Disclaimer: today is Wednesday. I feel you all have a right to know that. (Actually it's Saturday, but it was Wednesday when I began writing.)

Fall

Give me a reason why you're gonna let me wait
Some kind of punishment before you terminate
You're taking my life for your peace of mind
So let's go—start the show

Accept, "Death Row"

Chapter Twelve: Pretty Tear Away

Hiei watched the burning golden notes as they hovered in the air around him. Pretty things, he supposed, though perplexing. Was there any pattern? Any specific rhythm to their motions? They seemed to have no guide at all, darting about in erratic patterns, clustering randomly and breaking apart. Meanwhile, Kurama continued to hum his mindless tune.

"Does the song have any words?"

Kurama shook his head as he continued to hum. Hiei listened closely to the combination of humming and piano; they matched almost perfectly, in fact. Beginning where he saw Kurama looking, Hiei began to follow along (at least, he thought he was) and started to notice patterns.

"Hum that note again," he said once, watching the golden symbols critically as he threw Kurama off the beat. The fox obliged readily and Hiei nodded at what he saw, beginning to see some correlation between the noises. No matter what note Kurama hummed, the symbol lighting up was always within a specific, seemingly random region. They lit in different, nonconsecutive orders, also random, but they were always the same seven notes.

Seven? Hiei knew that some humans had superstitions about the number seven; it was supposedly "lucky." And this music was reeking of humanity… Could the "clear moon" be referring to something in the human realm? Kurama's new home? Perhaps an eclipse there, which Hiei would not know the date of offhand. Intentionally, had Miru done such a thing? He could not be sure, but there had to be further clues around somewhere. This elaborate setup would not exist otherwise.

He watched the pattern of the dancing notes. It was a pattern, he saw it now; complex and somewhat scattered, but also distinct. He needed to follow it for several minutes before seeing any hint of repetition, but it was undeniably there.

Replaying it in his mind to pick out some shade of a hint, he passively ignored Kurama, who was not trying to make himself noticeable, anyway. The gold sparkled in a funny way, he saw with some interest. The light was angled so that despite originating in different places, it all hit the same spot, flashed off of an invisible surface—an invisible surface, he thought, which he could certainly find. Hiei stepped forward and ran his fingers along the cold emptiness until he reached the spot his was envisioning. Tapping it, he found not the unyielding substance that had cut hid fingers, but the brittle porcelain-like one that could easily be shattered.

And shatter it he did.

Kurama did not move to stop the bleeding this time, although there certainly was a spot or two of red.

Hiei frowned as he felt around the cracked shelf for something hidden within it. His fingers brushed what felt like a piece of paper, which he promptly withdrew. It became visible after passing through some arbitrary dividing line, the words printed in clear black ink, not faded in the least. It seemed to have roused Kurama's attention somewhat, as the fox looked down at the paper and read it upside down.

At least, he tried to. The words were not Japanese, nor were they a common Makai dialect. In fact, they appeared to be backwards, if Hiei recognized them at all. He cocked his head. The words were not backwards—they were upside down! He turned the paper over, expecting it to become legible; no such luck. Backwards, perhaps, but…

Hiei huffed. Damn it all. They were backwards and upside down, and in a language he was unfamiliar with. Common to the north region, he thought, meaning Raizen would have been the one to ask for translation. Unfortunately Hiei would never stoop to asking Raizen for assistance, even if the old skeleton was still alive (which, of course, he was not).

"I don't suppose you've got a mirror handy," he muttered, trying to right the page. Kurama shook his head, still with a ridiculous smile on his face as he hummed that annoying song.

"Apologies," he said idly, closing his eyes as he hummed. The notes continued to light up, although their puzzle had been solved.

Frowning, Hiei sat on the ground with the paper before him and a small rock in his hand. He studied the words carefully and, with a practiced hand (practiced at what, he wasn't sure, but whatever it was, it was really helping), etched the text into the dirt exactly—in reverse.

Then, because he could and he might as well, he turned the page upside down and repeated the process.

"This language, I recognize," he informed Kurama, who was now whistling. "It's commonly used in the slums of the northeast region. This one, I recognize but can't read. Yomi once tried to give Mukuro a contract in this style, so I believe it's commonly used in the upper echelons of Gandara; I don't suppose you can read it?"

Kurama glanced down, still whistling. He raised an eyebrow and smiled, breaking the tune. "Of course I can," he said as though offended. "And you should be able to recognize it, at least."

Hiei blinked. "And that would be why?"

"Well," Kurama said kindly, "it's the contract Yomi tried to pass off to Mukuro. Completely meaningless to you or me."

What the hell is she doing to me?

"Meaningless? After all that effort, she gives us something meaningless?"

Kurama shrugged indifferently. "What does the other interpretation say?"

Hiei glanced down at the dirt scratches. He frowned as he read. "It's nothing. A weather report. What good could that possibly do us?"

"I'm not certain," Kurama said, kneeling beside the scratches and stopping his whistling. "It must mean something, or she wouldn't have given it to us at all. A meaningless contract between Yomi and Mukuro and an old weather report from the northeast region. Mukuro's lands. What does that mean? What do they mean together?"

Hiei furrowed his brow, reading the forecast again. "Actually, the weather report is regarding the northern region," he said, raising his eyebrows. "Raizen's territory."

"Written in intersection with the other text," Kurama said ponderously. "Practically on top of one another. Obviously the two are meant to be associated, but how?"

"Well…" Hiei breathed out sharply through his nose with a soft "chm" sound. "The song can't possibly refer to a place. The 'clear moon' must be a time—the eclipse. The new moon. These two documents together must indicate a particular place, then. This puzzle is a set of directions, but to where?"

Kurama rocked back on his heels and tapped his chin, closing his eyes. This puzzle seemed a bit ornate for Miru's tastes. Perhaps the last few years had made her cleverer as well as more diabolical. "One piece showing a potential union between Gandara and the northeast region, and one piece representing the northern region. All three are accounted for, so all three must be present."

Hiei nodded, suddenly understanding. "The intersection of the three lands," he said in a hushed tone. "These are directions to the trisection on the date of the eclipse."

"Miru must be planning to meet us there."

Hiei shifted to a kneeling position and dropped his head down to his chest, sighing deeply. This game was tiring him quickly; he wasn't sure how much more he could take. But Kurama was getting better…sort of. He had to be content with that. He had to be content with the health and satisfaction of another.

Think of someone other than yourself.

Hiei scoffed.

Like I've never done that before.


Yûsuke stood, rubbing his backside. Kuwabara rolled onto his stomach and awkwardly massaged his lower back. Both groaned at the aches all over their bodies.

"Why does that always happen?" Kuwabara asked rhetorically. Yûsuke shook his head.

"No idea. Physics, maybe."

" 'Physics,' he says…"

Kuwabara continued to grumble as he made his way to the indent in the grass, clearly visible to someone such as himself, who was looking for it specifically. The hole was still there and still deep; it didn't seem worth it to dive down into it, not when he could sort of sense Kurama's energy moving away from the hole in two different directions. One coming, one going. The question, of course, was which was which.

"So what've we found?" Yûsuke asked, coming to crouch beside his friend. He prodded the grass, poking around the hole. "We gonna have to make the jump?"

"No, I don't think so," Kuwabara said distractedly. "We have to either go that way—" he pointed towards one of the energy signals "—or that way." He pointed towards the other. "Of course, I can't tell which.

"Why not?"

Kuwabara looked down at Yûsuke wryly. "They're exactly the same," he said dully. "Unless you can tell them apart somehow."

Frowning in contemplation, Yûsuke carefully studied the two energy trails. His glance shifted between them in a childish sort of way, almost foolish looking, but Kuwabara had long since learned not to judge such things on appearance. Yûsuke was actually quite good with his reikan when he wanted to be.

"That one has hesitance in it," Yûsuke said, pointing to one of the threads. "That one is very sure of itself, not at all confused. It's probably the one leading away from the hole."

Kuwabara blinked owlishly. "Yeah. Of course. Let's go, then."

Yûsuke grinned, marching off proudly. Kuwabara shook his head, grinning as well, and followed.


"Hiei?"

The little demon turned as his name was called. How long had Kurama been trying to get his attention? He must have lost his focus…which would have been dangerous in almost any other situation. Did one of them have to be out of his mind at all times? Hiei scowled. That was hardly fair.

"Hiei…"

"Mm?"

Kurama grinned in that way he did that made one wonder about his sincerity. His eyes crinkled slightly at the corners and his head tilted a small bit to one side, his mouth just the right length across and curved at the exact right angle on either end.

"We have to go to the trisection."

Hiei nodded with a gruff mutter. "Of course."

Kurama laughed delicately, the sound oddly grating on Hiei's ears. "Oh, darling," the fox purred, "come along! We've not a moment to lose; our journey is almost at its end and I can see the light awaiting us in the sky, the sky above this glass city." He traced his fingers over Hiei's cheek, smiling prettily and beginning to run away. "Well, come on! We're almost there!"

"Kurama, no—"

But it was far too late; Kurama had gone off towards the mouth of the cave, angled to run to the trisection, and Hiei could no longer stop him. So, doing the only thing a good friend would do, he followed, protesting with every step.

"You've got to listen to me! This is ridiculous, we need a plan of some sort, and who's to say Miru would even be there? We know we're far earlier than she anticipated. Kurama, would you listen to me?"

Again, the fox laughed lightly and did not stop, and Hiei felt himself beginning to flush, very slightly, with his impatient anger.

"Kurama, stop!"

"Oh my love, how could you ask such a thing of me?" Kurama cried ebulliently, reminding Hiei for all the worlds of a youthful, stupid human girl. This was definitely not the dignified spirit he had fought beside to steal the Artifacts, or kill the Holy Beasts, or win the Black Martial Arts Tournament, or defeat Sensui's team of misfits, or rise through the ranks in Makai politics, or anything! Hiei felt like punching something, it was so infuriating.

"Kurama!" Hiei screamed his friend's name without thinking, running after him in a blur. He stopped directly in Kurama's path, his arms out to his sides to create an effective roadblock. "Kurama," he said insistently, "you've got to wait a moment. Have you thought your actions through completely? At all? Even the slightest bit?"

Then, all at once, Kurama's free mask fell away to reveal something quite different. He had not the face of a brilliant, promising, cheerful young boy with no secret life, nor of a diligent student who always seemed to know everything although he missed weeks of classes on end, nor of a loving son who would give up his own life for a woman he had fooled because she was so kind. None of those.

He had the face of someone Hiei didn't recognize. He had the face of someone he had kept secret for years and years, someone who no one knew. Someone who no one had ever been allowed to know.

The reality that Kurama had another face, another side, another personality began to creep up on Hiei with a looming force. Perhaps enough to topple a mountain, or to drain a river. Perhaps enough to rearrange the stars, or to crush a planet. Perhaps enough to move a man. Enough to move Hiei.

"My gods…"

Kurama nearly began to cry.


"We've been walking for an hour," Yûsuke proclaimed loudly, "and we're no closer to finding them now than we were then. What say you we call it a day?"

Kuwabara turned to glare at his friend incredulously. "Are you serious?" he asked in a hollow voice. "Not only have I spent the last three hours trying to find these guys, but they're our friends and one of them, if not both of them, is in serious trouble. We are not calling it a day. In fact, we are never giving up on those two. You hear me? Never."

Nodding slowly, a bit thrown off at Kuwabara's conviction, Yûsuke continued walking, now silent. Feeling like ever more the bad guy, he turned back to try and make amends.

"Hey, you know I wouldn't—"

"Just stop it."


Hiei moved towards Kurama, his fingers twitching as if to reach up and hold the fox. Tenderly, like a child. "Kurama," he said in a steady, measured tone. "What's wrong?"

Kurama looked away, then up at the sky and its dull redness. "I just…" He hesitated, then shook his head. "It's a nice day, it seems…"

"Yes, as nice as it ever gets here," Hiei said, fearful despite himself. "And for any more obvious observations on the weather, of all things, I'll be sure to come to you. But what's wrong?"

With a wane smile, Kurama offered a small, ironic laugh. Hiei took a step closer and made to take his hand, but did not.

"Oh, darling, I'm so tired…" Kurama sighed, still looking up at the sky. "Can't I rest a moment?"

Frowning sadly, Hiei took a deep breath and looked at Kurama as no one ever really bothered to, and he saw something no one ever really saw. He saw harsh marks of age, not as marring lines on his face but in his eyes, and in his soul. Kurama was not a young boy. Kurama was not young at all, even in his human body. Perhaps the child Shûichi ought to have been a mere twenty-something years old, but Kurama had crossbred him with a wily fox and transformed them both into an ungodly creature far beyond the boarders of humanity or demonkind. Age had made him cold and calculating, and hiding himself had made him scheming and paranoid. The blending of two souls, human and demon, had been a marvelous experiment on the grandest scale, but it was bound for failure even before it began.

This was no defined being. This was no demon, this was no human.

This was a lost little boy of his own creation.

And now he wanted to rest. He was asking permission, even, as a little boy might. He was so tired, and he was ready to give up the good fight. He had fought it long and he had fought it hard, but he was tired of it, and he was asking to stop.

But Hiei was selfish, and Hiei was selfish for Kurama. He was not ready to give up that fight just yet, and Kurama simply had to feel the same.

"Not yet," he said slowly, lovingly. Selfishly. "Not quite yet. Just a little longer, Kurama. Hold on."


Yûsuke looked at Kuwabara critically, seeing parts of his friend he supposed he had always known were present but taken for granted, never analyzed or acknowledged. Kuwabara was a great friend. He was undyingly loyal without question, and without even mentioning it. They all took it for granted, in fact, because that was as he intended things to be. Kuwabara knew he would never betray someone who had put trust in him and he did not even need to say it. He radiated dependability with no effort.

At the moment, he was fiercely devoted to Kurama and Hiei, as might be expected considering the situation. Yûsuke was devoted to them and to finding them as well, he knew, but somehow he felt that if anyone deserved to be accredited with success on this pseudo-mission (should they succeed at all), it was Kuwabara. That Yûsuke had even mentioned giving up robbed him of any possible praise of triumph. Yet if he was praised, or if he was given credit for leading the trek, would he turn it over to his companion? Would he actually say, even given all his thoughts and theories and self-assurances, that he had not been the one to persevere under pressure? That he had been ready to give up, even temporarily?

Even as he wondered such a thing, he knew that any answer he invented would be unreliable. If he said "Yes," he might be giving himself too much credit as a good person. If he said "No," he might not be giving enough. The sad truth was that, until he was in such a situation and reacting on his gut instinct, he would not be able to know. He might never know, if such a situation did not arise. For all he knew, his answer at the moment might change due to some life-altering experience in the next day or two. He felt like frowning at the pessimism he suddenly felt, but found himself smiling instead as if in silent apology.

"All right," Yûsuke said firmly, his renewed determination obvious, if not its cause. "Let's go. Why don't you lead the way?"

Kuwabara nodded with the smallest hint of suspicion, though it vanished with his unwavering faith in his best friend. "Yeah."


Legendary spirit foxes gain tails with age. Kurama has only a few (I think about five), but the reference here isn't literal. It's about how he appears to feel.