Setting: After series
Genre: General/Angst
Rating: PG
Summary: Four years is a long time to be missing, but it doesn't stop Barnaby from trying to find his partner, Wild Tiger, who went MIA those four years ago. By chance, a man of strikingly similar warm crosses his path; he is everything that Kotetsu was, but at the same time everything about him is not.

Once Lost Yet to Return

The heat was brutal today, the sun uninhibited by clouds as it glared freely on the land below; typical of summer weather just before the fall would set. It was probably hotter today than any other day thus far, but it didn't stop him from wandering around all the same. Barnaby gently massaged his forehead, pinching the bridge of his nose as he tried to focus – the past two days had been grueling. Between having a string of emergencies back to back and maybe three hours of sleep in total, the effects his nightly searches had on his sleeping pattern was beginning to catch up to him.

He shook his head trying to clear the heavy, fuzzy feeling weighing down on him; he was walking through one of the local parks – it was a silly, cliché idea but you always seemed to find what you were looking for in a park, right? Besides, everyone else typically are wrapped up in their own worlds that they'd walk right on by without even noticing him; it meant he didn't have to put on his professional face or interrupt his search to appease fans. His head was feeling heavier, his steps a little sluggish and unsteady as he wavered a little; maybe the others had been right – maybe he should rest for today.

Not minding where he was going, he bumped into someone lightly, stumbling back a little on his imbalance feet. The other person caught him gently by the arms, holding him upright and keeping him from falling back on to the ground. Barnaby kept his head low as he murmured a small apology.

"Hey, are you alright? You don't look so well," the stranger asked in concern. Forest green eyes widened at the voice, Barnaby snapping his head up to look at the man's face.

"Ko –!" his voice caught. Warm honey-brown eyes were staring at him in concern, but that seemed to be the only familiar feature. This man's voice had a soothing, almost melodic air to it as he spoke, light brown eyes set against a sunny complexion; his hair was a lighter rose-brown colour and far too short – short enough that it naturally spiked up on its own. Gold, thin framed oval glasses adorned the straight nose, sliding down a little – reading glasses, maybe, but then you wouldn't wear such things for a casual stroll; the man was definitely near-sighted. But the thing that struck out at Barnaby the most – his face was clean; not a single hair on his chin and certainly not a beard shaped like two little kittens.

Barnaby felt his heart drop – Kotetsu would never shave off his beard under any circumstances. Even when the old man tried to strike a bet with him; if Barnaby even made a mention of the beard, the other would whine and sulk before backing down from it. The beard was just that important to Kotetsu.

"Hello?" the man gently shook him. Barnaby snapped to attention, slowly removing himself from the assuring hold.

"I'm – so sorry; I'm fine now," he excused. The man didn't seem convinced but let him go anyways, knowing that he was just a simple stranger. Barnaby apologised again before moving past him, not daring to look back behind him to watch the other walk away; he was afraid of what he'd see if he did.

That voice – he had been so sure that it was Kotetsu; he had hoped but – everything didn't match up. An overwhelming ache burned in his chest. Barnaby glanced down at his wrist; a purple beaded bracelet and an oversized wristwatch which doubled as a wire-grappler – both of which had belonged to his partner. He put a hand over them; he couldn't bring himself to throw them out when he was clearing Tiger's locker. He remembered holding the man's wedding ring in his fingers, the temptation to slip it on was strong, but he knew he didn't have the right to. He had given it to Kaede – it was more rightfully hers than his, and he figured that of all the possessions left that ring held the most significance to her.

Tears pricked the corner of his eyes; Barnaby must be more exhausted than he thought, quickly rubbing them away. Why did just hearing that man's voice pull up all these memories – both the good and the bad. Why did it feel like the time Kriem had cruelly told him that Jake wasn't responsible for his parents' deaths? That feeling of finally getting an answer only to be left with more questions and doubts; and the one who stayed by his side, always picking him up – always was Kotetsu, meddling in places he shouldn't have.

Then again – if the older man hadn't shoved his way into his life, Barnaby would never have found out the real truth, that Maverick had been the one responsible for killing his parents. He felt his knees give way, just barely keeping himself up on all fours as the ground beneath him seemed to disappear. This was a strangely familiar sensation; he remembered – him and Kotetsu retracing the steps when the false memory Maverick had given him was starting to unravel. He had been just as tired and just as frustrated. He remembered Kotetsu's promise to stick with him until he figured out what was wrong with his memories and then vaguely passing out promptly after hearing that promise.

"Oi! Are you alight? Hey!" the voice floated over his head. He could recall the ghostly touches of his partner's arms holding him up, no doubt a worrying look on his face. Did the other carry him to the infirmary or did he get someone else to help? If Kotetsu had carried him, he never made a mention of it – Barnaby knew the other would have teased him relentlessly about it since he's princess-carried the veteran several times.

His body felt light, as if he was being lifted onto air with a strange sense of warmth against his back; it was – comfortably familiar. Perhaps Kotetsu did carry him back then – how else would his body remember what it felt like, how easily the bumbling man held him in his arms. His eye lids fluttered open slowly, his mind still in the memory expecting the white ceiling panels of the infirmary; it wasn't white, but creamy brown and it wasn't paneled but seamless.

Barnaby blinked a few times before slowly trying to sit up – he was in a bed, but it wasn't a hospital or any other place similar, this bed was far too comfortable. He glanced around the room, but his vision was extremely burly – then he realised he didn't have his glasses on. Was he in someone's home then? But who would take an unconscious man home, unless – no, he shook his head. If they had wanted to do something indecent, that would've happened by now.

"Oh good you're awake," the sudden voice startled him. "How are you feeling right now?" The blurred figure crossed the room, stopping just before the bed. Barnaby squinted, trying to stare at the face of the kind stranger who picked him up; why was this voice familiar?

"My glasses…?" he requested. There was a small noise before the vague shape of a hand reached over to the side drawer, holding out what could only be his glasses. Barnaby fumbled trying to grab them, quietly thanking the man as he put them on; it took a few seconds for his vision to focus, but he could finally see the world. He turned to face his host, his voice catching in his throat – it was the same man had bumped into not too long ago.

"Here, drink this – it might help you feel better," the man offered. He held up a tall ceramic cup, Barnaby wordlessly taking it cautiously; the liquid was still hot, nearly burning his tongue as he took a tentative sip. It was a bitter tea, but he didn't know what kind. The man watched him carefully, a relieved smile on his face. "You had me worried there, you know; I was about to call the hospital if you didn't wake up soon."

"…How long have I been out for?" Barnaby asked.

"Pretty much most of the day; you still look a little ragged, but at least you've got some colour back in your cheeks," the man replied. "You looked awful when we bumped into each other earlier – no offense," he added hastily. Barnaby only nodded in agreement; he was pretty sure he looked miserable considering he didn't have a chance to nap these past two days. He continued to quietly sip the tea he was given, having gotten used to its bitterness.

"Um, where am I exactly?" he asked. Before the dark-haired man could open his mouth to answer, a voice from behind him spoke up sounding not pleased at all.

"You're in my bed, that's where!"

"Will…" honey-brown eyes frowned at the man standing in the doorway. He had long shaggy black hair and sharp piercing dark eyes glaring at them; he was dressed in complete black from head to toe and Barnaby thought he was one of those socially reclusive kind if not for the healthy tan the man was sporting. He couldn't have been much older than himself.

"Why'd you have to use my fuckin' bed? You've got your own damn bed you could've used!"

"Yours was unoccupied," the other answered simply.

"You have a fuckin' desk! Don't use your bed to spew you damn textbooks and teacher's aide all over the place!" the raven head nagged. His companion ignored him, turning to Barnaby with a pleasant smile.

"Don't mind him – he has an issue sharing space."

"Does the word "personal" mean anything to you, Akira?" he asked. Barnaby flinched at the name – not because it meant anything, but it only proved to confirm that this man sitting aside of him was not his partner. Akira sighed, running his fingers through his hair which made it stand up even more.

"Anyways, as said – I'm Akira Hurst; sorry for my roommate's rude behavior," he held a hand out. Barnaby hesitantly took the hand, shaking his head.

"It's fine – I feel bad for causing you trouble."

"If you feel bad then you shouldn't have passed out in the middle of the goddamn park!"

"And this obnoxious loudmouth is William Zimmerman – Will for short; or if you want to be real cute, Bill-a-Bong," Akira introduced with a teasing tone.

"STOP CALLING ME THAT!" William fumed. Akira only gave him a smug little grin, the other man gritting his teeth at him.

"Um, Barnaby Brooks Jr." he hesitated before introducing himself. The two men stopped their glaring war for a moment to look at him, both slightly surprised before a smile lit up Akira's face.

"Ah, so that means you're a Hero, right?" he asked. Barnaby nodded his head.

"Great – the all might Barnaby spent half a day in my bed," William muttered, burying his face in his hand.

"…That just sounded really dirty when you say it like that," Akira pointed out with a monotonous tone. William looked at him horrified as the meaning of what he just said sink in, his face contorting with anger and embarrassment, yelling out that that's not what he meant. They continued with their little banter, but Barnaby didn't pay much attention, eyes wondering around for a clock to tell him the time; it was just a little past six. He tossed the covers off, catching both men's attention.

"I'm sorry for the trouble I've caused – and thank you for taking care of me, Mr. Hurst, Mr. Zimmerman."

"Please – William is fine; I hate, hate my last name…"

"Why don't you stay for dinner, Mr. Hero," Akira offered. Barnaby shook his head as he stood up; he wanted to get back out into the city as soon as possible to continue his searching. He excused he wasn't hungry, moving to walk past the man when his stomach betrayed him, letting out a loud gurgle. Barnaby blushed, staring down at the floor to avoid both pair of eyes watching him.

"Let me guess – breakfast was probably the last time you ate anything and you most likely haven't eaten anything since," Akira guessed, failing miserably at hiding the smug tone. Barnaby didn't say anything, silently cursing at his body's betrayal. Akira laughed while William sighed, moving away from the door and muttered something about making extra.

"…I'm sorry…" Barnaby apologised.

"Don't worry about it," Akira patted him on the shoulder. "Will's a pretty good cook, besides – I couldn't just leave you alone out there. Who knows what would've happened to you." The hand on his shoulder was warm; an aching feeling rose in his chest again at the feeling. Akira led him out of the room and down the short flight of stairs leading to the rest of the house. It was a large open space with no walls to distinguish the living room from the dining room, only a single half-wall separating the kitchen from the rest of the house. He gestured to the couches, Barnaby taking a seat while the clanging and clattering of pots and pans emitted from the kitchen.

Akira had offered to help out with the cooking, but William refused, reminding the man that he was banned from using the kitchen under any circumstances. Curious as how that came about, Barnaby asked but the older seemed hesitate to answer, scratching the back of his head. William took the opportunity to poke fun at his housemate, saying he had set a can of microwavable soup on fire.

"How on earth did you do that?" Barnaby asked curiously. There was a furious flush on Akira's face as he crossed his arms over his chest, glaring off to a far corner of the room.

"I don't know! I followed everything it said to do!"

"You forgot to remove the metallic cover, idiot," William answered knowingly. Akira hissed at him to shut up, narrowing his eyes dangerously at him. The raven head only smirked, going about the kitchen as he cooked up dinner for them. Barnaby couldn't stifle the small chuckle that escaped him; he thought no one could be that bad at cooking, but this man sitting next to him was proving that there really was no limit to how bad a person could be at something. At least Kotetsu knew how to cook, even if all he ever made was fried rice.

All too soon a tantalizing smell was drifting through the complex, Barnaby's stomach rumbling even more much to his embarrassment. Akira teased him only a little for it before they were called to the table to eat, Barnaby taking a seat across from the older man. William set the plates down with light plop – pasta with thick creamy alfredo sauce, garnished with some sort of fresh green herb, running back to the kitchen to retrieve his own plate and a small bowl of freshly made garlic bread.

"Well – enjoy," he muttered curtly, not wasting a second to plow his fork into the stringy pasta. Akira only shook his head at his table manners, but picked up his fork and began to eat. Barnaby hesitated a moment before slowly taking up his fork and scoped up a bite; he was surprised by the taste.

"Did you – really make all this from scratch?" he asked quietly. William gave him a dirty look from across the table.

"You've got a problem with a guy who can cook?"

"No, um – it's good," the blond murmured. The raven head looked pleasantly surprised before a smug grin came to his face, puffing out his chest.

"Yes, well – I suppose it's my only special talent," he bragged.

"You're always a bitch about it until someone compliments your cooking," Akira rolled his eyes. William only hissed at him, shoving another forkful of pasta into his mouth. Barnaby offered a small smile, simply enjoying the meal in silence, although it was hard not to talk whenever Akira or William dragged him into the conversations.

"Ah, this dinner just needs one more little touch to make it perfect," Akira claimed half-way through the meal. William only blinked as he watched the man stand up before he noticed he was heading towards a cupboard hanging on the wall by the fridge.

"I don't see how you can stand that piss," he groaned.

"Hey! I take great pride in this kind of stuff! You don't hear me calling your food shit," the man argued as he pulled a large wine bottle from the cupboard. William grumbled, occupying himself by grabbing another piece of garlic bread; Akira only huffed before walking across the tiny space to another cupboard, pulling out a wine glass.

"Would you like to try some, Mr. Hero?"

"What is it?"

"Sorì San Lorenzo – it might be a bit strong, but once you get used to it its some pretty damn good wine," Akira held up the bottle. Barnaby debated about it for a moment, but nodded his head as he decided to try a little. The dark-haired man reached for another glass bringing them over to the table. The bottle had already been opened since the seal was already broken and it was already less than three-quarters empty. Akira poured just a tiny sample for Barnaby to taste, before filling his own glass more than half-full.

Barnaby took the glass by the stem, swirling the wine before lifting the rim to his lips to take a tentative sip; Akira was right – this was pretty strong, but he found he didn't mind it really. Akira was savouring the taste, the scent, eyes closed as he simply took in the flavour of the wine before actually drinking it.

"So? Not too bad, yeah?" he asked. Barnaby nodded his head.

"Yes, it's pretty good," he answered. Akira jabbed his housemate in the ribs, nagging him that he just didn't have proper tastes. William only snorted, saying he'd rather have a cold beer any day. Barnaby refused another glass even though he did enjoy the wine, Akira sealing it back up and putting it back to its proper place. The dinner finished quickly after that, the dishes cleared and leftover talked wrapped up; Barnaby gathered his boots from upstairs, tied them off and thanked the two men for their hospitality before Akira walked him to the door. The summer night was a little chilly, the light wind pricking at Barnaby's bare arms.

"You sure you're going to be alright?" Akira asked at the door.

"Yes – thank you for everything and I'm sorry again for all the trouble I've caused," Barnaby answered. The other only shrugged, saying it was no problem. Barnaby offered a smile before walking down the stone steps of the townhouse.

"It's probably not my business, but – what were you doing that you ended up like that?" the question came out of nowhere. Barnaby froze, glancing over his shoulder to see the man gazing at him with a serious look; his mouth remained shut for a long while before a sigh escaped the young Hero.

"I'm – looking for something; something that is very important to me," he answered hesitantly.

"Must be if you're willing to ignore your health like that," Akira sighed. Though there was an odd sort of smile on his face as he leaned against the doorframe, arms over his chest. "You know, what you're looking for probably isn't going anywhere anytime soon. Not trying to tell you what to do, or that you should give up, but – it's fine to stop and watch the present around you now." Barnaby didn't say anything. The man bid him one last goodnight and then closed the door with a light click. It seemed like ages before Barnaby remembered how his legs worked, walking away from the house in any direction; he vaguely recognized his surroundings, so he should have no issues getting back home in one piece.

The word lingered in the back of his mind; he could tell just from hearing those words that there was an age-old wisdom to that man – something that Kotetsu brought out once in a while at the right moments when it was needed the most.

He isn't Kotetsu… the thought was disheartening. There were certainly similarities – Akira's voice, the way his eyes lit up with certain expressions and certain gestures, but everything else about him just – wasn't Kotetsu. He had a strange air of maturity that the other lacked despite his age; even the way he talked was different. It was precise, less clumsy and – very dignified. If Barnaby had to really describe Akira in one word, it would be dignity – a quality that Kotetsu always tried to imitate, but failed miserably at. He pushed the thought aside for now; no matter how much his heart wanted to believe it, his brain knew better. Akira Hurst was not Kotetsu T. Kaburagi.

-8-

"Your Good Samaritan act is going to get you killed someday, Akira," William warned. He was busy putting the last of the soiled dishes into the dish washer to let it run over night. Akira only sighed, scratching the back of his head.

"I know, I know but I couldn't help it – he just looked so pitiful and I mean, the guy passed out in the middle of a park," he argued. "Not exactly the safest place to pass out." The door of the washer closed with a slam, dark eyes glaring in his direction.

"Yeah well, thanks to you our mission got passed on to some second-rate stand-by team!"

"…The target is the elite business tycoon – Elias Milford," Akira said. He walked over to the bookshelf, picking up a small black disc from the shelf and placed it into a small specialized player. William picked the remote up from the couch, turning the TV on, the screen displaying a photo of a man in his late fifties with personal information next to it.

"He's supposed to be an upstanding guy, but he tried to seal a deal with some underground business," Will revised. "But apparently he turned chicken and back out, almost landing his would-be partner in jail."

"And now that partner wants him dead so he can steal his company," Akira finished. He knew the details already – they both did. They had memorized every word of it just two nights ago and tonight was the night they were supposed to strike, but – Akira decided to bring home a little distraction.

"Of course that's not easy – Milford is a very careful man; you have to jump through at least ten security hoops just to get to him."

"But there is one point in time when that security is at its weakest."

"And that's when he goes to visit that fuckin' cunt of his up in Silver Stage," William clicked a button on the remote and it changed to an image of the same man getting out of a car. "The walk from the car to the building door is about five minutes – if you don't get a shot by then…"

"Then you've missed your shot," Akira cut in. A smirk played on his lips, leaning back against the couch as William turned the TV off. "There's no way those brats are going to pull it off – Kiles has the worst sense of timing in the world."

"And Jamie is useless at planning escape routes," William smirked, tossing the remote to the couch cushions.

"So all we have to do is wait until they fail and then the job will fall back to us. After all," a nasty grin came to Akira's face as he glanced up at his partner sitting on the back of the couch. "We are the ultimate elite killers in this business."

"And there – that's your bitchy side showing," William jested. A short laugh escaped the other man, simply putting his hands behind his head. Milford visits this woman every week on the same night at the same time. They both had already planned this mission – all that was left was to wait till it came back to them, then set up and wait for the man's timely arrival to his own death.

-Chapter Two/End-