"Now," Noin ordered, drawing his attention to her though no one else seemed to notice her, "would you mind telling us why Senator Yomi was nosing around on this side of town for you? So thoroughly, might I add."

"It's a long story," Heero replied weakly.

"We have time," Wufei informed him. Everyone else seemed to agree and Heero felt helpless against them. Duo and Quatre moved around to stand in front of him, Quatre sitting in Trowa's lap languidly. Somehow that calmed his nerves, knowing that at least one person in the room was at ease. Sighing he decided he might as well begin before someone did something he would regret later. Leaning against the door he began.

It was cold out tonight, and Heero wasn't thrilled about the prospects of walking home in this wretched weather. He glared menacingly at the driving snow as it swept past the street light; illuminated like a million white daggers. He couldn't really stay upset with the snow, though. He waited as the lady at the check out counter finished ringing up his items and handed her the money before bundling deeper into his coat and layers and heading out, bag in hand. He made his way quickly down the main roads leading away from the town and the small warmth it maintained even in the heart of winter. As he passed into the less wealthy areas of the outskirts he upped his pace even more. Finally he made his way out of the ghettos and into the small housing development beyond it. He weaved his way between houses until finally stopping in front of a small white cottage near the center of the expansion.

The door opened easily for him and he made his way noiselessly towards the small kitchen to put the groceries away. He didn't think there was much need for stealth since his bed partner was out cold, but there was no need to take risks. Sighing and thinking to himself of how he had happened upon this unusual companion he began to place the items in their new homes.

It had been a bad day at work. That he remembered and could understand. He had gone to a nearby bar to help ease some of the tension from a particularly nasty business meeting with some associate in America who was displeased with the rate of production on his merchandise. Completely normal; Americans were impatient and always rude. But this one had been more than just impolite, he had been downright insulting. Heero was the translator for his company's international affairs, and consequently the only one who spoke fluent English. Heero was sure his superiors had known the man was being vulgar, but they couldn't possibly understand just how vulgar.

He had gone through near an entire bottle of sake, he was sure, trying to drown out the memory of the muscular business man with the foul mouth and orange hair when the figure now occupying his bedroom had entered the bar.

To say that he was eye catching would be an understatement; he was breathtaking. The dim lights still managed to reflect on his erratic hair and the pale hue of his skin wasn't made sallow by the smoke, it glowed in it. It was like he was meant to be ringed in the pluming billows and the fire that created it. He seemed to float across the floor as he came towards Heero's seat.

"Is someone sitting here?" he asked the spellbound Heero, indicating the empty chair beside him.

"No," the translator replied, shaking his head to try and gather himself again. The graceful figure sat down heavily in the chair and demanded a whiskey from the bartender. The drink was handed down almost immediately, and almost immediately, the drink was consumed. "Bad day?" Heero asked conversationally.

"You could say that," the stranger gritted ruefully. "You?" he asked, indicating Heero's personal bottle of rice liquor with his gaze and a slight nod. Heero let out a small grunt of acquiescence.

"You could say that," he intoned.

They drank on in silence for a good while longer. Heero had all but stopped nursing his bottle since the beautiful creature had approached him, but he noted with some unease the amount of liquor the other man was putting away. True, he had not been light with the fluid himself only a little while ago, but this guy was tossing them back like water. He finally decided to intervene when the man reached for his glass and missed, knocking it off the bar and onto the bartender who had just served it to him.

"Maybe we should go," Heero suggested, placing a steadying hand between the man's shoulder blades. He noted with some amazement the amount of muscle there. He had seemed so frail at first glance, but the Japanese decided to look closer now.

"Why should we do that?" the other man protested.

"The bar's closing," Heero lied. He hoped the guy would buy it and leave. "Do you have some place you can go?" He felt the man stiffen underneath of his hand and jerk away. He glared back at the unoffending hand and then at its owner with steely eyes.

"No," he snapped. Heero thought it sounded almost like a snarl. "I haven't."

"You can stay at my place then," Heero replied easily. Only later would he kick himself for inviting a total stranger to his house. He figured it was the booze talking in conjuncture with hormones.

"That would be nice," the other man nodded, though he still seemed wary of him.

The two made their lumbering way out of the bar and down the few blocks to Heero's house. They had barely made it over the threshold when the other man had collapsed in Heero's hold and vomited all over the floor before promptly passing out. Heero had dutifully dragged the dead weight into the bedroom and dumped him on the bed before going to clean his soiled floor.

There was nothing except alcohol and stomach acid, meaning the guy hadn't eaten in a while. Heero resisted the urge to chew his lip as he took mental inventory of his shelves and pantry. Bare shelves and pantry. He groaned as he looked outside; the snow had started up rather heavily out there, but he needed food for his new guest. Putting away his cleaning supplies he had donned his heavy coat and scarves once more and headed out to shop.

And so he found himself on the floor, pushing a box of cream of wheat into the cupboard below the silverware an hour and a half later. He moved to stand up when he heard a phone ringing down the hallway. Odd, he was sure the phone had been left in the living room. He quickly made his way down the hall, following the noise back to his bedroom. He was about to open the door when the phone stopped mid ring and a sleepy voice filtered out to him.

"Hello?" the sleep gritted voice answered. Perfect English. Even his accent was American. How had he not noticed it before? He was drawn back to reality by the harsh tone the voice took on.

"No, I'm not coming back," he snapped. A pause. "I really don't care. He can die for all I concerned." There was a little more of a pause and then a slight growl before he heard the phone snap shut. A cell phone. He winced in sympathy at the keening noises the other fellow made, knowing what kind of a hangover he would have when it actually wore off let alone now that it was only partly through his system.

"Wait, what does any of this have to do with anything?" Noin pointed out. Heero kept himself from gritting his teeth forcefully. The others had been enthralled with the story so far, so why did she have to butt in now? It would get to the point soon enough.

"I'm getting to that," he told her, trying not to glare at her too hard. She seemed to notice the other's getting antsy for the rest of the story and conceded.

"Just hurry it up," she huffed.

"Good morning," Heero greeted as the other man emerged from his room. He had to remind himself to speak in English when he opened his mouth, but it had come out flawlessly all the same.

"'Morning," the beauty replied sleepily. He didn't even seem to notice that he was in a Japanese home speaking English. Heero was certain beyond a shadow of a doubt that the guy wasn't native. "I feel like I got run over by an 18 wheeler," came the resounding moan as the man draped himself over the couch like a doll.

"Suprising?" Heero asked sarcastically. "Do you have any idea how much you drank last night?"

"Too much."

Heero smirked and stepped into the kitchen. A minute later he returned with a bottle of water and handed it to the prone figure. A pained smile flitted across lethargic features as the other man reached for the bottle.

"Thanks," he mumbled. He sat up slightly to begin drinking but stopped when he saw the bottle. The plastic container slipped deftly through his fingers as the man moved to cover his face with a groan. "Oh no."

Heero wasn't sure what the problem was. Had something come back to him that he wanted to forget? What on earth could it be that water bottle would remind him of? The Japanese youth turned his eyes to the bottle curiously and it struck him. The bottle's label was in Japanese, as it rightfully should be. He was still a little wary about why the reminder of being in Japan would disturb his new found companion. He decided to let breakfast wait; he wanted to know more about whatever he had gotten himself into.

"So where are you really from?" He asked lightly, though his voice held a dangerous undertone.

"America," the other man replied through his hands. Heero nodded. He really didn't need to know more than that; America would do – for now.

"What brings you to Japan?"

"…Business."

Heero bit back on an agitated growl. He was fully aware that the other man knew exactly what the next question was, but he asked it anyways. "What kind of business?" The man scrubbed his face for a second before looking him straight in the eye and Heero felt like shit for what he saw. It was obvious he was trying to be upset at the inquisition, but underneath it Heero could see the dark swells of morbid depression. He felt as though he were looking at a lost soul floundering and begging for help on the river Styx.

"I'd really rather not say," the stranger pleaded and Heero decided to let the poor man be. "Now would it be alright if I asked you a question?" Heero nodded and the man took in an unsteady breath. "We didn't…do anything last night…did we?" he asked. There was something beyond just day-after guilt in his voice and Heero felt his curiosity pique. He shook his head in the negative and watched as the man slumped forwards again, this time in relief.

"Thank Inari," he exhaled, and Heero was taken aback by the very un-American phrase. What did inari have to do with anything?

"Pardon me?" Heero asked, seeking clarification. The man had spoken so fluently before, he found it hard to believe that the fellow could have used the wrong word. But still…The other man looked up at him, confused.

"Inari," he stated again, a hint of worry in his voice, for whatever reason Heero couldn't understand. "isn't that…" He looked away, furrowing his brow. "He…I was told that Inari was a deity."

Heero nodded. He really should have recognized the name; there was a shrine to the god not two miles from his house, for goodness sake. He was suddenly very curious as to why the other man seemed so hurt by the thought that he didn't know the word. Careful to choose his words in a way that would, hopefully, illicit answers he replied.

"The god of rice and rice whine, yes," he agreed. "Sorry, I'm not terribly religious. Not in Shinto, anyways. You were informed correctly."

A look, almost like relief, passed over the other man's face briefly, but Heero noted it all the same. He shook his head and turned back towards the kitchen, stopping to address his guest once more.

"We can continue talking in the kitchen," he said, all but ordering the other boy into submission. "I'm famished and if we are to eat before I go to work then I have to cook now." With those words he headed into the kitchen. He heard the other man move to follow him a few minutes later, just as he was getting out the frying pan for the eggs.

"Can I help?"

Heero turned to see the other man in the doorway, leaning against the frame. He made a declining noise and motioned with his head for the boy to have a seat at the table. The other man quickly did so, sitting backwards in the chair closest to Heero and watching him intently. Trying to strike up the conversation once again Heero spoke.

"So where did you learn Japanese?" he asked. "Your speech is far too impeccable to be book-taught."

The other boy nodded sheepishly and a small blush crept across his face, though it was hardly perceivable. "My friend taught me," he answered. "He was from Japan." Heero noticed the other's sudden distant expression and let the subject drop like he had so many time that morning already. The silence that ensued lingered on until the food was cooked and even through most of the meal. He was beginning to feel antsy when the other man spoke again.

"Thank you for the meal," he said finally, catching Heero off guard a little, "and for letting me stay the night. I would hate for them to have found me a drunken mess like I must have been last night. Is there anything I can do to repay you?"

"Well," Heero replied, "if you would like, you could do the dishes. I have to leave for work in a few minutes. If you leave just lock the door behind you. That's all I ask. You're welcome to stay a while longer if you need." As soon as he said it he regretted it. He had not just invited a stranger to live with him, had he? He berated himself for being a fool even as his companion spoke.

"Could I really?" he beamed, his eyes shining hopefully. "I would be ever so grateful." Heero felt his apprehensions start to fade under that smile and he nodded. He glanced down at his watch to avoid eye contact and bolted out of his chair, cursing. It was already half past eight and he had to be to work at a quarter to nine if he wanted to finish everything before the meeting at ten.

Heero wept internally when he opened the door to the conference room and saw the orange haired man at the head of the table. He had completely forgotten that he had to translate for this…man again. However, he maintained his straight face as he sat to the left of him to take translation notes.

Slowly people started filtering into the room and soon the place was half full. When the company president finally arrived Heero stood, signaling the beginning of the meeting. Bowing slightly to their American speaker, then turning towards the room of business people before him, he spoke.

"Minnasan," he addressed them politely, "kore wa Kuwabara Kazuma san desu. CEO no Reiki Pharmaceuticals desu."

(Ladies and gentleman, this is Mr. Kazuma Kuwabara. CEO for Reiki Pharmaceuticals.)

Bowing towards his small audience he sat down and turned to face their foreign speaker once more. The man seemed even less pleasant on second meeting, if it were possible. With a disinterested grunt the man turned back to his briefcase and began pulling out data compilations for his presentation. A few minutes went by in near utter silence as they waited for Mr. Kuwabara to organize himself to speak; a task that he should have already taken care of in Heero's opinion, though he wisely kept his mouth shut.

"Alright," the burly American said, clapping his hands together as he turned to finally face his waiting audience. "As most of you know after yesterday's get together, Reiki is trying to expand to more accommodating areas. Although Japan is advanced, it definitely has more leeway for old herbal remedies than America, and so…"

Heero translated the man's words, changing what he could to be more professional and less slighting. He was having little luck, though. Kazuma seemed intent on making his entire company look bad, for reasons Heero couldn't fathom. Thankfully, fate decided to take a hand in his predicament. The meeting was less than five minutes underway when a cell phone sounded shrilly in the room, bringing dead silence. The second ring had Kazuma Kuwabara scrambling for his briefcase again. Heero felt like sneering at the man for being so rude, but his disdain quickly turned to piqued interest as he caught part of the conversation.

"Kuwabara here," the man said as soon as he snapped open the phone. Heero couldn't hear what the person on the other end said, but Kuwabara's entire demeanor changed within seconds at whatever it was.

"He's what?" he roared, waiting for a reply before continuing. "What do you mean 'he disappeared'? Don't blame me for it, it's not my problem." He listened for a few more seconds before growling in agitation. "Fine," he snapped. "I'll look. The Senator will kill you when he finds out."

He barely spared Heero a glance as he began packing up his bag again. "This meeting's over," he told him. He gave no explanation, no apology, jhe just packed and left, leaving Heero to come up with a reason. Biting down a scowl, he did so. At least the meeting was over.

Heero had wondered if he would find his impromptu housemate still there when he returned home and had come to the conclusion that he wanted the other fellow to be there. As he opened his door he looked around, putting his bag on the floor next to his shoes, which he quickly toed out of before entering the living room, it looked as if his new roomy had left. With a little sigh of disappointment he entered the kitchen to find something to eat. He really shouldn't be so saddened, he told himself. After all, the man probably had a life that he needed to get back to as well.

He was just pouring himself a glass or orange juice when he heard the bathroom door open and a second later a wet young man came into the dining area, still toweling down his hair and dressed in his clothes from the day before.

"Sorry for not asking before using your bath," he apologized. "I couldn't handle being filthy any longer."

"It's alright," Heero told him, shrugging his shoulder as he took a drink from his glass before putting away the carton. "Here, I'll make us some dinner while you fill me in on how you came to be in my house to begin with."

"I would think that would be obvious," the other man told him. "You brought me here."

"I meant everything that added up to you being in the bar," he explained, taking a box of rice out of the cupboard and reaching for a pot to cook it in. He didn't have the luxury of a rice cooker, but he'd never really seen the need for one.

"I'd rather not," his house guest said, watching him move about the kitchen. His friendly demeanor was gone, replaced by a cool indifference that rubbed Heero the wrong way.

"Fine," he replied evenly. "The police will love you for being here without a passport."

"I'm not."

"You will be if you don't tell me who the hell you are."

"Don't be ridiculous," he said, turning and exiting the kitchen. Heero put down the pot, following him out. He was determined to get the answers he wanted from the man, if it killed the other getting them.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asked skeptically, watching the other fellow as he moved to grab his cell phone from the small coffee table beside the couch. He stopped and half turned to see Heero standing there.

"Leaving," he answered matter-of-factly.

"Not until you tell me your name, at least."

"No."

Heero felt the keen desire to mutilate this bastard. Visions of his graphic demise were beginning to play through his head. "Get out," he growled.

"You just said I couldn't."

"Not the house, the room."

"Wonderful distinction."

Heero opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off by his house mate's cell phone. Both of them stared at the beeping contraption where it lay on the coffee table for a second before the other man snapped to and reached for it. Heero didn't even see him open it before it was pressed to his ear and silent.

"Hello?" he greeted curtly. Heero got the impression that he was in no way pleased to be interrupted. He wondered idly if this odd stranger found some sadistic pleasure in arguing with him that would make him rue a phone call. He jumped as the other man replied to something the person on the other end had said.

"I told you, I don't care!" he yelled into the receiver. "No! I'm not…fine. I'm surprised you haven't told him yet as it is!"

The phone was abruptly snapped shut with altogether more muscle than was necessary and thrown forcibly aside. Luckily it landed on the couch or it would have been in a broken heap by the wall. Heero watched it as it descended and lodged itself between the cushions.

"I'm sorry," the stranger apologized, snapping him out of his reverie and bringing his attention back to the original subject. "You're right, I have no right to expect you to be so hospitable to a complete stranger. I'm very thankful for you allowing me to stay here so long, but I feel awkward enough as it is. I should leave."

Heero reached out, grabbing his sleeve as he turned to exit the room and collect his things. The other man stopped and looked back at him questioningly. Heero was just about as sure of his intentions as this stranger was and was just as surprised by what he said next.

"Don't go," he said, the words not really registering as they came from a place he had, until just then, been unaware even existed. "I don't mind if you stay, just tell me who you are."

The other fellow stared at him, bewildered, and he tried not to mirror the expression. He released his hold on the other's sleeve, but he made no move to leave again. After some time he smiled, turning once again towards Heero and relaxing a bit.

"I'm just a foreigner," he replied casually.

"Tell me something I don't know," Heero scoffed. The other man sighed in defeat.

"My name is Kurama," he said at last. "I'm from America. Where's really not important, it's just like every other big city in the world: crowded and uncaring. I came to Japan with one of my father's business associates because I wanted to get away, but I told him I just wanted to travel. When you met me at the bar I had just had a spat with the man and was planning on disappearing anyways; you just happened to be in a very convenient position for me."

"You were drunk off your ass," Heero reminded him flatly. He smiled.

"That, too."

Heero nodded in acquiescence and silence filled the room as he thought about what he had just been told. Not that he had much to think about, it sounded like a rather straightforward affair to him. "The phone calls have been from the man you came over with," he said more than asked. Kurama nodded.

"He hasn't told my father I'm missing yet. Rather surprising since he can't seem to think without father telling him how to. He's threatened to tell him, but I could care less."

"I take it you don't like your father much."

Kurama snorted. "That would be an understatement. The man could care less about me, so long as I don't ruin his image."

Heero grunted in condolence. He'd known people like that. Worked for them. Bastards, the lot. He shook himself mentally before turning towards the kitchen, glancing back towards Kurama as he passed the threshold. "Well, since you're staying, I'll finish making that dinner, alright?"

Kurama smiled in reply.

"Why do I know that name?" Duo asked. Noin glared at him.

"Don't interrupt, damnit," she spat.

"I waited until I lull," he retorted, sticking out his tongue.

"Just shut up and you'll find out who it is, anyways," Relena snapped, reverting her attention to Heero once again. "Just keep going," she urged him with a smile that would be charming if he were unaware of her sadistic nature. He just nodded instead.

"I'm glad you're letting me stay," Kurama said for the third time as they finished their meal. Heero shook his head for the third time.

"Don't mention it," he assured. "It's not a problem. I wouldn't have cared, except I didn't really want to be harboring a criminal or anything."

"What?" Kurama teased, picking up the dishes and heading towards the sink. "Not afraid for your own safety?"

Heero gave him a very meaningful look. "I could easily have killed you if needed." Kurama just shrugged and started toward the sink again.

"If you say so," he replied offhandedly. Heero was about to open his mouth again when Kurama's cell phone interrupted him. Again. Kurama's head snapped in the direction of the noise, then he scowled. Dropping the dishes into the sink, he stalked over to the source of the could, fishing it out from between the cushions of the couch while he groused.

"Damnit, Kuwabara," he growled to himself, startling Heero, who immediately recognized the name, "give it a rest already. You can't bully me into coming back."

He straightened up again, phone in hand, and flicked it open with a irritated air of determination. "What?" he snapped. His face instantly changed from annoyed to shocked as the person on the other end said something. "Hiei."

Heero moved to stand in the doorway and watched him curiously. He wondered Hiei was as he listened to one side of the conversation.

"I know, I'm surprised it took him so long, the idiot…Well I figured he would be…Hiei, I'm not going back there…He what?...How could he…Oh no…No, I've got to…NO! Hiei, don't!...Hiei, he'd kill you…No, I'll fix it, just stay out of it…Please, Hiei, this is why I left in the first place…No, not you, this…Yes…I promise."

Heero was more than a bit perturbed by the paleness of Kurama's face as he snapped the cell phone shut. Somehow he felt it would be wrong to ask, but he found he was truly worried about what little he'd been able to ascertain. Mainly that someone would kill whoever this Hiei person was and the prospect of that had shaken Kurama. Or something. He was brought from his thoughts when Kurama turned to him, a smile intended to be friendly but barely disguising the panic and desperate hope that he would agree that was behind it.

"I want you to go to America with me," he told the young Japanese. Heero blinked.

"I beg your pardon?"

"America," Kurama said again, as if that explained everything. When it obviously failed, he continued. "You know, the land of the free, home of the brave and all that pap?"

"Yes, I know what it is, and where. I mean why? And why so suddenly?"

"Because I like you," he smiled. "And I need to go home. Won't you please come?"

Heero eyed him warily. "I thought you weren't going home?"

"Something's come up." Kurama looked ready to panic. Or drug him and throw him on a plane. He didn't know which he disliked more. He eyed the other over for a minute before nodding. Why the hell not, after all? Kurama let out a sigh of relief that was altogether disproportional to the amount of air he should have had in his body. Lunging forward he grabbed Heero's hand and began to drag him towards the bedroom. "There's nothing of eminent value here that you can't bring with you, is there?" he asked.

"No," Heero replied. There was nothing of any value in his house, let alone that could or could not be uprooted on a seconds notice, which is all he seemed to have. "I don't have a passport."

"Doesn't matter," Kurama told him, entering the bedroom and picking up something that Heero couldn't see.

"Don't you need one to travel internationally?"

"Not the way we're going. Grab anything you need or want."

Heero left it at that, deciding it wise not to ask. Kurama was already moving towards the front door as Heero took one last dispassionate look at his room, and in effect his house. There was nothing he'd really miss, but he should probably take some clothes or whatnot. Glancing at his jumpy acquaintance, he decided he could spare the time to pack. Maybe it would calm his nerves to wait a bit.

Grabbing his one piece of luggage from the closet, he began loading the duffel bag with clothes and other things that would be a little pricy to replace. Along that line of thought, he also grabbed what money he had on hand, which turned out to be a little under twenty thousand yen. Finally deciding that he couldn't stall any longer without getting ridiculous, he stepped out into the living room with his duffel in tow and headed towards the door where Kurama stood, trying not to look panicked. He was succeeding admirably. He turned to look at Heero when he entered the room and quickly grabbed his coat, throwing Heero's at him. The Japanese caught it deftly and stopped long enough to put it on, picking up his bag again and exiting the house with his American friend.

"So," he said, turning to his distraught partner, "where to now?"

Kurama looked about uncertainly for a bit, then turned to Heero. "Do you know how to get to the graveyards?" he asked.

"Which ones?"

"Next to Saint Marina Church," he recited, his eyes vacant as he recalled the name. Heero thought for a second and nodded.

"Well have to take the bus to get there, though."

Heero stepped into the decrepit cemetery through a creaking metal fence. It was the sort of place made for horror movies. If he were the type to be easily spooked, he would have shivered as he entered, but he wasn't. Kurama seemed to be even less effected by the place. He brushed past Heero and headed straight for a large monument in the center of the necropolis. A shadow stepped out to meet him, but he wasn't perturbed by it. Instead he seemed grateful to see it. Heero watched from a small distance as Kurama conversed with the man the shadow properly was. It took only a few minutes for Heero and Kurama to get fake passports and two one way plane tickets. Heero chose not to question the convenience of all this.

Kurama didn't seem to care.

Not half an hour later they were standing in the airport, ready to board a plane that would not arrive for another hour. Kurama was fretting, though the average person would never have known it. Heero quirked an eyebrow as his friend flicked his eyes over his cell phone once more.

"Maybe I should chuck it," he said. Heero shrugged.

"Why bother?"

"They might be able to track it."

"Not if you're not using it."

"They can call it."

"Then chuck it if you think you have to."

"But Hiei might call."

"Who is Hiei?"

At this Kurama stopped. Heero doubted it was for the lack of knowing. He was still debating over what or how much to tell Heero when the cell phone went off. Heero watched as he, for once, checked the caller's number. He seemed relieved as he answered, though it was short lived. Even Heero could hear the voice on the other end.

"What do you think you're doing?"

The voice was much lower that Kurama's or Kuwabara's. It reminded Heero a lot of his own, actually. Kurama flinched a little in surprise before answering.

"I'm coming home, Hiei," he replied coolly. "I should have thought that was obvious."

"By plane?" Hiei shouted. "Kurama…."

Heero couldn't hear the rest of it, but he saw Kurama's face fall a little. Before he made a soft "oh". There was more silence as Hiei continued to talk, and Kurama looked about ready to start panicking again. "He won't hurt me," he said finally. "I'll be fine, Hiei. And as for him, I'll just have to help him hide until it all dies down…Yes, I know what I'm saying…Hiei, I have to go. Don't call again, I'm discarding the phone. Don't worry, I'll be fine." He sighed as he ended the call, chucking the phone in the nearest trash bin before turning to Heero again.

"C'mon," he said, "let's get down to the gate and wait for the plane."

Kurama spat out a curse as they deboarded the plane and pulled Heero off to the side.

"They're here already," he explained tersely. "You need to get out of here without being seen. Just stay in large crowds and forget about you luggage, I'll get it to you somehow." Heero looked at him skeptically for a second, but shrugged. It wasn't that important, anyways.

"See you around, then," he replied, recognizing a farewell for what it was. He glanced about and quickly attached himself to a crowd, following Kurama's advice. After all, when in Rome…

Duo shot up from his spot, startling everyone. "I got it!" he crowed. "I know why that name sounds so familiar! It's Yomi's son!"

"Fuck it, Duo, couldn't you have waited two minutes?" Noin screamed at him. "Heero probably would have told us that himself in a second. Now let him finish his story."

"Well," Heero hemmed, "that's about it, actually. I got out and rented a cheap motel room. That night my stuff arrived, along with a cardboard box full of money and other things that I hadn't brought along. But the next day the motel owner threw me out. I haven't been able to find an apartment or anything since. Kurama left me a note with all of my things warning me all this might happen, but it was still a little overwhelming."

"How long ago did all of this happen?" Wufei asked.

"Two, two and a half weeks ago."

"Something that's bothering me," Treize began, tapping one tailored finger against his lips.

"Isn't Hiei the name of Senator Mukuro's son?" Miliardo asked.

"Yeah, but why would the two of them be conversing?" Dorothy added.

"And so intimately," Quatre agreed. Everyone looked at him, and he shrugged. "The way Heero described them talking would infer close friends at the least. I've heard rumors, but this goes beyond those even." "Wait," Duo exclaimed, hushing everyone with an outstretched hand. "Are you telling me, that you actually came to Noin's without any criminal history?"

Heero nodded.

"Wow," Duo whistled appreciatively. "That's gotta be a first for Noin's."

Noin promptly decked him.

Semi cliffie o' DOOM! Seriously, I am so sorry this took so long. ;; There was no reason beyond writer's block. Yeah. All of the "" things are really extreme bouts of writer's block that I could get away with not filling in. Others were far too vital to snuff. It's been stuck at Kuwabara's appearance for the last six months. It was bad. I wrote just about everything after it in one night, which is very good, but there were two spots I couldn't handle in that, too, so more delay. And can you believe it, the story hasn't even hit it's climax yet. I'll tell you this, it's got some major 3x4 related things. . Because they just don't get enough love. And they still won't! This is all for you, Dire!

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