by Momiji Hime

Was this what an interrogation felt like? If so, Momiji prayed she never broke any sort of law. Ever.

She'd never felt the urge to twitch quite so badly. Every inch of skin on her body was crawling, and she fought the need to scratch herself furiously.

The figure before her crept closer and closer, until Momiji was forced to back up, losing her footing. Her rear hit the mattress, and the bed bounced a few times, then

fell still.

Sakura loomed above her, eyes spitting red-tinged sparks. Whatever trust the two of them had developed for each other in the few days Momiji had began to confide in her was now seriously on the line as the blonde stared her down.

"I don't know what I was thinki- no, I wasn't thinking. I know that." Momiji began tearfully, her head hung low, almost to her chest. Wisps of her untidy hair skimmed her cheeks, but she didn't have the energy or drive to brush them away, so she just blew at them, then sighed as they fell back into place across her face. She irrationally scrawled out a mental note to either let it continue to grow or get it cut even shorter. If she lived. Oooh, big if. "We were just talking, really. Then touching, and then he was kissi-"

"No, you were kissing each other. He didn't make you. Don't even try it."

"Y-you're right. I kissed him back." Momiji heaved a great sigh, unable to make the situation seem any better. "But I didn't plan it. You know I can't stand him."

Momiji was all too aware of how lame she sounded, how pathetic she looked. The problem was, she had absolutely no excuse. He'd made a move, and not only had she accepted his advances, she'd retaliated. She'd wallowed. Sure, in hindsight, she felt disgust, both for Murakumo and herself, but at the time, she'd been too overwhelmed by sensations to be aware of anything else, such as how wrong their actions were. The very idea of her... interacting with Murakumo was now sending her stomach on a fritz. But here she was, trying to convince herself and the figure before her that she hated this man, when her actions proved the exact opposite.

"If you don't tell Kusanagi, I will."

"You don't understand." Was Momiji's flat reply. "You make it seem like I had some sort of control over what happened." Momiji couldn't say much more. In truth, she hadn't been in control of her senses, or her body.

"I'm sorry. My fault. When I came in, I saw you kissing. Not him assaulting or forcing you. I didn't see you crying, or calling for help. I saw you kissing back. In fact, you looked very into it." Sakura stood, hands on her hips, eyes flashing. "But I don't understand, you say. Suppose you tell me how that is?"

The shame-faced girl tucked her legs underneath herself. "It's not that easy to explain."

"Is that so? Well, then don't bother. If you'll excuse me, I'm ready to go to bed." Sakura's brows were raised, her tone sarcastic. "I assume you'll be in Kusanagi's room, right? That guy, who after two years of emotional crap and your endless pining, finally seems to be admitting his feelings for you, although for the very first time I think he just may deserve better." Sakura shook her head in disgust, her hair bouncing to and fro as she moved. "He's probably waiting for you."

Momiji was better off leaving Sakura alone for now, to let her cool down. Retreating seemed like a good idea.

She gave Sakura one last look, then eased herself off the bed. "Fine. I'll leave." She fetched herself a change of clothes to wear to bed, then made her way to the door.

Sakura stopped her at the door. "Momiji?" Her tone was softer, though still mildly sarcastic.

"Yeah?"

"Better button up. Looks like your shirt.. fell open."

***

"What did you do to me?" Murakumo spoke slowly, his voice deep and measured. He didn't want to play any longer. Something was terribly wrong with him. He wanted to know what, and he wanted to know that moment, no matter how terrible or unreal.

She actually looked a bit chastised, but whether she really felt that badly or was just toying with him was unknown. "Well, I'm beginning to think that maybe giving her that particular mitama wasn't the smartest idea."

"And why is that?" Murakumo felt his insides tighten slightly. What had she done to him?

"Well.. I suppose I may have misjudged the importance of your eighth mitama. It, well, it seems that teeny, tiny blue thing was your.. um.. amplifier." She voiced the last word quietly, as if she was horribly frightened of his reaction.

"Ex. cuse. me?" That single word was clipped, harsh, and crisp.

"Your amplifier. It enhances your other powers. Let's just say that without it.. all you have is potential..." She awkwardly patted the back of her head, lacking the grace to make her abashed expression appear genuine. "Oops."

"Oops? Oops?! Is that all you have to say for yourself?"

"I'm sorry?"

".... Sorry. Sorry? Just what Is your plan, anyway? Are you really trying to help me? Or is it that you just like seeing me fail?"

She perched on the edge of his bed, crossing her legs at the ankles. "My, oh my, it seems you have me accurately pegged, doesn't it?"

Murakumo didn't answer, although the tightening of his fists were response enough. "Get out."

"I know things aren't going the way you.. planned, but-"

"I said get out!"

"I wouldn't yell..." She gave him a warning look, but he was far too angry to lose his fury, though he decided to fume silently instead.

She slid to the floor. "This bed doesn't feel too great. In fact, it's a bit too lumpy for my tastes."

"You don't have to sleep in it."

"Quite true. Anywhoo, your missing mitama isn't going to hurt you much right now. You can still function normally, minus your special powers, you know. That final tactic is still an option.."

"A fine plan, in theory, but how do you propose I accomplish it, oh wise one?"

"Don't be snippy. You're a big boy, you'll think of something." Besides, what makes you think it will be so difficult? Convincing little miss princess may be a lot easier than you think."

Murakumo glanced up at her, startled. "Because, she'll have her guard up, especially after tonight. Now, she'd probably sooner die than let me near her, let alone touc-"

She shushed him with an upraised finger. "No-no, although she probably tells herself so. And just what gave you the idea that she would welcome you with open arms when you devised this whole plan in the first place? Were you under the initial impression she would come running with open arms, shouting your name?"

Murakumo blinked. "...."

"Although, I'm not sure that what you did today didn't just send her into his arms anyway. Whether she liked it or not, she has to be considerably spooked now. It may have done more harm than good." She tapped a finger to her chin. She leaned back onto her hands, gazing at her surroundings. "By the way, I see you've done well for yourself. Cute little place you have here."

Murakumo almost snorted. "Kusanagi has been staying at Momiji's house, so I figured why not? He leaves his windows and doors open."

"Hmm." The woman eased herself back onto the bed, and yanked open the drawers of one of the beside tables. "Be careful. If Kusanagi finds you here-"

"He won't," Murakumo cut in, "he's practically living over there now."

"They're that close, hmm?"

"No," he insisted. "she, I imagine, was just as sick as I was, and I'm sure he stayed there because-"

"Then why is he still there? Are you sure there's no love involved?"

"Absolutely. Kusanagi wouldn't know love if it slapped."

"Ahh.. is that so?" She snickered. "Then what are these?"

Murakumo leaned in to accept what she offered. His eyes turned disbelieving. One after the other, he stared at the photos, then lay them face up on the bed. Almost every single snapshot including the object of his obsession. Studying, walking, in school uniform, modeling her new reading glasses, birthday parties, helping Kunikida rake leaves, and Sakura dragging Momiji around in a headlock. There were more, but Murakumo had no interest in seeing them. He carefully stacked them back up neatly, then handed them back to his master, who gazed at him enigmatically before returning them to the box.

He sat still, while the woman next to him continued to pick through the box, producing a stack on envelopes held together by a rubber band. She opened a light pink envelope adorned with roses and vines, and pulled free a faintly fragrant sheet of paper. "Love letters from little miss, I see. Ohh, she's got such a cute handwriting!" In an attempt to be humorous, she raised her voice a few pitches, attempting to sound a bit more like Momiji before reading.

" 'Dear Kusanagi-san..,' " she began, and Murakumo had to flinch visibly from the sugary sweetness of some of her sentences and confessions.

She switched to another sheet, and continued, raising her pitch a few more notches.

Murakumo snatched the letter from her slender fingers. "I don't need to hear this drivel." He refolded the sheet of flowered stationary, taking note of the fact that the paper was so creased it almost folded itself. It looked as if Kusanagi had read it numerous times himself. "So she's desperate."

"So.. if all these emotions are one sided, why does he have all these photos?"

"How am I supposed to know? Maybe the idiot has a talent for photography."

"Sure, and that's why he takes pictures of her, and only her. Maybe he's into Kushinada documentaries, and all those photographs are for educational purposes. What about the letters? Why did he keep them all? Face it, you might not have the easiest time. It's going to take a little more than just your charm to get to her. Even if Momiji's willing, you've got another wall standing in your way; a wall that could beat you senseless, I might add."

"You're enjoying this a bit too much, I think."

"Once again, your thoughts serve you well. What's life without a little drama here and there? I'll see you later."

There was no warning, no poof, no smoke. She was just gone.

Murakumo grimaced. Some help she had been.

But despite her annoying chit chat, she had a point.

Tomorrow night, he told himself.

***

*plop*

*plop-drip*

It had stopped raining over an hour ago. He'd began to wonder if it would ever stop, but now the only reminder of the nights downpour was the occasional sound of moisture dripping from high-hanging surfaces, as well as the tell-tale droplets on the bedroom window.

The bedroom was fairly well lit, although neither occupant of the room really needed the light. Gloom hung over them, so heavily layered, that it had the potential to drive one mad.

Kusanagi sat on the edge of the bed, his form hunched over. His elbows were resting across his knees, his head hung low, and his eyes brooding as he silently seethed.

Confusion seemed to be his permanent ally. And Kusanagi hated being confused, out of sorts, or misinformed. Kusanagi wasn't obtuse, unless one took into account how long it had taken him to discover Momiji's feelings for him. Besides that, he could pick up on almost anything. More and more as time progressed, he became sensitive to emotions and moods, and it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that Momiji was out of sorts herself. He shifted positions, turning his body and crossing his legs in order to comfortably observe his bedmate. As he stared down at her, his mood darkened ever further.

A passerby would have thought her sound asleep, but a closer perusal would tell one different. Momiji lay curled into a small bundle, resting on her side, with her knees drawn to her chest, her cheek resting on a thick, fluffy pillow.

Her tightly shut eyes told Kusanagi she didn't want to be bothered. The dark shadows that had almost faded in the last few days threatened to return, and her features revealed sure signs of stress.

"Momiji?" He asked quietly.

Her eyes didn't open, though her brow furrowed, and if possible, she withdrew ever further, tucking her legs upward more securely.

Kusanagi's mood darkened even further. She was ignoring him.

She confused him. She'd never been this complicated before. He actually found himself wishing that they all remained living two years in the past; it had all been so simple, what with him killing Aragami and flipping up Momiji's skirt from time to time. She'd been the most simple part of his life back then, running after him and attempting to do him bodily harm for his lewd comments and actions, silently declaring her love for him while he ignored every advance. The good old days.

She'd seemed a little odd when she'd approached him that night. She'd stood in the doorway, fussing with her already perfect nails. She'd worn one of the most apprehensive looks he'd ever seen on her face, and her whole body was rigid, for what reason he couldn't tell. He had noted that she'd dressed a bit more modestly than she had the other night, opting for a pair of thick, warm pajamas. Her tousled mane had hung around her face, but didn't do a good enough job of

hiding her tense features.

She had given him a shy look, before asking permission to enter.

"Yeah, it's okay," he'd replied, standing at the foot of the bed, watching her as she approached him. She'd stood her ground before him for a few moments, then sank down onto the floral print bedspread. Her gaze had moved around the room, sliding this way and that before centering on her fingers.

Kusanagi remembered gro of the bed, watching her as she approached him. She'd stood her ground before him for a few moments, then sank down onto the floral print bedspread. Her gaze had moved around the room, sliding this way and that before centering on her fingers.

Kusanagi remembered groaning inwardly, praying that it wasn't going to be a tension filled night. They'd spent all night the day before together in bed, her feet tucked up against his, her breath soft on his skin as she snoozed away the hours, and although he was embarrassed to admit it, he'd liked the hell out of it. He'd never liked to cuddle, but there had been something comforting and settling about burrowing under the blankets with a girl- this girl in particular- with her slight body pressed up against his, with her quiet sleep talk filtering into his ears every now and then. However, he'd know that awkwardness would follow in the intimate act's aftermath. After what they'd shared, it would seem they were back to square one once again.

"So.." Momiji had murmured after a brief silence, "what were you up to today? I barely saw you."

"Not much," Kusanagi had replied.

It had went downhill from there, until there was no avoiding the subject.

"Are you tired?" She had stuttered. "If you want to stay up longer, I can come back later." She had risen, apparently anticipating a specific answer.

"Hey, it's okay, I'm tired too.. I mean, if you're tired."

"If you're tire-"

"Just get in the bed, will ya?"

Momiji had tumbled into bed, sliding underneath the blankets in record time, and then the silence had ensued, and although Kusanagi had known she hadn't fallen asleep, she seemed to want him to think she had.

He spent a few more moments watching her pretend to sleep before giving up. Kusanagi leaned forward, brushed her forehead with his lips, then let her be, backing off the bed, turning out the light, and exiting the room before shutting the door.

Momiji lay on her side, fussing with the sleeve of her pajama top. Her eyes opened slowly, and with a sigh, she felt herself begin to relax. It was tough, with him obviously wondering what was going on with her, and not being able to come clean. Of course, it wouldn't have really been an actual discussion; she wouldn't have been able to finish a sentence containing the words "Murakumo" and "alive" before Kusanagi went off to hunt. After he found him, he'd bury her in harshly spoken words and insults. Kusanagi would kill him, and Momiji would remain to accept the consequences- if she remained un-harmed- alone.

She was stuck. She had to tell, but she couldn't see how. Everytime she found a reason to add to one side of her internal struggle, another from the opposite side outweighed it. She could do nothing, but she had to. Stuck.

She was also pathetic. No milder, less insulting word would have been as accurate. Desperate came close. Weak was a second, and stupid followed in third.

She didn't ever recall feeling so pathetic. She wouldn't have thought she would ever sink so low. Her short, seventeen year old life held many embarrassing, humbling moments, what with her falling down every other step and flashing her unmentionables, a test or two failed, and not to mention an unfortunate bathing incident including the guy of her dreams that all teenage girls seemed to experience.

Still, they paled in comparison. In hindsight, they were barely memorable.

Woo, but she was in big trouble. She felt as if her mother had just caught her smoking, or coming home from a party she'd snuck away to attend in the dead of night times twenty.

Her lecture from the indignant, furious blonde wasn't to be taken lightly, Momiji was fast discovering. She didn't like being on the end of her anger. Sakura appeared to be quite a force.

Someone pushed open the door a crack.

"psst.. you awake?"

"Yes, unfortunately."

"Good, I can't sleep either. Can I come in?"

"Mmm.." The room was bathed in light for a moment as the door was opened wide enough for a figure to slip through, then with a click, it was dark again.

Momiji sat up as an additional weight flopped down next to her. "Did you see Kusanagi leave?"

"He went outside, I think. The boy didn't look too happy."

Sakura settled herself under the covers, then flinched. "Your feet? You're freezing."

"Hmm."

"Why did Kusanagi leave?" Sakura folded her hands in her lap, fiddling with her fingertips.

Momiji frowned. "I guess I just wasn't much fun to be around." Her expression turned sheepish, and the light tone of voice she used did little to hide her uneasiness. "I guess he got fed up with me and left."

"What did you say to him?"

"Nothing. I was pretending to be asleep, but he didn't buy it. He tried to talk to me a few times, but I didn't answer him."

"Ah... avoiding him. If that's the case, why are you in here in the first place?"

"I don't know."

"You've been saying 'I don't know' wayyy too often lately. We need to start getting some different answers out of you."

"About earlier.." Momiji bit her lip, not sure of where to begin.

"Forget it." Sakura sighed, working her temples gently. "At least for now. It's over."

"I want to talk to him. I just don't see how. It's not fair, is all. I finally get him to admit he cares, more or less, and this comes along. Do you think it's a sign that we're not supposed to be together at all?"

Sakura gave the question some thought, than heaved a shrug. "That depends."

"On what?"

"Who knows? Right now, you'd better just concentrate on controlling Murakumo. If-when this is over, Kusanagi and you will have all the time in the world to work at being together, right? And you won't have any distractions. But, we both know how hard it is to get Kusanagi to talk about anything anyway, so there's no sense in trying to work this out right now. Work on the most important part first."

Momiji turned to the blonde, smiling softly, although she couldn't be seen. "Hey.. that was actually helpful. Thank you."

"Well, it's the truth. And it's not as if this is your fault or anything. Don't beat yourself up. It's not your fault he came back, and it's not your fault that he seems to be obsessed with you, or that you're bonded to him. It will be your fault, though, if you don't get the guts to confess and stop him before he causes trouble. Let's just get this loser dead, and keep you alive at the same time. One problem at a time, sacrifice girl."

"I.. want to tell him."

"Then do it. Do it now. Make up your mind and do it. My vote is to tell. If there's any good time to let Kusanagi know, it's now, while Murakumo is still weak. He can't hurt you, at least not yet, and at least not in any obvious way."

Momiji nodded. Sakura made some good points. She'd been petrified when Murakumo had appeared earlier that night, but it had become obvious very quickly that he could do them no immediate harm after Sakura had burst in on their.. experimentation. For once, Momiji was glad Sakura had that maddening sarcastic streak in her; she'd actually goaded him into a half-rage. It hadn't seemed like the smartest tactic at first, but it had worked. He could grab them, shake them, and maybe even get a few hits in, but he hadn't been willing to make such a commotion. He would have been found out for sure. He'd had no choice but to leave with the skimpy remnants of his dignity.

He must be at home right now, or whatever rock he slept under, licking his wounds as they spoke. If they were going to act, they had to do it soon.

Momiji made a resigned sound deep in her throat. She was going to come clean. First, she'd tell Kusanagi, then she'd tell the rest of them. She was dreading it, but she'd be in even more trouble the longer she waited, and there would be even more consequences if they found out on their own. Either way, she was toast. In a strange way, it was oddly settling, now that she was expecting her impending doom.

"I'm telling him," Momiji stated, drawing the covers tighter around her legs. "We can't handle this alone, and I don't want to."

"Good." Sakura sat up, then slid off the bed, lifting her arms high above her head. She grunted daintily as she stretched before speaking. "Because I don't think we can handle it either."

Momiji nodded. "Tomorrow," she promised softly. "Tomorrow night I'll tell him the whole story."

Sakura started for the door. "It's bedtime for me. I'd better cut out before Kusanagi comes back. Do yourself a favor. If you're going to tell him tomorrow night, just try your hardest to.. well, to enjoy yourself tonight, you know, be close to him." Then she seemed to realize what she was implying, and rushed to clarify. "Not like that, you know. I mean, just relax. I know that sounds impossible, but try it. It may be a long time before you get another chance."

Momiji bit her lip. "I don't see how."

"Try." Sakura gazed in the Kushinada's general direction, feeling a rare rush of sympathy. Either way, this confession- or lack of, could kill her. But the simply didn't have the power necessary to stop him alone, so whatever the outcome, they both had to deal with it. They needed Kusanagi, Dan they needed the TAC. Sakura mentally kneeled and murmured a heartfelt prayer. Kusanagi would be furious, but this confession by no means would keep him from beating Murakumo senseless, which in an odd way, was comforting. He would do his job, ridding them of danger. Afterwards, he could yell and moan to his heart's content. She'd listen to every single rant and rave cheerfully.

"Night, sacrifice girl."

"Goodnight, Sakura." Momiji balked against the sudden urge to give the girl a hug, and chalked it up to temporary insanity.

Tomorrow, she told herself as the aragami buster let herself out quietly, and she waited for Kusanagi to return. This would all be over tomorrow.

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