by Momiji Hime

"Well, here they are.."

"Thank goodness. When are you planning on bringing this to her attention?"

"No idea, Ryoko. She has enough problems right now, without having to make this kind of decision." Kunikida joined his wife in bed, dropping the large envelope into her lap.

"True.." Ryoko picked up the envelope, breaking the seal and peeking inside before looking toward her husband again.

His face was tight and drawn, but farther underneath was something else: excitement. Ryoko knew him well enough now to realize that he sometimes struggled under numerous issues simultaneously. He had good reason. The decision he was considering could change a great many lives, especially his own.

"Daitetsu."

"Yes?"

"I think you're doing the right thing. And who knows? Knowing she's loved could help her a lot. She hasn't really felt wanted in over two years."

"Maybe," he grunted, crossing his arms behind his head, "I should wait. Or should I do it now?"

"It isn't totally up to me, dear." Ryoko pulled the contents of the envelope free. "Everything seems to be here..." She paused to take a more thorough look at the papers. "Wait." She looked up, confused. "Didn't you request some information on contacting Junichi?"

"I did." Kunikida nodded.

"Well, the information has been denied. They contacted him, but he doesn't want his information relayed to you."

"It hardly matters. With or without his consent, his daughter is mine. I'm adopting her regardless."

"It'll be a lot harder without his permission." Ryoko sighed, tapping her fingernail against the official sheet of paper stating the man's right to privacy.

"She deserves better. If he doesn't want to be found, it's his loss. I was an idiot to expect more of him. It's been over sixteen years since he's seen Momiji or Kaede. He'd be an unfit father no matter how hard he'd try, although I'd probably die before I'd see him go to the trouble of."

"Daitetsu, what a horrible thing to say!"

"It'd be horrible if it was untrue. He didn't stand by his wife, or his girls. I raised one of his children all her life, and I'm raising the other now. I'm the one who stood by her. I love Momiji like my own. I take care of her." His voice hardened, but Takeuchi could see the tenderness and sincerity in his eyes. "I want her as my daughter."

Ryoko leaned over to the bedside table, and grabbed two pens from the topmost drawer. She handed one over with a gentle smile, before turning back to the sheaf of papers awaiting them. "Then lets get this paperwork filled out, shall we? It looks like a two-person job."

"Are you having doubts, Ryoko? Does this feel right to you?"

"No doubts at all. Besides," she added, "it'll give me practice raising a teenager." She stroked her stomach automatically. "Which is good, because I have a feeling he's going to be a handful when he gets to be Momiji's age."

"She."

"He, Daitetsu."

"She."

"hmmph. We'll see."

***

"Wards, eh? Suppose you two tell me what you two were planning on?" They were once again bathed in a soft light. Momiji had a good enough idea of what to expect once the light returned, but her breath still caught deep in her throat at the sight of him.

He stood just to the left of the closed door, which explained why they hadn't seen him earlier. Though he was smiling rather pleasantly, neither girl had any notion of what he could have been thinking. Visiting seemed rather bold, even for him, given their present position and location. Ryoko and Daitetsu were down the hall, still awake and chatting, and Kusanagi was a mere three doors down, likely doubting Momiji and Sakura's sanity. Any of the three could enter at any time.

Momiji, from her present position on the edge of the bed, reached out blindly. Sakura grabbed her hand, and the two of them held fast, gazing toward the figure who moved from his perch against the wall.

Sakura stared him up and down, her present fear not preventing her from being her old critical self. She took in his clothing: boots, tight pants, fitted top, and knee length jacket-all in black, and found herself wondering just where he'd been shopping. A dead biker's estate sale, no doubt. She almost laughed at the thought, for a moment forgetting that perhaps the two of them were in dire straits, and then forcibly shook the thoughts from her mind. This was no time for humor.

He spoke. His voice was velvety soft, almost hypnotic. The words were understandable, although if he had spoken any more quietly, the two might have had to lean forward to hear.

"Bad, bad Kushinada." He smiled again, and Momiji clutched at Sakura's hand, tugging sharply. Sakura leaned in closer, holding on just as tight.

Murakumo gazed at the two, huddled together in the large bed, Momiji's eyes as wide as a deer's, and Sakura's narrowed and shooting sparks.

"Trying our hand at protective spells, are we? My, I didn't know you still dabbled.. What could you possible be so afraid of? What are you protecting yourselves from?"

His rhetorical question indeed met no answer, although Momiji gained enough of her courage in order to narrow her eyes as well.

"You two look like you're ready to start some kind battle." he remarked, brushing an errant lock of hair from his cheek. "Let me assure the both of you, there's no reason to fight. Don't be so stubborn, you two. I merely came to.. chat."

Sakura snorted.

Momiji continued to stare. "Chat about what, exactly..?"

Murakumo approached the bed slowly. "Us." he replied simply, still sporting that infuriating smile. "That's all."

Sakura sat up straight, her eyes glinting shards. "So talk."

"I have no business with you," he said coolly, meeting her gaze with one of his own, evidently not at all put out by her behavior. "just with the Kushinada here. Step out, if you will."

Sakura snorted again. "No way in hell. Why should either of us trust you?"

"Tsk tsk! Judging someone you know nothing about is a bit unfair, isn't it?"

Momiji mentally rolled her eyes. "I know enough about you. I know you'd probably kill me if you had the chance. You would have before, why should now be any different?"

"Oh, come now. What a low blow, grasping at past incidents! You have my word."

"Your word means nothing to either of us." Sakura remained in bed next to Momiji, her eyes never wavering from the object of her perusal.

"True," he admitted, tilting his head to one side and tapping a finger to his cheek thoughtfully. "I could kill her while you're gone, being the dishonest person I am, in turn probably killing myself."

Oh yeah. Sakura had forgotten about that. She turned to Momiji. "Do you want me to go?" she asked quietly, giving Momiji's hand a little shake to get her attention.

"No," came Momiji's reply, thin and low, "but I think you'd better. Make sure no one-especially Kusanagi- comes in."

"Are you sure?"

"Please."

Murakumo chuckled. "You heard the Kushinada. I can be trusted to keep my word."

"I didn't say that.." Momiji turned her eyes to him, and in them he saw fear, but also a smidgen of curiosity. She was scared of him, but she also wanted to get to the bottom of things. She wasn't going to let fear keep her in the dark. ".. I don't trust you at all. I'd trust all the Aragami I've ever faced before I'd lay any sort of faith in you."

Sakura backed off the bed, releasing Momiji's hand. "I'll be outside if you need me.. I won't be far." She remained for a long, lingering moment, then quietly opened the bedroom door, slipping out, giving Murakumo one last glare before leaving. She shut it just as quietly, but Momiji could hear no retreating footsteps. Sakura was true to her word. She wasn't moving.

"What a protective friend you've got there, Kushinada." Murakumo stood at the foot of the bed, his eyes trained on her still form.

"She's not my friend. "

He raised a brow. Momiji frowned defensively.

"Well, she is, b- this is none of your business. What is this 'us'? What do we need to talk about?"

"You're just set on being difficult, aren't you?" Murakumo sighed quietly. "Very well."

Momiji scooted backward as he seated himself at the foot of the bed, folding his legs Indian fashion, facing her.

"Let me ask you a question." he said quietly, his hands resting at his sides, the rest of his body shock still, "Have you recently fell ill? Very ill?"

"Yes." Momiji said, startled. "A week or so before you came to see me the first time."

"And you're aware that was no coincidence, I hope. It took me over a week to recuperate after being sent back to Japan. After I was able to fend for myself, I came to see you. You fell ill and recovered as I did."

Momiji nodded. "It makes sense." Not perfect sense, but she did have his mitama after all, and her life had never been about making sense in the past. Just grasping at straws here and there would have to do.

"We're stuck with each other, however distasteful it seems," Murakumo stated, his eyes lowered. "You'd better get used to it, at least for the time being."

"Easier said than done," Momiji replied, surprised that she wasn't more frightened, or in shock. "I'm bonded to a killer. Someone who should be long dead. Someone I saw die. You tell me how I'm supposed to get used to it. And tell me why I'd want to get used to it."

"Oh, come now. I came to your room the other night, while you were sleeping. I held you close, touched you, and stayed with you. You didn't like it, enjoy it? Not one little bit?"

"I know," she bit out, ignoring his questions. "Which I also didn't appreciate."

"How did you know, hmm? Tell me how that is, seeing that you were fast asleep. Could you feel me?"

"Yes," She admitted, bowing her head. "I felt.. something. I knew what happened.. I knew you were holding me, and I felt my mitama.. react to something- to you."

"Yes," he echoed, lifting his head to peer at her through slitted eyes. "You were reacting to me. And then what happened?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing," Momiji repeated stubbornly. "I woke up."

Murakumo chuckled quietly. "It seems you, my sweet, have a selective memory. Refusing to say it won't make it any less true.." He leaned in close, resting a hand on her bare knee, noting the sheer coolness of her skin. "What happened?"

Momiji folded her arms, flinching as he began to stroke her skin, but answered him. "You.. kissed me."

"Quite true," he returned, scooting closer so he wouldn't have to lean over. His face floated closer to hers, and he lowered his voice. "You know, you might as well forget trying to fight me. It won't do any sort of good, considering how.. intimate we've become."

Momiji froze. Intimate, she thought, as she stared him in the eye, not noticing how far above her knee his hand had glided until he removed it, sliding it back down to her knee, and giving a slow, soft caress before receding. She drew her knees closer to her body, inching backward, towards the headboard.

Murakumo merely scooted farther forward, both of his hands now free to rest on her shoulders. "Come on, take the jacket off. You're not cold, are you? I'm certainly not.." He pushed the light material off her shoulders, then began to tug at the sleeves, easing one arm at a time from them.

Momiji swallowed audibly, then heard movement from the outside of her door, and visibly relaxed. Sakura was still waiting for her. If she needed help, all she had to do was yell. She was in no real danger. None at all.

"Now," he began, tossing her jacket behind him, "let's see about that top of yours. It's a lovely thing, but lets just unbutton these first few ones, shall we." He didn't didn't pronounce it as a question, more as a fact. He dealt with the buttons himself, easing the light material open. Before Momiji could panic or protest, he began the attempt to put her mind at ease. "I just want to take a look at the mitama.. see? I'm not killing you, am I?"

She swallowed again, shaking her head. It seemed that was all she was able to do. True, he wasn't killing her, at least not in the literal sense. It didn't seem to be his intention to hurt her at all. She briefly wondered if she should call for help, but he wasn't hurting her, as promised.

His hand closed over the upper region of her chest, below her throat, and she closed her eyes as she felt the warmth of his fingers, heating up her cool skin. She was dimly surprised. She'd expected him to be cold, clammy, definitely not warm and soft. Her breath quickened as his fingers fell still and she absorbed his heat.

The hot, silvery feeling that started in her chest began to slide evenly downward, starting at her shoulders, then splitting up, running down her arms, to the tips of each of her fingers, doubling back up her arms, then back to her shoulders, before traveling down her sides. She remembered the last time she'd felt similarly: that very morning at breakfast, when she'd taken a sip of too-hot coffee before realizing it's temperature, and she'd felt the heat running through her body, burning her from the inside. Drinking water hadn't helped: the damage had been done, and the feeling quickly spread, scalding her. She was afraid that if she opened her eyes, she sipped too-hot coffee before realizing it's temperature, and she'd felt the heat running through her body, burning her from the inside. Drinking water hadn't helped: the damage had been done, and the feeling quickly spread, scalding her. She was afraid that if she opened her eyes, she'd find her all her pulse points and veins glowing with the warmth that wouldn't stop racing through her, and with a sigh, she kept her eyes shut.

Despite her inner heat, Momiji shivered, and Murakumo cooed softly, using his other hand to rub a little warmth into her skin. "There, there.." He glanced downward, at the small orb sitting in the middle of her chest, the soft glow that colored the rest of her skin a dull blue.

"Will you sit still for me, Kushinada?" He asked her, delighting in the fact that she nodded dumbly, her breathing still shaky. "Good. Stay still.. don't move a muscle."

Murakumo sat back, removing his heavy coat, pushing it to the floor. Next came his fitted top, which took him a bit of effort to remove. He almost cursed aloud as he struggled to get it over his head, but finally, it was tossed to the floor along with his shed coat and Momiji's jacket. That out of the way, he crept closer once again, sitting so their knees made contact.

"Give me your hand," he said, reaching for it while he asked. "No, don't open your eyes. Just give me your hand." She did, blindly, and he took a moment to grasp it before he led it to his own chest, wondering how she'd react to the contact. As her fingers brushed against his smooth skin, sliding up to rest on his uppermost mitama, he reached upward with his other free hand, returning it to it's previous post.

He was rewarded with a rush of energy, so strong he almost cried out himself. Momiji flinched violently before his eyes, then fell still once more.

"You felt it." He said softly, and her fingers twitched against his bare skin by way of response.

He released his grip on her hand, and she continued to touch him, this time of her own free will. Momiji cupped her hand against his chest as he did to her, her breathing beginning to even out, her features becoming more and more relaxed as the seconds ticked by.

Momiji sat quietly, swimming in a multitude of feeling. She was no longer frightened. She felt so warm, so alive. She heard his breathing pattern, fairly even, though a bit heavy, and then she felt it, somewhere deep in her chest, and automatically began to inhale and exhale in time with him. She felt his breath on her cheeks as he leaned inward, felt it on her lips, but nonetheless jerked instinctively as his bottom lip brushed against hers, then moved away.

Murakumo repeated his actions, moving his lips against hers gently enough for her to remain relaxed, and quickly enough for her to wonder what he was up to. He almost sighed aloud as he leaned in for another mock-kiss, preparing to move away, and she leaned forward slightly, apparently not ready for his departure.

He felt her sigh against his lips, and he held his ground this time, using his free hand to grasp her waist gently, and he felt her hand move to rest against the one he held against her chest, her skin no longer cold. He pulled her closer, deepening his assault, and he felt a rush of satisfaction as she faintly moaned against his lips, then leaned in closer, no longer the passive party, giving what she received.

In spite of both their actions, their two hands remained in place, and in the dim light of the room, their respective mitamas steadily glowed, little slivers of blue light peeking out from between their fingers, bouncing off of each other’s skin, illuminating two faces, their eyes closed, locked in a heated kiss.

Neither noticed as the door eased open a crack, and concerned crimson eyes became visible. As Sakura witnessed the scene that unfolded before her, that concerned expression turned confused.

It seemed, she thought to herself, that they now had an even larger problem on their hands.

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