by Momiji Hime

Mitamas were funny little things. A person realized that, once they actually had a chance to possess one. That burning sensation every time something went awry. That soft blue glow that emanated from your chest, giving a new sense of fashion to one's wardrobe, at the most inappropriate times. Not to mention the fact that monsters resembling plants and animals were always on your ass. Indeed. Mitamas were kind of funny.

With that very thought still tumbling around in her mind, Momiji managed to snap free of her reflection. In doing so, she found herself shivering and wet. As she stared down at her soaked clothes, she racked her brain, clearing out some cobwebs while she tried to make sense of what was happening.

When did it start raining so hard? Momiji wondered, as she trudged down the sidewalk. Walking home late had been a normal occurrence these days. Her mitama research had become top priority lately. As time went on, she spent more and more of her afternoons and evenings in front of a softly flowing computer screen, rubbing the sleepiness from her eyes. In doing so, she was able to channel her worries elsewhere, burying her thoughts inside in order to study countless printouts, Internet sites, and terrestrial reports.

Today had been no exception, although Momiji had left a bit late, staying until she was too tired to remain any longer. She had longed for a nice, hot soak, something warm to drink, and an early retirement for the day. The night had found Momiji at the entrance of the TAC's building, ready to head home on foot. Calling home for a ride was the obvious option, but despite her exhaustion, she decided to walk. It wasn't very far, and Takeuchi needed her rest. She had begun her trek, only clearing two blocks before having to wait at a crosswalk. Lost in thought, she had stood still, apparently through several green lights. She glanced at the digital clock outside of a nearby bank; it was nearly 10 p.m. Momiji blinked, letting out an embarrassed sigh. She had been standing like an idiot on a street corner for nearly half an hour? She had been lucky no one had stopped. Guys, after all, would be guys.

She quickened her pace, hands shoved deep into her jacket pockets, and her head bowed to avoid any unnecessary wind. It was really starting to pick up. She could feel her toes beginning to go slightly numb, and she berated herself for a second time for not wearing more sensible shoes, like her boots. Momiji struggled to keep her hair out of her eyes as she continued walking. She was a mere five blocks from home sweet home when an extremely aggressive gust of wind ripped at her body, almost throwing her slight form to the ground. Furiously blinking against the sting of rainwater, she looked for temporary shelter. She needed to stop.

Momiji managed to stumble against the rioting rain and wind, leaning against a thick post. She couldn't remember the weather ever being this bad so suddenly. A fairly mild afternoon had caused Momiji to dress in her usual skirt and sleeveless top. Oh, did she regret it. The rain stung her skin like needles, and her entire body became chilled. Armed only with her jacket, Momiji

clutched her school-books to her chest, steeling herself for the final effort to get home.

She pushed off from her post, dashing across the street. The howling wind seemed to be taunting her, daring her to finish her trek. The wind urged the thick clouds to hover around the moon, blacking out what little light had remained. Panting for breath, she stared up at the sky, shaking now for more than the obvious reason. She was frightened.

She blinked furiously, making a heroic attempt to keep her mind focused. She was becoming dizzy, and more exhausted by the second. Dimly, she realized it wasn't just fatigue speaking. Something was wrong. Her limbs felt limp, as if she couldn't control them, but at the same time light, as if she could float away at any second. She dropped her books as her knees gave out, and

she stumbled, skidding to her knees, then fell face down onto the freezing, wet, unmerciful pavement. In shock, she remained still, taking stock her of herself. God.. someone help me… With great effort, she forced her arms into action, placing them on the ground in front of her.

"Please… if I can just get home, I'll never walk this late again.." If she could just run the remaining distance, she'd be home in no time. Where was Kusanagi when a girl needed him? She pushed up, locking her elbows and lifting her head heavily from the ground. "gah..."

"What the hell are you doing out here?!"

Speak of the devil.

She wasn't incredibly surprised to hear his voice, but she sure was relieved. He'd get her home. He sure had been slow about getting here, though. Momiji didn't allow herself to worry about the numbness that threatened to overcome her body, or the throbbing of her head. He was here, and she was safe. "W…walking home.."

"Idiot!" Kusanagi shook her once, twice, three times. "Stay awake, alright? Don't go to sleep.. Momiji!"

Too late.

***

"Thank you for getting her home…how did you find her?" Ryoko Takeuchi Kunikida gently shut Momiji's bedroom door and turned to Kusanagi.

He shrugged, staring at his hands absently. "I went to the TAC, and when I couldn't find her there, I figured she had gotten home already. I don't know. I was worried. I was headed back here when I found her. And then, well.. I told you already." He fell silent, not being a man of many words. He had already spoken too much. He leaned against the door, jamming his hands into his vest pockets.

Takeuchi liked Kusanagi. He usually rubbed most people the wrong way, but she admired him. He was blunt and to the point. He didn't mess around with unnecessary words or actions. The plant boy wasn't into preamble or beating around the bush. Besides, anyone who would fight tooth and nail to save Takeuchi's honorary daughter deserved an A in her book. Despite the

fact that Kusanagi and Momiji were no longer together, Kusanagi still kept a silent watch over the Kushinada, and for that, Takeuchi was eternally grateful.

"We have things to discuss," she began, leading him by the elbow downstairs and into the kitchen. While he sat, she bustled about, preparing tea. Kusanagi watched her, his amusement apparent. She was quite a sight, swollen belly and all. Bustling probably wasn't the most accurate term for what she was doing; shuffling was more on target. Although she moved awkwardly, Kusanagi had to admit that pregnancy agreed with Takeuchi.

"Yeah.. things to discuss." He rested his elbows against the knees, letting out a controlled sigh. Oh boy, did they. Momiji was going to freak. "Should you be moving around like that?"

Takeuchi chose to ignore the question, instead presenting him with his tea. "I should call Sugi.. and the rest of them. They need to know." Takeuchi leaned against the counter, shutting her eyelids briefly. "Oh, and of course, Daitetsu will have to come home early...

"Sit." Kusanagi rose from his chair, settling Takeuchi in his place. He distracted himself from her amused, yet grateful smile by picking up the phone, and rifling through the address book placed next to it. "I'll do it. Pregnant women aren't supposed to be doing.. stuff."

***

Gods… finally, she was warm. Was she sick? Opening her eyes to mere slits, she allowed them to adjust to the dim light of her bedside lamp, then slowly opened them fully. Not quite willing to move just yet, she simply let her eyes roam, resting first on Takeuchi, then Kusanagi. It appeared as if they had camped out beside her bed. Takeuchi was curled up on a large, cushioned armchair, covered with a large afghan, and Kusanagi was seated at the foot of her bed, head drooping as he dozed.

With effort, she rose, resting back on her forearms. She winced, shutting her eyes as she realized how sore she was. Had she been in a car wreck? Had she been run over? Testing her limbs, she rose into a sitting position, sliding one leg over the side of her bed, then the other. Setting her feet onto the thick, soft carpeting, she hesitantly planted her weight on them. So far, so good.

She stole another look at Kusanagi, who was perched precariously on the edge of her bed, and stood, trying valiantly to keep the noise to a minimum. Noise wasn't a problem, but the absence of her weight appeared to be. As the mattress shifted slightly, Kusanagi jerked to attention.

"Back," he began, his voice hard, "into bed." Without waiting for her to move, he rose from his position, pushing her back against her pillows. Scowling, he tucked her back under her blankets. "Don't do anything else stupid. What the hell were you walking home for?"

Momiji sat up in bed, blinking innocently at him. "I always walk home, you idiot."

"Not in that kind of weather, do you hear me?" Takeuchi was by her side, pressing a warm cup of tea into her hands. "Drink this…no, all of it. Why didn't you call me?" She began to fuss with the blankets, struggling to keep her hands busy, keeping her pace synchronized with the still frantic beating of her heart.

Kusanagi scowled at the Kushinada, anger evident in his eyes. "What if I hadn't showed up? You ought to know better, dummy."

Momiji set her cup on the bedside table. "Who knows… I didn't want to bother anyone." She clutched her forearms defensively, hiking her knees to her chest. "And who died and make you my mother?" she demanded, meeting Kusanagi's eyes.

Kusanagi clenched his jaw, bowing his head slightly. Takeuchi paused in her almost frantic rearranging of Momiji's stuffed animals. Momiji realized her mistake.. too late.

Covering her face with both hands, she sighed quietly. "I'm sorry." Absolutely nothing had ever made Momiji so cavalier in speaking about her mother, not even anger. In fact, words concerning her mother were never spoken. From Momiji's perspective, speaking certain words would make them true. She parted her fingers, allowing herself to steal a glance at Kusanagi. He was watching her, with something resembling pity apparent is his abnormal eyes. It was almost maddening.

"Momiji…" Takeuchi moved to her side, brushing invisible flecks of dust from Momiji's bedspread. "If you n-"

"No, I don't need to talk."

Kusanagi bit at his lower lip anxiously. He had no idea what to say to her. He couldn't understand what she felt completely, but he could sympathize. He only had fleeting memories of his mother, brief flashes of her face that seemed to appear when he least expected them. Momiji losing her mother at the age of fifteen was different. After the rite.. after Momiji had been returned to him- to everyone, the country of Japan had a bitch of a job on their hands. In addition to rebuilding homes and offices, there had been the job of the search parties, tracking down injured and lost family members. Many had been found, treated, and returned to their families, but Momiji's mother hadn't been one of them. In fact, no word at all had been spoken on her whereabouts. Although Momiji didn't speak of it, Kusanagi knew that, two years later, she still harbored the belief that her mother was alive and well.

"I'm tired," Momiji said, quietly. "Can I go to sleep now?"

Kusanagi opened his mouth to protest, but Takeuchi pressed a finger to her own mouth, sending him a clear signal to stay quiet.

"We'll talk in the morning." Having said that, she pressed a gentle kiss to Momiji's temple and rose from her bedside. "You can sleep in the guest room, Mamoru. You're staying here tonight."

Kusanagi didn't argue. He would be needed in the morning. "Alright." He fidgeted uncharacteristically, trying to determine what to do with himself. He watched as Takeuchi left the room, readying the guest bedroom for him, then turned his gaze to Momiji.

For an eternity that realistically lasted about thirty seconds, they stared at one another, each sizing up the other. From her nest of pillows and blankets, she met his gaze, her face pale and her eyes swollen, tears threatening to overcome her. "…Goodnight, Kusanagi."

For reasons unknown, he moved to her bedside, his eyes becoming unreadable. He watched as Momiji shifted her gaze to the window, her fingers plucking at the stray pieces of yarn on her quilt. Almost against his will, he reached out, brushing a finger against her cheek. As Momiji remained still, he replaced his finger with his hand, rubbing his thumb gently over her cheek as he cupped the side of her face in his palm.

As he continued to stroke her cheek, he noticed his thumb was moving easier, aided by something warm and wet. He flinched as he heard Momiji sniffle, jerking his hand away. "Goodnight." He backed away from the bed, turning away from her as he reached the doorway. Without another glance, he left her room, suddenly struck by a numbing ache. He clenched his fists as he heard the click of her shutting off a lamp.

He chuckled humorlessly, proceeding to walk down the hallway. She needed her sleep. Tomorrow was going to be a bitch of a day.