The meeting of two personalities is like

the contact of two chemical substances: if there

is any reaction, both are transformed.

– Carl Jung

A Woman True and Fair

"Are you sure?"

"Quite." My hands didn't halt their path across the colorful fabric, testing each for durability and comfort. Idle chatter filtered around the men's department, deep voices discussing shirts, suits and shoes. A few women dotted the premises as well, likely looking for a gift for their significant other–

This establishment did not take kindly to window shoppers.

Kuwabara frowned, accepting another garment before gently draping it across his arm. Clad in a simple shirt and jeans, he shifted under an employee's cursory glance, great jaw grinding behind sealed lips. A day spent cleaning my apartment rendered the space inhabitable once more; however, nearly every article of clothing proved a complete loss, ruined either by Yoko's claws, bloodstains, or standing waste.

"I must return to work, Kuwabara – dad can afford only so much lenience." Pressing a pair of slacks into his waiting hands, my brow furrowed at the size, a pitiful number which would horrify my mother. "I would prefer to be back home before then."

"Yeah, but Sunday? You could barely walk a few days ago!" He winced at his own outburst, concern wrinkling his brow. "Isn't that a little . . . soon?"

"As the saying goes, there is no time like the present." Guilt forced a smile to my lips as I realized how I must look to him, dwarfed in clothes meant for his frame: a sun-kissed sweatshirt ballooned around my abdomen, overly-large sleeves something a jester would wear in medieval court; khaki pants cinched at the waist on a belt's tightest wrung, legs rolled neatly to the ankle. Doubtlessly I seemed a child lost in a game of dress-up, a great pretender–

Was it little wonder he wouldn't hear of me shopping alone?

"Is this everything?" He sighed, knowing better than to fight.

Glancing at his meager load, I nodded. "Yes, though first I need to try them on." I'd chosen shirts and pants in different sizes because, honestly, I could not gauge what size would fit. Once I knew my new dimensions, proper garments would be acquired accordingly. Shoes could wait.

Accepting the bundle from my friend, I left him seated upon a bench, locking the dressing room door.

Hanging the items from a post erected for the purpose, I sighed, ready fingers running through my hair. Something not unlike vertigo threatened but a thick-veined stalk snaked from my sleeve, musky leaves brushing my nose, keeping the sensation at bay.

'If you faint now, you'll look like a fool.'

A soft snort though I breathed nothing of his spontaneous act, stripping off first the sweatshirt, then the faded garment beneath. While unfastening Kuwabara's slacks, however, movement in the corner gave me pause. Before me stood a specter, a man I hardly knew: though flesh filled out sunken cheeks and the bags beneath my eyes had long since fled, both lips remained pale, thin, petals of a water lily plucked in sadistic pleasure. The protruding larynx, muscles depressed at the clavicle; pectorals giving way to pronounced ribs, corded abs drawing attention from pointed hips. A pelvis not quite full yet no longer concave, framed by a khaki fly and a belt held in bony hands. Despite my wasted state, each scar remained prominent, highlighting each battle, every brush with death–

Such things would not fade easily.

'So, you mean to go through with this?'

"Of course." I murmured, stepping from the rumpled pants before taking up the first article – a green turtleneck. "Whomever this Odawara is, she has no doubt been watching us." Pausing, I forced my head through the restrictive collar, sliding both arms through the sleeves before rolling the neck down. Pulling my hair free of the thing, I allowed the locks to fall down my back, noting the contrasts in color, the way the small sweater molded to my shape.

'What will you do when you meet her?'

"She should not pose a threat." I waved off his concern, removing the garment before reaching for a shirt.

'If she does, I will handle it.' The lilt in his tone did not escape me, amusement peppering his tongue. 'We wouldn't want your . . . humanity getting in the way.'

I shook off the remark, fingering the silk shirt, a sunny yellow more suited for spring than autumn. For the first time in years, my thoughts traveled to Maya, the human who came closest to discovering our secret. Yoko fought against saving her then, viewing her abduction as a loose end severing itself. He relented only when I noted a student close to me disappearing would draw unneeded attention, if not outright suspicion. Thus, the compromise of the Demon World pollen to make her forget the incident, as well as her love for me–

Such was for the best.

"That will not be an issue." I murmured, slipping into the shirt which would have fit perfectly months ago. "I have no desire in becoming involved with anyone."

A pause and I felt him raise a brow, a subtle shift beneath the skin. 'You still think of her?'

Her. I sighed as images of Shizuru came unbidden, things I longed to forget: her willowy frame reclined against my balcony at the apartment-warming party, lips spewing smoke trails; her fingers combing through my hair, unafraid of what horrors awaited within those strands. Shizuru in my arms, rain-drenched clothes dampening my own, a bruise from a lover flaring one cheek. Fleeting embraces, careful touches, ever watchful of those who would seek her life. The feel of her mouth against mine, lips thick and sweet, raspberry lipstick staining my collar–

Such memories brought nothing but pain.

'She wanted us.' He continued, muted tone belying anger. 'She wanted both of us!'

"We cannot change what was." The argument came softly, ever-conscious of sensitive ears just outside the door. "The only thing left is to move forward."

He held his peace while I tried on first one pair of slacks, then another. On the fifth and final pair, however: 'You've always been a coward.'

The slur stung, as most truths do, though I did my best to conceal it, folding each article before donning Kuwabara's clothes. "Think what you will, all I ask is that you restrain yourself – there is no need for you to interfere in human affairs."

Time raced forward at a snail's pace, jumping forward and back without rhyme or reason. I had no desire to converse with anyone and books offered no reprieve, the words becoming lost between my ears as soon as I read them. Sleep refused to come despite the aching behind my eyes and each movement felt both sluggish and jerky, causing me to bump into a wall and drop a cup which miraculously did not break.

I lost track of how many combinations I attempted from the limited wardrobe, settling finally on a white shirt with long sleeves and black slacks. The thick socks were unreasonably warm yet comforting for they silenced my steps, offering the illusion that I could steal the night from nameless hours. Scenarios ran through my mind like wild things yet I could not pin down a definite plan of action. I knew nothing of the woman save her name: no occupation, connections, skill sets, not even a physical description. Odawara–

What could she possibly know?

'Stop.'

Too late I felt leaves brush my cheek, the strangled cry of a flower. Blue petals curled as the dahlia cringed, twin-headed blossoms swaying. Stalks spiraling around my wrist and fingers, desperate sisters moaned, tears and seeping fluid betraying their sudden, violent growth. Despite the pain, they continued feeding on his energy, an essence meticulously crafted for centuries.

Murmuring a soft apology, I extracted my hand from thick fronds, troubled at the plant having tripled in size in only seconds. "You are not troubled by this?"

'Worry will get us nowhere.' His cool voice crept up my neck, twisted my ears as he somehow coaxed the flowers back to their original form.

Leaning against the bedside desk, I rested my head in one hand, grasping my side with the other. "She can't possibly know."

'If she does, I will kill her, just like the boy.'

Game Master's face surfaced and I squeezed my eyes shut, barring the memory. During the race to save Kuwabara, I could not remember when Yoko took control; only that his hands guided mine, filling the child with terror before ending his life. Had I protested, he would have resigned himself and allowed me the task, though I could not–

The boy's begging for his life still haunted my dreams.

'Humans mean nothing.' The words chilled my throat, cinching my tongue. 'They're passing fancies, little more than food – foolish creatures which cannot grasp their own insignificance.'

I knew better than to argue, choosing instead to creep from the shared bedroom. Thankfully, the kitchen proved empty and silent, much like the rest of the residence. Cracking open the refrigerator, I took a bottle of water and an orange, drinking deeply before setting to work. Ignoring custom, I peeled the fruit over the garbage bin, tearing apart the flesh and sliding fruit into my mouth piece by piece. The juices rested thick on my tongue, citrus scent bringing to mind happier times, memories of laughter and perfumed hands–

"So, who is she?"

The last morsel slipped down my windpipe and I gagged, coughing fit making my head swim. Kuwabara sat at the kitchen table, pencil held between meaty fingers eyes fixed upon various papers. When he finally looked away from the medical journals and anatomical diagrams, I noted the curve of his lips, the humor lighting his gaze.

Throwing the last of the peelings away, I wiped at an invisible wrinkle, clearing my throat. "I don't know what you're talking about."

He shook his head but smiled all the same. "There's only three things you could be dressing up for: work, seeing a woman, or visiting your mom. You said you're not going back to work til Monday, and I don't think you're ready to see Mrs. Shiori–"

"No." I cut in, orange chunks churning my stomach.

"Then it's a woman." Flipping first one page, then another, he circled an item before nodding, tucking the pencil behind his ear. "Don't worry, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

Staring at his profile, I straightened, exuding confidence I did not feel. "Honestly, I do not know how to answer your question."

He lifted his head, brow raised. "What, you don't know her?"

"No."

"So it's a blind date?"

I ignored Yoko's chuckle, nodding. "Something like that, yes."

A scraping of tile against wood and Kuwabara stood, work forgotten. "Alright, let's go."

He left the room and there was little else to do but follow. "Go where?"

"The bathroom. I can't let you meet a lady looking like that."

Glancing down, I took in my attire, a simple yet appropriate costume. "What's wrong with my clothes?"

Shaking his head, he pushed me into the bathroom, switching on the light and closing the door. "It's not what you're wearing, man – it's you."

For the second time that day, I looked in the mirror and hated what I saw. "I don't understand."

"Don't get me wrong, you're way better off than you were a month ago but you still look sick." He explored my face as he talked, fingers brushing vein-flecked temples before lifting a red lock. "When's the last time you had a hair cut?"

Frowning, I thought back as he crouched before the cabinet, fingering an overly-long bang. "June, I believe."

"Thought so." Shining scissors appeared in his hand, along with a selection of cosmetics. Satisfied with his choices, he nodded, pulling the stool in front of the sink. "Alright, sit down."

I eyed the scissors warily, shoulders slipping back. "What are you going to do?"

"I wouldn't be a man if I let you go on a date looking like that." He grunted, motioning toward the shower seat while taking a towel from the stack above the toilet. "Come on, if you're already dressed we don't have a lot of time."

Kuwabara waited until I sat before moving, draping the towel around my shoulders. Lifting my hair over the cloth, he allowed all but one strand to fall, rubbing the thick rope between his fingers. "Two inches, three tops." He murmured, glancing at me in the mirror. "What do you think?"

Sighing, I forced myself to study the red pouring down my back. Before, I noticed only the dull shade though now the problem paraded before me. I'd kept long hair for years, both for practicality's sake as well as mother liking the style. However, my hair had never been left unchecked and the results were plain, fractured ends falling past my hips.

How did I not notice before? "That will be fine."

"Okay, then we'll have to style it." Grabbing a handful of clips and bobby pins from a woven basket, he set to work gathering most of the red in a mass atop my head, running through the remainder with a fine-toothed comb. "Do you usually layer your hair?"

"Yes." The admission came slowly as he made quick measurements with his hand, the snipping of scissors filling the air.

Try as I might, I couldn't contain myself past the bottom layer. "Kuwabara, when did you learn to cut hair?"

"Back in middle school; growing up, sis practiced on me all the time." He talked as he worked, each cut confident, sure. "One time, she messed up really bad; it was my last year of elementary school and she'd just learned how to do perms. Well, the first time she tried it on me, she mixed up the wrong chemicals and turned my hair orange! She tried to cover it by giving me an awesome haircut but it still looked rough; she cried." Kuwabara chuckled, lips curling around the pins in his mouth. "I couldn't take that so I told her I loved it, made her do my hair that way all through middle and high school."

My eyes roved to his honey-bronze hair reflected in the glass, curls gathering at the forehead. "Faulty permanents couldn't have been good for you."

"Yeah, they messed my head up pretty bad. That's why I still style it like this." The scissor's work permeated once more, adding to the ever-increasing red dotting the floor. "It doesn't bother me, though. If something like bad hair can make a lady smile, I'm willing to make that sacrifice."

Thirty minutes later found him laying my head over the sink, massaging different compounds into my scalp. I relaxed under his caresses, gentle prodding nearly lulling me to sleep. "How do you want it styled?"

I shrugged, not bothering to open my eyes. "However you wish."

Somewhere between blow drying and brushing I nodded off, for the next thing I knew pressure lit the side of my head. Several strands erupted between Kuwabara's fingers and he stared with knitted brow, cheek sucked between his jaws. "Kuwabara?"

"Shh, this is the tough part." He murmured, absorbed in his work.

I watched on as he twisted the locks into first one elaborate braid, then another, fastening both with clear bands before following suit with the other side. Gathering the four together, he fastened them at my nape, unfurling the ends so that they spilled over the remainder in waves. When asked my thoughts on the finished product, I could only offer the barest commendations while Yoko hummed his approval, speechless in the face of my friend's talent.

What else did I not know about this man?

The makeup was a simple affair, foundation and a touch of rouge breathing life into my skin. When the eyeliner and mascara emerged, however, I frowned, questioning their relevance.

"I want her looking at your eyes, not your face." He took my chin between his forefinger and thumb, commanding I look up. "This stuff helps but I'm not a miracle worker."

Relenting, I allowed him to do as he willed, the end result being the picture of health. I looked exactly as I had before the dreaded order, before I was left alone–

Before life lost all luster.

"What do you think?" He pressed, wiping powder on his pants. "Anything missing?"

"No, it's perfect." Turning first this way, then that, I studied my face, feeling as if I were truly seeing myself for the first time in months. "This is remarkable."

"I can show you how, if you want." Looking away, he rubbed the back of his neck, pink tinging his cheeks. "You know, until you get back to normal."

Smiling, I folded the towel before handing it to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Thank you, Kuwabara. For everything."

Like most establishments, Black Lotus took on a life of its own as evening fell. When twilight gathered and the streetlights flickered, two attendants propped the sleek double doors open, translucent petals wafting the scent of bread and warm beverages into the street. I watched from a nearby shop as late day regulars fled the cafe, making way for well-dressed patrons with clicking heels and glistening buttons. Every so often a spot of denim emerged from the trickling stream, though these were overshadowed by their classy cousins.

So, business-casual was the right choice after all.

Paying for my purchase – a thin volume I'd read countless times – I thanked the cashier warmly before moving to join the throng, dying sunlight weaving through man and woman alike. "How will we know her?"

A snort. 'Your kind cares too much about manners not to announce those participating in an event.'

"And if she's not participating but merely an observer?"

Stepping aside to allow the girl behind me precedence, I was ill-prepared for the drastic change of light, though Yoko appeared nonplussed. Rather, I allowed him to guide my feet to a familiar table, to set us in a chair my body molded to effortlessly, to fix my eyes upon the book in my hands until I could see the words clearly.

'Trust your instincts and, if they prove insufficient, trust mine.'

Willing my breathing to slow, I waved away an approaching server, sipping from the sweating water glass before setting it back atop its coaster. In fact, identical glasses rested on each table, occupied or no. The establishment was nearly two-thirds full and still more patrons pressed in, laughter and bright conversation preceding them. Most drank from beverages purchased at the front – teas, coffees and such – though every so often I spotted the sparkling stem of a wine glass. Behind the counter, I saw Ebisu dealing Black Lotus' wares to certain customers, though if he saw me he gave no inclination.

Feigning interest in the book, I took note of every woman present. Spanning from the cusp of youth to middle-aged, they paraded to their seats one after another, hairstyles varying almost as much as their dress. Flowing dresses, cotton business suits and perfectly pressed pants; a flash of ankle, glittering teeth, long notes pealing from elegant throats. Empty conversation, each boasting an opinion about absolutely nothing–

None of them matched the words burning inside my pocket.

Then the barista from before – Retsu – welcomed everyone, thanking us for our continued support. I clapped along with the others while donning a smile perfected over the years, yet still I watched. My companion shifted beneath my skin, waiting.

After the necessary preliminaries, Retsu opened the floor who whomever wished to participate. Men and women rose in-turn, some with papers gripped between white fingers while others came empty handed. However, each came from a straight-backed chair or stool, fleeing from a crowd already deemed unworthy.

Not knowing what else to do, I waited, pretending to listen to their pretty words. Some spouted traditional Japanese pieces, along with occasional foreign prose. A few found the courage to share their own work and, while I admired such bravery, it didn't interest me. Several glanced my way with veiled curiosity, though I neither wanted nor needed their approval.

Nearly an hour passed this way and, despite my best efforts, I began losing hope. Water long-since drained, I tilted the glass this way and that, no longer caring for the farce of the avid listener. One speaker blended into the next and I closed my eyes, endless banter suddenly too much for my ears. The occasional whiff of aftershave mingling with cologne assaulted my nose, perfume peppering the air from slim wrists; clinking silverware, plum matte bleeding alcohol from fake lips–

Why were we even here?

"Go and catch a falling star,

Get with child a mandrake root,"

Flawless English reached my ears, carried over the crowd on rich, bubbling waves. A woman stood on the platform where none stood moments before, legs spread, arms raised with a dancer's grace. Red dress flowing with generous sleeves and a knee-length skirt, she held her audience captive with one look, the simplest twitch of her fingers. Black bangs curled atop dark brows, barely traceable mascara and other paints highlighting onyx eyes. Hair sweeping out from beneath her chin, brushing rosy cheeks, accenting cherry lips as she spoke again:

Tell me where all past years are,

Or who cleft the devil's foot,

The room breathed only when she paused, as if the very air obeyed her whims. Black earrings caught the light and she looked this way and that slowly, choker hugging her throat like an jealous lover. Bracelets of varying sizes clattered on her wrists, keeping time with her words as if the poem's natural flow could not. Delicate folds betrayed well-formed arms, muscular legs trickling into black pumps underlined by more delectable red. Tanned skin, long, thin fingers:

It was her.

It had to be.

Teach me to hear the mermaid's singing,

Or to keep off envy's stinging,

And find

What wind

Serves to advance an honest mind.

"That's her." I breathed into my hand, careful to keep to the barest of whispers.

Yet my companion remained unmoved, far calmer than I. 'Listen.' He demanded quietly, a detached air tinging his voice.

She gave me little choice but to obey.

If thou be'st born to strange sights,

Things invisible to see,

Ride ten thousand days and nights,

Till age snow white hairs on thee,

A soft purr sounded and for a moment, I believed someone unwittingly let a cat into the cafe. Look as I may, though, the creature would not appear. Only when those dark eyes met mine did I realize the sound came from my own throat.

Rather than laugh at the hand flying to my mouth, however, the barest of smiles graced her lips, a smile meant for me alone.

All traces of sound died beneath that gaze.

Thou, when thou return'st, wilt tell me,

All strange wonders that befell thee,

And swear,

No where,

Lives a woman true, and fair.

She enunciated each word perfectly, each pause poignant, precise. My cheeks cooled as I watched her watch first one listener, then another, heels clicking with each step. She played the humble hostess well but the wistful look in those eyes betrayed her. This woman – she was not here for us. We were implements for her amusement, instruments of pleasure to be used however she pleased.

Strangely, I did not think anyone minded.

Yoko, at least, did not complain.

If thou find'st one, let me know,

Such a pilgrimage were sweet;

Yet do not, I would not go,

Though at next door we might meet;

Each line came with a poet's passion, an actor's flare. A plaintive pitch to lure her audience in, leaning toward the nearest table, hands pressed to a supple bosom. Then, she pushed us away in the next breath, arms raised over her face, fear tickling her tongue. That straight back, the fingers raised to press the swell of red:

She knew exactly what she was doing.

Though she were true, when you met her,

And last, till you write your letter,

Yet she

Will be

False, ere I come, to two, or three.

Before I was quite ready, it was over, ensuing silence drowned by applause. She bowed once, twice, disappearing from view as two exuberant patrons gave standing ovations. By the time the men returned to their seats, she was gone, empty platform leaving no indication of her presence. For a moment, I wondered if she'd slipped into one of the surrounding seats, or hurried to the coffee bar for a drink. However, a casual sweep of the room proved such theories false and when Ebisu rose to thank everyone for coming, I knew she'd fled for the evening.

A heat overtook my body then, the sting of unwanted attention unique to predators, and I knew it was time to leave. Leaving a few hundred yen coins on the table, I stood as the crowd fell into companionable chattering, weaving through retreating chairs and stealthy servers. A nod to Ebisu, secure once more behind the bar polishing glasses and we were gone, glass doors leading into the cool night.

The streets were sparse, though this section of town was not known for after-hour activities. Still, I waited until only the odd pedestrian remained before speaking, fall frost ghosting my hair. "What do you think?"

He took his time responding, tone muted, musing. 'Of the establishment or the girl?'

I fought the urge to scoff yet did not answer, allowing my feet to go where they would. One dark street led to another and still he remained silent, observing the water puddles beneath, the stained brick at either hand. A barren landscape, devoid of all traces of flora–

Yoko had never been fond of metal cities.

'She is . . . a force.'

The wording caught me off-guard but when he made no move to explain, I continued on our way, hands sliding into either pocket. "Does she know anything?"

'She knows many things; an experienced woman.' He chuckled, a foreignness seeping into his voice.

Turning a corner, light rained from overhead but I didn't look up, dared not take my attention from my companion. How strange; why would city planners put lamps on this street? "But does she know about you?"

A thoughtful hum and he shifted, phantom hair ghosting my shoulders. 'Not likely, though she appears to know you.'

That gave me pause and I nearly stumbled, foot snagging on some abnormality in the pavement. "What makes you so sure?"

My feet guided me over one bump, then another. Humming generators, a blinding glow – apparently someone was setting about breathing life into this spot.

'That smile, the way she looked at you. It was . . . familiar.'

Before I could argue, a low grunt reached my ears, followed by pounding steps. Glancing up, a lithe form darted into a nearby alley followed hotly by five men, one marked by undeniable red and a rain forest's musk. Pressing myself to the slick brick, I crept toward the opening, relying on borrowed grace I could never hope to possess.

Indeed, Odawara stood in the alleyway, her breath labored, taking a defensive stance which favored her left side. I noted the sweat beading her brow, the scarlet dying a clenched fist. The ear rings were gone, as were the bracelets, though the choker remained, bobbing larynx marking her pulse. Slowly, the semicircle of men tightened around her and one grinned, saying something I couldn't hear.

She struck then, feinting toward a stocky man's head before kicking his knee, heel digging in savagely. He howled and fell back though his companions took his place readily, engaging in a fight they were sure to win.

I was moving before conscious thought hit, caring nothing for a plan or what Yoko thought. A fist connected with her mouth and she staggered, fresh red spraying the air, dying her teeth, her chin. Sure of victory, the assailant stepped closer, hands reaching eagerly for that throat.

Words cannot describe the shock lining the man's face when I stepped between them, one arm brushing his away while my hand connected savagely with his ear, knocking him to the side. Another came up behind, already in the process of attacking and unable to stop himself. I allowed the fool to do the work for me, catching his wrist while tripping him over one leg, sending him into a heap with his friend. Straightening, I stepped between the remaining three and Odawara, all of whom stilled, eyes wide. Human, these men were doubtlessly human–

Not that this changed anything.

"If you value your limbs, I suggest you leave." I said quietly, resisting the urge to reach for the screaming seeds in my hair.

One looked to another while the third rushed to his fallen companions, a middle-aged man with silvered ochre hair choosing to speak. "Listen, I think you have the wrong idea–"

"There is no ideology which supports attacking an innocent woman." He raised a brow as I angled myself concretely between them; I could not guess at my facial expression. "I suggest you leave. Now."

Odawara chose then to burst past me, glare seething, anger burning her eyes. "What are you doing–?"

"CUT!"

A new voice and I flinched as night became day, raising a hand to my eyes. Only then did I see the man sequestered in a cloth chair, cables bunched like so many snakes along the walls, the people peering around hulking cameras, clipboards and pole lights. Reality hit, then, scenes from a documentary viewed in school. A movie set, this was a movie set–

And I'd somehow wandered into the middle of filming.

Words would not come as several attendants came forth to help the fallen men, the first whom continued to nurse his ear. Confused murmurs, scathing glances–

And Odwara, in her gory glory, glaring at me.

Somehow, this was not how I imagined our first meeting.

A/N: Hello and welcome back! Sorry this took so long to get out, life and sickness punched me square in the gut but we made it: our heroes finally meet!

Big shout out to WhatWouldValeryDo; without you constantly letting me bounce ideas, this fic would have never seen the light of day. Check out her awesome fic What Does the Fox Say!

So a dolled-up fox goes to a lit reading and royally screws everything up. How will he fix this and find out what Azumi knows? And what's up with Yoko? Read on to find out!