To Catch Forbidden Tears
By: Obsidian Sphinx & Lonely Wanderer
Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Once a little fairy asked if we owned Yu Yu Hakusho and then we shot it, and it died. So, the moral of the story is, we don't own the show. :Grin:

Author's Note: Hey everyone! We're soooooooooooooo sorry this took so long! But here's what happened: One day, while happily discussing the future chapters of the story, we got an urgent call to go to New York. Naturally, we knew it must be important because Bob, our New York guy, never jokes. So, we booked a plane to New York, but on the way a fighter plane mistook our commercial airline for the enemy and started shooting at us! Everyone was forced to evacuate the plane, but there weren't enough parachutes for all of us, and we got left behind to go down with the aircraft. Fortunately the plane, while spiraling downward, got caught in a conveniently formed air pocket, and we drifted gracefully toward an island with savages inhabiting it. Fortunately, they were nice savages and agreed to help us figure out how we got from the New York route all the way to a deserted Island in the middle of the ocean. We came to the conclusion that an inconveniently placed time warp was the cause; however, this did nothing to help us get home, as our plane, though virtually unharmed, was out of gas. We lived on the island for over a year and a half before Bob, our New York guy, drove by in his yacht and picked us up. So, we went home and were finally able to finish the next chapter and post!
. . . . Um . . . . Okay, so one of us got distracted by other stories.
Lonely Wanderer: (Glares at Obsidian Sphinx)
Obsidian Sphinx: eheh . . . .(Shrinks away)
Anyway, sorry about the wait. Enjoy this chapter! Happy Readings!
Lonely Wanderer: Happy Trails!
Obsidian Sphinx: (Smacks Wanderer with newspaper)
Lonely Wanderer: Hey! (Glomps Sphinx)

Key:
Shifting Perspective -
Dream Scape, New Location -

It happened every time. Hiei always ended up in the same place. He always wound up as a lone figure standing in the middle of a familiar clearing that was filled with nothing but sorrow. Images of that little kitsune passed through his mind, reminding him of the emptiness inside of him. They were a constant cite to the day when he realized the worthlessness of his life.

A cold Makai breeze swept around him in an attempt to freeze his soul, but the wind could not freeze what was all ready frozen.

Slowly, Hiei sank to the ground, heedless of the cold dampness that seeped through his clothing. His breathing was paced and came out in little puffs of white smoke, but Hiei couldn't feel the cold. It was strange not being able to feel the world around him. He didn't recognize 'cold' or 'hot', he couldn't feel the swaying trees any more, and he didn't recall what it felt like to live. He couldn't place why he had fought for his life before, why he had thought it was worth fighting for. He didn't remember what it was like to be wary of death.

Hiei took a deep breath, the icy air filling his lungs. He welcomed death, he hoped for it because he knew he deserved it. But Hiei respected death, and believed that it would claim him when it saw fit, and so he would never dare take the pleasure of ending him away from such a worthy thing as death.

Suddenly, he frowned a bit. Perhaps though, death had tried to claim him. Perhaps he was meant to die in that battle. The fox had saved him at the expense of his own health. It seemed preposterous to Hiei. It angered him. How dare Kurama save him from death? Why couldn't the kitsune understand that his life wasn't worth giving for Hiei's? Why didn't he comprehend the fact that Hiei wanted only to spend what time he had left alive protecting the ones he cared for?

'The ones . . . I care for . . .' Hiei thought. Yukina. How long had it been since he ran from Ningenkai? He had no concept of time, but he knew he hadn't been there to check on his sister. He cursed himself. His anger at Kurama and his anger at himself for not being able to hide his wound had been the only things in his thoughts.

Shaking his head, Hiei struggled to his feet. His body was tired and numb from what he imagined was the cold, yet he had not the energy to summon up the ki to warm himself . . . he had not the energy, and he had not the will.

His breathing was labored when he finally managed to stand. Under normal circumstances he would have been angry with himself for having such a hard time when doing the simplest thing, but he couldn't bring himself to care. All he could think about then was Yukina. Was she okay? What if something had happened? He should have been there to look after her.

The next feeling he had was one of abrupt, yet dull pain as he felt something cold slice through his skin. The sensation of blood running down his skin caused him to place a hand at his side. He looked down. Blood welled up and fell along the sides of a deep gash. His hand was stained red as that crimson liquid seeped past his fingers.

Hiei didn't know what to feel. Certainly it had hurt, and yet he couldn't seem to make himself recognize it as being any more painful than a bee sting. Rather than ponder on that he turned his gaze upward and was not exceptionally surprised to see a large, muscular demon stand before him, it's large hands grasping tightly to the hilt of a sword whose blade was stained with blood. He regarded the beast impassively.

The demon made a sound that greatly resembled that of a feline hiss and attacked again. Its sword was held out in front of it, and so Hiei sidestepped the attack easily; however, the sword did not miss completely and managed to cut his arm as the demon went passed him. He glanced at the wound and then at the large, hissing creature that had stopped and was getting ready to attack once more.

The demon charged and Hiei had no particular desire to dodge it. Hiei held no fear of the feel of cold steel sliding through his body. Maybe just to feel again would be refreshing. And then, he did not move. He did not move when the demon's sword caught him just left of his abdomen, nor did he when he felt the blade rip through him and come out of the other side. He only watched as the demon backed off, perhaps expecting him to die, but he would not. He couldn't, for that blade had not made him feel, and he only lived for one purpose. To protect those he cared about. He lived to protect her . . . Yukina, his pure hearted sibling.

With shaking, calloused hands the jaganshi grasped the hilt of the abandoned sword left in his body. He pulled and it slid out. He felt nothing, only saw the unmistakable smearing of blood. He then looked the demon straight in the eyes.

Whatever it was that the demon saw in Hiei's eyes, it frightened him, and he was all too prepared to flee but something held him in place. That something was the glowing jagan. He struggled against its power, but alas, he could do nothing as Hiei approached him, gleaming sword drawn and positioned. The demon was powerless to stop the sword's descent, and the demon was no more as the sword severed his head from his shoulders.

Hiei took heaving breaths as he stared emotionlessly at the corpse and its severed head. How routine it was, how mundane. He didn't feel physical pain, he didn't feel sorrow or regret for what he had just done . . . and he wondered why briefly before returning his attention to his task. Yukina . . . he had to check on her.

He closed his eyes, but the darkness that usually accompanied the action was not present. Instead he saw red. Dark, like blood, but lacking in the overwhelming sense of life that it carried. No, this red was different. It was stark; devoid of light . . . it was simply barren.

Kurama sighed, defeated. He knew well enough that he would be getting no sleep that evening. The color that awaited him every time he closed his eyes was far too haunting for him to endure for very long. It bothered him more to know that the accursed color and its emptiness belonged to Hiei's eyes.

Sighing, Kurama pushed his large comforter off of him and began to sit up. He winced as he climbed to his feet and involuntarily placed a hand at his side, as if his touch could some how chase away the pain. Unfortunately, the pain was somewhat constant. Part of that was due to the fact that he had waited so long to treat the wound that he had received in that earlier battle. He had been so concerned with Hiei's welfare and his own fatigue that he completely forgot about the injury. It was very unlike him to disregard an injury, but then it was also unlike him to lose extensive amounts of sleep over an argument.

He brushed a few red strands of hair behind his ear and padded over to his bedroom door. He opened it and then closed it behind him when he got out into the dark hallway of the second story of his house. He quietly made his way down stairs to the kitchen.

The moonlight shined through the single kitchen window above the sink and those tendrils of silvery light gently caressed the cold, tile floor beneath his bare feet. He shivered involuntarily. As he stood there Kurama soon realized that he was not sure why he had come in the first place, however, his eyes fell on the teakettle, and he shrugged. He imagined he could create a reason anyway.

He reached out to flip the light switch to the 'on' position, but then paused and pulled away. For some reason, he didn't want the artificial light. The moon would certainly do well enough. And so, the kitsune put on a pot of tea with nothing more than the rays of the moon as his company. He then took a seat at the kitchen table and proceeded to prop his elbows on top of it and neatly fold his hands so that he could rest his chin atop them.

He let his eyelids droop half way closed so that if anyone were looking all they would have been able to see were two emerald green slits gleaming in the darkness.

It had been a week: seven days, 168 hours, 10,080 minutes, and 604,800 seconds . . . since Hiei had so urgently rushed from his bedroom. Kurama still didn't understand why. Hiei's actions had baffled him then, and they baffled him currently, albeit the fire youkai and his actions had ALWAYS been an enigma to him. But perhaps it was that very acute essence of mysteriousness that caused the foxes mind to dwell so constantly upon the other youkai. Usually conundrums that he couldn't quite figure out, such as Hiei, caused him a sufficient amount of irritation, but for some odd reason the jaganshi's riddle seemed palpable. Kurama sighed inwardly and gently shook his head. It was indeed a perplexing paradox.

'A perplexing paradox . . . now that IS interesting. . .' thought the red head somewhat bitter-sweetly.

Suddenly, the shrill, exigent whistle of the teakettle yanked him from his contemplative reverie, and Kurama quickly stood and strode over to remove the kettle from the burner. As it was, that obnoxious noise seemed rather out of place in the room's black silence.

He busied himself pouring the steaming liquid into a cup and then returned back to his seat at the kitchen table. His slender hands, pale and delicate looking in the moonlight, cradled the teacup as gently as if it were a child's innocence. He brought the cup to his lips and sipped languidly at the tea inside of it, savoring the pleasing sensation of the warmth that spread gradually through his tired, battered body. Tense muscles began to relax and heavy eyelids began to droop, but just as hazy unconsciousness began to overwhelm him that startling crimson color appeared, and his eyes shot open. Sighing, he came to the conclusion that his sudden wakening was probably a blessing in disguise, as falling asleep probably would have left him with a most interesting mess to clean up in the morning.

His fingers found their way to his side where they could trace the outline of the bandages that concealed his wound. Suddenly, he remembered that it was rather painful, and he had to wince a little. Tending to it so late had been a difficult process: cleaning off the dried, crusty blood from his sensitive skin (very painful), cleaning the wound, attempting to rid it of the infection that was all ready present. Having to treat it with the common human antibiotics that he had located in the bathroom wasn't helping the situation. He'd have loved to conjure up one of his adoring plants to help ebb the pain and hurry along the recovery process, but he hadn't enough energy left. Anyway, it would take a little longer than usual, but he would still heal quicker than any normal human, and he supposed that was something to be thankful for. Still, dealing with the injury wasn't the end of his problems. He'd had to wash the blood out of his clothing, both his uniform and his pajamas, and then he'd had to sew up the tear in his outfit. Although, he had to admit he had done a rather exceptional job of it this time around. He hoped Shiori wouldn't notice because he had no desire to add another lie to the many others had told her.

Shiori . . . so kind . . . simply a kind, lovely, gracious, warm, and amazing woman. Single handedly she had raised him, and he had not been an easy child to contend with. She alone was able to tame the youko within him . . . alone was able to show him what it was like to love and be loved in return. He knew it must have been a struggle, but she had never shown him that, not even when she had fallen ill. She had been strong for him throughout everything, and he had depended upon her more than he realized. When she met his new stepfather, Kurama had been somewhat indifferent towards the man, but upon seeing his mother so happy he had decided to give him a chance and was pleased with the results.

Emerald eyes drifted toward a picture hanging on the wall. The photograph had been taken quite recently. It was of him, his mother, and stepfather, and his stepbrother. He sighed and averted his eyes from it. His leaving would sadden Shiori, but he felt it was far past time for him to be leaving home and getting an apartment. He'd already told her about his plans, purchased an apartment, and begun to box up his belongings. She always tried to act cheery in regards to the situation, but her eyes always looked a little melancholy.

In any case, having his own place would make situations like the one with Hiei a lot easier.

A sigh escaped his lips, for his thoughts seemed to exist in a massive circle. He was back to thinking about Hiei and the frustrations that accompanied the Jaganshi so frequently. It was all very mind boggling for Kurama. How could something like an argument with his darkly clad partner affect him to such a drastic degree? Naturally, a certain amount of concern intermingled with his current disposition, but he had never experienced such difficulties.

The one burning question that exceeded all others was one that remained a universal problem for everyone: why? Why was he having such strange feelings all of the sudden? His mind traveled over these thoughts with wonted precision, but to no avail, for he was still left with no particular answer. But as he pondered further something occurred to him. His current feelings of confusion were matched only by the ones he had felt many, many years prior, before his human life.

The familiar yet oddly forbidden image of Kuronue flashed in his mind. That pale, slender figure clad in dark garbs and those intense purple eyes . . . Kurama didn't even realize that tears had brimmed at his eyes and slowly begun to cascade over his cheeks until the image had faded away, leaving in its stead a similar image. Only, this image beheld him with eyes of red.

To Be Continued. . .