Author's Note: Another chapter! And it's only been what…two weeks, maybe? Whew…how often does that happen…?

Missing in Action

Chapter 19: Nightingale

He was gone. Even now she found that she had to consciously remind herself of that fact from time to time – and each time she did the world seemed to lose a bit of its already meager luster. She felt empty, lifeless…abandoned.

Of course, she knew in her heart that it had been for the best. He had his part to play in the grand scheme of things, and she had hers. What right did they have to sacrifice countless lives for the sake of their own happiness? It was precisely such heartlessness and cruelty that this war was being fought to bring to an end.

Nonetheless, despite what he seemed to think, she refused to give up hope for them. As long as they were both alive, there was still a chance that one day they would find each other – and when that day came, she promised herself that she would never let him out of her sight again. A love like theirs didn't come along every day – and she knew in her heart that it was stronger than circumstance, stronger than evil, stronger than this wretched war. They would survive this.

She lifted eyes full of silent determination and hope defiantly to the steel-gray skies that blanketed the town. Koharu wasn't the sort of woman to let a little thing like a war come between her and her beloved for long. She felt like that woman in that book about the American Civil War that had been popular a few years back, felt like shaking her fist at the heavens and declaring, "As god as my witness, I'll never be hungry again!" Well, except she'd be saying, "As god as my witness, I'll be with Miroku again!"…but the sentiment was ultimately the same.

Meanwhile, she would survive, and she would do everything in her power to bring this war to its swiftest possible conclusion.

Her shoes clicked against the cobbled stones as she made her way to the market to buy a few supplies. There wouldn't be much available in the "above ground" market, of course – for there never was these days – but she had a few acquaintances who would be able to provide her with items from more covert sources.

As she rounded the corner onto la rue de l'espion, she caught the sound of a small moaning coming from behind a stack of old crates and refuse next to the building on her left. Curious, she peered around the edge of the stack, drawing in a sharp breath at the sight that met her eyes.

The man was bleeding badly, his face pale and drawn – he looked as though he was only just barely clinging to the edge of consciousness. His eyelids kept drooping at odd intervals, his facial muscles straining in a weak grimace. "Help me…please…"

There was no time to waste. She knelt beside the man and shrugged off her coat, helping him to sit up so that she could drape the garment over his shoulders and wrap it around him – it wouldn't be a good idea, after all, to have him walking around Asile with such obvious injuries. Clearly he'd gotten on someone's bad side – and the guys with the worst "bad sides" in the area were the ones running this town.

She adjusted the coat to hide his injuries as best she could, and helped the man to stand, supporting as much of his weight as she could manage. He was rather slightly built, lean framed and about average height – which was a good thing, because if he'd been any larger she might not have managed. Thankfully her apartment was just down the street from here. As an added precaution, she led him around the back way, through the alleys, where they would hopefully not be spotted.

It was slow going, for the man was clearly in a great deal of pain, but he seemed quite strong-willed, determined to push through. When at last they reached her tiny apartment she immediately led him over to the bed, helping him to lie down so that she could get a better look at his injuries.

She tore open his shirt, which was blood-soaked and dirty, to reveal a bullet wound in his side, near the base of his ribcage. The bullet didn't seem to have punctured his lung, for his breathing was hindered only by pain, and not by the injury itself. He hissed a breath when she prodded gently at the wound to inspect it more closely, but he made no move to stop her. Fortunately as well, the bullet seemed to have passed straight through his body, so she didn't have to worry about extracting it – which was something she was not equipped to attempt. Next she examined his left arm, which, judging by the slightly odd angle at which it was set, and the way he was favoring it, was probably broken.

"Don't worry," she murmured soothingly, glancing sympathetically at his agonized face. "I'll get you cleaned up – everything's going to be fine." The man swallowed and nodded shortly, eyes clenched shut as he tried to steady his shallow breathing and endure the ache of his injuries.

Koharu quickly set about preparing a bowl of water, collecting a hand towel and a couple of rolls of bandages with which to tend to his wounds, and coming back to kneel beside the bed. By the time she'd reseated herself, his breathing had become less erratic, more relaxed – she supposed it hadn't been particularly good for him to move with such injuries, but they'd had no choice. It would have been even worse for him to stay in the open to be discovered by the patrols. Even if he wasn't a spy, which she presumed he must be, they probably would have assumed that he was – after all why else would a civilian receive such injuries in times like these, when there were no battles being fought in the area?

He hissed and tensed again when she brought the warm, damp cloth to the wound in his side, but soon he became accustomed to the feeling and relaxed into her ministrations. She worked silently and skillfully, for although she had no formal medical training, her mother had taught her a good deal before she'd passed away, and she'd spent years looking after her father, cleaning up the results of his clumsiness until a couple of years ago when he'd succumbed to a bout of pneumonia. Besides, the war had brought a few casualties to her doorstep before know – including Miroku, one night.

That glorious night, she thought wistfully, swallowing the tears that threatened to well up inside of her again. He'd snagged his shoulder on some barbed wire while taking a shortcut and had given himself a nasty gash. She'd found him in an alley, dabbing futilely at it with a bit of cloth, and offered to patch it up for him. It had been love at first sight for the two of them, and since that night her life had never been the same. He'd whisked her from her girlish naïveté into a world of romance and espionage – a world which, in the end, had taken him away from her.

After cleaning and dressing the wound in his side, she went to work carefully on his arm. She didn't think it was a complete break – just a fracture – and after gently fingering the shape of the bone she decided that it didn't seem to have shifted significantly. The best she could to was to create a makeshift splint, which she accomplished by first bandaging the arm, then placing a wooden kitchen spoon on either side of the forearm and wrapping another layer of bandages firmly around it to keep everything in place. The man grimaced as she worked, but overall he handled the whole procedure very well.

When at last she was finished, she sat back on her heels with a sigh and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "There – you should be alright in awhile, as long as you get some rest," she said comfortingly, giving the man a kind smile.

He opened his eyes about halfway and regarded her with gratitude. "Thank you," he murmured.

"Don't try to talk," she admonished, "Just rest – we'll talk later."

"Wait," he stopped her when she made to stand. "At least…tell me your name, first."

"Koharu," she replied.

He nodded slightly. "Koharu – a beautiful name. My name is Hojo."

The smell of gin and scotch whiskey hit him like a cloud of memory as he stepped down into the dim, carousing atmosphere of the bar. Seemed like just yesterday that he'd been here last, downing shots with his air force buddies as they "celebrated" his reassignment. It was always easier to call it a celebration when one of the boys was relocated, rather than acknowledging the party for what it really was – a farewell. Possibly forever.

"Inuyasha!" a voice called out from a table near the back, and the man in question turned to see a familiar figure standing to greet him, a delighted grin spreading across the other man's face. "You made it!" the man said, shaking Inuyasha's hand, pulling him into a brief one-armed hug and thumping him on the back.

"Hey Joey," Inuyasha replied, returning the gesture – though with less enthusiasm. He'd need a little alcohol in his system before he could shrug off his problems completely.

"How've you been?" Joey asked, offering him a seat at the crowded table as he resumed his own. Inuyasha accepted, nodding acknowledgement at the others around the table, some of whom he recognized, but others of whom were unfamiliar. A few of the other men had women on their laps, some in uniform, others apparently locals who liked to come by and keep the soldiers company.

"Alright I guess," Inuyasha said with a shrug, in answer to his friend's query.

"Well you don't look the hell alright," the man chuckled. "Come on, let's get this guy a drink!"

Someone shoved an open bottle of whisky and a glass in his direction and he poured himself a serving, taking a grateful swig and feeling the alcohol tingle down his throat. With any luck he'd be drunk within the hour.

"So," Joey continued, "What the hell happened? Last we heard you were MIA. 'Course we never thought for a minute that those bastards could take down the Top Dog for good."

Inuyasha chuckled wryly. "It's kind of a long story. I got shot down over France, ended up in this little village. Met this woman…"

A wave of hoots and suggestive taunts cut him off, and he rolled his eyes. "Ooooh – so you mean all this time we've been worryin' about you you were off in France fucking some chick?" Joey mocked, and Inuyasha answered him with a light punch on the arm.

"Shut the hell up you dumb bastard," the hanyou replied, but without venom. What did it matter what they thought? It was easier to let them think she was some French bimbo than to get into the truth. "Anyway, I got captured, then she got captured, then I escaped, then I went back and helped her escape…and now I'm here." He shrugged. "And a bunch of other shit happened somewhere in there, but like I said, long story…"

As the evening wore on, the sounds of hoots and laughter began to meld together in the space like a palpable substance. It was like being in the world's engine room, listening to the grinding of the gears as they turned the earth in circles on its axis, everything in motion, nothing standing still. A pair of drunks were playing each other at darts nearby, and there was a rousing game of pool going on in the alcove at the back. At one point a dart landed and stuck into the surface of the table a mere centimeter from Inuyasha's hand, and he didn't even flinch. He just blinked at it a couple of times, pulled it out, and chuckled, tossing it into the middle of the table.

"…So I told this burkey trained jackass," one of the men beside him slurred, swaying drunkenly in his chair, "he better get his hands da hell offa my girl…and you know what he said? 'Bite me, shitface!'"

The whole table howled with laughter at this, their collective level of intelligence having been significantly diluted by drink at this point. Inuyasha himself doubled over in mirth, pounding a fist against the surface of the table.

No Kikyo. No Kagome. No Naraku. No Sesshoumaru. He was a ship on the open sea, tossed about by waves of bourbon, with nothing and no one to cling to – no cares, no responsibilities, no worries, no wants…

Too bad it couldn't last.

Behind him, at the bar near the front entrance, sat an empty stool, where once years ago there had sat a woman with a flawless curtain of ebony hair twisted up neatly at the base of her skull, and an icy countenance that had earned her her nickname. Eventually he would have to face it – but he wasn't looking that direction for now.

It was nearly nightfall by the time Koharu's patient awoke, his throat parched with thirst.

She brought him a glass and a pitcher of fresh water, helping him to sit up so that he could drink. "How are you feeling?" she asked conscientiously as he gulped eagerly at the cool liquid.

"Better," he replied when he came up for air. "I don't know how to thank you – you've saved my life."

Koharu smiled, glancing away modestly as she took a seat at the edge of the bed. "I did nothing anyone with a heart wouldn't have done."

"That's not true," he insisted. "These days having a heart can get you killed – and most people chose to look after their own and not risk their lives for strangers."

"Well, risking my life for strangers is sort of my business, I guess. I don't really have anyone else. Not anymore…" Her eyes grew unfocused, as her mind strayed to her beloved.

Hojo regarded her silently for awhile, saying quietly, "You remind me very much of someone."

She returned her gaze to his face. "Do I? Who?"

"A girl I once knew. She…used to live around here, but I'm sure she's left by now. At least, I hope so."

"I take it she was someone special?" Koharu asked.

He smiled, giving a small nod. "Very special – she was my fiancée."

"I see," Koharu replied, deciding not to pry any further into this poor man's personal business. "So – just how did you come about these injuries anyway?"

"I had a bit of a run-in with the sentries outside the village."

"They attacked you? Why?"

"They were under the impression that I was some sort of spy," he replied, but something in his answer made her narrow her eyes in consideration.

"Are you?" she asked.

"Am I what?"

"A spy," she clarified matter-of-factly.

He met her gaze warily, swallowing. Obviously he wasn't a very good spy, she decided – she could read him a mile away. "No," he replied, in a voice that was not the least bit convincing. "But I am looking for someone."

"Let me guess," she interrupted, "A man named Miroku?"

His eyes widened in surprise. "You know him?"

She smiled. "Quite well."

The man lifted his chin into a slow nod, finally comprehending. "I see – you're Resistance."

She replied with a nod.

"Well then maybe you can help me. Do you know how I could find this Miroku guy?"

Her smile morphed into a slight grimace. "Unfortunately, he had to leave town – his cover was blown, so whatever you do, don't mention his name to anyone but me. If the Nazis already suspect you, you definitely don't want them to connect you to him."

"Right – well do you know where he went?" Hojo asked.

Koharu gazed steadily at a point just over the man's shoulder, nodding her head slightly as she weighed their options. "I think so," she replied. "It's not going to be easy though. I've never actually been there myself, only been given directions – and rather vague ones at that. Besides, we'll have to travel on foot…and you're not exactly in peak condition."

"I'll be alright if I just rest for a couple of days," he assured her. "Believe me, I've suffered worse than this over the past few years."

"Very well – if you're sure…we can set out in a couple of days then."

That night, Hojo lay awake in the young woman's bed, staring up at the water-stained ceiling above him. He'd offered her the bed – since it was hers, after all – but she had insisted that he remain there, saying she'd be fine on the couch. He'd been about to protest, when she pointed out that the more he strained his injuries now, the longer it would take him to heal, and the more their impending journey would be postponed.

But he wasn't thinking of Koharu just now. He was thinking of another young woman from Asile.

Even after all this time, he could still picture her face in his mind as though he'd last seen her only the day before. She was, without a doubt, the most beautiful woman he'd ever known. Of course, every guy says that about his girl while he's off at war, but he'd known it even before he'd left.

She was the reason he was still alive. Not only had she given him a reason to live through battle, but after he'd become separated from his regiment three years ago, she had given him a reason to survive on his own, without the support of an army and a battle plan. It was because of her that he hadn't merely given up hope and let himself freeze to death in the forest over that long, hard winter; because of her that he'd found the strength to join the small band of freedom fighters that he'd stumbled upon up near the coast. For three years he'd lived with them, fought with them, starved with them – and all the while, he'd thought of her.

Of course, the more time passed, the more he began to realize how unlikely it was that they would ever be together again. One or both of them could be killed, or perhaps she would find someone else – after all, she probably already thought him dead. Still he wanted to hope that she was out there somewhere, waiting for him by a warm fire, dreaming of his kisses with a copy of Hamlet open on her lap.

A/N: Okay, once again it's time for FrameofMind's hidden joke corner. First of all, the road that Koharu finds Hojo on is called "la rue de l'espion," which, as many of you probably either know or can guess, means "the street of the spy." Second (and this one's a little more subtle – but funnier, if you're a music nerd like me), the line "For three years he'd lived with them, fought with them, starved with them," is a paraphrase of a line from the song "Do You Love Me?" from Fiddler on the Roof ("For twenty-five years I've lived with him, fought with him, starved with him…").

Well anyway, I had originally intended to take this chapter further, but this seemed like a good enough stopping point, and I thought a fast-ish update might be nice for a change…