5. Reaction

Kimiko swallows hard. Then she forces her voice out of her throat. It comes out strangled and squeaky, but audible. "Ohhh-kay. Clean up on Brain Aisle Three. I think we might need the bleach again."

She's imagined some pretty horrible stuff since the two strangers got here, but never in all her wildest imaginings could she have envisioned what they've actually been through. It makes her feel sick, and she wants to stare at her doppelganger as much as she feels she has to look away.

How the heck did she survive something like that? No wonder she's a little rough around the edges. It's amazing she isn't a complete screaming nutcase.

The other Kimiko sits straight-backed. Her eyes are a little puffy, but otherwise she looks extremely stiff and formal – regal, almost. She's been scrubbed clean and tidied and dressed so that she almost looks like a complete mirror image, but there's still something about her that says to everyone: This is not the Kimiko you know and never will be.

The other Clay, however, looks almost identical to the real one. They're dressed in the same plaid shirt, the same jeans, and the same slightly droopy smile. The only differences are hat-scorches, a narrower chest, and the fact that the other Clay's hair is a little longer and shaggier. Yet that's to be expected, living in the mountains and valleys for a month while waiting for Grand Master Dashi to recover. It's just about the only indication of what he's endured, leading Kimiko to re-evaluate Clay's resilience. He might be stronger than they ever knew.

Of everyone, Omi and Raimundo look the most shocked, which is ironic in a not-really way. Rai stares solidly at the floorboards, while Omi sits with his jaw in his lap. They're all in a tight circle on the floor, but his eyes have only left the other Kimiko to flick to the other Clay and back again. Everyone else might as well not be there.

The silence, like their long-forgotten tea, is strained. Finally Master Fung breaks it.

"I will have to consult the scrolls, and perhaps inform Master Monk Guan of the situation so he may assist us, but until such time as we discover how and why Clay and Kimiko have come to our world, I believe it is best if they stay with us at the temple."

"That … sounds fair," says Clay – their Clay, the Clay of this world.

The Clay not currently romantically attached to a Kimiko.

Kimiko resists the urge to shake her head. She's never considered Clay that way before. He's like her big brother or something – he's her friend. The idea of kissing him, even if they both believed they might die tomorrow … ugh. Just ugh. Not that there's anything wrong with Clay, but … he's Clay. She can't think of any other justification. He's too Clay to be a boyfriend.

Not that her doppelganger has much problem with this. Her fingers are laced through the other Clay's, as they have been since they ran into each other's arms like they'd been apart for weeks instead of hours. They didn't kiss, nor do anything couple-y, but they did spend a long moment just holding onto each other, until the atmosphere turned awkward and both their doubles of this world turned beet red.

Kimiko hasn't looked Clay in the eye since then. Every glance exchanged between their romantic doppelgangers further increases the need not do likewise.

"Where'll we sleep?" asks the other Clay. "I reckon there ain't a heap of personal space goin' spare to fit in two more bodies."

Master Fung looks around, awaiting suggestions from his students.

"They could … share with us?" Kimiko says when Raimundo fails to.

The pause she offers for interruption or rebuttal goes unused.

In truth there's plenty of spare room in the temple for futons to go in, but it feels more acceptable to offer company as well as sleeping quarters.

"If we had some more bedrolls, that is. Clay with Clay and … uh, Kimiko with … me?"

"That would seem sensible." Master Fung nods. "At least for tonight. Thank you, Kimiko."

"Thanks," says the other Clay. "That's a mighty fine offer. We don't wanna kick up too much ruckus."

"Little late for that," Kimiko mutters under her breath.

"So let me get this straight," Raimundo suddenly breaks in. "In your world I'm dead? And Grand Master Dashi is walking around in my body? Like he owns it?"

The other Kimiko and her Clay nod.

"I, also, am no longer alive?" Omi says softly.

Kimiko winces. She knows about what Omi saw in the alternate future – how he saw ancient versions of herself, Clay, Raimundo and Master Fung, and how he watched them die at the hands of Jack Spicer's souped-up Jack-bots. He's been unusually subdued since that time – though he's better than he was – and from what she now sees on his face, he's obviously thinking about it, as well as trying to absorb all they've been told about this other alternate timeline.

Temporal physics suck. Majorly.

Another nod from the doppelgangers.

"No wonder you were so screwy when you got here. It must've been like seeing ghosts." Rai folds his arms, apparently not realising how defensive he looks. "Total whackjob. You're not gonna, like, go psycho and bump us off in our sleep, are you?"

"I'd forgotten how obnoxious you could be," the other Kimiko replies. At his expression she adds, "But I'd still rather have you obnoxious than … yeah. You know the rest." She pauses a second, and then adds, "Dashi's a bastard. I always half believed he pushed our Raimundo's soul out when he could've saved him, just so he could use the body of a Dragon of Wind."

"Kimiko!" says her Clay.

"Well?" she snaps, but it's the snap of a Popsicle stick – tiny, splintery, and non-threatening. "It doesn't matter now anyway. Like I said, even if you figure out a way to send us home, I'm not going back." This last sentence is addressed to Master Fung, but the entire circle feels it.

Kimiko wants to say something about dimensional backlash, to question whether it's safe to mix worlds permanently, but it's like her speech has been turned off at the mains. She can't argue that they have to go back. It'd feel like … well, like murder.

The rest of the meeting passes uneventfully, riddled with discussion of sleeping arrangements and alerting the other, subordinate temple monks to the presence of two more guests. Raimundo advocates not telling them the whole gruesome story, but both Kimikos point out that it'd be pretty obvious something magical is going on at the sight of twins with all the powers and abilities of already active Xiaolin Dragons. Better to get things over with, and quickly, so rumour and bad feeling don't spread when it comes out that the other monks have been deliberately kept in the dark on such an important matter.

They disperse after this. Master Fung retreats to his quarters, along with Dojo. Raimundo disappears without a word, presumably too shaken to remember his leadership duties.

Omi wavers a moment, until the other Clay takes pity and tells him to go after Raimundo. Omi bows gratefully and speeds off after his friend. The other Kimiko watches both of them go with those scarily hungry eyes of hers, then turns those eyes on the remaining two Dragons.

"Uhm …" The real Clay sounds as embarrassed as Kimiko feels. His face is the colour of raw steak.

"I got me the feelin' our relationship bothers you two a mite," says the other Clay without preamble. "Would I be correct in that thinkin'?"

"A little," Kimiko admits. Part of her is horrendously uncomfortable, while the rest is suffused with relief that somebody brought the matter up.

What's wrong with her? Usually she has no problem speaking her mind – she's not backward about coming forward, as her father and mother like to say, though they say it in vastly differing ways. Her father always sounds proud of his little girl. Her mother, fearsomely traditional, worries constantly that her daughter will never find a good husband with her brazen, westernised ways.

"I take it you two aren't a couple." The other Kimiko is watching her, eyes blue and fierce as gas flames.

"No, we're not."

"Right."

"Not that we want y'all to stop … showin' affection for each other," Clay is hasty to assure them. "Don't stop on our account."

Kimiko notices how her doppelganger's grip on the other Clay's hand intensifies at this, like she's reacting to the clumsy reassurances with her own slight exaggerations. It doesn't seem intentional, but she's so different that she's hard to read...

"Thanks." There isn't any scorn in the other Kimiko's voice, but there could so easily be. So easily.

"Uhm, you guys hungry?" Clay scrambles to regain his balance. "Y'all squashed the Alabama Chocolate Mudslide I made, but I'm sure I could whip up sumthin' tasty in two shakes of a steer's tail."

"Actually, I am starving," the other Kimiko confesses. "Would some rice be okay? I don't know if my stomach could handle anything richer tonight."

"Done and done." Clay looks pointedly at his double.

"I reckon' you know what kind of meal I'd go for. Clever fellah like yo'self."

"Hm. Reckon' I do."

As Clay leads them towards the kitchen, Kimiko backs into a side corridor. "I'll just, uh, go see about those bedrolls," she says lamely, bolting before anyone can reply. It's selfish, and not at all fair on Clay to leave him as sole host, but she desperately needs a few moments alone to get her head straight. The boys at least gleaned a few details before the meeting. She, however, went into it blind and is still reeling at the thought that, but for one little incident that happened centuries ago – something she had no control over – her life could be so staggeringly different.

She spends several minutes just leaning against a wall outside, the night air sharp against her skin.

It didn't happen here, she repeats to herself. It's terrible what happened, but it didn't happen here. I shouldn't feel guilty that my world got lucky while theirs didn't. It's not my fault. It didn't happen here, and that's the end of it. I should just get on with things and not think about any 'might have been' junk. It won't help and it'll just give me a migraine.

The more she tells herself this, the more her muscles unclench. The quiet helps her collect herself. Weird, considering how she used to miss Tokyo's bustle when she first arrived here. she used to hate the quiet. Now it's a comfort. She actually feels a little better, though just imagining all the other her has been through is enough to set her off again.

It's also enough to make her thank her lucky stars, and resolve to call her parents when it's morning in Tokyo. She doesn't, actually, speak to them as often as she should; her father is always working, and relations with her mother have always been strained. She can't even remember the last time she told her mom she loves her. It will shock Mrs. Tohomiko, and quite possibly her first response will be to demand what Kimiko wants, but Kimiko knows it won't bother her as much as it may have, had she made such a call yesterday.

Buoyed by these promises, Kimiko levers herself up and goes in search of bedding for their guests.

She has not gone ten feet, however, when she turns a corner and almost steps on Omi. They both jump, which is totally weird because Omi has the best instincts of all the Dragons. Sneaking up on him is difficult when she tries. To do it by accident is beyond unusual.

"Oh! Kimiko!" he exclaims.

"Omi? What're you doing out here?"

"I, um, am making … preparations … for sleepy time?"

"Riiiight. Where's Raimundo? I thought you went after him."

Omi hangs his head. "I did. But he said that he would be liking some unaccompanied seconds and minutes."

The part of Kimiko's brain devoted to Omi translation goes to work. "Alone time?"

"That is what I said. He did not wish to talk with me about the matter of the Clay who is not Clay and Kimiko who is not you and their world of sadness and suffering."

"Hm." She glances around. "Where'd he go for this 'alone time'?"

Omi looks at her with apprehension.

"It's okay to tell me, Omi. He didn't make you swear an oath of secrecy or anything." She cocks her head at him. "Did he?"

Omi sighs. "The Shen Gong Wu Vault. But he was most insistent of not being accompanied. He even," he gulped, "yelled at me for trying to follow him."

Kimiko felt her heart scrunch up like a fist about to punch something. Before she came to China she never would've pegged herself as the least bit motherly. She's always been independent – separated from the people around her by her thorny personality and status as a child prodigy. Nobody wants to get close to the rich freak. Yet Omi brings out her latent Mother Bear instincts. Without even saying a word he demands to be take care of.

"Omi," she crouches beside him, even though she's not that much taller to begin with, "do you want to talk about it?"

For a second it looks as though he's going to shake his head. Then he sniffs loudly. A large tear trickles down his cheek. Another drips off his nose. "I am being foolish," he stammers, dragging a sleeve across his eyes. "I am thanking my fortunate stars that our world is so much better than theirs. But these things also make me feel very bad – like I am wicked for thinking them."

"You feel guilty because you're glad all that awful stuff didn't happen here in our world," Kimiko surmises.

Omi raises his gaze. His eyelashes are spiked with moisture. "Yes!" He sounds grateful she's put it into words for him – or perhaps grateful she so easily understands how he feels. "Am I wicked for thinking such dishonourable things?"

"Of course not!"

"Then … you are also feeling this way?"

"I think it'd be really cold-blooded for any of us not to, even if just a little bit. I mean, I feel bad for the other Kimiko and the other Clay – don't get me wrong about that – but at the same time, it'd be inhuman not to feel even a little thankful that our problems are so much smaller than theirs." She shakes her head. "Man, I never ever thought I'd call Chase Young a small problem."

"Me neither." Then Omi does something unprecedented: he hugs her. "Thank you, Kimiko. I was feeling that I was most badness, but now I feel somewhat better. Perhaps you should be giving one of these 'pip talks' to Raimundo. He does seem in need of one, if you are brave enough to talk to him in his 'alone time' of yelling and insults."

"I'll give him alone time," Kimiko mutters heatedly.

Omi looks puzzled. It suits him more than the wretchedness of the last few minutes, even if his brow is still furrowed. "But he is already having his alone time. You do not need to give him any more."

"It's a figure of speech, Omi. Listen, I was going to get a couple of spare bedrolls. How about you do that and I'll go bang Raimundo's head against the Vault wall?"

Omi's puzzlement intensifies to alarm. "That is another figure of speech, yes?"

The little monk thus dispatched, Kimiko marches off to the Shen Gong Wu Vault. She can't feel too mad at Raimundo, but she can certainly feel irritated with him. They're all smarting, but that's no excuse to go yelling at poor Omi. That's just bullying, and if there's one thing she can't abide (apart from evil psychotic megalomaniacs and alternate futures where villains rule supreme) it's a bully.

She finds Rai dancing about the Vault with the Sword of the Storm. It's how he works off tension, she knows. When he's bored he pulls pranks. When he's preoccupied he plays keepy-uppy with a soccer ball. When he's troubled, he goes through all the complicated swordplay he's learned. The regular motion of jabbing and parrying seems to soothe him.

She spends a long moment just watching as he crosses from one side of the chamber to another, never missing a beat. It's almost like a dance. Nobody else is as good with a sword as Rai. Nobody else is as good with that sword as Rai.

Eventually he notices her, but even then he doesn't break his step. Instead he whirls sideways, drops into a forward roll, and comes up next to her with both hands clamped on the hilt like he's about to gut her. The blade halts so close she'd cut herself if she inhales.

She doesn't move.

When he stands up he shakes sweaty hair from his eyes and lets the sword drop to his side. "You think Grand Master Dashi can handle the Sword of the Storm like that?" is the first thing he says, still panting.

"You yelled at Omi," Kimiko responds, folding her arms.

"Yeah, well … the little guy was bugging me."

"He's your friend. He wanted to talk to you. You had no right to yell at him for that – or to insult him."

"Jeez, take a chill pill, Kimiko. I yell at Omi all the time; and you've insulted everyone worse than anything I said."

"Yeah, but this time's different."

He glares at her for a moment, but the expression quickly deflates like an unpopped bubblegum bubble. "I suppose so…"

"He was only trying to help."

"Yeah. I guess. He was just following at my heels like a puppy, is all. He wouldn't shut up and let me think … I'll apologise to the little dude when I see him."

"Before bed."

"Yeah, sure."

"It really bothered him, Rai. He was worried about you. He is worried about you-"

"I get it!" Rai snaps, running a hand through his hair. The sweat makes it stick up in odd peaks and troughs, but for once it's obvious he couldn't care less about his appearance. "You don't need to over-egg the pudding. I hurt his feelings. I get it. I'll say I'm sorry." He turns away and strikes the pose to go into another swordfighting routine.

"Don't you have anything else to say?" Kid gloves rarely figure when she's speaking to Rai. Straight talk, that's all that seems to get through to him. No nonsense, cut the crap, all cards on the table style arguments – that's what he reacts to, so that's what comes out of her mouth when she has something she really wants to say. He's a blow-hard, and she has a fiery temper. It's never a good mix, but often an explosive one.

"Not really." Cut, thrust, parry, jab. "Except that you never answered my question."

"Because it was a dumb question. How am I supposed to know what Grand Master Dashi does with a sword?"

"Well he created the Sword of the Storm. It stands to reason he'd be pretty good at using it."

"Not necessarily."

"Humph."

Slide, jab, roll, slice. Whatever his faults, Raimundo really is an excellent swordsman. His new robes make him look good, too – though with head still full of couples, in particular her parents and the other Kimiko and Clay, she's quick to shake away any thoughts that might be construed as romantic.

"It's okay to be unsettled, you know," she calls instead, raising her voice as Raimundo progresses away from her towards the spiral staircase that leads to the Wu drawers. "The rest of us are."

"Humph." Parry, thrust, parry, jeté, stab-stab-stab.

"After all, it's not every day you get visitors from another dimension."

"Kimiko, I know you're trying to be helpful and do all that touchy-feely, let's-talk-about-our-problems therapy junk, but shut the hell up. I'm trying to work here, and you're not the next Oprah." Stab-stab-stab. Stabbity-stabbity-stabbity.

"And I'm trying to make you see that it's fine to be weirded out, because bizarre as it may seem, I'm just as concerned about you as Omi is. And like I told him, it's perfectly natural to feel bad about what happened in that alternate world while also being grateful it didn't happen here, to us. You don't have to feel guilty or anything. Nobody's so altruistic they wouldn't be grateful for something like that."

Thwack! Raimundo catches a pillar with the flat of the Sword. The noise reverberates around the chamber like a dozen untuned instruments playing at once.

Before it's finished he turns blazing green eyes in her direction and stalks towards her, arms swinging. "In that world," he spits, "I'm dead. Worse than that, my soul got eaten, and instead of getting a decent burial, my body is up and walking about with somebody else at the wheel. My parents, my brothers and sisters, they all saw what'd happened to me. And y'know what? Me dying didn't even help or anything. The day wasn't saved. I just …" he waves his free hand wildly, "died! Just like that. Like I never even meant anything. Like I could just be replaced ­– swappedlike a Christmas present somebody didn't want. So tell me, Kimiko," he draws closer to her, pushing his face into hers, "is it okay to feel so mad and useless and expendable that you want to give back your robes of leadership before you've even had them a week? After all, you're so full of good advice tonight, you should know the answer. So answer me that: is it?"

Kimiko meets his glare squarely.

"I don't need your permission to feel a certain way. In that world, Grand Master Dashi – a guy I've looked up to and respected the whole time I've been a Xiaolin warrior – is treating my body like a rental car. And he may even have bumped me off in order to use it! I'm dead, Kimiko! I'm dead, and not loving it!"

Through gritted teeth, she says, "In that world, I had to watch you and everyone else die, and see somebody else use your body. I had to fight and fight and fight some more, knowing each time that I could lose someone else I care about and that I couldn't do anything about it. I had to live in the mountains for a month, knowing the thing that killed you was probably coming for me, and was very, very mad."

Raimundo opened his mouth to counter this.

"And I'm also in a romantic relationship with Clay." She narrows her eyes. "Beat that."

He winces, like the thought of her and Clay is a personal insult.

A long moment stretches around them, wrapping them up like cotton wool and cushioning them from the rest of the world. For that moment there's nothing else but the two of them, staring at each other, distant thoughts flitting behind their eyes. The Sword of the Storm gleams with a patina that betrays regular polishing. Kimiko's hair seems to pulse with vibrant colour, so at odds with the mustiness of the Vault and the gloominess of their conversation.

Then, very slowly, they start to laugh. Just sniggers at first, then chuckles, which eventually graduate into full-blown gales of laughter – tears-streaming-down-the cheeks, oh-my-god-my-sides-hurt-and-my-face-is-about-to-split-open laughter. Laughter that reduces them to boneless heaps against the chamber wall.

"Oh – oh man," Raimundo says at last, holding his stomach. He coughs over another laugh and scrubs at his eyes. "Phew. Aw, man. Y'know, other teenagers only have to worry about zits and test scores."

"Yeah." Kimiko nods. "Do you think we'd be happier that way?"

He spends a fleeting second pondering the question. "Would our lives be easier? Hell yeah. Would we be happier? Y'know, I actually don't think so."

Another nod. "Me too."

"We're so messed up."

"Tell me about it."

A/N: To those who know me over on LiveJournal, for some reason my computer throws a wobbly whenever I try to do more than look at my Friends Page. I'm not ignoring y'all, I'm just experienceing technical difficulties. Email me if there are burning issues, or if you just want a chat. Goodness knows I'm in need of conversation that doesn't start 'I hate this kid in my class because...'