A/N: 1. Yes, Miaka was four in Chapter 1 and seven by Chapter 2. But I went back and majorly renovated the first chapter... so go read! Now! 2. I'm not sure if I can fit everyone into the story. It'd almost be claustrophic in a sense. Hahaha. But let's cross our fingers and see what I can do, shall we? 3. Longer chapters longer waits. Shorter chapters shorter waits. Take your pick, guys. 4. Last but not least, go read One-Sided by my cousin, JJ. 'Tis a really good story, and I edit for her. The fandom is DNAngel, but who cares, cuz it's really awesome. It's on my favorite's list, by the way.

Disclaimer: Meh. Just thinking about how Yu Watase draws Fushigi Yuugi makes me so tired.

Chapter 4: Foreign

Vietrose

He dragged in a black trash bag, grunting and heaving unlike always. Damn the knee to hell... if only Suzushi hadn't injured him with the metal bar that last time... Somehow, he managed to make it to the bottom of the staris without disrupting any of the spare furniture lying haphazardly (and not to mention randomly) everywhere- they really needed to unpack one of these days, preferably now.

He was in the middle of the staircase, balancing precariously while trying to heave the thing onto the next step when his hand slipped and rebounded against the steel railing; Jay hissed painfully and released his hold, gripping his bruised knuckles instead. The bag fell quietly and uselessly, half-sprawled on top of his feet. What the fuck was the man's diet, pork rinds and beer? He cursed underneath his breath, still rubbing his back hand, as the panging ebbed away and left numbness in its wake. It was good enough, and he fumbled for the bag again, this time concentrating on getting to the attic. With a new grip and his fingernails dug tightly, he took a prepared breath before yanking upwards; it worked, as the garbage bag lifted easily, and somewhere in the back of his mind he gave himself a pat on-

Then his fingers dug through the flimsy plastic, creating big, jagged holes, Jay lost his holding for the second time as it thumped onto the floor again. He glared angrily, his bloodied forehead creased in annoyance. Why was everything working against him? If this thing ripped in two, there would be hell to pay, and then some; it was a new neighborhood, after all, and people loved to participate in less-than-noble activities... namely, spying. Usually the bag could hold a hefty weight and then some, but tonight had gone all wrong, and it would just be the icing on the cake if people started wondering about what was going on next door; there was no way he was going to fuck this up, especially for Miaka. She needed this thing more than he did; the life she had back there wasn't working, and he had moved away in hopes that she would make something out of herself. That was the main reason he moved here, not because--

for me to get away.

No, it wasn't like the business was catching up to him. It wasn't like the police were beginning to smell a rat. It wasn't like some underground people knew who he was and was beginning to ask questions about him. It was for Miaka and for her future- the girl meant more to him than he would ever admit. She was probably the only good deed he had ever done in his life, and there was no way he would ruin something like that... or someone like her, for that matter.

But sadly, the house he had bought two months ago was in dilapidated conditions. Really run-down. It was almost pathetic how he had went into the whole selling-house business with high hopes of buying a decent-looking home and came out with a rotten storehouse instead. Jay made a mental note to mark that down later so he could go and wring the realtor's neck. Two and a half bathrooms his ass- they were all as big as a doghouse. Disgusting. An island in the kitchen? Ha! More like a portable island... The bedrooms were a mess, but at least Miaka wasn't crashing on the couch now. (Although from the way his back felt when he took that afternoon nap, she was better off sleeping on the sofa.)

Overall, this place was a disappointment compared to his standards, and he didn't even have big ones to begin with. But he was confident they could do it. Little by little, they could probably fix the entire place, like painting the walls or something; it was a start, at least.

Well, it depends if we're going to be staying here long.

He groaned inwardly at the pessimistic voice; it would always be there, reminding him daily of how a small mistake could cost everything. Well, not yet- Miaka didn't know about the police or the underground mob, so maybe...

"Jay?"

He started, hearing his own name in half-swallowed darkness. It was Miaka, standing at the top of the staircase in her worn pajamas, and she was staring down at him and the garbage bag and not moving at all. There was a window on the second floor, and the filtered moonlight shone through the cracks, illuminating her ghostly skin and her blank, dead eyes. Just like every, single time. He briefly thought of taking her to a tanning salon on her birthday, and then he began to loathe himself, hate himself for making her do this, for waking her accidentally and indirectly forcing her to help him. He hated the dead, black look in her eyes, the way she robotically did everything before heading to bed. It was as if she wasn't here every time this happened, had retreated into a corner of her mind. She was so different at night. "Do you need help?" It was a soft request, her eyes still staring holes into the bag (ironically).

Jay gave a huge sigh and shook his head. "No," he answered. "I can handle this myself. Even though I've got a bad knee, I can handle everything. I'm the surrogate dad here, remember? You just don't worry about all the dead bodies I'm bringing home. You don't worry about how I'm slowly tearing you down with this, and you don't worry about how we might be in big shit. Just a possibility, but don't you worry your pretty little head about it. Just go get some rest for school tomorrow."

That's what he wanted to say, every time she stood waiting by the door or by the stair or by the wherever, her eyes glazed and her mind hidden underneath a protecting blanket. But in reality, he knew he couldn't. He knew that with his bad knee things were going to get a lot rougher, and that he would need someone to help him. And he knew that the cliche 'two heads are better than one' was very true, and that the people and their blood weren't just affecting the girl only, either. All this was going on inside his head, rewinding itself whenever the thoughts came to the end. "Yeah, I do, actually," Jay said as usual, and he bent down, prepared to pick up the body. "Thanks, kid."

There was no answer, no biting comment, no 'welcome'- just soft padding down the stairs, and then he saw his daughter's hands, bending down to cradle the dead man's neck.

"Where to?"

-

Miaka thundered down the stairs, several hair clips in her mouth with her backpack swinging carelessly on her arm. "Jay, how could you?" she hissed angrily, her eyes flaring. Both hands were expertly tying her hair into a neat, little ponytail, and she took the pins out of her mouth one by one. "You know today is my first day starting at school!" She fastened them across the places where her hair was most likely to fall out; it was efficient, and it looked nice. Perfect.

"I thought you didn't care," he replied from the kitchen counter, and she could just hear the smirk in his voice. She was irritated already, and so early in the morning, too. "I know I said that, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't wake me up! For crying out loud, you're the one who's making me go to this school!" Miaka looked at the clock- 7:45 A.M. That was not good, since Jay had told her yesterday that school started at eight sharp, and they lived 20 minutes away. The gates closed immediately, and if she didn't get in...

Once again, not good.

She groaned loudly, ignoring his laugh, and grabbed a banana. "OK, fast breakfast today, and I'll be home straight after school." She made a beeline for the door, ignoring his protest. "You stay and join some school activ-"

Miaka had flipped the bag over her shoulder and was power-walking towards the direction of the school. She patted around her uniform, looking for the paper with directions written on it; the banana was already halfway through her mouth, and she frankly didn't care how suggestive it looked. There were better things to do than worry about her reputation with the neighbors. Dammit, why didn't you wake me up? And to boot, he was laughing at her, too! Laughing, of all the things! What kind of father does that? Did he think it was helpful or something?

She downed the rest of the fruit and threw the skin onto the road. Technically, it was illegal to litter, but what the hell. No one was here, so she might as well save time and give to the environment. Miaka checked her watch, saw it was 7:50, and promptly cursed. It was definitely his fault for making her look so downright lazy as a first impression- of course, it was more than halfway through the year, and school would let out soon for winter break, but still... to her, it was her first day, and that just sucked.

But not everything was Jay's fault... after all, he had to bring home another person last night. But she pushed the thought away, refusing to go down that path seven- no, five minutes before school started. Five? Five? Miaka broke into a full-fledged run, dodging random homeless people and joggers with their earphones and just about anything thrown her way. And it was 'just about' because at one point she tripped on a ledge of the sidewalk and wasted no time flailing- at that point, with the speed she was coming at, it was just run, trip, sweet concussion. "Shit!" she cussed, her eyes closing shut. It wasn't out of fear or anything, but more out of reflex- after all, she was going to smack headfirst onto the rocky pavement in three, two, one--

"Hey!" a strong arm had snaked out of nowhere and, grabbing her firmly by the waist, yanked her upright right before any sharp pebble could permanently embed itself into her forehead. "You're all right," he grunted, and she opened her eyes to look, to make sure that whoever it was wasn't playing a cruel joke- if she woke up to find her skull cracked and bleeding...

I'm... OK? I'm OK! Thank God- Miaka made the mistake of looking down at her wristwatch. "Three minutes?" she choked out incredulously. In a flash she was on her feet again and running at the same speed like last time with a total disregard of what had happened. If that man thought she was going to grovel and lick his feet for saving her, he was wrong. It wasn't like she was ungrateful or anything... at the moment, she was a little bit tight on time, and it was somewhat preoccupying.

But whatever. He'd probably forget about her. It wasn't like she was going to meet him again, right? She certainly didn't think so as she barreled along, almost sending a cyclist crashing into a rosebush.

-

Finally the black iron gates came into view, and Miaka saw the high school's initials carved pristinely above the main building. "Oh--thank--God," she wheezed, drops of sweat rolling. But as she neared the entrance, her heart plummeted as she realized that all her hard running was wasted: the gates were closed. "No," she managed to huff, coming to a complete stop. "You stupid school... let-me-in!" She kicked the gate, and as expected, it didn't waive towards her plea.

She looked at her watched- it read 8:03. Great. Three minutes late, and the school decided she should be shunned? All the dodging, the jumping, the yelling she had to endure, and the school decided it would be in vain... because of three. Frickin'. Minutes? Now that she was locked outside of the perimeter, there were two options to consider: don't take it, or don't take it. She had dragged herself out of bed, and she had run half a mile here, so the administrator can just shove it; she was getting into that building, final decision, end of story, case closed!

Not bothering to catch her breath, Miaka threw her bag over the gate easily enough; it wasn't too tall. What, maybe seven, seven and a half feet? Gripping the black bars, she stood on the tip of her toes, struggling to reach for the perpendicular bar that decorated the gate. Not tall enough, and she settled back on her heels, sulking about her Russian Roulette-esque genes- then an idea struck her, and this time she crouched slightly before springing up like a little monkey.

Her hands caught the bar, and Miaka smiled smugly at her brilliant idea. Using the graceful combination of clambering onto the top of the gate (and nearly losing her balance), she attempted to fall gently onto the other side- attempted being the key word. Instead, she lost one of her footing and ending up with two hands gripping onto the oval centerpiece with one leg still caught in place while the other was dangling in mid-air. It was like this for a few minutes before she thought, Ah, to hell with this, and, after prying her foot free, released her hold. It was two, three feet- what harm could it do?

Miaka crumpled like a paper doll on the ground, her legs hitting the stoned pavement with a loud thud. "Fuck... that's gonna leave a mark," she muttered, wincing as she struggled to a standing position. Her bag was nearby, and as she shuffled over to retrieve it, she realized the leg she had landed on- the left one -was bleeding from an ugly scrape.

Jay was probably guffawing at her karma right now. "Ugh... I can't believe it... Can things get any worse?"

As it turned out, she later learned that yes, things can go beyond worse, as just around the corner was a school officer on duty. And he just so happened to witness the last bit of her scaling the gate. "Intruder!" he pointed, scuffling like a mouse up to her. "You're going to have to come with me to the principal's office. Now."

Life was so, so cruel.

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