a/n: The denouement is never as fun as the escalation. That said, I think this came out well – if far too long. The cliché here is obvious enough that even those of you who've told me "I don't see it" should be able to pick it out – though I smile as I say this because it's such a very fun cliché at that. Incidentally, anyone who has questions about this or any of my writing (and more to the point would like responses) may address them to my board over at the proboards (link in my profile), since I'm not good about replying here.

16. The Rivals' Reply

He hadn't known the answer. The mind so skilled at calculating responses of slate and shell spun frictionless on the clarity of her question. He'd found himself working very hard to keep his face expressionless and his knees from landing him flat on his face. For a moment, her hazel eyes had searched his with an openness that reminded him all too well of her father. The eyes asked almost kindly, but he'd been too shocked to speak. In the end, he'd done the one thing he'd told himself he would not do: he dismissed her question as that of a child. She had stared at him in disbelief, with a whisper of betrayal. Then she'd looked away.

That had been two months ago. They hadn't spoken since.

-

Waya looked again at his fidgeting friend. The match wasn't scheduled to start for another hour and Shindou had opted to hang out in the hotel lounge rather than head straight to the room where it would be held. Waya had accompanied him, as he often did lately and proceeded to watch the man drink two cans of peach tea in quick succession. He was really glad he was only keeping time for this match.

"You sure you're going to be okay?" he asked. Shindou looked up and smiled rather grimly.

"One way or another, that bastard's going to stop ignoring me." He dropped another hundred yen in the vending machine and went for his third can of juice. Waya sighed. It had been like this for a while now.

He wasn't sure exactly what had happened between Shindou and Touya two months ago, but he did know that they'd had some sort of argument resulting in the latter kicking the former out of his house. He also knew that since then, the ice king had buried himself in a match schedule that would have killed any flesh-and-blood human, while Shindou had developed a rather insane habit of stalking him through formal matches and events. Furthermore, he'd had a lot more time to hang out with Waya, Isumi and his other friends from Insei days. Waya assumed it meant the rivals really weren't getting along. He didn't care about Touya, but something had to be done about Shindou or the man was going to drive everyone else nuts.

The deciding match for the Meijin title had come down to Shindou and Touya. Waya hoped it would settle things. It was widely known that this particular title held a special place in whatever passed for Touya's heart, and Shindou had been after it (out of competitive nature or sheer contrariness) for years. Unfortunately, the first three matches of the seven-game series to determine the winner had all been decidedly lackluster. Shindou had won them, and Touya had seemed strangely detached. Waya found himself hoping that the defending champion would pull himself together today, or Shindou was likely to snap.

"Um, you sure you want to be drinking like that right before the game?" At least it wasn't alcohol, but it would still be a little undignified if the challenger had to waste time on repeated bathroom breaks. Shindou just shrugged and continued sipping his third can. Waya tried for a distraction.

"So I hear Kinume's doing well with her chess, er, stuff." It sounded feeble even to him, but Waya figured anything would be better than letting Shindou seethe for another fifty minutes. Shindou rolled his eyes and Waya followed up. "Who's that guy she just played over in China? Mark Somethingorother?"

"Markovich. Piotr Markovich. I think she'd rather play him than breathe," the father sighed in exasperation that had nothing to do with today's game and his friend counted it a victory for the forces of good. "He beat her in Hong Kong, and now those two can't leave each other alone. They play on the internet. They mail each other chess moves on all kinds of crazy stationary. Akari caught her playing him long-distance over the phone three nights ago. Do you have any idea what a four hour phone call to Vladivostok costs?" Waya cringed in sympathy, but he couldn't help but be reminded that Kinume Shindou was unmistakably her father's daughter. Said father was still talking. "-if she could go to Russia this summer. Like I'm going to buy her 'plane tickets to go spend a month unchaperoned with some foreign boy three years older than she is. I mean whatever happened to trying for the pro exams? Then again, ever since she and Touya stopped talking..." The earlier look of grim single-mindedness returned with a vengeance and Waya gave up. Clearly all roads lead back to the damn Meijin title holder.

-

"Are you going to play today, or am I wasting my time again?" The gathered officials and spectators did their best to avert their eyes and stifle murmurs of surprise at the challenger's unconventional greeting. The champion ignored the insult and continued staring blankly at the goban, for all that his cheeks flushed slightly. "Fine. But I know for a fact that if your father's ghost is watching, he's severely disappointed right now." That earned him a glare full of genuine anger. It wasn't the exciting intensity of a real game face, but it was closer than he'd seen in the past month. He sat with a returning glare as the Judge began the recitation of the rules of the tournament.

The opening game went by in a flash, for all that it took almost two hours. Touya played with an elegant precision that had been missing lately and Shindou seemed hard pressed to take his time and consider his moves. For all that it was a title deciding match, it was also the first game he'd played with his rival in two months that looked even slightly normal. He'd obviously missed that. He'd clearly missed the energy and excitement of a good game against his favourite opponent, and watching them, Waya could see said opponent felt the same.

Touya was still slightly flushed, but his mouth was set in a familiar hard line. Sweat darkened the roots of his hair and his eyes burned. His pace was steady, if a little slow, but his attacks and responses were brilliant. This was no perfunctory placing of uninspired stones; it was a true contest. Even the spectators were impressed. This was the sort of play they'd waited for. This was what made Touya/Shindou matches so spectacular. Little smiles and murmurs of admiration occasionally escaped the audience's mouths, but it was clear the rivals were playing for each other today. Shindou was smiling.

It continued on that way for almost the entire day. Shindou did wind up spending more time than usual on trips to the restroom, and Touya tended to close his eyes during these pauses as though the strain of glaring non-stop at the stones were a bit much even for him. The spectators came and went a little less frequently than usual, afraid to miss some interesting play. Even Waya found himself enjoying the game, so it came as something of a shock to him when the title holder began to fall apart towards the end of the evening.

After watching Touya make his second poor move in a row, Waya took a quick look at Shindou. He expected him to look angry at this seeming return of his rival's sub-par performance. Instead, the challenger was scrutinizing his opponent's face with something that looked a lot like concern. He didn't do it for very long, and no one else seemed to notice anything amiss, but then the habitually unconventional go professional proceeded to sit back and let the clock run down on his move. It took nearly an hour, but finally the judge requested that the move be sealed for the night, and Shindou obliged.

Around the room, there was standing and stretching, but Touya didn't move until his rival abruptly walked over and tapped him on the shoulder. The man blinked as though he'd somehow fallen asleep with his eyes open, then stared at Shindou in apparent confusion. The latter offered him a hand and helped him to his feet.

"Well, that was a better game," he commented. Touya nodded still seeming slightly out of it while one of the officials and a pair of fans converged on the two. There would be no game discussion until the game was over, but invitations to dinner and such were offered readily. "Nah, Touya and I are going to go have a drink somewhere and see if we can psyche each other out before tomorrow," Shindou declined, smacking his rival on the back. Touya seemed to come to himself enough to go along with it, and the two headed out. Waya followed them as far as the lounge, where Shindou unceremoniously shoved Touya into a chair and twisted his head to catch his Insei friend's attention. His expression was grim; a complete inversion of the cheer he'd shown moments before.

"Hey Waya, would it be okay if we did dinner some other time? I'm taking Touya home." He was searching Touya's blazer pockets for something, finally standing up with a set of car keys in his hand. The other pro did not protest.

"Is he okay?" Waya peered curiously at the man, and suddenly noticed that the slight blush, sweat and glassy eyes looked like classic symptoms of a fever.

"Not enough to play, that's for sure. He'll be better off at home," he turned back to his now quite obviously ill friend, "Since you're too dumb to stay there in the first place when you're sick." He leaned down to pull him out of the chair, and wrapped one arm around his waist as a precaution. Touya scowled at this, but made no move to pull away. He seemed slightly delirious. "Anyway, I may be forfeiting tomorrow, so if anybody asks, I had a family emergency and Touya drove me home, okay?"

"Why the hell would you forfeit? If anything, he should. It's not like he stands a chance of defending the title." Why anyone would bend over backward to protect a snob like Touya was a mystery to Waya, but then, Shindou's actions were unfathomable as often as not.

"I just don't wanna win it this way, you know?" Well, that made sense at least. It sounded just like him, too. Waya sighed.

"Okay, I'll cover for you. And I'll even be nice about your friend's image, since you seem to care. Call me when you know for sure what you're doing about tomorrow, though, okay?"

"Will do. Thanks, Waya!" He smiled and Waya rolled his eyes, then checked the hallways to make sure they were clear as Shindou half-lead/ half-dragged his rival to the car.

-

Akira was quite surprised to discover himself in his own futon, dressed in pajamas with a washcloth on his forehead and something in his ear. He jerked away from this last only to feel his head held firmly to the pillow by a familiar hand.

"Hold still, will you? I'm just taking your temperature." The voice was familiar too.

"Shindou? What are you doing here?" He felt slightly panicky and wondered how much of it was the fever.

"Trying to take your temperature, like I said! If you'd just not move for thirty seconds. Geez, you're worse than Kinume when she was a baby." At that, Akira went still in silent contradiction of this statement. Several seconds later, there was a slight beep and Shindou let go of him, holding up the digital thermometer for inspection. "38.7. What the hell were you thinking?" But Akira was beginning to notice other details of his surroundings. Chief among them being the fact that they were not the last place he remembered being.

"The match?" He heard himself ask, while other portions of his brain pondered the dim lighting, the cool washcloth and the suit-clad man sitting inches away. Said man rolled his eyes and stood.

"Was great until I figured out you'd left the building." Hikaru sounded irritated, but it seemed a bit forced. From the futon, his friend heard him rummaging around in the medicine cabinet.

"I left the... what?" Nothing was making sense, he decided. Himself perhaps least of all. Hikaru reappeared abruptly bearing a glass of water and something closed in his fist. He resumed his seat beside the blankets' edge.

"You headed off to lala land." Noting Akira's blank look, he tried again. "You screwed up two moves royally, and didn't even notice when I made a crappy one myself. Do you even remember the end of the game?" He shook his head, noting how very light it felt. "Well, probably best not to. Anyway, I brought you home. I figured you'd be better off here and wouldn't try to do anything stupid like play tomorrow." He set the glass and two tablets on the nightstand, then grabbed a couple throw pillows which should have been on the couch in the living room. "Sit up. Now that you're lucid, I want you to take some aspirin."

Finding nothing wrong with that idea, the feverish man dragged himself into a sitting position. Strange that his limbs could feel so heavy when his head felt as though it might float away. As he moved, the blankets fell from his shoulders, and he shivered in the sudden chill. Hikaru stuffed the throw pillows behind him, propping him up, then wrapped another blanket around his shoulders. He deftly saved the sheets from the washcloth, which had fallen, replacing it in the water basin on the nightstand. Then he offered his friend the pills and glass.

"How did the game end?" Even as the room swirled, this detail stuck in Akira's mind as blindingly important. His rival seemed to understand.

"I let the clock burn an hour, then sealed a move and got you out of there. There's no way you'll be up for playing tomorrow, so I called in a forfeit. Our next game is in six days. That should be plenty of time for you to get better." He returned his attention to the items in his hands. "Drink, or I force them down your throat."

Akira nodded with strange complacency before placing the pills on his tongue and taking the glass to wash them down. His hand shook, and Hikaru was quick to steady the bottom lest he douse himself. He still choked a little trying to swallow. "Wait, if I forfeit, even for illness, I'll-"

"I forfeited. I want the title, but not because your stupid pride made you play me when you were half dead." He pushed the glass up to Akira's lips a second time, and the latter obligingly finished it.

"I'm sorry I inconvenienced you." He watched bemusedly as his rival took the glass and went to fill it again.

"Yeah, well, you owe me a game. A real one. Our next match had better knock my socks off, or I'm going to have to find another rival." Akira stared at him with unusually honest horror and he quickly laughed to prove he'd been joking. Pausing to set the refilled glass on the nightstand, he sat, wrung out the washcloth and pushed back his friend's bangs to wipe his forehead and face gently. "Seriously, though... what's up with you lately?"

Hikaru was wearing his concerned look and Akira decided he really didn't want to see it. He could hardly explain his actions of the past two months to himself, let alone his rival. Even considering the question left him desperately tired. He closed his eyes, and gave the simple answer.

"I seem to have a bit of a cold I can't get over." For a long moment, he could feel the weight of his friend's stare, but the man didn't pursue it.

"Oh. Well, you're probably just working too hard." Hikaru's tone was brisk, and Akira heard him stand again, then walk away down the hall. He wondered if he were leaving and felt wrenchingly sad at the thought. His eyes felt warm and watery and he was considering curling up in his blankets and trying to sleep when he heard the soft sound of something small landing on his lap. Glancing at the blankets, he discovered a purple hair tie. "You might wanna keep your hair off your neck. You'll cool down faster that way," his friend suggested. Seeing the sick man's confusion, he took the small, stretchy circle, grabbed Akira's hair and within moments had gathered the one into the other forming a rakish topknot. "It's not pretty, but you look like hell anyway, so..." He paused, looking at his watch. "You should try to get some sleep."

"When did you turn into such a nurse?" quipped Akira, who suddenly wanted his friend to keep talking.

"Thirteen years of fatherhood will do that to you. Although you're a much better patient than she is." He yawned, closing his eyes as he did so, before leaning back against the nightstand. There was something very weary in the posture, but also something almost painfully independent. For all that he was sure it was the fever shoving words into his mouth, the patient spoke again.

"I'm sorry."

"I told you not to worry about it. I'm used to-"

"For making you leave."

Tired green eyes met fever-bright ones and for what felt like a year, neither spoke. At last, it was Hikaru who ended the silence, but with none of his usual flippancy.

"It's okay. You needed your space," he said quietly. Then he grinned with a hint of irony. "Not to mention I was going insane trying to keep things as clean as you do. We made lousy roommates."

"I didn't really mind-" Akira began, but Hikaru stared him into honesty. He smiled. "Well, perhaps you were a bit noisy to live with. And your understanding of household chores leaves much to be desired, and honestly, it's not healthy to cook ramen that many evenings a week. Your mother-" But as he'd been talking, his friend had been wringing out and re-moistening the washcloth. He dropped it a hair too exuberantly on the invalid's face.

"Shut up before you say something stupid, Touya." The younger man adjusted the washcloth enough to glare at this, but in a rare show of obedience, remained silent. "I found a place easy enough, and I'm doing just fine. The only thing that pissed me off was when you stopped playing like you meant it. I guess you were probably just sick, and too stubborn to admit it, but I was starting to worry. I've become an amazing go player, but even I can't play both sides," he paused, a strangely wistful smile curving his lips while it clouded his eyes. "At least, not anymore..."

"Shindou?" Akira let the question linger in his gaze. As expected, his rival chose to ignore it. Someday was apparently not today. Then again, it was probably for the best.

"Sorry. I'm getting tired. If I get much worse, I won't be able to drive," he smirked. "Speaking of which, Akari's coming to pick me up so I can go get my bike. Your mom is on her way up from Osaka and K-chan's going to stay here until she comes. If your temperature gets any higher, she's under orders to take you to the emergency room, so be sure to drink plenty of water."

"How is Kinume-san?" Akira tried to stifle a yawn, but failed. Shindou began shifting pillows and blankets around to help him lie back down.

"Obsessed. We can't keep her away from the chess board. Everything is Piotr this and Piotr that. I swear we have to remind her to eat," he paused for a yawn of his own. "Akari thinks K-chan's in love, but I think it's rivalry. I mean, he's all she ever talks about but when the two of them talk to each other, they fight like cats and dogs. And they play each other like the fate of the world depended on it. If that's not rivalry, I don't know what is." He pulled the blankets up to tuck snugly around the patient with the efficiency of long practice.

"Well, rivalry is better than love," murmured Akira, softly. His eyes were closed and he was at least half asleep. Hikaru stared at him for a long moment as his friend's breathing became steady and deep, gone to Morpheus' realm.

"Yeah. As long as your rival keeps playing," he smirked.

-

In his dream, the answer finally came.

"I am going to be his rival, Kinume-san. We set out to touch the hand of god, and until that day comes, there is nothing to do but play. He'll give me the very best of his go, and I will give him mine." He said it with calm confidence, smiling a little at the girl. They stood beside the waters of the duck pond and the tendrils of her purple hair danced in the breeze. She turned to look at him, ancient wisdom in a childlike face.

"And your love?" she asked with a gentle affection.

"Will stay within the stones." It felt right, saying it aloud, if only in a dream. The strange Kinume seemed to understand.

"It is a fun game, isn't it?" she replied, her eyes dancing. Then she picked up a bamboo flute and the melody enchanted him down into dreamlessness.