by Momiji Hime

Good lord. Another day, another hangover. Somewhere deep in the recesses of his mind, a little maid in a French cut uniform with an ample bosom began to bustle about, using a feather duster to clear away the cobwebs, dust, and fog from the corners of his head. What time is it? Sugishita managed to lift his eyelids a crack, taking in his surroundings through a fraction of his normal vision. With a grunt, he immediately shut his eyes, covering his face with his arm. Damn... it must be pretty late. And why couldn't he ever remember to shut the blinds when he got home? If he could have reached it, he would have kicked his own ass. Okay.. and the final question: what day is it? As he struggled to remember, the cute little maid in his mind returned to the scene, lugging a footstool along with her. She climbed on top of it carefully, stretching up with one arm to dust a particularly hard to reach spot. Saturday. Sugishita managed to shake his attention from the view the maid was presenting as she bent downward to hop off the stool, and grasped at the tidbit of precious information he had just obtained.

"Mmm... " He rolled over, now facing away from his window, and opened his eyes. Why did he keep doing this to himself?

Drinking and partying, partying and drinking. That was what lonely men did. He wasn't lonely. He was a suave, handsome, worry-free bachelor. Mostly. Kind of. He pushed himself into a sitting position, rubbing his temples gently in an effort to ease a bit of the pain. He wasn't a drinker, not even a social drinker. He'd do a lot better once he stopped trying to substitute wine, beer, and random ladies for intimacy that he oh-so-desperately wanted. He should have known. All the ladies on talk shows said so. He was a lonely man, they said, someone looking for a lovin' gal to call his own. Apparently though, since he was so darn scared of commitment, he went off gallivanting, trying to hide the fact that he wanted something stable, or something. But sometimes it was so much fun, at least during.

Scooting to the edge of his large four poster bed, he leaned over, pressing the rewind button on his answering machine. Checking his voice messaging was a morning ritual to him. He always sat, somewhat impatiently, through the gushing voices of admiring women, asking how he was, inquiring of his plans, asking him to call. Although he didn't really want anything lasting with any of them, it was flattering to get the phone calls. It was amusing, really. Sugishita usually never returned the calls. No one could say he never got female attention, even if it wasn't the attention he wanted or needed. Pressing play, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, planting his feet onto the plush carpet. Hangover's made for bad days. Thank God he didn't have to work. He could stay at home, nurse his hangover, and kick himself repeatedly for his stupidity. Just like every other Saturday morning.

Standing up tall, and working the kinks out of his body, he began to stretch, yawning intermittently. While his messages endlessly played, he made his way to the bathroom that adjoined his bedroom, using a cool washcloth to scrub the remainders of the night before's events from his face. Running the wet cloth over his face, he glanced at it and winced. Three separate

shades of lipstick decorated it, one a dark blood red, one a soft smudge of pink, and the third a neutral shade of brown. *beep* Before he could ponder where the kiss marks came from, the next message caught his attention.

It was from Takeu-- Mrs. Kunikida. Bleagh. The name didn't suit her at all. She should have gotten hooked up with a young, happening man such as himself.. But Ryoko would be Ryoko, after all, and if friendship was the only possibility, so be it. He returned to his bedroom, perching on his bed as he listened to the message. His eyebrows involuntarily raised. Ryoko sure knew how to drop a bomb. He turned to the task of making himself presentable, mind now off of his hangover. "Ryoko Sugishita.. heh."

***

Sugishita's dislike of the Aragami didn't quite border on hatred. He regarded them the same way he regarded relentless beggars, or maybe a household rodent. Mainly just a little more than simply annoying. He yanked his keys out of his coat pocket, unlocking his car door effortlessly. Sliding into the driver's seat, he buckled himself in, shivering in the cold morning air that had seeped into his car. That was his excuse, anyway. Ryoko's call shook him to the core, more than he cared to admit, which was disconcerting.

The Aragami were such a pain, but even more so was Momiji's situation. Another mitama? Sugishita put on his driving gloves, sighing deeply. Just like a bad case of acne, those mitamas were. Sugishita let his mind wander into the gutter just a bit. A bad case of herpes, maybe. He grimaced at his comparison, groaning aloud. No matter how gross the thought was, no one could argue that it wasn't accurate. Just when you think you've gotten rid of them, there they are again, making your life hell once more. No matter how much acne cream you slapped on your face everyday, no matter how much ointment you used on your nether regions, it did no good. They would return in their own good time. It was sickening. and, it was scary. He shuddered in his seat, wondering how he was going to approach the situation, what he would say to the Kushinada.

Sugishita was the carefree, unflappable part of the TAC. He was the one who never freaked out, kept a clear head, and made jokes when the tough going got even tougher. He had to remain that way, for Momiji and Ryoko's sake.

He inserted his key into the ignition, starting the car after a moment of thought. He really needed to keep it together on this one. More than the others depending on him, he was depending on himself. If he let his guard down, he might break, and the others would discover that they weren't the only ones scared out of their skin. He had an image to uphold.

***

Delicately put, Momiji felt like hell. Where had this thing come from? And more importantly, when was it planning on leaving? Go away..poof. Mitamas not allowed. Begone, please. She allowed herself a small, halfhearted whimper before she opened her eyes.

"Morning, cutie.." Momiji looked up as Sugishita bent at her bedside. "Feeling less than great, eh?" He made an attempt at a smile, brushing a shock of hair from her forehead.

Since Sugishita had managed, she made the same effort, rising to a sitting position and giving him a small smile in return. "Morning.. and way less than great." Looking around, she found that a more thorough search of her room revealed six other inhabitants, all stretched on various pieces of furniture.

One visitor rose, coming to Momiji's bedside as well, not blinking as she reached for Momiji's nightshirt, unbuttoning the first few buttons. Momiji remained unaffected, as this used to be a usual routine for her. "Tell me exactly what happened."

Momiji sighed, lifting her eyes to the ceiling, then struggled for a few moments to get her breathing even. "I was walking home from the TAC building last night."

Matsudaira listened quietly, studying the area around Momiji's mitama. "By yourself? In that storm?"

"Yes." Momiji shifted, getting a bit more comfortable. "It wasn't that bad when I first left.. but.. it was almost like I was in a trance for a while.. like a half hour or so. I don't know how I could have just stood there for that long, but, well.. I did. When I realized what had happened, I was still standing at a stoplight.. and then I realized that it was raining pretty hard. Really hard." She put her fingers to her temples, rubbing them rhythmically. "So I started to run home.. but I got really dizzy, and it was hard to see anything. I tripped, or something, and I fell."

Kunikida moved to her side, running his fingers through his daughter's hair. "Did you hurt yourself?" He seated himself on the bed next to her, careful not to create too much movement.

Momiji shook her head, leaning against his shoulder. "No..I saw Kusanagi.. right before I fainted.. that's all I remember. All of a sudden I was really dizzy.. I could barely keep my head up." She sighed a bit, allowing herself to rest against him.

"She was out like a light." All inhabitants of the room looked to the doorway to see Kusanagi leaning against it, blinking sleep out of his eyes. He deposited himself on the floor next to her bed, raking his hand through his hair. Other than his eyes being a little bloodshot, he appeared wide awake.

Momiji turned her gaze to her hands, curious as to what he was going to reveal about what had happened, but at the same time nervous. Having one mitama was bad enough, but a second one?

"I tried to wake her up.. but she was out cold. I couldn't get any kind of response from her." He used both hands, rubbing the tiredness from his face. Momiji's eyes were drawn to his hands, for once not encased in his partial gloves. His mitamas, which she hardly noticed anymore, seemed more visible, even though his gloves always left them visible. "I picked her up, and started to carry her back here, but-"

"Kusanagi?" Matsudaira looked up at him as he halted in his speech. His slitted eyes looked even more unusual, and he began to breathe a bit deeper, as if it was more of an effort now. His face took on a slightly far away look, as if he was casting himself back to that particular moment, in order to remember the ordeal. He began clench his hands nervously, occasionally cracking a knuckle or two, before speaking again,

"I'm fine. She started shaking, and - and jerking around really bad." "Like a seizure?" Yaegashi supplied, from his partially hidden position on the arm of a chair, next to Koume, who had remained more silent than himself. He had made himself pretty invisible, but he spoke up finally, his attention caught. He felt a little lightheaded, and wondered if he was getting enough air. He loosened his tie, not sure why he had put it on in the first place on a Saturday morning. Stodgy. He was getting old and stodgy.

"Yeah, like a seizure or somethin'."

"A seizure? hmm." Matsudaira continued to examine Momiji further, spurred onward by the mention of a seizure.

Kusanagi nodded. "Yeah. She was shaking so bad I had to put her down before I dropped her. Then, she just started to glow."

Momiji looked up. "Glow?"

"Uh huh. Blue light, everywhere. He turned his eyes to Momiji, his face indecipherable. "You might want to check her head too, Matsudaira. She was shaking so bad she hit her head a couple of times.. I couldn't stop her."

"Honestly..." Sakura piped up, finally. "Walking home in a storm that late? What's between your ears? Head fumes?" She tapped at her temple with a well manicured finger.

"No kidding." Kusanagi added quietly. "Don't you ever pull that again, or I swear, I'll make what happened to you last night seem mild."

"Alright." Momiji shifted uncomfortably. "Do you two want to complain a bit more, or can we move on?"

Matsudaira cleared her throat. "Let's move on, please. I'd like to discuss something else."

"What?"

"This, if you don't mind. Matsudaira tugged at Momiji's shirt, exposing her new mitama for all to see. Momiji didn't even flinch, until she gazed downward. It was just a boring old mitama. Looked just like her old one....except for the blinking.

"It's.. blinking." Sakura leaned in closer, as did the rest of the room. Within seconds, almost everyone was perched on various parts of her bed, their gazes riveted on her chest, where the small blue orb pulsed weakly. It wasn't the standard glow Momiji used to see when an Aragami was nearby. This glow, although weak, was rhythmic, flickering in and out timidly, like a bulb

about to lose it's light.

"I think it's beating in time with something.. a heartbeat maybe.."

"A heartbeat? It's beating in time with my heart?"

Matsudaira eased her fingers a little lower, feeling for Momiji's pulse. She studied the mitama simultaneously, frowning uncharacteristically. Her eyebrows raised sky high, and a look that bordered halfway between amazement and fear graced her features. "Goodness. Well- er.. um.." She lowered her hands to her own lap, biting at her lower lip.

"What?" Kusanagi blinked, confused at her reaction.

"It's a heartbeat, all right."

Momiji let out a breath, her relief evident. "So, th-" She stopped as Matsudaira held up a hand.

"But it's not yours."

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