swords.  The blades of the knives were much like Sephiroth's sword.  They were thin, slender, and slightly curved, only one side capable of cutting.  Riku had yet to master teleporting himself, but he could call small- to medium-sized objects to him from a distance, granted that they were within a certain range.  When he felt the weight of the knives in his hands, he unsheathed them.

"Don't hold back," his father said, his sword at the ready, pointed toward his son.  "Fight me like you mean to kill me.  I will do the same."

"But," Riku said, feeling discomfort creep up his spine, "but…what if we seriously hurt each other?"

"Just do as I asked, Riku," Sephiroth replied.

"But—"

It was too late.  Sephiroth had surged into motion, his sword swinging around in a deadly arc as he sprang at Riku.  Riku had no choice but to act, bringing his knives up in front of himself, crossing the blades and bringing them up to meet the sword.  The three connected with a loud clang.  Riku stumbled backward, his guard broken, the force of the impact jarring his arms up to his shoulders.  His father followed, striking again, but Riku was prepared this time, he parried with significant force of his own, and the fight began.

Neither man knew how long they fought, their bodies more in control than their minds were, dancing together this deadly sword-dance, heedless of the world around them.  The sun moved steadily across the sky toward the west, the petty skirmish below her notice.

Riku, his body burning with both tiredness and energy, finally twisted around as he lunged forward, putting his back to his father.  He struck not with his knives but his elbow, jabbing it hard into the underside of the wrist of his father's sword-hand, the perfect hit as much luck as it was skill.

Sephiroth yelped as the nerves in his left arm sizzled, electric-like shocks racing up toward his shoulder.  His fingers had involuntarily opened, dropping the sword.  He went to retrieve it, but before he could, he felt cold metal against his throat.  Riku had beaten him.

"I win," Riku said, his voice raspy with his breath, which was hard and audible.  Neither man moved for several seconds.

"Yes," Sephiroth said finally, "I knew you would."

"What do you mean?" Riku asked, withdrawing the knife.

Sephiroth shrugged.  "I just knew you would."

Riku did not respond, locating the sheathes where they dropped and returning the knives to them.  As he did so, Sephiroth removed the long black-lacquer sheathe for his own sword from his back.  When Riku turned back to look at him, the sword was returned to its casing, and his father hadn't yet returned it to his back.  Instead, he was holding it as if he meant to give it to someone.  Without hesitation, he approached his son, dropped down on both knees, and held the sword up to him.

"Father?!" Riku cried, surprised and shocked.

"This is yours, Riku," Sephiroth said.  "I'm passing it on to you."

Slowly, as if hesitating, Riku reached out, but stopped short of taking the sword.  "Why…?"

"Take it," Sephiroth said.

Riku closed his fingers around the sheath, lifting the horizontal weapon from his father's hands.  It was heavy, and he felt an inexplicable weight on his mind.  He realized that, in all the years since he came to the One World, he had never before held his father's sword.

Sephiroth stood, watching his son's reaction.  Riku was feeling the immense age of the sword, mulling over everything that it represented.  It was as if the sword had a memory of its own.  It must have been all the more powerful for Riku, due to his sensing ability.  Sephiroth finally turned away, walking back to the dreaded spot where Wenna met her end.  Their fight had taken them quite a ways away from it.  Riku followed, silent but feeling his anxiety grow again.

No sooner had Sephiroth returned to the spot that he felt a pain grow in his chest.  He drew in a hissing breath, his hands over his heart.

"Father!" Riku cried, dropping the sword and running over to him.  He caught him as he sank down to the ground, groaning painfully.

"Dying hurts," Sephiroth whispered.

"D-dying…?" Riku repeated, his fears realized.

"She's taking me, Riku," Sephiroth said.  "I'll be gone in a few minutes."

"She?" Riku asked.  "You mean—"

"Yes," Sephiroth nodded.  "She tried to take me two weeks ago.  I fought her."

Riku swallowed hard.  "Why?"

"I wanted to go with her," Sephiroth said, "but I also wanted to stay just a little longer.  I wanted to make sure you were going to be okay on your own."

"F-for me?" Riku stammered, feeling tears stinging his eyes.  "You stayed for me?"  The tears spilled over when Sephiroth nodded.

"I had a duty to perform, as your father," Sephiroth explained.  "I couldn't abandon you, not to that horrible woman who mothered you."

"B-but, why so long?!" Riku cried.  "Why did you hang on so long?!"

Sephiroth did not answer.  He either had no answer, or he would not share it.  Instead, he said, "She's gone a little crazy, herself."

"What?" Riku asked.  "How do you know?"

"She attacked me, Riku," Sephiroth said.  "She so desperately wanted me with her that she tried to force me."

"Why didn't you go?!" Riku almost shouted, confused beyond reckoning.  "Why did you stay?!"  This was unexplainable.  He had a choice between his son, too wrapped up in his own affairs to notice, and his soulmate, starved for each other's presence and driven mad by each other's absence.

"Please, don't ask me that, Riku," Sephiroth pleaded.  "I don't know.  I honestly don't know."

Riku didn't respond.  He wept bitterly, clutching his dying father to him, his mind fraught with emotion.  He was deeply disturbed by the path his father had chosen to tread.  He had gone against all his instinct, against the deepest desire of his soul, just to watch over a bastard half-breed of a son.  He had cultivated madness, scarring both himself and his beloved perhaps beyond repair, all for Riku.  All for him, and he hadn't noticed…

"I love you, Riku," Sephiroth whispered faintly.  "You'll be fine."

"Father…"  Riku couldn't say anymore before he felt the connection between Sephiroth's body and soul break.  The body in his arms shivered once, then lay still.

Sephiroth was dead.

Riku choked back a sob, clutching the body to him tightly.  Conflicting emotions strove in his heart, pulling him three different ways.

He should be happy.  His father had finally left this cruel life behind.  He had abandoned the pain of living and rejoined the one he should have gone to centuries ago.

On the other hand, a massive feeling of guilt and unworthiness had descended upon him, squeezing his heart mercilessly.  Almost everything his father had suffered was for him.  After his conception, Sephiroth could well have chosen to die then, but he lingered on for hundreds of years, just to watch over him.  He had only increased his and his mate's suffering, for the sole purpose of making sure Riku was finally set for life.  Worst of all, Riku had never realized the full weight of what Sephiroth's choice to stay meant.  He had felt his father's pain, yes, but had never comprehended what was happening and why.

A third, smaller thought was coming to light.  He hadn't wanted his father to die.  Sephiroth had been his main source of support since their meeting so long ago, and he hadn't wanted to lose it, no matter what the cost.  He had Leiya now, but…he was frightened of losing his father.  Some small, childish part of him didn't want to face life on his own.  He didn't want to grow up.

I'm so selfish! he berated himself, hating every bit of himself that wanted his father to stay.  I'm so fucking selfish!

The body in his arms was relaxed, the face serene, but as Riku looked at him, he felt horror grow in him as he realized something.  He had never before been this close to death, and this thing in his arms was no longer his father.  It was lifeless matter, flesh and bone that would, if left alone, rot into nothing and disappear from the world.  After the spirit fled, the body was trash.

Riku fought the feeling of revulsion that rose up in him.  His father's remains deserved more respect than that.  The greatest of ylfen had just passed, and his son was thinking of how sickening it was to touch him.  That wasn't right.

Riku suddenly jerked upright, nearly dropping the body in surprise.  The spirit had not fled, lingering on around him.  What was he waiting for?  He should have left this world by now, right?

As soon as Riku asked himself these questions, he felt another presence appear.  He felt the two spirits touch and instantly meld, a sensation of intense, ecstatic joy hitting him hard enough to make him physically flinch.  He was transfixed, his hold on the body tightening.

Thank you, a feminine voice spoke into his thoughts, for taking care of him.  Wenna was thanking him.  There were no malice or hate behind the words, despite Riku being the reason Sephiroth did not go to her.  She was genuinely grateful to Riku for looking after Sephiroth, in his own way.  The thought was enough to bring tears back to Riku's eyes.

The joined souls vanished, never to be found on that plane of existence ever again.

Behind Riku, the westering sun disappeared below the horizon, dousing the world in darkness.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Riku stood at the foot of the bed in the master bedroom, facing the wall, his gaze falling on the portrait of Sephiroth and Wenna.  So much had changed in the past few weeks.  He had endured a painful attack by the kitschen, he had met and joined with his soulmate, and his father had finally left his empty life behind and rejoined his soulmate.  Riku sighed softly.

Sephiroth had burned the night before last, a few hours after he died.  The witnesses were dead silent, as was common around a funeral pyre.  Death was not feared, but it was so uncommon among ylfen.  He should have died a long time ago, but his death still laid a melancholy veil over those who knew him.

Riku remembered little of it, save the fire.  He had stood perfectly still, Leiya beside him, his eyes fixed on the bright orange and red flames.  He had felt calm then, very little emotion coming to him.  It was a welcome relief from the emotional whirlwind that had gripped him hours before.  He knew his brother and sister were nearby, but he barely noticed them.

Riku sat down on the end of the bed, looking down at his hands in his lap.  His father had given him his sword, which was in his bedroom.  Riku was now head of the family.  It was a small family, but most ylfe families were small.  He had at first not realized it, laying the sword down on the table when he had finally gotten home after Sephiroth's death, a little before the burning.  Darius had immediately picked it up and handed it back to him.  He had told the confused Riku that the sword meant he was the family head, and he should take it back with him to his room.  Riku had sensed no ill will from either of his older siblings.  They apparently were not disappointed that the youngest among them was their father's heir.

Riku sighed again, brushing his fingers through his hair.

"Riku?" Leiya's voice came from the doorway.  "Are you all right, Love?"

Riku nodded.

Leiya came over and sat beside him.  "Are you sure?  You look awfully tired."

"I'm fine," Riku said.  "I'm just…just not feeling very energetic."

She laid a hand on his, which lay on his thighs with the fingers loosely threaded together.  "You should be happy for him.  He's gone to the one he belongs with."

"I know," he answered.  "I am happy for him.  That's not why I'm depressed."

"What is it, then?" she asked.

Hesitating a moment, he confessed the thoughts he had felt as his father had died.  The surprise and shock at learning just why his father had stayed behind for so long, the selfish desire for him not to die, and the sudden squeamishness when he realized he was holding a corpse.  He spoke softly, showing little emotion.

"I see," Leiya said when he finished.  "Well…you are happy for him, aren't you?"

He nodded.

"Does some part of you still wish he were still here?" she asked.

"A part of me, yes," he admitted.  "I mean, since I came here to the One World when I was young, he's been my main source of support, though I don't think I really realized it.  After I met you, you became the closest one to me, but I don't think I quite moved away from him, support-wise.  Losing him kinda made me feel lost, like the floor had fallen out from under me.  I don't think I forgot you were with me, but it didn't come to mind until later."

"Do you think you need support?" she asked.

He paused, then shook his head.  "Not need it, no, but to lose it suddenly would be a shock, wouldn't it?  It'd take a while to get used to being on my own.  Not that I'm totally on my own, with you and Darius and Samara and others, but you know what I mean?"

She nodded.

"And, now," he continued, "my brother and sister have decided to leave."

"I don't understand that," she said.  "Why leave us alone in this house?  There's clearly room for the four of us and a lot more.  Besides, their father just died."

"They aren't running away," he said.  "They stayed here for so long to keep an eye on our father.  He occasionally lost common sense, to put it mildly, and it was a lot better if others were around to help him if he hurt himself, instead of leaving him alone.  Also, leaving him alone after he had lost his soulmate wouldn't be the kindest thing to do, anyway.  Now, they should go live their own lives.  It's certainly been long enough.  Maybe they'll find their soulmates.  It'd be a pity if they hadn't met them sooner due to staying here in Aerie.  I was a little surprised, since it hadn't come to my mind, but I told them they had my blessing and my wishes of good luck."

She nodded, and they fell silent for several minutes.  Riku was the first to speak again.

"This is the master bedroom," he said slowly, "but I don't know if I'd feel right moving in here.  I mean, this was Father's inner sanctum, and he came in here to grieve for Wenna and to remember her.  I feel like making this our bedroom was disrespectful, somehow."

"Why don't you ask them?" she suggested.

"What?" he blinked, surprised.

"You're a psychic," she explained.  "You can sense the emotions of others much clearer than most people can, especially if you have something to represent your target, if they aren't present themselves.  Remember you sensed terrible pain and grief by touching that painting?"

He nodded, comprehending.

"It could be a long shot, but maybe you'll be able to feel their emotions now by doing it again," she said.

He stood, looking at the painting.  Tilting his head, he noticed a change.  It looked no different, but the air of the painting was lighter, less bittersweet.  Closing the short distance between the bed and the painting, he slowly raised a hand and hesitantly touched it.

At first, he felt nothing.  Then, much more gradual than the rush of emotion he felt when he first touched the painting, a warm feeling grew in his mind.  He realized it was the calm, serene feeling now experienced by the two people in the painting, their souls reunited and repaired.  Mingled with the serenity, he sensed something that seemed to him like approval, almost as if someone were urging him to do something.

He took his hand away with a slight nod.  He didn't know if he'd be able to contact them again this way, or if this were a final goodbye, but he had his answer.

"Yes," he said.  "They want us to."

"You don't have any doubts, then?" she asked.

He shook his head, returning to her side on the foot of the bed.  He slipped an arm around her waist as she leaned against him, pressing a kiss to her temple.

"Everything's turned out for the better," she said softly.  "They're both much happier, and you have your whole life ahead of you.  We'll forge our own destiny and live our own lives."

He nodded.  "As long as you're with me, Love."

"Of course I'll be with you!" she giggled.

"We might get kinda lonely in this house with no one else," he said.  "Think we'll be able to keep each other company?"  His voice dropped a few notes, a suggestive tone seeping in.

"Riku, behave," she chided, but a slight blush tinged her cheeks pink.  "I do have an idea.  Cloud's a good friend of yours, isn't he?  He wanders so much, that he doesn't have a permanent home.  When he's in Aerie, he could stay here with us."

"Yeah," Riku nodded.  "I'll run that by him.  I think you'll like him.  He can be standoffish and secretive, but he's got a good heart.  He considers the inhabitants of the Many Worlds friends when so few ylfe even acknowledge their existence.  He contacts them more than I do, and I was born there."

She had moved around behind him and was on her knees, her arms loosely around his neck, leaning forward against him.  "I think I will, Love.  I'll always like someone who can catch you by the ankle and throw you into the river without breaking a sweat."

"You hush up," he growled, genuinely pricked.  "He didn't throw me in.  It was an accident."

"Sure it was," she said in a disbelieving tone.

He elbowed her lightly, making her giggle.  A few more verbal jabs later, he turned around and tackled her to the bedspread.  His mouth descended to her neck, nipping and sucking.  He'd teach her not to tease him like that.  Oh, yes, he'd teach her…

To be continued…

Author's Notes:  There we go.  We've finally reached the turning point in the story.  I've been meaning to tell you guys something for a while, and haven't remembered until now.  This story is a biography of sorts.  I haven't planned all the way to the end, but I don't know if I'll be making a new evil rise up, or if this story will even have a conventional climax.  Like "Love, Life, and Death" did for Chichiri of Fushigi Yûgi, "Separate Destinies" is a chronicle of Riku's life, playing out as I imagine it playing out under the circumstances.  I hope I didn't disappoint many of you.  I might have some sort of climax, but I don't know yet.  Response to LLaD was overwhelmingly positive, so I think people will enjoy this type of story for Riku, too.

Now, sorry again that I finished this later than I wanted, and I'd like to know what you guys think of this.  Tell me in a review or an email to mangareader@hotmail.com, onegai shimasu!