Note: this is a continuation of a story on my old account that I am unable to access. Please search for the author 'fruiti-chan' for the first fifteen chapters of this story (written years ago)!

A quick summary: several years after the death of Tamaki, the Host Club's members have disbanded. Kyouya became married with a child, but his wife was sadly murdered. She had entrusted their daughter to Haruhi's care, who she was in contact with before her death. Haruhi, now a successful lawyer, tries to take care of this small child while working out who had killed Kyouya's wife. And there is, of course, the small matter of both Kyouya and Hikaru trying to win her affections.

Enjoy!

She hastily left the courtroom, not wanting to make contact with Mrs Harada, and, most of all, Kyouya.

The coffee left a sharp tang at the back of her tongue. Haruhi stared out the window as her finger traced the edge of the mug, watching red bleed into the morning sky. Yumiko was fast asleep and wouldn't be up for at least another hour.

But Haruhi, the youngest lawyer that had graduated in her class, the student with honours and a scholarship, couldn't bear to close her eyes. It wasn't so much that she had lost a case, a first in her record. The more she thought it over, the more she welcomed the idea that her oldest friend wasn't a murderer. But the fact that there was a murderer on the loose, someone who was willing to spill blood for no good reason, that kept her on edge.

It was enough for a coffee at four in the morning.

She glanced at her phone, eyes twitching, but there were no messages. No calls, no texts, nothing. It seemed as if all the world had deserted her since the courtroom debacle last week. Kyouya's mother-in-law had refused to pay her legal fees, but that was the least of Haruhi's worries. Several suspicious thoughts snaked through her mind when she thought of Mrs Harada, with her ostentation and bravado, as if she was trying to cover up something. Between hiding a murder or a scandal of the wealthy and elite, Haruhi wasn't sure where the line was drawn.

Her phone buzzed. Haruhi snatched it up, hope tinged with shame that it would be Yumiko's father, but it wasn't.

"Hey Dad. What's up?"

"'What's up' is finding my daughter wide awake when everyone else is fast asleep," said Ryoji. He shouted into the phone, a crowd audible from the noisy background.

"And how did you know I was wide awake?" she said as she rubbed her eyes. "None of this 'I'm your father' rubbish either."

Ryoji laughed into the phone, loud and full. "You couldn't have made it more obvious you were waiting for a phone call. I don't think I even heard the first ring finish."

Haruhi sighed. "Where are you now?"

In recent years her father had taken up a jet-setting lifestyle, travelling the world on a modest budget. It was a far-cry from his previous money habits, but it was better than nothing. And it kept him happy, or at least that's what he told Haruhi.

"On my way to you. I've been following the news, don't think I don't know what's been happening. Just had a bit of trouble with getting the damn phone to work."

"Listen, Dad, it's not a good time—"

"I know. That's why I'll be there in a couple of hours."

Haruhi bit her lip as she stared at the now dazzling yellow bleach the sky above grey buildings. She needed to get back out there, needed to breathe the air again.

"No, Dad. I'll come to you."

Of all the lies he had fed the world, and most importantly Haruhi, the lousiest one was that he still lived at the Ootori residence. Kyouya had not stepped foot in his father's house since he was married. All the talk about maids and servants at his beck and call was just that—talk.

Kyouya pulled a sweater over his shirt before fixing the collar, staring stony-faced at his reflection. He glanced at his watch before taking off his glasses and wiping the lenses, his mind lost in the circular motion between his finger and thumb.

The entire week had been a blur. Not so much that he was found not guilty, not so much that his mother-in-law now hated him with rage stronger than the sun. Not even that his own family would no longer talk to him. But the mere fact that this was a murder case, and there would definitely be an investigation. The fact that the mother of his child was at the centre of this was even worse.

How had he not noticed this before? Why did he always want to keep up a demeanour that shut out the rest of the world? Worse still—why did he shut himself out from his true thoughts?

Kyouya laughed into the empty apartment. It was a nice apartment, by other people's standards, but still not a home. Just a place to sleep and eat and think about how to survive the next day. Four walls with no heart.

Stop feeling sorry for yourself, his thoughts lashed out at him. You're not worth it. You're nothing.

In the kitchen, he chewed on a dry piece of toast and thought about the case. There was a handful of reasons why someone would want to murder Cho: money, access, or information.

In terms of money, Cho was visibly disowned by her family in public once she married Kyouya.

As for access, she lived alone with Yumiko in a shabby apartment. A pang of guilt twisted his insides when Kyouya realised he had never given her money to support her and the baby.

Information—what could Cho possibly know about anything important? At the heart of it she was a happy-go-lucky soul, a ray of sunshine that kept a dark cloud hidden inside. Aside from her overbearing family, Cho struggled with herself the most.

Once again, guilt snuck its way through his thoughts, paralysing his mind. He knew how much she struggled, how much she locked herself away from everyone else. And yet he pushed her even further into her own murky depths.

You're nothing.

"Shut up," he said through gritted teeth. "It wasn't… it wasn't my fault."

So you keep saying, said the thoughts, dancing around and around in a circle. She only ever loved you. She only ever wanted your approval.

"I'm not the enemy. I didn't kill her." His words echoed into the dark apartment, as gloomy as the storm inside him.

So you keep saying

Are you sure Kyouya?

Are you sure you didn't just push her too far and she just slipped

Out

Of

Sight

"SHUT UP!" he yelled, slamming the plate across the room. It shattered on the opposite wall, pieces cheap ceramic shards clattering on the floor. In the coming hour Kyouya would find himself absent-mindedly cleaning it up. For now, he sat on the kitchen stool with his glasses set on the counter, crying quietly to himself.

Ryoji Fujioka had aged remarkably well. In his casual day-wear he looked not a day over forty, though his brown hair was now flecked with grey and a few wrinkles had set into his face where he would smile. Laughter lines, Haruhi called them, whenever he moaned about how old he was getting.

They sat in a café on the other side of the city. Yumiko, hair tied up in uneven bunches, played happily in her highchair, singing a sweet song aloud to anyone who would hear. Haruhi drank her third coffee in four hours, running a hand through her hair as she stared at the toddler.

"I don't know what the hell I'm doing," she said, half mumbling. "I can't possibly take care of her much longer than this. I know Cho put me in her will, but I never agreed to any of this, I know there has to be some sort of loophole, some way to get her back to her actual family—"

"Whoa, sweetie, hold on." Ryoji gently held her wrist and brought it back down to the table. "Come on, eat your pie."

"I don't want pie."

"Everyone loves pie."

She knew he was trying to distract her and she almost hated him for it. But nevertheless, like a sickly child wanting her mother, she sullenly nodded and did as she was told.

"First of all, no more coffee for you today. Secondly, I need a place to stay."

Haruhi perked up, as if a beam of light had shone down through the grisly waves of a storm. She shovelled pumpkin pie into her mouth.

"Sure, but what happened to your place?"

He shrugged. "Sold it. Had to fund my Europe tour last year."

"You could have told me!"

Ryoji glanced over at Yumiko and stuck his tongue out at her. She giggled shyly before returning to her song.

"Besides, it looks like you could use some help."

"Dad, I don't need—"

"My independent daughter," he said, his voice suddenly steeling. "My little hotshot attorney is caught in the middle of a murder case. Your home was broken into. Darling, I'm staying with you until I know you're good and safe."

Haruhi could have broke down and sobbed into her father's shoulder. Instead, she smiled weakly across the table and finished the rest of the pie.

"Besides," he said, tickling Yumiko's ear. "I've always wanted a grandchild!"

Kyouya hated this neighbourhood. Cho hadn't picked a particularly affluent area—perhaps wanting to be as far away from the Harada clan as possible—but as a consequence, it was rough. Litter fluttered in the breeze across the pavement, graffiti scrawled across various surfaces. Some houses were boarded up. Others looked like they hadn't been lived in for a long time.

Cho's apartment was still under the jurisdiction of the police, as made evident by the yellow tape. Kyouya stood outside the front porch, unsure of the next steps, before rapping on the door with his knuckle.

Footsteps echoed inside, louder and louder, until the door swung open. A short police officer with a grey moustache bristled at him.

"Yes?"

"My name is Kyouya Ootori. I'm here to try and help with the investigation."

The officer sighed and stepped outside, closing the door gently. He wore white latex gloves with black marks on the fingers.

"I know who you are. I'm sorry, but I can't allow any civilians on to the crime scene. Besides, I don't think it's a good idea for you to be here."

"Please, I know I can help, just let me—" To hear himself beg was as low as he could get, but at that moment, Kyouya was glad it wasn't his mother-in-law.

The officer held his hand up.

"No, sir. I don't want any trouble otherwise or I'll… I'll…" He seemed to be at a loss for words, looking this way and that for an opening.

"Look, I won't be long, I just want to see the inside," said Kyouya as he turned to reach the door handle. The officer grabbed his shoulder, pulling him to the side, before Kyouya pushed back. The short man stumbled backwards and into the front lawn, falling on his bottom. His cheeks grew bright red.

"How dare you!" he called out as he shot straight back up. "Now you've done it!" He whipped out a pair of cuffs from his belt.

Kyouya chuckled, adjusting his glasses. "You can't be serious—"

But the cuffs were on quicker than lightning.

"Sir, you have the right to remain silent…"

"This is ridiculous!" he called out, his foot stamping on the ground.

"…for obstruction of an ongoing investigation…"

"My wife died here! She was killed, I want to see the house one last time!"

But the officer wasn't having any of it. He made a short call to the station and before long Kyouya was gritting his teeth in the back seat of a police car, wondering how much lower he could get.

It felt a little like home, to have her father around making noise and dinner, singing songs with Yumiko and regaling Haruhi with tales of his adventures. She wrapped herself in a blanket on the sofa and felt herself slide down, the caffeine wearing off just as night slid over the city.

And finally, an utterly exhausted Haruhi slept a dreamless sleep, the last of her thoughts lingering on the task ahead.