Warnings: None


Lucky Child

Chapter 48

"Was I Wrong?"


Time passed slowly after the Artifacts case, inching toward the golden promise of summer break.

Days turned into weeks with all the hurry of a child building a sandcastle before the morning tide. The routine of school, aikido, my meetings with the boys blurred together in an unbroken strip, a film reel playing on into infinity. I dutifully recorded a record of each day in my increasingly elaborate journals, pages fluffing as I peeled them apart and painted them with ink. All was well, my descriptions of events marked by languid leisure, no haste or anxiety turning Keiko's pretty handwriting to my more natural chicken scrawl. Worry lingered in the back of my mind concerning the events of canon coming to pass—but the worries remained distant. As distant as they'd been, perhaps, when I was just a child named Keiko, canon nothing more than a phantom lingering on the dim horizon.

This time period felt, in many ways, like a long sigh after a hard day's work: a reward for time spent in agony, tension unspooled and lying slack at last.

The strings of tension only knotted tight again at my weekly aikido lesson.

Ever since I had snubbed Kagome, and had asked for distance from her, she had kept herself just beyond arm's length. We avoided each other's gazes when we could, at first, before proximity forced us to shift into a reserved and chill civility. An exchange of greeting, curt and impersonal, preceded our lessons; Kagome asked Ezakiya to walk her to the train station each night, with only the most perfunctory of goodbyes thrown over her shoulder.

"Hi," I'd say.

"Hey," she'd reply.

"Night," I'd call after her.

"See ya," she's quip.

It never went beyond that.

Initially, every time I caught glimpse of her dark hair when I entered the dojo, my stomach lurched like a boat in a storm. Rather than think about that feeling, about my need to apologize to her, I pushed the feeling aside, did not allow it room in my heart to linger. Soon the sick impulse to shy away from her faded, and when I saw her, I experienced nothing but a pang of mild regret. Kagome appeared to feel the same.

At some point, I suppose we became accustomed to the distance between us—and by then it seemed too late to fix it.

Hideki noticed.

He paired us up in practice more often than not, pitting us against the greater bulk of Ezakiya. Hoping we'd reconcile if we were forced into teamwork, I suspect, but for all his efforts Kagome and I only developed the ability to make eye contact without flinching. Hideki watched through hooded eyes, tutting under his breath when we never re-clicked, never shed that armor of empty social niceties that protected us from pain and hurt.

—until, one day, the tense spell broke, shattered into pieces by nothing more unusual than a laugh.

The practice began like any other over the past few months. "Hi," I told Kagome, and "Hey" she replied, before Hideki bade us practice katas and showed us a new grapple. Then, in yet another attempt to force us to cooperate, he instructed us to use this grapple on Ezakiya—to work together to create an opening so either one of us could strike.

"It's like we're little kids," I grumbled as I took my stance, "and he's forcing us to wear one of those 'Get Along' shirts."

Luckily no one heard me. Kagome and I stood on opposite sides of Eza; I caught her eye and gave a subtle nod to my left. Go that way; I'll create an opening on that side, the look said.

Kagome rolled her eyes, tossed her hair, and went in the opposite direction. Because of course she did.

Kagome was like that, I thought as I launched at Ezakiya. Little rebellions, small snubs, pointed comments—tiny reminders from a tiny girl that she hadn't forgotten our beef, but wasn't the type to cause drama over it, either. Still, despite her ignoring my cue, we'd been practicing together long enough that we circled him as if we'd actually agreed on a strategy, one attacking at weak spots while the other distracted, trying to take down the bigger guy with our combined speed and agility.

Eza had long proved he was the best fighter of the three of us. If it weren't for his size and relatively slow speed, he'd easily be able to beat Kagome and I, especially one on one. The boy had an instinctual understanding of aikido's rhythm and flow, an intuitive grasp of momentum and strike patterns that allowed him to dodge strikes in spite of his lack of speed.

That explains how he managed to dodge Kagome, I guess, when she launched a flying kick at him while his back was turned. He twisted and moved to the side like Gumby and Neo combined, moving neatly out of the way as her body flew through the space he'd once stood.

A space I happened to be standing on the opposite side of.

Kagome's foot collided with my stomach; we went down with twin screeches of surprise and pain, landing atop one another in a heap. When I gathered myself, I found I couldn't breathe—because Kagome sat on my chest, rubbing her head with a hand. Eza watched us with his mouth open. When I grunted, she looked down.

Our eyes met.

My lips twitched.

So did Kagome's.

We both tried to hold it in. I could tell by the way she forced her face into a comical scowl, overblown and theatrical, but neither of us could hold off for long. The laughter erupted like a volcano finally blowing its top, hot and loud and searing in its sincerity. Kagome slid off my chest and lay beside me on the mat, arm draped over my heaving chest as we howled. I rolled to my side and draped an arm over her, too, until we practically hugged on the practice mat.

When our eyes met again, no tension remained.

The spell had broken under the hammer weight of physical comedy. Bugs Bunny would've been proud.

"Finally," Hideki grumbled over the sound of our mirth. "I have no idea what's been going on between the two of you, but I was getting sick of it."

"Me too," said Eza, whose big hands clasped nervously around themselves—big guy looked on the verge of apology, but a smile twitched at the corner of his lips. "Does this mean you'll start talking again?"

Kagome propped herself up on her elbows, looking at me with a smirk. "Well. She's got some explaining to do."

"And some apologies to say," I said.

Her eyes softened. "True. But—" she flopped back onto the mat, curling her arm through mine "—I've missed you."

"I've missed you, too." It's silly, how those words brought such a painful lump to my throat, the way her hand in mine felt so soothing, so missed. "And I'm sorry."

"It's OK." The smirk returned, topped by pleading eyes. "Just promise me you won't do it again."

"I promise." And because it bore saying, and because I knew what we'd be doing after practice, I told her: "We have a lot to talk about."


Yu Yu Hakusho, I learned early on, is an incomplete record of Yusuke's adventures.

Like. A really super uncomfortably grossly incomplete record.

Soon after the Artifacts case came to a close, and not long after my appointment as Yusuke's Record Keeper, I found a manila envelope atop my desk at home. Inside lay a single piece of paper, heavy cardstock that might have had linen woven throughout. It bore scant little information: an address, a photo of a young girl, and a short description.

Suzuma Sakura has made friends with a tanuki, it said. They are playing pranks on Suzuma's neighbors. Please return these tanuki to the forest or persuade them to stop playing pranks.

"What am I, an exterminator?" Yusuke groused when I delivered the case. "This is no fun. Do I not get to fight demons anymore?"

Despite what the manga had led me to believe, apparently the answer was a resounding "no."

In the weeks following the Artifacts case, many more envelopes appeared on my desk, each containing a case that involved a ghost, a tanuki, an imp possessing a young boy, a rambunctious spirit causing trouble in a neighborhood. Case after case came across my desk, sending Yusuke on errand after errand that he deemed completely not worth his time. Of course, he grudgingly completed these cases as instructed, but that didn't stop him from griping about it at every last opportunity.

"Spirt World's gotta be kidding!" he said more than once as weeks elapsed. "This is all small potatoes compared to the shit with Kurama and Hiei."

"Agreed," I told him. The anime had severely neglected to mention how many small cases Spirit World sent Yusuke on before the next big one—which would be the Genkai tournament, I had no doubt. The anime had made it seem like Yusuke left for the tournament as soon as he defeated Hiei, but now, weeks were passing with no sign of the tournament's approach—not that that was a bad thing. If Yusuke was going to stay with Genkai for weeks, or even months, I hoped he didn't get that case till summer break. If it came earlier, he'd miss school, and knowing Yusuke he'd chew my ear off with complaints if he had to stay held back a year, and that was a fate I really fucking wanted to avoid, because Yusuke's whining was awful, and—

"Hey. Hey! Earth to Keiko!"

I flinched and found him staring, holding a gauze pad soaked in iodine to his cheek with a toothy glare.

"I'm sick and tired of tanukis clawing my face off," he said, pointing dramatically at the gauze. "If I'm gonna get beat up, it might as well be by a badass demon. My cred's not gonna last if all I have to fight are raccoon dogs and punk ass preteens possessed by imps! When is Spirit World going to give me my next big case? Huh, Miss Record-Keeper?"

I heaved a heavy sigh, because this argument was getting quite old. "As I have said approximately one thousand, two hundred and seventeen times: I have no fucking clue. Spirit World just sends me cases and that's it. They don't tell me jack!"

"Oh really?" Yusuke asked, squinting. "Is that so? Because you meet with Ayame once a week, and you're telling me she never drops hints?"

"You've met her," I said. "Do you really think she's the type to drop hints? Huh?"

Yusuke's lower lip jutted as he turned away, muttering about how he hated it when I was right, and yeah, Ayame should've been a professional poker player ("would make more money that way, for sure," he said, "because there ain't no way Diaper Brat is paying her big bucks").

Yusuke, per his request when I first told him about my Record Keeper job, had gone with me the next time I met with Ayame. She didn't seem surprised to see him there—heck, she even said in her smooth, pleasant, fake-ass customer service voice that he was welcome to come to every meeting I had with Ayame, should he so choose…but Yusuke hated waking up earlier than he absolutely had to and turned down the offer in a heartbeat. Sacrifice sleep for responsibility? As if.

"I mean, thanks for finally inviting me to your little party, and sorry I forgot to bring tea," he'd said with undisguised, scornful venom, "but just what the heck is the brat thinking, roping Keiko into this? She could get hurt!"

I rolled my eyes at Yusuke's protective streak; he shot me a nervous glance, knowing I hated it when he tried to baby me, but at that moment I was too distracted by Ayame's small, calculating smile to bop him over the head.

"I apologize Yusuke, for what must feel like an invasion of your private life," Ayame said, "but Spirit World simply does not have the resources to appoint you a replacement for Botan. Keiko is the best alternative." Her smile widened, coy and knowing. "Unless you want to write reports of your activities yourself?"

Yusuke's eyes shot open, darting toward the packet of papers under Ayame's arm—the report I'd written up that week, about five pages long in small print. Yusuke had trouble with one-page essays, let alone the volume of documentation demanded by Spirit World.

"Nah. I'd rather eat a toenail," he said, still looking at the papers with an expression of ghastly revulsion. "So that's a big 'nope' for me, sorry. Keiko can keep the damn job." His eyes narrowed, darkening as he got serious. "But I gotta know. How is Botan? I haven't heard from her since..."

He trailed off, but Ayame didn't need clarification. She schooled her features into a sympathetic mask and said, "Botan continues to improve every day. We hope to reinstate her promptly. However, I'm afraid that is all I can say on the matter."

Yusuke, much to my chagrin, turned and hocked a loogie into the nearby forest, loud and wet and crude and a clear middle finger to Ayame's proper persona. "Feh! Stupid Spirit World and their stupid secrets." He rounded on Ayame with hands raised, eyes suddenly aflame. "I'm sick and tired of your—!"

But Ayame, as he'd turned his back, had vanished into the woods—because she wasn't the type to take his shit, even if he was the Spirit Detective. Yusuke looked as freaked out as I'd felt the first time I saw Cleo vanish. Probably would've made me laugh had I not been so concerned about Botan.

When was she coming back? Ayame's line had seemed so…rehearsed. What was she hiding, and why wouldn't she tell us more about our friend Botan?

As we walked away that day, Yusuke kept his eyes down, uncharacteristically silent. His feet scuffed the sidewalk like dead leaves on a winter wind despite the warm spring weather.

"You OK?" I asked.

Yusuke didn't reply right away. He wiped a finger under his nose, sniffed loudly, and breathed a long, heavy sigh. When the sigh ended, a light returned to his bright eyes.

"Ayame is creepy," he declared. "Way more like a grim reaper than Botan. Botan should take notes, stop saying 'bingo' so damn much and try to act her part."

I had to giggle at that. Yusuke tossed his hair, laughing at his own joke. He sobered quickly, though.

"I just hope she's OK," he said. "I know Ayame says she's doing well, but…"

Yusuke trailed off, eyes uncharacteristically distant. I slipped my arm through his. He whined, looking around as though someone might see us and he'd be embarrassed even if a total stranger saw us walking arm in arm, but he quieted when I squeezed his wrist.

"I'm worried for her, too," I said. "But she's a tough cookie. She'll pull through." Another squeeze of his wrist, gentle and affirming. "I know she will."

Yusuke swiped his thumb over his nose again before jamming his hand in his pocket.

"Yeah," he said. "Botan's a badass when she needs to be, that's for sure."

Over the course of the following months, Yusuke asked after Botan every time I spoke to Ayame. Ayame gave the same cryptic responses she always gave. Botan is on the mend. Botan's recovery is progressing. Protocol dictates I keep details quiet. I could tell Yusuke hated the way Ayame dodged his questions, but all he said to me was, "So long as Botan comes back healthy, I guess I can wait for her." And then his eyes would narrow and he's jab at my ticklish ribs. "But she owes me, big time, for getting me stuck with your ass."

Despite his bravado, I knew he worried for her—so I did the best I could to make his cases run smoothly. I researched and supported and delivered messages as I was told, because I couldn't stand the worried look brewing behind his eyes.

I was supposed to be the worrier, not my devil-may-care Yusuke.


Just like old times, Kagome and I had gone to our favorite yogurt shop to trade stories and get caught up after our time of awkward distance. Kagome chose lychee yogurt with strawberries and gummy bears, as per her sugary custom, gnawing on the cold-hardened gummies as I explained everything she'd missed (and delivered my oh-so-necessary apologies): Kurama not using the Mirror, Hiei's kidnapping, Botan's wound from the Shadow Sword, and Ayame's offer—not to mention her suspicion that I was more "interesting" than perhaps Yukimura Keiko should be.

When I told her about the eating problems, the old-life relapse of a habit I thought I'd kicked, she practically launched herself across the table to throw her arms around my neck.

"I'm OK," I said into the curve of her shoulder. "I promise, I'm OK."

"Really?" she said, small voice muffled and more than a little teary. "You're sure?

"Yeah. I've found distractions. Coping mechanisms. I think I have it under control."

Throwing myself headlong into obsessive journaling and working on my novel drafts had kept some of the urges at bay. I made sure to linger in public after dinner, to not let myself be alone after I ate, and to keep myself around people whenever the urge to purge rose up. It wasn't a perfect solution (I needed a therapist, like I'd had in my old life, to talk out my problems) but for the time being it had eased the symptoms of my relapse. Now I just had to be careful to keep up the good work, so to speak…

Once I pried Kagome's arms from around my neck, she sat back in her seat and let me finish explaining Yusuke's new case-load—not to mention his antsy demeanor, itching to fight strong demons like Hiei and Kurama again. She stirred her spoon around and around her yogurt until it turned to slush.

"I gotta say, it's impressive you're keeping all of them apart," she said. "Yusuke and Kurama and Hiei and Kuwabara, I mean."

"Well. Not all of them."

"Oh?" Her metaphorical ears perks up. "Have some of them met out order?" Kagome nudged my calf under the table with her foot. "Girl, spill! Who's met who?"

"Well…"


Kurama and I held our formal, Spirt-World-mandated check-in on Saturday evenings. He would meet me promptly at seven outside my parents' restaurant; sometimes we'd go inside for dinner, though often we'd simply start walking with no particular destination in mind. Most of the time we travelled in companionable quiet, content to observe the city bustling around us and stumble upon a secluded café, food cart, or tucked-away restaurant down a hidden street. Kurama seemed to favor my parents' food, though—which, yeah, it tasted great, but I ate it all the time and sometimes wanted a change of pace. Luckily he understood that and followed me on my quest for something new.

Of course, throughout all of this, we'd talk.

It wasn't the kind of talking we did in school, with Kaito chaperoning at lunch or our peers watching from the wings, nor was it the kind of talking we did in Kurama's secluded greenhouse, private and clandestine and usually about Spirit World business. In-private-yet-in-public, all claims of paradox aside, we conveyed more of our natural selves, comments breaking through our quiet evening walks like shoots springing from damp soul.

Mostly, we talked about how fucking stupid being reborn in a new body felt.

It happened gradually, of course, reaching that subject and the honesty necessary to debate it. During our first few meetings, we mostly discussed Spirit World, Ayame, Yusuke, Hiei—until one day, while walking side by side toward uptown, a group of kids crossed our path. The gaggle talked in overloud voices, competing for attention from both their group and passersby, pushing each other and giggling and yelling with abandon. The fact that these kids were my age in a very real way irked me, settling under my skin like a subdermal itch.

"Teenagers," I muttered under my breath.

"Teenagers," Kurama agreed under his.

We exchanged a glance—a long, loaded look, Kurama's expression slightly embarrassed for reasons I couldn't pin down.

"Teens are the worst," I said. "It's bad enough being around them, but actually being one?" I rolled my eyes with all the ironic teenage drama I could muster. "Growing up once was hard enough. And now I have to do it all over again? Life ain't fair, but this feels straight-up spiteful."

Kurama chuckled, eyes shutting for just a moment.

"I confess it's easy to forget my physical age, at time," he said. "I fear I'm too harsh on my peers, but…"

"But nothing," I deadpanned. "Teenagers suck and it sucks to be one, too. Nobody takes you seriously, you have to go to school with teachers who think they're smarter than you just because they're older, and your hormones won't behave themselves. No, thanks." Kurama coughed into his hand at the hormone comment; my head listed to one side. "Say. Does your mom ever get onto you about dating?"

Kurama blinked. I laughed.

"Mine keeps nagging me to get out more," I said, "but it's hard to explain that I'm actually, like, 40 years old inside, and the thought of dating a teenager makes me feel like a dirty cougar."

It was almost funny, the look of intense relief that crossed Kurama's face—funny and comforting, because I knew I was not alone.

"Yes, exactly," he said, green eyes intent on mine. "My mother only wants me to be happy, I know, but entering into any relationship with a human so young…"

"Right! It's gross!" I gestured at myself. "Keiko is way too young to be dating. She's 14, and that's basically just a fetus with an attitude!"

My companion blinked, then laughed aloud at the colorful comparison—a feat I achieved more and more often as the weeks elapsed and I finally learned what made Kurama tick, and what types of jokes made him laugh the loudest. He preferred quiet irony, but unexpected comparisons and other word games ranked among his favorites, too.

Our relationship, at its most basic, didn't really change after he learned of my secret—aside from feeling a bit less threatening, of course. He was still curious about me, and we spoke more freely now that we could be honest with one another, but the core of our friendship—one based on respect and mutual appreciation for the other's perspective—remained static, tempered now by a sense of deepened understanding. The wariness we'd felt around each other melted under the radiant warmth of friendship. Our favored topics of conversation shifted from the personal (how to manage peers and parents) to the philosophical (what had happened to the souls of the children we'd replaced) to the ethical (what were the moral ramifications of stealing the place of said souls?) to the practical (how did one connect with one's parents when we were older, or the same age, as them?). While Kagome understood the complexities of my situation well enough, her new life was still just that: new. Kurama had lived in his longer than she had and had encountered many of the same problems I suffered, and besides. In those early days, Kagome and I weren't on speaking terms.

Kurama was, in a very real way, the closest thing to a peer I had in this world. I spent my weeks looking forward to our meeting, where I could let down the last of my walls and finally be myself, daydreaming about where we'd walk and what we'd eat and what secrets we'd finally share for the first time with another living soul.

But of course, how could I explain all of that to Yusuke?

He knew I met with Kurama weekly, in private, to perform the duties asked of me by Spirit world. Saturday nights were prime social real estate, after all; he noticed with alarming swiftness that I remained unavailable on a night we'd normally hang out together, and pieced together that I must be spending it with one of my parolees with even more alarming alacrity. Perhaps he was suited to being a detective after all…

"It's Kurama," I admitted when he pressed for information (and threatened to cut holes in all my skirts if I didn't give up the ghost). "We just go for a walk and catch up. Nothing major."

But Yusuke's eyes narrowed. "You two are spending an awful lot of time together."

"Well, I mean, we're classmates, so…"

"But your entire Saturday night?" He crossed his arms and scowled. "You're not dating a felon, are you?"

The suggestion didn't incense me as much as it normally might, given Kurama and I had had the dating conversation the night before, both settling on the conclusion it was best to wait till we reached the age of majority, and date someone of similar age, in order to scrub all ethical ewies from the equation. I just rolled my eyes and swatted his arm; Yusuke yelped, even though there was no way the strike had actually hurt him.

"Well, I guess the bright side is that you're not meeting with Hiei for hours every week," Yusuke eventually relented. His eyes narrowed again. "So when did you say you meet with him?"

"I didn't say," I said, sticking out my tongue. "And I won't tell you, because you'll only barge in and try to kick his ass."

Yusuke grumbled something about wanting to give Hiei two, no, three black eyes, but he didn't argue. He knew I was right. Hiei and I only met for up to ten minutes at a time, so Yusuke hadn't been able to guess when I met with him the way he'd guessed my meetings with Kurama. If Yusuke ever figured that out, there was no way he'd keep a cool head and refrain from turning Hiei into a pile of minced meat. Nope. Not Yusuke "Punch First, Questions Later" Urameshi. The boy was still infinitely salty about the way Hiei had treated Botan (and me, but to a remarkably lesser extent, probably because I'd come out unscathed) and would no doubt try to straight-up murder my favorite edgelord fire demon on sight. Best keep them apart, I reasoned.

While I managed to keep Yusuke from Hiei, it turns out I couldn't keep him from Kurama.

Yusuke is a meddlesome little shit, it turns out.

About a month after accepting the Record Keeper gig from Ayame, I walked out of my parents' restaurant and stood on the sidewalk. The Saturday evening crowd trickled by with murmurs of conversation, snatches of perfume and the odor of bodies coloring the night. I scanned the crowd, searching for Kurama's distinctive shock of red-black hair, which had become easier and easier to spot as I familiarized myself with its subtle garnet shine—so imagine my surprise when I spotted a familiar face that didn't bear the stamp of Kurama's angelic features. Instead, Yusuke appeared amidst the other pedestrians, and when he caught my eye, he smiled.

It was a shark's smile. All teeth, no humor.

"Yusuke?" I said, unable to do anything but stammer his name as he trotted over. "What are you doing here?"

"What's it look like?" His hip jutted out, as sassy as Kagome on her most contrarian of days. "I'm crashing your little party."

"It's not a party, and also, no fucking way." My hands alit on his shoulders, trying to force him to turn around and "Go home, Yusuke!"

Yusuke dug in his heels like an obstinate billy-goat. "Why?" he said over his shoulder. His eyes adopted a wicked glint. "You wanna keep fox boy all to yourself?"

"Sorry, Yusuke," said a familiar, melodic voice, "but I'm afraid foxes make terrible pets."

Yusuke stiffened under my hands; I froze, head turning in creaking increments to the side. Kurama stood no more than a handful of feet away, regarding us with a small, amused smile.

"Hello," Kurama said—but when his eyes slid away from mine, travelling in Yusuke's direction, the amusement turned to solemnity. "Yusuke," he said in lieu of greeting. "It's been a while."

Yusuke stepped out of reach, toward Kurama. "There you are," he said. His shark grin returned, fists coiled loosely—but at the ready—by his side. "I've got something to say to you."

While Kurama did not look particularly intimidated, I couldn't help but notice his feet slid into a prepared stance, center of gravity balanced as if anticipating a strike. "Yes?" he said.

Yusuke, with all the suspense of a judge making a court ruling, lifted his hand. Kurama's eyes narrowed as he watched it rise—but Yusuke merely pointed it at me.

"She's your parole officer," he said. "But me? Consider me the bounty hunter who'll come after your ass if you try anything, if you so much as bruise her." That wicked grin of his possessed a protective core, hidden from scrutiny by bravado and teenage bluster. "Got that, foxy? Don't try anything fishy, or you'll have me to answer to."

Kurama stared at him for a minute. Soon his chin dropped, lips curling in a small, warm smile.

"I see," he said. He regarded Yusuke with good humor, restrained a fraction so as not to antagonize. Kurama lied, "Consider me thoroughly intimidated."

Obviously Yusuke had to aim for overkill. "I mean it, fox boy," he said, taking one menacing step forward. "You try anything shady with Grandma, here, and I'll—"

Both of them ignored my indignant squawk of "Grandma!?" in favor of trading the longest, leanest look I'd ever seen. Kurama shook his head.

"I intend to try nothing 'shady' with Kei, I assure you," he said.

But that was the wrong damn thing to say. Yusuke's head jerked back as though he'd been struck. "Kei?" he repeated, blinking owlishly. "What, you've even got your own little nickname for her?"

"Well, we have become friends," came Kurama's demure reply. "Nicknames are part of the human experience, I'm told." His eyes travelled back to me. Once more he began to smile—that secretive smile that told me he was up to something. He said, "Kei is teaching me about what it means to be human."

Ah. So that's what he was getting at. To comfort Yusuke, Kurama implied I was merely his teacher, less of a friend and more of a mentor—and while I knew he made the implication to placate Yusuke, my feelings twinged with a psychic bruise. Hopefully Kurama didn't really feel that way. Hopefully I hadn't misinterpreted our budding friendship for something it wasn't.

Whatever the truth, Kurama's tactic didn't quite work as intended. The tension coiled in Yusuke's shoulders sagged, sure, but his eyes screwed up as though he'd been confronted with a particularly intimidating math problem.

"Oh," he said, passing a hand over his helmet of gelled hair, voice disgruntled, grating with a hint of burgeoning annoyance. "Well. That's…weird? But—"

My hand curled around his wrist. "All right, Yusuke," I murmured. "Simmer down."

Yusuke glanced at me with a scowl, mouth opening as if to argue—but when he caught sight of my face, he paused. Seemed to think about something before closing his eyes. A smirk crossed his lips.

"I am simmered." When his eyes opened, they held nothing but wry humor. "Mainly because I don't see this guy being a problem. Too much of a mama's boy to hurt a girl."

Kurama laughed at the barb (thank fucking god he had a sense of humor), while I gasped and smacked Yusuke upside the head. He just laughed and dodged my strike, dancing out of reach and over toward Kurama. All traces of his earlier combative stance vanished, replaced instead by easy self-assurance.

"So tell me, Kurama, Shuichi, whatever your nickname is," he said. "How's your mom doing these days?"

"Call me Kurama, at least in present company," said Kurama. "And she's doing well. Thanks to the two of you, she's made a full recovery."

Yusuke's eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. "Ah man, that's great!"

Yusuke invited himself to dinner that night, because that was only natural for a freeloader like him. As I watched him and Kurama interact, I had to wonder if I had been wrong. Had it been necessary to keep these two apart? They were getting along well enough, even if Kurama dodged and redirected when Yusuke asked too personal of questions. Perhaps building a bond early would only serve them better down the line.

Better serve them, sure—but were Kurama and I going to have a third wheel at every meeting from now on?

I hated to admit that I hated the idea. But if it served canon, perhaps that was a sacrifice Keiko would have to make.


Kagome bore an uncanny resemblance to Yusuke when she waggled her eyebrows. "Do I spy a hint of possessiveness, dearie?"

"Oh, not you, too," I grumbled. "Yusuke's bad enough as it is." He'd taken to teasing me about loving 'long walks down the street' with a certain fox ever since he crashed that first meeting—but luckily he hadn't felt the need to crash our party but for once every month or so. Apparently Kurama and I together were too nerdy for his tastes.

"Well, you and Kurama have a lot in common." Another eyebrow-wiggle. "So? You two a thing or aren't you?"

"Firmly aren't," I said. "We both agree our bodies are too young to date."

Kagome deflated. I sighed.

"Talk to me when Keiko turns 18. Then we'll see," I relented. Kagome perked up immediately, which was probably bad news for my mental health, so I tempered my answer with a distraction of, "Either way, at least Keiko doesn't have Hiei's baby-face at this age."

She took the bait, thankfully. Kagome sat up straight, placing one hand flat on the table with careful precision, finger by finger in a fanning splay—eyes glittering with intense, shifted interest.

"Speaking of which. Hiei." She leaned forward, rising up and out of her seat. "Tell me everything. Is he just as grumpy in real life? Is he as short as he seemed in the anime? And most importantly, is he as hot?"

"Oh god," I said with dawning horror. "He was your favorite character, wasn't he?"

"He totally was." She sat back down and cupped her chin in her hands, eyes distant and dreamy. "So is he absolutely amazing?"

Much as I hated to burst her bubble, I shook my head. "Amazing…isn't the word I'd use."


Every Thursday, Hiei darkened my door with his grumpy, growly self—or should I say he darkened my alleyway? It certainly would be more specific considering he refused to come inside no matter how many times I told him eating indoors would be better than a dingy backstreet.

Not to mention eating indoors would make it harder for him to steal my ramen bowls.

Which he kept fucking stealing because he's an enormous jerkwaffle.

For weeks after our meetings started, Hiei ended every meeting by stealing my goddamn cutlery. He'd stand there eyeing the steaming ramen until I ran out of questions to ask. How are you spending your days, Hiei? Sleeping. Are you enjoying your stay in Human World, Hiei? I hate this place. Will you please eat here and leave my bowl behind, please and thank you?

That last question he countered with a roll of his cherry-red eyes, blurring out of sight, and absconding with said bowl right in front of me.

Like I said.

Hiei is an enormous jerkwaffle.

I thought about not giving him dinner, of course, but the one time I tried that, he didn't even stay to listen to my questions. He took one look at the empty alley, sneered, and flitted off like Sorei when I greeted the cat sans treats. Food was a non-negotiable part of my association with Hiei—not unless I wanted to flex Spirit World punishment as leverage, which I didn't.

That's where disposable flatware comes in.

Hiei damn near spilled the ramen all over himself when he next tried to steal his dinner. Only this time after he flitted out of sight, he appeared again in short order. The flimsy plastic bowl—much smaller than he was used to, not to mention thinner—buckled under the weight of the broth inside it; Hiei cursed and set it down atop the crate-table with a look like it had tried to bite his hands off. I just laughed, watching him from my spot against the alley wall.

"What infernal excuse for an eating utensil is this?" he demanded, one accusatory finger leveled at the object in question.

"What, never seen a disposable plate before?" I said, laughing. "Serves you right." I pointed at the rickety plastic bowl—the thinnest, cheapest one I could find at the convenience story. "Sit and eat. No running."

Hiei glowered, eyes practically on fire. "But it's less soup than normal."

"Yeah, the plate is smaller because you keep stealing the big ones," I said, speaking as if to a small child. "Finish that and I'll make you more. Once you get over your kleptomaniacal streak, I'll bring back the big bowls."

Hiei growled at me—but then his stomach growled even louder. The demon sat down and ate without further argument, looking thoroughly cowed.

My triumph at getting him to eat in my presence was short-lived, sadly. He still ignored my questions outright, or answered them with mere grunts and pointed glares. That of course only fueled my questions, not to mention my worry. I had no doubt that Hiei could take care of himself, but he didn't have a job, money, or a place to stay that I knew of. Most of my probing concerned his daily life, nothing personal or overtly prying, and from our shared dinners I learned scant little about him. He was a picky eater who didn't like mushrooms or, ironically, spicy foods (although he could tolerate both so long as my mother had prepared them; when made by my father or myself, he turned up his nose)…but that wasn't enough for me. I needed more. And the hilarious thing was that if only he'd open up, I'd likely ask fewer questions, worries eased by the comfort of transparency.

Alas. This is Hiei we're talking about. He's on board for sarcastic one-liners and barbed insults, but opening up about his personal life? As if.

Eventually I gave up, kind of. I still asked questions when he showed up for dinner, but I didn't harp on them after his initial put-offs. I just started talking about my life, instead, rambling on and on about school and home and life to fill the aching void of silence—silence punctuated by the slurping of noodles and Sorei's occasional meows. Old habits die hard. Silence makes me feel awkward, and I can't help but fill it when it rears its head.

"So now Hotaru and all the other girls have decided I'm their therapist, or something," I grumbled one night as Hiei ate. "Apparently staying out of their drama means I'm suddenly the one person they want to talk to about it." Crossing my legs at the thigh, I rested my elbow on my knee, put my chin in my hand, and sighed. "Being a teenager is exhausting. I don't want to be part of the petty nonsense, but—"

"I don't care."

I blinked, chin lifting off the pillow of my hand. Hiei stared at me through the haze of steam rising from the ramen, dispassionate and thoroughly disinterested and more than a little annoyed.

"Your human nonsense bores me," he said. "It's inconsequential, and prattling is the mark of a small mind." He dipped his spoon in the broth and took a snapping sip of it. "Are you capable of silence, or is the fact that I don't give a damn about your personal life beyond the grasp of your simple human mind?"

I stared at him. He stared at me, smirking, certain I'd shut up after the sting of his insult, smugness practically dripping off the ends of his spiky hair.

I lowered my chin to my hand and continued talking. "So basically, Hotaru is mad at Amagi because—"

Hiei's glare could've melted stone, but luckily I'm made of slightly sterner (or at least more obstinate) stuff.

The first time Hiei ever acted like I was more than gum stuck to the bottom of his shoe (gum that provided hot ramen, though that's beside the point) came mere days before my reconciliation with Kagome. We met on Thursday night, like always, and as I prepared the evening's meal, my dad popped his head into the kitchen.

"Be sure to bring your umbrella to school tomorrow, honey," he said. "I just listened to the aviation radio, and I think a cool front is blowing in, and some rain with it."

Dad always kept an eye on the weather; Mom and I shared a joke that his unheeded calling was meteorology, but Dad said he enjoyed cooking more than weather patterns despite his fixation on barometric pressure and wind speed. As I carried the food out of the house that night, Dad's prediction seemed to be coming true. An unseasonably cold wind carried through the alley to ruffle my hair all the way down to the scalp. More wind followed, but Hiei didn't seem too bothered by it when he showed up for food.

Still, though. The tear in his cloak—the one along the shoulder seam exposing a stripe of tanned skin—gaped like an open wound. I found myself staring at it, uncharacteristically quiet as Hiei ate his meal.

"Say, Hiei," I said. "Where are you staying, anyway? Like, to sleep and stuff?"

He looked up and scowled, but remained silent. I heaved a vexed sigh.

"Wait here," I told him.

Not knowing if he'd be there by the time I came back, I took the stairs two at a time up to my room to fetch my sewing kit. Luckily Hiei didn't fly the coop before I got back. I sat across from him at the crate table and extended a hand.

"You cloak, please," I said.

One thin brow shot up. "What for?"

A long sigh. "Just give it to me, OK, Mister Conspiracy?"

It took some convincing ("No, Hiei, I am not stealing your cloak as retribution for the bowls you still have yet to return; don't tempt me to change my mind") but eventually he shrugged out of his cloak and handed it over (with a snarled threat to cut me limb from limb if I treated it poorly, and an assertion that he was only handing it over to get me to shut up; he found my nattering infinitely annoying). He wore a simple black shirt, sleeveless, below his outer garment, along with tattered black pants and his customary boots. I tried not to scope out the cut of his muscular arms as I inspected the garment and began threading a needle, but I admit it was difficult. Hiei had the face of a grumpy pre-teen, but under that cloak he hid arms more accustomed to swinging a sword than wielding chopsticks. I mean, the guy was jacked. Fangirls over the world rejoice.

I mended the cloak's trailing hem and torn shoulder by the time Hiei finished eating; thank you, Mom, for insisting I learn to sew.

"There," I said when I was done. I held up the coat with obvious pride, beaming at Hiei around the side of its dark drape. "All fixed. You should be nice and toasty when the storm comes."

His eyes narrowed. "Storm?"

"Yeah. There's going to be rain soon, and a cool front. And soon it'll be the rainy season in general." My turn to narrow my eyes. "Where're you staying? You never told me."

His nose tipped up; he snatched the cloak and shrugged into it with a growl of, "That is no concern of yours."

"Sure, but—oh, hey, Sorei."

I saw his eyes, first, electric gold in the dark, before my cat sauntered out of the dark, slipping through crates and behind the dumpster on silent paws. The cat wound his skinny body around my ankles; for once, he allowed me to scratch behind his ears for a moment, but when he sidled away from me, I didn't chase him for more cuddles. I watched with a fond smile as the grey feline melded with the falling darkness and disappeared from view around a corner.

When I looked back at Hiei, I found him watching me through impassive scarlet eyes—eyes that saw much but said little. Alarming eyes when housed in such a youthful face. Striking eyes that gleamed in the darkness, reflecting light just as Sorei's had.

"As I was saying," I said, trying to sound soft and kind (even though I didn't want to considering Hiei had just threatened to kill me, but whatever). "It'll rain soon. If you need a place to stay with a solid roof, you know where to find me."

Hiei's large eyes grew larger still, dominating his face completely. I nearly laughed at his confusion, but I somehow held the sound at bay as I jerked my thumb over my shoulder, up toward the roof.

"I leave the window cracked when it rains, for Sorei," I said. "Just knock if you need a futon, all right?"

Hiei didn't reply. His eyes dropped from mine, back down to his tepid soup. When he flitted off into the night, he didn't bother with a goodbye—but nor did he bother with an insult, nor mock my offer of shelter from the rain. I stayed up late when the rain fell that night, watching out the window for a flash of red in the dark, but Hiei never knocked on my window.

Still. The evening felt like progress, however small.

As with feral cats, a lack of claws was sometimes a gesture of (albeit scant) affection-adjacent tolerance all its own.


"Wow. Prickly little shit," Kagome said. She sagged in her seat with a dramatic sigh. "And you haven't seen his abs to verify if they're sexy?"

"Nope."

Another sigh, even more dramatic this time, chin pillowed forlornly on the tabletop. "Prickly and not sexy. Man, I don't envy you." She lifted her hands over her head and ticked off the boys on her fingers. "Yusuke's a handful, Hiei bites heads off, and Kurama is all doom and gloom philosophy." Kagome's scowl rivaled Hiei's in that moment. "At least tell me Kuwabara is fun."

Suppressing a wince proved an impossible feat. Tone mild, I said, "Unfortunately…not so much."


The next time his Tickle Feeling overwhelmed him, Kuwabara didn't bother calling me for another recitation of the Princess Bride. Instead he showed up on my doorstep in the flesh. Mom was delighted to see him (she always was) and immediately ushered him up to my room.

"Keiko, honey, you have a visitor!" she said as she all but pushed him past the threshold. He stumbled in looking as awkward as a stork running an obstacle course, all long legs and awkward elbows, but Mom just gave him a fond smile. She patted the door and winked. "Just leave the door open, OK? No funny business!"

I'd been sitting at my desk doing homework; I tried not to look as embarrassed as I felt. "Sure thing, Mom."

Kuwabara bowed to Mom as she left, earning a comment about his polite demeanor and supreme suitability as a son in law. He blushed scarlet and had trouble meeting my eyes once she left entirely, footsteps fading downstairs and into the din of the restaurant below. It was just before closing and the last-minute customer rush occupied my parents so completely, it surprised me Mom had escorted Kuwabara up. She must really like him to go to that effort.

"Hey, man," I said. I got up and sat on my bed, offering the chair to Kuwabara. "Everything all right?"

He didn't reply right away. The big guy sat down like he feared the chair might collapse beneath him, eyeing me askance with that same ginger care.

"No," he muttered. "Everything isn't." But before I could ask just what the heck was up, he slung his backpack off his shoulder and unzipped the main compartment. "Help me with something?"

"Uh. Sure?" I sat up a little straighter, because I expected him to ask for help with his psychic powers and I needed to be alert for that. "What with?"

Kuwabara pulled forth a tattered spiral-bound notebook. "Science experiments," he said—and then his face screwed up. "Well, not really. More like activities for kids that have something to do with science or physics or whatever." He passed the notebook into my bamboozled hands. "Pick one that looks interesting, would ya? Just make sure the materials are doable. And that the prep time is short. Some take a few days, and I…I'd like to get one done tonight." It was like he'd heard someone had died, he looked so grave. "I'd like to finish one, or maybe a couple."

Utterly bewildered, I flipped open the notebook. What I saw inside it gave me immense, thunderous pause.

"OK," I said. "I'm not gonna ask why you want to do this."

'Relief' didn't begin to describe the look on his face. "Thanks, Keiko."

"What I am going to ask is—" I held up the book to an open page "—why is this written in crayon?"

The large, loopy handwriting of a child covered every last inch of the pages with patchy crayon, wax smudged and discolored with time and many page-turns. Lists of materials, instructions, and descriptions had been written as carefully as a kid possibly could write them, but given it was all in crayon, parts appeared hard to read at first glance. Kuwabara's cheeks colored; he ducked his chin, looking anywhere but at me.

"Because I made it when I was a little kid, OK?!" came his gruff reply. One huge hand lashed out as if to scare away a pesky fly. "Just pick one, gosh darn it!"

It wasn't like him to snap, even in such a reserved way, so I shut up and did as he asked. The 'experiments' (a generous term indeed) were as Kuwabara had suggested: less experiments and more like illustrations of certain scientific concepts and theories, made simple and easy for kids to observe.

These experiments were also very, very familiar, I realized.

Too familiar, in fact. The more of them I read over, the more I realized that I had definitely read all of these experiments before. And I had a nagging suspicion as to where I'd read them previously.

Eventually I settled on a simple experiment: the tornado in a bottle. Easy enough to assemble. Just some water, dish soap, and glitter in a soda bottle. However, Kuwabara treated the experiment as seriously as one would treat the safeguarding of plutonium, each ingredient measured with utmost, exhausting consideration. His concentration was so complete, Kuwabara didn't even notice me watching him with a bemused, fond smile as he poured out each ingredient multiple times, perfectionism personified. Only once he finished assembling the tornado did I deign to speak.

"Wow," I said. Kuwabara swirled the bottle around until a glittery tornado formed inside, a whirlwind of scintillating sparkles housed in a skin of plastic. "It's pretty."

"Yeah," he said, holding the typhoon up to the light so it could it shine and shimmer like bottled happiness—fitting, considering the sudden look of contentment on his face. "I haven't done this one is so long, I forgot what it looked like."

"You've done these before?"

"Yeah. All of them. They're comforting, I guess? Or maybe they just make me feel better." His smile warmed like oncoming spring. "Whenever I'm stressed or need a distraction, I pull out the notebook and…" He stopped, seemed to remember I was there, and shot me a sidelong glance before muttering, "Doesn't matter."

I hated that look of defeat on his face. I knew it well. It was the look I wore when I talked about octopuses for too long and those around me became bored with my enthusiasm. It was the look of passion doused by the disinterest in others, a look he adopted because it had happened to him before, his passions shut down by the uncaring people in his life—and it almost broke my heart.

"It does matter," I told him with (perhaps overblown) vehemence. "To me it does."

Kuwabara hesitated. He rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed again—but soon enough he spoke.

"When I was little, I liked volcanoes," he said, every word a slow exploration of my attention, as though he feared I'd turn away at any moment. "And this one time I tried to make one, I messed up. Couldn't get it to work. To explode, y'know?" He smiled even as his cheeks pinked. "Out of nowhere, there was this little girl—she gave me a science book, told me how to do the baking soda and vinegar eruption thing." A bashful smile crossed his chiseled face. "My Volcano Girl."

I didn't dare look satisfied to hear that, lest I give away the rapid beating of my heart inside my suddenly-warm chest. I just nodded and listened, eyes intent on Kuwabara. He took comfort in that and kept talking.

"I loved that book," he said, sincerity as obvious as sunshine, "but I didn't want to take it from her. Didn't feel right, y'know? So she told me I should give the book to someone else when I was done, pass it on just like she had." His chin lowered, once more bashful. "But I cheated."

My brow knit. "Cheated how?"

"Well, I didn't want to give it away forever," he said, "so…I gave it to the library. That way I could go back and read it whenever I wanted. Figured it could reach more kids that way, too." He rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed again. "I dunno; maybe it was stupid."

I shook my head. "No. Not stupid. Very clever, actually."

"Thanks." Kuwabara tapped the back of his notebook with his knuckles. "Though having to go back and forth to the library for it was a hassle, so one day I just copied it all down."

"In crayon."

He blushed. "It's what I had on hand at the time, OK!? But, yeah. In crayon."

We'd been sitting on the floor, towels spread below us to catch and falling experiment debris. Kuwabara hauled himself to his feet and stood, wandering to my desk to stare out the window above it.

"I wonder if the book's still there," he murmured—but he shook his head and turned back to me. "Anyway. That book got me to love science the way I do." He grinned outright. "Guess I owe Volcano Girl a thank you, if I ever see her again."

"Nah. You don't." I wiggled my fingers at him, voice cheesy and dramatic. "The science was in you the whole time!"

"Ha ha, very funny." His eyes rolled like the tornado in the bottle. "Let's do another."

We cycled through three experiments that night, Kuwabara's concentration on the tasks as immutable as iron. When he left for the evening, he seemed more chipper than when he'd arrived. I offered a silent thanks to whichever of the Fates might be listening that I'd met him that day on the playground so long ago, and that giving him the science book had been the right thing to do. If it could bring him comfort in dark times, that breach of canon felt well worth it.

Too bad the comfort didn't last.

He called me that night at nearly 1 AM, nigh frantic because a ghost had made itself at home in his closet and was trying to kill him. She had an axe, he said. An axe and bloody eyes, dress torn at the waist where she'd been cleaved in two.

"So dark," he told me. "She feels so, so dark, Keiko!"

"Get out of there, Kuwabara," I said, all traces of sleepiness vanishing in the wake of his desperate voice. "Just get out of there, OK?"

"And go where?" he countered.

"To my house; duh."

The offer came automatically, though once he hung up with promises to head straight over, I realized I'd gotten myself into a pickle. Luckily my father was awake. He always stayed up till at least 2 AM doing inventory. I took a deep, bracing breath and headed into the living room, sitting across from him at the table with my very best Business Face in place. Dad sensed my mood immediately, capping his pen and setting it aside at once.

"Remember Kuwabara?" I said.

Dad nodded.

"He's having an anxiety attack." That felt like the best descriptor without getting into the ghost-factor. "His family isn't too sympathetic, but I am. I invited him over on reflex, then realized that given the hour, I should have asked you first." I leaned toward him, hoping I looked sincere. "I don't know how long he'll want to stay. But can he, if he needs to? If it gets too late I don't want him walking home alone. I can set up a futon out here, and—"

Dad held up a hand. I fell quiet.

"Leave your door open. Use the futon. And whatever you do, don't tell your mother." He grinned, lopsided and loveable. My dad. "Kuwabara is a nice boy. I trust him not to try anything funny—but more than that, I trust you to do the right thing. I just don't want your mother to have a heart attack, that's all."

Good ol' Dad. He helped me get the futon from the hall closet and set it folded in my bedroom just in case Kuwabara needed to stay here for the night. Dad didn't want him walking home alone so late, either.

When Kuwabara arrived, he would barely look at me. The boy had been so frantic on the phone, but now he refused to meet my eyes. He followed me upstairs in silence, sitting at my desk with eyes downcast. I waited for almost a minute in silence before nudging his knee with my foot.

"Hey," I said. "Want to talk about it?"

Kuwabara's dark eyes flashed, defiant and hard—but then the flint behind them shattered, and the words began to pour.

"It's just getting worse n' worse and I don't know how to stop it," he said, gruff voice cracking like ice underfoot. "Every day I see them, and they've started to see me right back, and it's just awful. They chase me home and come into my dreams and steal my energy like creepy little vampires or somethin'. Sleep hurts these days, and I keep getting less and less, and I just—" His head descended into his hands, fingers tangling into his ginger curls. "Shizuru says it'll pass eventually. It happens to everyone in our family. It's worst at thirteen or so but it gets better later, or so she tells me, because I'm getting real tired of waitin' around for this to calm down." His broken, exhausted eyes met mine; the bags beneath them had never looked darker. "I just want to sleep, OK? Is that too much to ask?"

"No," I told him, heart breaking with every syllable. "No. That's not too much at all."

Our eyes held each other for a long time. The red rims of his spoke of countless sleepless nights and a hundred terrible dreams—dreams my sweet Kuwabara didn't deserve. Just as I started to tell him about Genkai, who could help, even though it was too early for canon and even though Shizuru was supposed to tell him about Genkai, because fuck it all, Kuwabara needed help and I'll be damned if I didn't provide it—his eyes fell closed.

"Shizuru says there's some psychic lady in the mountains who could help me," he said. "Name's Genkai, but I have no idea where the heck she is." His eyes opened to resolute fire and hard, tired determination. "I don't like asking for help, and I sure as heck don't like telling people about my powers. But I'm so done with this, I'm willing to try anything."

Relief flooded me like a cool wind. "I think that's wise," I said.

Kuwabara looked relieved to hear me say that. "Yeah," he said. "I think so, too."

Per his request that night, I used the Princess Bride as a lullaby, shepherding him toward sleep with the tale of Buttercup and her Man in Black. He lay on the futon on my floor in the dark until his snores, gentle and comforting, filled the air.

When he fell asleep, I found the seed Kurama had given me and tucked it beneath his pillow.

I wasn't sure if the energy field in it warded off ghosts as well as Spirit World observation, but in the morning, Kuwabara declared it was the best sleep he'd had in weeks.


Kagome listened to Kuwabara's plight in sympathetic silence. When I finished she said, "Wow. So he's actually the most difficult of them all."

I shrugged. "More or less. But his growing awareness will take him straight to Genkai. Shizuru planted the idea. Now he just has to act on it."

"Think he'll go to Genkai at the right time? Right at the start of her tournament, I mean?" She looked understandably apprehensive. "What if he goes, like, today? And he gets there too early?"

"Well, he has to find her first. I didn't exactly hand him a GPS with her coordinates." Another shrug, accompanied by a wry smile. "Finding her is a pain in the ass, so that'll buy him some time. But as far as I can tell, aside from Hiei's personality shift, Kuwabara and Yusuke going to see her at the same time is the only scheduled bit of canon I need to be worried about."

Kagome nudged my shin under the table, smile bright and proud. "Well, look at you, Eeyore! In control and on top of things."

"For once," I grumbled. "We'll see how long it lasts."

She swatted my arm. "Oh, for crying out loud! Can't you just let yourself be happy, for once?"

Despite my pessimistic grumblings, we parted that night on better terms than we'd had in months—and when I left Kagome at the train station, I found myself not dreading next week's lesson. Kagome and I were friends again. The boys were all in my life in various ways. And from what I could tell, canon wasn't far off track despite all I'd done wrong during the Artifacts case.

Kagome, I admitted, might have been right. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I should just let myself be happy.

Too bad I'd be blindsided with another change in canon before that particular notion could really sink in.

A few weeks later, right after final exams and mere days before summer break, Kuwabara showed up on my doorstep wearing a baseball jersey and carrying a backpack. Despite the early morning hour, he looked as bright and alert as the sun itself—a far cry from the tired, desperate boy who'd slept on my floor some weeks prior.

"I found her," he told me, nearly giddy. "I'm going to see Genkai!"

Heart in my mouth, I packed him a dozen onigiri and saw him off at the train station—and when I came home again, a manila envelope waited on my desk. It contained instructions to send Yusuke into the mountains to participate in Genkai's tournament and track down the demon Rando.

These instructions bade me stay home, because to accompany Yusuke would be too dangerous.

Part of me wanted to flip Spirit World the middle finger and follow Yusuke as I put him on the northbound train, but after the debacle with the Artifacts case, something told me this was a battle Yusuke had to fight alone. As nervous as I was for him—for the both of them—I watched Yusuke's train pull away from the station feeling glad that he would train with Genkai over the summer, instead of missing school and having to repeat the eighth grade. I watched the train pull away knowing he could handle this, that he was destined to handle this, and would come away all the stronger for his struggle.

This was fate. This was destiny.

For once, I didn't feel the urge to intervene.


Later that afternoon, as afternoon bled into evening, my phone rang.

"So which ones of these morons," said a familiar, scratchy voice, "is supposed to be my apprentice?"

My lips curled of their own accord. "Hello to you, too, Genkai."

"Spare me the niceties. Which one? The big one with the bleached hair or the small one with the big mouth?"

I stifled a giggle at her description of Kuwabara and Yusuke. "Who's to say either of them is supposed to become your apprentice?"

She snorted. "Don't even try the vague and mysterious act, girl. That's my shtick. Only two people here are your age, so it's obvious that they're your friends. Not to mention they keep threatening each other, saying they'll call Keiko whenever one of them does something stupid. Which is constantly."

"That's them, all right." I smiled at the thought of them referencing me when I wasn't around, but then another thought occurred. "Say. How'd you get my phone number?"

"The big one appears to be the responsible type. He keeps a comprehensive address book."

"And you just…took it out of his backpack, I guess."

"What, you'd rather me ask them how they know you? Reveal that we've met before?"

I winced. "Nope. Thanks for being a pickpocket, I guess."

"Don't mention it. But enough small talk. Which of those boys am I supposed to train?" Her wry voice could peel paint off the walls. "Because frankly, apart from the big one's natural gift of spirit awareness, I'm not impressed."

How much could I say without jeopardizing canon? I walked a delicate line when I asked, "What stage of your tournament are they in?"

Genkai paused. "So you even know about that, huh? Interesting," she said. "The video games. They're in the arcade at present."

"So it's still early." I winked even though she couldn't see me, hoping the expression came through in my voice. "One, or both of them, may yet surprise you."

"…you aren't going to tell me no matter how much I threaten or blackmail, are you?"

Did mine ears deceive me, or did she sound almost impressed? I sat on the edge of my bed and cradled the phone between my jaw and shoulder, picking at my bedspread with unfeeling fingers.

"Even if I told you who is supposed to be your apprentice, if for some reason he loses the tournament, you still won't take him on," I said. "I don't see the point of ruining the suspense, in that case. You'll only train the winner, right?"

"That's the plan. And you're right." The stubborn pride in her voice conjured an image of her rheumy eyes, staring at me with unyielding dignity. "I wouldn't compromise that plan even if destiny itself sent you to intervene."

"Fate more than destiny," I mused, "but your point stands regardless."

Genkai paused again. "I take it you've learned more about your presence in this world, based on that statement."

She really was too sharp for her own good. Taking a shaky breath, I said, "Sort of. Every time I learn anything, a thousand new questions reveal themselves." My eyes rolled. "It's like being in philosophy class all over again. Questions lead to more questions, a million little rabbit holes, and you can never quite reach the bottom."

"Well, in philosophy, finding answers isn't the point. The discussion is the point. Perhaps you aren't meant to have answers." I heard rustling on the line, like perhaps she shook her head. "I don't envy you."

"I don't envy me, either." Standing, I cleared my throat. "Let me know when you pick a winner, if you get a chance?"

"Maybe," she grumbled. "But only if I'm bored and have a minute."

"Leaving me in suspense, now?" I teased. "How vengeful."

"Better believe it," Genkai said—and then the line went dead.


Because I'm an anxious person, and because waiting drives me up the wall, my pacing all but wore a hole in the floor as I waited for Genkai to call again. Too bad for me Genkai didn't call till late the next day, affording me a night of fitful sleep and bad dreams about searching fruitlessly for Yusuke and Kuwabara in a maze of long, dark hallways. I had just gotten out of a warm bath (an ineffectual attempt at relaxation, truth told) when the phone finally, finally rang. Clad in only a towel, hair dripping cold water onto my bare shoulders, I launched across the room and snatched the phone off its cradle.

"You're right," said Genkai without preamble. "They both surprised me."

"Told ya so," I said, unable to keep the smugness at bay. It vanished as apprehension filled my chest, however. "So did Yusuke…?"

"Yes. He won."

My legs gave out, sending me to my knees. Chest hitching under my hand, clutching the towel to my breast like a life raft, I breathed long and slow and deep, trying to calm down.

Yusuke had won.

Slowly, micrometer by micrometer, a smile edged across my face.

"He exposed the demon Rando and won the tournament—through sheer dumb luck, I might add," Genkai continued. "But a win is a win, and I'll honor the boy's victory no matter how he happened to obtain it." Like a king announcing the name of his newest knight, Genkai declared, "Urameshi Yusuke is the official successor of the Spirit Wave Orb." The commanding tone faded into grumpy muttering thereafter. "Or he will be, once he stops being such a pathetic lout."

"A bit of your training should fix him right up," I managed to say, but I barely even heard myself talk. Too busy trying to calm down, balancing the urge to scream my victory with the urge to take a week-long nap—a nap I felt I deserved. Canon had been maintained instead of maimed, and that was a victory indeed. But speaking of canon and maiming…

"Is Kuwabara OK?" I asked. "Did you heal him after he fought Rando?"

"You even know about—?" Genkai started. A wry chuckle scraped like dead leaves through the tinny phone connection. "Of course you know about that. Why am I surprised? And yes, he's fine. Nothing a bit of reiki couldn't fix."

"Oh, thank god." The words slipped out on a relieved sigh, earning me a questioning hum from Genkai—one I pretended I didn't hear. I had celebrating to do. Adopting an all-business voice, I said, "Anyway. I know you're probably eager to tear Yusuke apart, so I'll let you go. I'll ask Kuwabara for the details about the tournament when I see him."

Genkai didn't say anything. Then:

"That…won't be for a while, I'm afraid."

My spine straightened like a lashing whip at her muttered words, her somewhat regretful tone (if Genkai was capable of such a thing), the pregnant pause that preceded her declaration. "What do you—?" I began, but then the worst occurred to me and my legs became jello once again. Rando had broken all of Kuwabara bones; was bad news about to follow news of his reiki healing? Hand on face, half-collapsed on the edge of my desk, my voice trembled when I said, "Oh my god. Genkai. Is he OK? Can he—?"

"He's fine." Her annoyed assurance cut through the worry like a buzzsaw. "You can quit your worried girlfriend act."

Confused, I blinked stupidly at floor. "But. But? But if he's OK, then why won't—?"

"You won't be seeing him soon," Genkai interjected, "because he's going to stay here with Yusuke."

More confused floor-blinking. "Stay there…?"

Genkai said, "Yes."

"I'm going to train him," she told me.

The floor promptly fell out from under me. My stomach plummeted into my ankles like a skydiver, slapping the bottom of my feet with a jolt of horror, surprise, disbelief, abject confusion—

"But," I stammered, "b-but you said you were going to take Yusuke as—!"

"I am," said Genkai. "I'm going to teach Yusuke the Spirit Wave and name him the official successor of my techniques. But I'm also going to train Kuwabara to master his own spiritual powers, to hone his natural gifts and innate talents."

Because it was all I was capable of, I said, "I don't understand."

"…this isn't how the legend went, is it?"

"No. No! Not remotely!" The urge to babble my panic made it hard to think clearly. "Kuwabara came back and learned to harness his Spirit Sword on his own, he learned to bend it, shape it, mold it—all on his own. By himself. Not with a teacher, not with you, not with—"

"That only makes me want to train him harder," Genkai cut in, and that only made my panic flood higher. "The boy is gifted. His scores on the video game tests were among the highest I've ever seen. He manifested a spirit weapon without training, using his instinct alone, without knowing that such weapons were possible to manifest in the first place. He broke free of Rando's techniques through an act of sheer willpower before projecting his soul from his body to aid an ally in battle." I could practically see her shrugging, could envision her knowing smirk with crystalline clarity. "Sure, Rando got him in the end. But with proper training, Kuwabara could become something the likes of which I've never seen."

Her last line cut through the panic like lightning through water.

Kuwabara could become something the likes of which I've never seen.

And he would become that, even without her help. He'd develop the sword to cut dimensions soon enough, guide or no guide—and I'd always lamented that he hadn't had a teacher. That no one had ever truly trained him or taken an interest in fostering his talents. I'd said a hundred times on fandom message boards that Kuwabara's lack of training was a crime, that he deserved a mentor to become the warrior we all knew he could be.

Was I wrong to be so horrified by this breach in canon?

Wasn't this what I'd always wanted for Kuwabara, after all?

But how would this new development impact future canon?

Swallowing my confusion, I blurted, "You should see his sister."

Genkai's voice sounded like narrowed eyes. "Sister?"

"Yeah. Her natural awareness is even sharper than her brother's. But she never learned to fight, ever, so far as the legend goes."

"Hmmph." Genkai thought about it for a moment, but then she said, "My hands are full with these idiots, I'm afraid. But maybe afterwards…"

"Yeah. Maybe." Because this was too much, and I suddenly had a lot more to worry about, I took a deep breath and braced myself for a goodbye. "Well. Take good care of my boys, Genkai. I'd like them returned in one piece if at all possible."

"What am I, a used car salesman?" the crotchety woman groused. "No promises."

"Any odds on returning them alive, at least?"

"Those odds are better," she said, but only after taking a moment to think about it. "Provided they don't piss me off too badly."

I didn't say anything.

Said Genkai, and somehow it wasn't a question in spite of the phrasing: "They're going to piss me off, aren't they."

"We-ell…"

"Great." But she didn't sound like she thought it was great at all, sighing with longsuffering fatigue. "Whatever. I'll send them home in a few weeks. I'll leave coming up with an excuse for their parents to you."

My eyes popped wide. "Wait—Genkai!"

Too bad for me, she had already hung up.

I stared at the phone, dial tone buzzing on the still air, for nearly a minute before lowering the handset back into the cradle. With equal ponderousness I dressed myself, dried my hair, and sat on the edge of my bed.

How had this happened?

I'd resigned myself to a summer without Yusuke, months of golden promise stretching long before me—but now I had to go without Kuwabara, too?

Both of them were off getting stronger, being trained, readying themselves (even if they didn't know it) for the ordeals that lay ahead. Everyone was getting stronger—except for me.

And that just wouldn't do, now would it?

The walk to Kuwabara's house passed in what felt like a single moment of stolen time—too quickly for me to back down, to overthink this impulse, to shy away from what I knew I had to do. Shizuru opened the door before I even finished knocking.

"Hi, Shizuru," I said. "Can I ask you something?"

The young woman leaned against the doorframe, ubiquitous cigarette dangling from her fingers. "Shoot, kid."

I smiled. Shizuru lifted a brow as smoke curled like grasping hands around her long, thick hair.

I asked her, "Where, exactly, do you think your brother is?"

Slowly, Shizuru lifted the cigarette to her lips. Took a drag. Exhaled above my head.

"Why do I get the feeling I'm going to enjoy this?" she said.

In response, all I could do was grin.


NOTES:

Wrote the Genkai convo back in June. So happy to finally use it.

Longest chapter ever. Sorry about that. I wanted to cram all of the crap between the big cases into one chapter. No sense in dragging out filler, methinks. Thus, this is a chapter of passing time, a means of summarizing the "in between" bits without slowing down the story overall. We can get right to the Saint Beasts (more or less) when I come back from my hiatus.

Part of me wishes I'd sent her to see the tournament, but I don't think she would've done much but stand there and cheer for people, and that's boring.

SUPER SURPRISED I managed to post this even just one day late. Had NO writing time this week due to busy work hours and lots of cosplay prep. Was at an anime convention all weekend, cosplaying as Yusuke in his most garish outfit. Pics on my Tumblr if you're interested!

MANY THANKS to those who reviewed last week! I think my late posting made it harder for people to comment, so I super appreciate everyone who came out and wished me luck for NaNoWriMo. See y'all next month, and thanks again to: Lady Rini, LadyAmazon, zubhanwc3, SunShark, rikku92, Miss Ideophobia, tw2000, brave story, LadyEllesmere, xenocanaan, Counting Sinful Stars, DiCuoreAllison, Marian, Skylar1023, Mayacompany, Wistful Sin, Just 2 Dream of You, ahyeon, Gwendolyn-sama, My Heart Beating-MWMI, millenniumrain16, buzzk97, becca little bear,WaYaADisi1, MemeLord5000, Guest, My Midnight Shadow, Everlasting Purple, Kaiya Azure, Yakiitori, Lonely Dreamer7, wennifer-lynn, 431101134, kurt the snek, general zargon!