by Momiji Hime

If he lived past today, he'd never forget this. Ever. The stench of filthy water sloshing about in the dirty, disease infested gutters. The screech of curious rats and other animals as they investigated his motionless form. The sounds of cars and voices as they passed him, either unaware of his predicament, or ignoring it altogether. In truth, he didn't much blame them. Humans were such selfish, egotistical creatures; they cared about no one but themselves. And they were such cowards anyway, jumping at the sight of their own shadows. So damn extreme about every little detail in life that it made him sick. Except, right now, all of them seemed to be better off than he was. He sniffled, feeling rather pathetic at the present moment.

After a moment of gathering his wits as best he could, he raised his head, a scowl that seemed eternal dominating his pale features. He was not going to die. If he had to crawl to get around, dodge cars and frightened humans, and live off grass and sewer water as a meager source of nourishment, he would do it. He wasn't going down, not by any means. He had come too far for this.

But it sure was cold out. Mid-afternoon had made it's appearance, but no warmth was brought along with it. A quick glance skyward revealed numerous masses of sullen gray clouds, slowly and sluggishly scooting away, followed by yet more clouds. The sun was nowhere to be found, although he wasn't particularly fond of cheery weather. If he hadn't been soaking wet, he would have been fine, but his pants, shirt, and light jacket clung rebelliously to his skin, sopping wet, and created a feeling beyond the icky sensation of clamminess. Sitting in a gutter all day wasn't going to get him dry, but damn it if he couldn't move an inch. His expression turned wry, almost humorous. If anyone but him had been in this position, he would have laughed. Normally, he needed no one; he was self-sufficient, independent.

Goodbye to those days. He was cold, wet, prone, and defenseless.

His reflection was cut short, however. Distracted, he looked up, only to be nearly blinded by a pair of blaring headlights aimed square at his eyes. Temporarily unable to see, he blinked, trying to focus. As his eyes began to adjust slightly, someone cut the engine, and the lights began to dim, then went out abruptly.

Seconds later, he was staring into two concerned faces, one male, and one female. He hated humans.

But it seemed he was at their mercy. Heaven help him.

Or Hell. Whatever. Now wasn't the time to be picky.

** Day 1 **

"Eat.. you're so terribly weak." The woman held a bowl of steaming soup in her left hand, a spoon in her right. To his dismay, she held the spoon to his lips, fully expecting him to be doted on, like an invalid, or a toddler. His eyes narrowed as they met hers.

She smiled, touching the tip of the spoon to his lips. "Come now, I made it myself. You won't get better if you don't eat anything."

The man sighed. The stupid woman had a point. Dutifully, he opened his mouth halfway, allowing her to slip the spoon inside. The taste was a bit bland, but he doubted if his stomach could handle much else at the time. He swallowed, feeling a bit better. He readily opened his mouth as she presented him with another heaping spoonful. It simply wouldn't do to have him wasting away now.

** Day 2 **

"Ah.. your temperature isn't quite normal yet.. but it's a lot closer than yesterday." The woman was all smiles as she tossed the protective film from the thermometer into the garbage, then slipped the actual thermometer back into it's case. "You've come a long way since yesterday afternoon."

He remained silent, feeling very much like an infant.

She fluffed the pillows a bit, fluttering about him, playing the role of a responsible mother. "At the rate you're going, you'll feel much, much better tomorrow." She sat next to him, at his bedside, and smoothed his raven locks from his forehead. He flinched, not at all comforted by her touch.

She wasn't an obtuse woman; she backed off immediately, rising to her feet, and presenting him with another brilliant smile. "Get some more rest.. My husband will be home soon, and then we can have dinner." She left the room, humming lightly to herself.

The man was nonplused.

** Day 3 **

He sneezed three times in a row, his nose burning. How much of the damn vanilla stuff was she going to spray? She was a neatness freak, constantly dusting the end tables gracing the sides of his bed, sweeping the floor, or dusting the drapes. She was driving him slowly but surely insane, with her constant smiles, meaningless verbal vomit, and fleeting touches.

She hummed an annoyingly cheery tune, polishing his bedside table for the fifth time that day, oblivious to his discomfort. "Hm.. so gray outside. But then again, it is autumn...perfect day to clean.. la la la..."

He shut his eyes, keeping his thoughts to himself.

The lady looked at the bedroom clock, then blinked, berating herself. "Oh! Silly me! Time for me to take your temperature again! Come now, don't look so down." She swept from the room, returning shortly with the thermometer. "Open up."

He didn't.

Darn it. He was going to sneeze again.

** Day 4 **

"Those were the days.. he would come and visit me at home.. even bring my mother flowers. What a thoughtful man. He really isn't as bad as he seems...he just loves me. That's why he won't let me get a job, or leave the house. I really can't hurt myself cleaning, or cooking.. Plus, he makes all the money and everything, so why shouldn't I clean and make sure he has everything

he wants?"

The man rolled his eyes skyward.

** Day 5 **

*HONK*

She noisily blew her nose, before wadding up her tissue and tossing it into the much-used wastebasket. "B..but then I realized I couldn't have children... The doctor gave me this medication that didn't agree with me at all.. "

Heaven help him. Wasn't there a gun in the vicinity?

** Day 6 **

"Do you like it?" She pirouetted, her dress flaring around her legs. "He got me this today."

The man raised his eyebrows. If she asked him, she looked a bit dowdy. The dress was a disgustingly cheerful pink and white floral pattern, too baggy, and hid all her curves. But then again, that was the only kind of dress he would probably permit her to wear. Her husband was a controlling bastard; he didn't want her revealing much of her body, although it was a rather pretty

little body. She only appeared to be about 5'2 or so, with shoulder length brown hair, so brown, in fact, that it was almost black. She had chin length bangs, but her husband insisted on her pulling all of her hair back into a tight, downright severe ponytail or bun, which didn't suit her at all.

"I think it's pretty. And my honey says that it makes my breasts look nicer."

She had breasts?

** Day 7 **

"My honey says you can wear these. It just won't do to have you wandering around the house naked, would it?" She gave a little giggle, presenting him with his new outfit.

He grimaced. A pink polo shirt, probably about two sizes too small, and a pair of too short plaid golf pants were dropped into his lap.

That did it.

He was getting the hell out. And soon. And heaven help the people who did this to him.

** Day 8 **

The new day found him completely alone in the large, stuffy house, rapidly rifling through every single item that seemed of value. Both wife and hubby were at a local supermarket; apparently the lady wasn't allowed to have a car or drive either. Murakumo had learned that once a week, in the wee hours of morning, that they made a joint shopping trip to ensure she wasn't fooling around, as well as to make sure that she didn't spend too much money. Normally, Murakumo would have snorted, but on this particular day, it was his fortune, since this gave him ample time to snoop.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. These by far, had to be the cheapest people on the face of the earth. An hour of searching, and he'd found almost nothing of value, unless he took in the pair of diamond studded earrings he had found in a jewelry box stuck underneath a chair.

He shoved open the closet door, checking every pocket as he went through the items of clothing. The man had quite a selection of business suits, but now Murakumo knew that his borrowed pair of pants wouldn't be missed. There was a small collection of replacements hanging neatly on colored hangers. Murakumo gazed downward, at his own apparel. So stylish. After he found some alternate clothing, he was going to burn these, and enjoy every second.

Ah.. a little bit of change. He shoved it in his pocket with the earrings. Several more pockets held paper money, and another handful of change. He pocketed it all, then moved to the bed, lifting up the dust ruffle. Several shoe boxes were lined up under the husbands side of the bed. He kneeled down, sliding the first box towards him. Tugging off the lid, he began carefully sifting through the envelopes.

Ahah! Bank statements and credit card receipts. Now, if he could only find the actual checks and cards. Oh well. He could at least write down the account numbers, along with some personal information.

He rose, yanking open a drawer on their bedside table. There had to be a pen and paper somewhere in there. He noticed a planner, a pen sticking halfway out of the overflowing book. He removed the whole planner, then returned to his cross-legged position. Opening the leather bound book slowly, his eyes lit up.

Bingo.

Cards galore.. checks, bank cards, major credit cards, department store cards.. that man must have a small fortune available.

He hurriedly pulled out every single card, along with the man's checkbook, leaving the calculator. He wouldn't be using it. That ditzy woman and her husband would need it when the figured out how much money they were missing.

***

It seemed that today was indeed his lucky day. Breaking free of that maddening, caring woman and her plaid garbed husband. Knowing he was very much alive, and free to finally roam, was almost enough to make his head swim. And lastly, he finally had a place to stay.

What luck.

He picked his way through the tiny apartment, dropping his bags on the floor. One paper bag fell over, and a bit of leather slipped out. Murakumo stooped low, straightening it with a chuckle.

With a whoosh, his shirt was shed and tossed carelessly behind him. He wiggled out of his pants, and kicked them into the air, not taking care to notice where they landed. A shower was what he desired. He needed to cleanse his body, to rid himself of that musty smell that accompanied his borrowed clothes. He needed to feel the heat of the almost scalding water beating over his bare skin while he regrouped. He needed to feel the water almost burn his skin to prove that he was still alive, that he wasn't dreaming, or part of a sick joke.

With a sigh, he shed his underthings, which were also borrowed with a grimace, and stepped into the very untraditional bathroom. He turned on the water, and without waiting to gauge the water's temperature, stepped into the shower and slid the door shut with a click. Surprisingly, the water was just right, and he shut his eyes, turning his face upward toward the harsh spray. He took a deep breath, running over the day's events.

First on his list had been to do some light shopping. He couldn't possibly just run around the city in plaid and pink. He reached for an unused bar of soap, and began to lather his upper half, almost groaning aloud. He wasn't the type of guy to experience much in the way of humiliation, but walking into an upscale clothing shop dressed in that pink top and awful pants had been number one. Murakumo had never been much of a clotheshorse, but that outfit had been quite ridiculous. He had given the clerk one of his less than sweet smiles, and she had immediately given in, proceeding to find him a suitable outfit, along with a couple of accessories.

After lathering and rinsing his hair, he shut off the water. He would have loved to remain under that blissful spray for a while longer, but more pressing tasks were to be taken care of first, before he could relax. He had a visitation to make. A very important one.

Murakumo stepped out of the shower, locating a stray towel and drying himself vigorously.

He was going for shock value, and he was going to love every minute. He wasn't at his full strength, but that hardly mattered.

He tossed the towel aside, and began to slip into his underthings. He sifted through one of his shopping bags, and produced a pair of pants, which he held out in front him, admiring them before starting to slip them on. The tight garment fit him like a second skin, and he immediately began to feel like himself again; sleek and lethal.

Momiji wasn't going to know what hit her. He could just imagine the look on her face, the utter shock that would grace her features once she got a glimpse of him. He wondered how she would react. The same way she would have two years ago? Would she shriek and flail? Or would she behave in a more reserved manner?

He pulled the shirt over his head, smoothing it over his chest, and tugging the edge of the shirt into place. Also tight, it clung to his body, and the sight of his ample muscles so prominent, even thought the stretchy black material, made him grin in a dangerous sort of way.

His shoes came next. After donning the necessary pair of socks, he slid first one foot into a boot, then repeated the same process, stomping to situate his feet more comfortably.

A brush was also obtained, and he ran it hurriedly through his hair, restoring it to order, so that it fell down his back in damp, thick waves. Murakumo quickly gathered it up in one hand, and wound a band around it in a thick ponytail at the crown of his head.

He reached into the bag once more, producing a jacket. He yanked off the tags, then began to shrug into it, leaving it unbuttoned. He needed to hurry.

His heart began to pound a little harder inside his ribcage as he anticipated his visit. It was going to be fun.

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