Dreamer Awakened

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Darkness spread over Tokyo like a filthy shadow, the glare from the streetlights, the towering skyscrapers and the constant flux of light from the streaming traffic thinned the purity of night’s ebony color, choking out the stars and blotting out the deep velvet of the evening sky. Murakumo’s lips curled in disgust, a strand of raven black hair blowing across his face as he stood overlooking the sparkling brightness of the skyline. His hands were thrust deeply into his pockets, his eyes hard and condemning, and he saw no sign of beauty in the artificial shimmer of electricity pulsing through the heart of the city.

He had known what he would find here. That was why he had come. He had needed to regain his sense of purpose that seemed to be wavering. Especially since…he briefly closed his eyes against the heat that flared through his veins as he recalled this morning with Midori. The satin feel of her skin, the softness of her lips, the way her body had perfectly fitted around his; such incredible pleasure. Murakumo’s eyes shot open and he ruthlessly shoved the images from his mind, looking out over the city once more, concentrating on the unruly mass of humanity that sprawled below him.

This is what he hated about humans, he reminded himself savagely; their vileness, their selfishness, covering every scrap of green with asphalt - polluting the air and the earth with their human waste for convenience sake; uncaring that the air was unfit to breathe and the earth beneath them was dying. Not one of them deserved to inhabit the land that they defiled, he silently condemned.

And then the unwanted image of soft brown eyes flashed through his mind and he heard Midori’s hesitant voice again asking: You don’t really think we’re all like that, do you?

Pinpoints of the city’s lights reflected in the coldness of his steel grey eyes as he forced himself to focus, finding his answer to her question sprawling in front of him below. Yes. They were all the same - every last one of them.

She wasn’t like that, came the rebellious and unwelcome notion.

Murakumo’s grey eyes narrowed in a cold fury at the sudden turn his thoughts had taken.

Impossible! he vehemently disavowed, unwilling to acknowledge such blasphemy. They were all the same, her included, he assured himself, again ruthlessly shoving the image of her dark hair and brown eyes out of his mind.

No. They are not, was the swift and resounding reply. She’s not like that. She saved your life.

Ridiculous! he argued hotly, he would not accept it. He would have managed without her, he stubbornly maintained. After all, he was Aragami, and Aragami were not like humans. They weren’t as weak, and they could sustain quite a bit of damage before their lives became threatened. It was unacceptable to think otherwise, he insisted - she was unacceptable, just another pitiful human.

But still he could not shake the memory of her body beneath his and the echoing sound of her voice - ‘you don’t really think we’re all like that, do you?’

Then that soft and treacherous voice inside his head began again.

He turned away and closed his eyes, a laugh of self-derision rising up, soft at first and then louder until his shoulders were shaking, his mouth twisting in bitterness.

What was this he was feeling?

Guilt?

Remorse?

For a human?

What a fool he had become! He was letting emotion interfere with his clarity of mind. Had he forgotten everything that he had struggled for? The plan that he had so carefully constructed three years ago to re-establish his Kingdom of the Aragami? Was he going to throw it all away just because of one human girl? He should have never given into the impulse to lie with her, he berated himself; for he had only strengthened the hold she seemed to have on that trifling part of him that defied reason.

It was hard to believe that there was even a part of him that defied reason, he thought scornfully, but there had to be; otherwise he would not be – feeling – what he was feeling now. Emotions were for the weak, he persisted in disgust, baffled because of the strong hold they seemed to wield over him.

Enough!

Murakumo stiffened and pulled his hands from his pockets, his mouth thinning into a determined line. Stalking over to the ledge of the roof, he looked down into Susano-oh Memorial Park where the huge cherry tree stood. He put his hand up to his chest and lightly pressed. It was still sore, but only just. It was time to try again, he thought, ignoring the pull of emotion that coaxed him to give up. Raising his hand, he again concentrated all of his energy, focusing it, reaching out.

A light sheen of perspiration broke out across his forehead as his chest began to tighten in protest to the strain he was putting on his weakened mitama. But he ignored it, the image of Midori’s face goading him. He would NOT let emotions overrule him, he determined, the pain getting worse as he kept seeking a servant. He closed his eyes and concentrated harder, the pain rising in a pulsating crest through his chest. Then, just as the pain was becoming too much, he felt it.

Murakumo’s eyes shot open and he smiled in gloating triumph as he let his hand fall back to his side, suppressing his energy flow once again and the discomfort in his chest began to lessen. He had done it, he thought exultantly, dismissing the disruptive feeling of disappointment that assailed him. Finally, he would begin to put his plan into motion, he told himself as he looked down into the park, his eyes scanning the gloom for signs of movement.

There, just beneath the shadow of the giant tree, he saw it. Stepping off the ledge, he flitted down into the park and wandered beneath the branches to greet his awakened servant.

"Sekage," he acknowledged, watching as the brown tree lizard began to grow before his eyes. "The rebirth or our kingdom is almost at hand," he prophesized, "and now I charge you with an important task. You must find my heir and his – mother - for me."

The giant lizard raised its head, cocking it to the side, and then bowed before once again shrinking and disappearing through the dead leaves that covered the ground beneath the giant tree. Its claws made a faint rustling noise as it scurried away. Murakumo stood listening to his servant depart, until his ears picked up the sound of something else rapidly approaching him from behind, its breathing fast and hollow.

He turned and saw it, the same glaring red eyes and black mitama as the creature that had struck him down inside the iwatto. It leapt towards him with an echoing roar, its claws stretching to rip through his chest but he managed to evade it, flitting out of the way so that instead of inflicting a lethal blow, its claws sliced through the flesh of his arm. Murakumo ignored the stinging pain as it turned and regrouped, and a white-hot fury began to burn behind his eyes as the creature approached him yet again.

"Only the lowliest of scum attacks the enemy while his back is turned," he glowered. "And now that I know you’re here, you will not find me an easy target. I’ve killed one of your brethren already, and if you wish to rush headlong to your death, then come ahead!" he snarled and drew his blades, bracing his legs apart to prepare for the creature’s onslaught.

It stopped moving, its breath hissing through its jagged fangs, and a calculating look flitted through is slitted eyes as it studied Murakumo and his blades. Murakumo kept his grey eyes focused intently on it, watching it for the slightest movement, wanting to be prepared for any special attack it might unleash.

But it surprised him by turning away from him and burrowing into the soil, disappearing beneath the earth before Murakumo had the chance to stop it.

"The hell you say," Murakumo murmured incredulously to himself, slowly moving forward to the churned up pile of earth, studying it.

A black mitama, but not one from his kingdom, he mused, feeling dazed and wondering why he hadn’t remembered sooner the one from the first attack. He only recalled it now, after seeing this second one, and he scowled at such an unforgivable oversight on his part.

It was her fault, he inwardly seethed. If he hadn’t been so preoccupied with her, then he would have remembered it, he thought harshly.

Slowly turning away, lost in his thoughts, he was pulled up short by the whisper of a sound from somewhere beneath the barren branches of the giant cherry tree, and his head whipped around as he stared into the shadowy darkness. "Your intentions are useless."

"Kaede," he hissed, quivering with rage, his eyes flitting wildly through the gloom, seeking to find the owner of the voice.

"The mother of your child is dead, Murakumo," came her words, brimming with accusation.

Murakumo’s rage suddenly died and something akin to disbelief flitted across his face as the image of silver-white hair and the violet eyes flashed through his mind.

"Impossible," he softly denied, his eyes taking on a glazed look as he absorbed Kaede’s words.

"What did you expect, Murakumo? Did you really think that she would be able to sleep the sleep of the Aragami without suffering? Her body was not meant to slumber that long and as a result, the birth of your child ended her life," Kaede informed him, her voice latent with recrimination.

"And the child?" Murakumo demanded after a long moment of silence. When she didn’t reply, he took a step toward the tree, making a slashing motion with his hand, his voice becoming harsh, "Answer me, damn you!"

"The child lives," Kaede told him reluctantly, and then to his surprise, added, "he is with Momiji."

"The Kushinada," Murakumo said his voice faint with surprise. He remained unmoving, his mouth slightly agape, reeling from Kaede’s unreserved disclosure. But then his eyes narrowed in suspicion and his mouth snapped shut to form a hard, thin line. "Why do you tell me this?"

There was no reply and Murakumo thought she had gone when she finally answered, saying in a quiet voice, "If it were up to me, I would have never told you. But it matters little, since your kingdom will never be."

"The hell you say," Murakumo hissed, his face reddening uncharacteristically and becoming taut with fury.

"You have a new enemy, Murakumo - one that you have faced twice now," Kaede informed him, her voice more faint than before, "their numbers are endless and they will devour your kingdom, heart and soul should you proceed with your plans…so unless you wish your race to suffer complete annihilation, I would suggest that you put aside your personal ambitions and concentrate on defeating them instead of the humans."

Her voice trailed off at the end, leaving Murakumo standing alone under the shadowed branches of the tree, chaotic thoughts churning through his mind. His child – a son, he mused, and he was with the other Kushinada. It was not mere chance, but the machinations of Fate that had wrought such a deed, and Murakumo, carefully mulling over Kaede’s words, wondered if he dared believe her.

A black mitama and yet it had no Aragami soul, he mused.

Could it be that this new enemy had found a way to destroy the soul without destroying the mitama? If that were the case, then what Kaede said could very well be true. And if Murakumo tried to resurrect his kingdom now, he would only be imperiling those that he awakened. But could he trust her? She had proved traitorous before, so why should he believe any information that she chose to give him now?

But you have seen them with your own eyes, that rebellious voice within him pointed out and Murakumo gritted his teeth in irritation. He turned away and took a bounding leap, moving from rooftop to rooftop, his face reflecting the turbulence that seethed inside. He couldn’t decide what he should do. And so he decided, that for now, he would do nothing. He would wait for this new enemy to further reveal itself and then he would decide if what Kaede had told him was true.

But regardless of his decision, he thought in determination, he would find his son. Even if he were forced to abandon his plans for his kingdom at the present, there would still come a day of reckoning between the humans and the Aragami. He would make sure of it.

His arms crossed over his chest and looking down at his expensive brown, Italian loafers, Sugishita leaned against the whitewashed cinderblock wall of the hospital corridor next to the door marked ‘Surgical Waiting Room’. He listened with half an ear to the murmured conversation between Ms. Matsudaira and her former ex-husband, now once-again husband and noted with dismay that there was a large wad of gum stuck to the sole of his shoe.

"Oh, man!" he groaned, pushing away from the wall, his blue eyes crinkling as a pout pulled the corners of his mouth downward.

Matsu paused in her conversation, her dark eyes flickering over to him. "What is it?"

Sugishita continued examining his shoe, but waved his hand in her direction, saying absently, "It’s nothing, just a wad of gum. I think I can get it off if I scrape it against the curb outside."

Matsu rolled her eyes and with a slight shake of her head, turned back to her husband.

"I’ll be back in a minute," Sugi told them, though neither of them was really listening, and started off down the hall.

Head bent, he didn’t bother watching where he was going. Instead he immersed himself in observing his shoe as he walked, noting that the gum was making a thwick, thwick sound every time he lifted his foot. How had he picked it up and not noticed it before now? he wondered in consternation, feeling the gum squish down and stick as he applied pressure to his foot.

His preoccupation with the Great Gum Debate lasted until he made it to the emergency ward where it abruptly ended when he overhead the fragmented speech of two medical staff members inside an examination room.

" –this is the sixth one today. Never seen anything like it; the skin and hair, all white like that. What the hell is causing it? –"

Sugishita’s head shot up and he stopped mid-stride, the gum completely forgotten and he crept closer to the door that one of them had inadvertently left cracked open, being careful to remain unseen.

"Do you think it’s some new sort of viral strain or something?" the other one said.

"Yeah, right," the first one scoffed, his voice getting louder as if he was approaching the door on the other side, "have you ever seen a virus chew a man’s arm in half like that? Don’t be stupid! It’s got to be some sort of experimental animal or something. You know how the government is always messin’ with stuff like that – "

The rest of the conversation was cut off as the door suddenly snapped shut. But Sugishita had heard all that he needed to hear. Turning on his heel, he started back up the hallway again, his normally fatuous look of unconcern replaced with a grim one. The TAC was not going to like this one little bit. It was beginning to look like the epidemic that they had feared was about to begin.

Kusanagi jerked awake, and stared unseeing up at the darkened ceiling, his breathing rapid, as the energy from his souls thrummed through his body. This feeling… it was – He broke off the thought, the muscles in his shoulders tensely bunching up at the familiarity of the call. Sitting up, his eyes flew to the still open window and he tried to slow his breathing as the feeling began to dim.

Sliding out of bed, he prowled over to the window and looked out into the night, the somberness of his profile thrown into the shadows. All was quiet, but he had expected that; the summons had come far from here. The energy was completely gone now, and in its place was a growing sense of disquiet that Kusanagi couldn’t seem to stifle. If he hadn’t known better, he could have sworn that it had been Orochi’s summons. But that was impossible. Orochi was dead. Susano-oh had killed him three years ago.

But still…

Rubbing the backs of his hands, Kusanagi half turned from the window and became lost in thought. It had definitely been a summons of some sort. He was sure of it. But whose? Thinking rapidly, he recalled the green Aragami blood that Ryoko and Kome had discovered in Takachiho where Midori had disappeared and then recalled Midori’s phone call from earlier in the evening.

The summons hadn’t come from there, but what if…?

Perhaps he should make a trip to Takachiho in the morning, he speculated, just to be sure. And then, if he didn’t find anything, maybe even go further north, towards Tokyo since that was the direction where the flow was stemming from.

His deliberations were interrupted when the quiet of the room was broken by a muted sound of distress. Breaking off his thoughts, Kusanagi turned his head sharply back towards the bed, his cat-like eyes focusing on where Momiji lay. She had been quiet just moments before, but now she was thrashing around, the long strands of her hair becoming crushed and tangled beneath her as her head moved restlessly from side to side on her pillow.

She was having a nightmare, he realized, completely turning away from the window and rapidly crossing the room to the bed. He crawled across the mattress and, kneeling beside her, put a gentle hand on her shoulder and murmured her name. But she seemed unaware of his touch, too ensorcelled by the unseen visions that haunted her. Her face was drawn into lines of panic and a strangled cry was caught in her throat, imprisoned by her lips that were clamped tightly together. Tightening his fingers against her shoulder, he shook her harder, wanting to free her from the invisible terror that gripped her

With a start Momiji opened her eyes, her lips finally parting to release the pent up cry as her chest rose and fell rapidly. Unaware of Kusanagi and the room around her, her eyes remained unfocused and full of fear, as the wisps of the nightmare faded with a lingering slowness. It was the iwatto. She had been dreaming of the iwatto again; of Kaede and Kusanagi and then of Tamanasu, and she couldn’t dispel the knot of terror and dread that she had in the middle of her chest.

"N-no! - Please, come back," Momiji choked, and a tear slid down her face.

Suddenly she found herself pulled up from her pillow and wrapped snugly against a warm chest smelling faintly of juniper and sandalwood. Of their own volition, Momiji’s arms came up and automatically encircled Kusanagi’s waist as comforting fingers began to stroke the back of her head. Pressing her cheek closer against the warmth of his skin, she closed her eyes and slowly began to relax.

"It’s all right now," Kusanagi murmured comfortingly to her.

Momiji burrowed deeper into his chest and she responded in a tight voice, "I’m afraid."

"It was just a dream," he reassured her.

"No," she replied brokenly, "I couldn’t protect him, I couldn’t save Noa from Tamanasu."

"Tamanasu is dead, Momiji, and you did save Noa," he reminded her softly.

"No," she lamented, "Kaede saved him. Not me. I can’t protect him." Suddenly she was sobbing and Kusanagi could feel her hot tears fall against his chest, her torment over the revelations of her dreams very real. ‘I want to, I told Kaede that I would, b-but - I can’t!"

His arm tightened around her willing to give anything at that moment to make her pain go away. "Why can’t you?" he inquired quietly.

"Because I am not strong enough!" came her anguished reply, her sobs louder than ever, the picture of Noa and Tamanasu seared into her memory as if it was a premonition instead of a dream.

"- Then let me be your strength," Kusanagi whispered to her.

Momiji’s sobs ceased, and she snuffled in surprise. She pulled slightly away from him so that she could look up into his face. Her tear-drenched eyes were wide as she studied his expression. He returned her gaze steadily, but it was too dark to see clearly so she stammered, "Wh-what did you say?"

Kusanagi reached out and cupped her face, his thumbs brushing away her tears as he softly repeated, "Let me be your strength Momiji."

Momiji brought her fingers up and curled them around his wrists. "But you – I didn’t think that – what I mean is, I know how you have suffered because of the Aragami and how much you hate them, Kusanagi. If I were you, I would hate them too - and even though Noa is not completely Aragami, his father is… He is my responsibility. Mine and mine alone," she told him in a heavy voice.

Kusanagi pulled her face closer to his, leaned his forehead against hers and closed his eyes. "Not alone, never alone," he whispered, "I would do anything for you, Momiji. Surely you know that by now?"

His words created a dizzying effect that left her speechless so that when Momiji opened her mouth, nothing came out for a moment. When she did finally did get something out, it was only a stammered, "I – I – I…."

Kusanagi silenced her by pressing his lips against hers in a soft lingering kiss and Momiji’s breath fluttered to a stop in her throat as her heart beat wildly against her ribs. Finally breaking off the kiss, he let his hands drift away from her face, wrapping them once more around her body to pull her unresistingly down on the bed. Stretching out next to her on his back, his arm beneath her, he pulled her snugly against him until her face was nestled against his shoulder, and then he grabbed her arm to place it across his body, so that she held him in an embrace, his other hand going to her face where his fingers gently brushed the tendrils of hair away from her temple in a rhythmic motion.

"Go to sleep Momiji," he told her, a lulling softness in his words.

Momiji’s arm briefly tightened around him. "Kusanagi, I – "

"Shhh," he soothed, "It’s okay, Momiji. He’ll be okay. Together, we’ll make sure of it."

Momiji heaved a contented sigh and let her eyes drift close. Almost immediately she fell into a peaceful slumber, blissfully unaware of the troubled expression on Kusanagi’s face. He glanced out the window once more, thinking about the journey he would make on the morrow and hoped that nothing would come of it. After a few moments, he too closed his eyes, knowing that he needed to be rested in case his fears were confirmed and he was forced to fight a battle with the reawakened King of the Aragami.

The phone still clutched in her hand, Midori sat on the sofa, her knees pulled up to her chest, and, dropping her head down, she curled into a protective ball. She squeezed her eyes closed, all too aware of the tense, burning pain in her chest and not knowing what to do to relieve it. Right now it seemed as if things couldn’t possibly get any worse.

Well, it’s your own fault that you’re in this mess, she told herself sharply, trying to fight off the smothering wave of self - pity that blanketed her. Her fingers tightened convulsively around the phone before she finally lifted her face from her knees and put the phone back on the cradle.

It was bad enough that you’ve been secretly harboring an Aragami from the TAC, she harshly castigated herself – but to actually give your body to him?

What is wrong with you, Midori?

Midori closed her eyes in misery, replaying in her mind, once again, her first intimate encounter. She had always thought it would be a special moment shared with the man that she loved – not some act that was tainted with shame and sordidness like hers had become, she mused, remembering Murakumo’s reaction after it had all been over.

As she had come crashing back to earth from the intensity of her climax, Midori had discovered, that despite the persistent warnings sounding in her head to guard it from him, she had promptly given her heart to a man whose only intent was to trample on it. And any fragile hope that she had harbored concerning his feelings for her had been completely shattered when he had rolled off of her, avoiding looking at her, his face dark and brooding like he’d been repulsed by what had happened between them. Without a word, he had dressed, and left the house, leaving Midori to struggle with the enormity of what she had done, her newfound feelings and his agonizing rejection of her.

He had been gone all day, and Midori glanced out the window at the darkness, allowing herself to wonder if Murakumo was going to come back. She dreaded seeing him again; afraid that he would only hurt her more, and yet at the same time she eagerly awaited his return, wanting to be assured of his safety.

Sick to heart of the tenor of her depressing thoughts, Midori restlessly rose from the sofa and wandered into the kitchen. With distracted motions, she opened the refrigerator and foraged for something to eat even though her stomach was in knots. But her thoughts continued to circle unrelentingly around Murakumo’s dark hair and grey eyes and completely destroyed what little appetite she had left.

Why was it now, she asked herself, while he was gone, that she couldn’t forget he was the enemy, but whenever he got close to her, she couldn’t think straight? She might love him, but that didn’t mean it was right to do so. He was her enemy; the leader of the Aragami, and he hated the human race. Her included.

He will only cause you pain.

How easy it was to tell herself that now, she thought bitterly, when the time she really needed to remember it was when he was near. For that was when her heart took over, conveniently forgetting that he was Aragami and she was his sworn enemy. She let the softness of his touch brush away all thoughts of protest. And the heat of desire in his eyes set fire to her senses, further eroding her resolve. It burned away all knowledge of the differences between them, leaving only her need for him and the overwhelming desire to mesh with the softness she sensed deep inside of him.

Without removing anything from the refrigerator, Midori closed it and moved over to the table, wishing that she had someone to talk to, someone who could advise her.

"Momiji, I wish I could talk to you," she sadly sighed, her thoughts centering on her best friend.

But that avenue was closed to her, she thought dismally, since she now knew that Kusanagi was there in Izumo with Momiji. When she had called earlier, she had been depending on Momiji being alone, and now that she knew that she wasn’t, that changed things drastically. Momiji would never consciously betray Midori’s confidence, and if she had been alone, Midori wouldn’t have worried so much. But she wasn’t alone, and Midori knew that by now everyone was aware that she had gone missing – Kusanagi included – and because he had answered Momiji’s phone, if Midori had asked to speak to Momiji, there was no way that he would have allowed for Momiji to remain silent about why Midori was missing.

"You shouldn’t be relying on others to solve your problems for you anyway, Midori, and learn to fix them on your own," she critically advised herself, and then jumped when she heard the front door slam hard up against the wall.

All thoughts flew from her mind and her heart leapt in her chest. Turning, she stuck her head around the kitchen door to see Murakumo standing there in the living room, a fatigued look on his face and a strange look in his eyes.

"You’ve been bleeding!" Midori exclaimed, her concern for him overriding the memories of this morning and all of her turbulent emotions. Everything was pushed aside the minute she laid eyes on him and saw the dried green blood streaming down his arm.

Murakumo watched her flit from the doorway of the kitchen to where he stood and remained unmoving as she took hold of his arm and began examining it, his eyes sliding searchingly over the sincere concern written across her features. Why did she have to be like this, dammit? He thought harshly to himself and he jerked his arm from her grasp to stalk past her, heading for his own room.

Midori bit her lip and watched him go, wincing as he slammed his door shut behind him, the memories of this morning suddenly rushing back to her. Drawing in a deep breath she turned and slowly reached for the front door, quietly closing it before returning to the kitchen. She couldn’t go back, she resolutely told herself, so the only choice was to move forward. That meant putting what happened between them this morning aside as best she could and dealing with the here and now.

Following that piece of advice as best she could, she reached for her first aid kit and pulled it off the shelf. Then she turned and left the kitchen, her feet tracing Murakumo’s steps until she stood just outside his door where she briefly hesitated.

Should she knock? she wondered, and lifted her fist where it hung, suspended in midair while she tried to decide what to do. What good was it to knock, she asked herself when his highness would just most likely ignore her, or worse, snarl at her to go away. So dropping her hand to the knob, she twisted it instead and slowly pushed the door open.

Poking her head around the door, her brown eyes gravitated to the bed where he lay with his back to her in his tattered trousers and his bloodied arm hanging laxly down the length of his body.

Shielding herself off from her emotions, Midori quietly entered the room and steadily made her way towards him, forcing herself not to hesitate when he bit out, "Why are you in here?" without turning to look at her.

She didn’t bother to answer until she had reached the bedside. After letting her eyes critically wander over him, she turned away and placed her kit on the table, opening it and rummaging through it while she said, "I came here to help you."

"I don’t need your help," he replied harshly.

"So you’ve told me on numerous occasions, but I’ve never let that stop me," she responded evenly, her dark eyes noting the resentful set of his shoulders.

Picking up her gauze and antiseptic, she moved forward to examine his arm closer only to fall back a step when he once again jerked away from her, his head snapping around to look at her. There was an untamed restlessness in his eyes that Midori had never seen before and she let her hands drop to her sides, sensing that she needed to tread carefully.

She remained warily silent, watching as he rolled over and sat up, expecting him to lash out at her, but he didn’t. Instead his unsettled gaze fell away from her and became unfocused. Cautiously waiting for a few more minutes, she again tried approaching him, relaxing a bit and releasing the breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding when he made no move to further reject her ministrations.

After a closer scrutiny, she concluded that the wound only needed to be cleaned, since it had begun to close up which meant that his body was again resuming its normal functionality of rapid regenerative capability.

"What happened?" She finally dared to ask in a quiet voice as she doused the gauze with antiseptic.

"Another beast with a black mitama," he replied laconically.

Midori momentarily ceased her actions and looked into his face, wondering how he could seem so detached about it. "You mean like at the iwatto, the creature with the black mitama?"

Murakumo’s eyes flitted towards her, but they still had a vacant look in them as if he wasn’t really seeing her. "Yes. A new enemy," he muttered absently, speaking his thoughts aloud, and when he failed to add anything further, Midori bent and resumed her task of gently cleaning his arm.

But she halted again a few seconds later; this time because his hand came up and clamped around her wrist preventing her from moving. She turned her face towards his and her brown eyes locked with his grey ones. They had lost their vacant look and were now sharply focused on her.

"Why do you do this?" he demanded roughly, pulling her hand away from his arm but not letting go of it.

Midori opened her mouth, and growing uncomfortable beneath his piercing gaze, she let her eyes slide to the piece of blood smeared gauze in her hand that remained suspended between them as she tried to think of a reply.

Raising her shoulders in a fidgeting motion, she remained speechless, her eyes flying back to his face in surprise when he added with quiet intensity, "Don’t you know that I mean to destroy you?"

Her soft brown eyes widened as she looked searchingly into the steel grey of his, and after a moment she asked breathlessly, "Do you?"

He didn’t answer for a long moment, his gaze wavering slightly before he replied in a flat tone of voice, "Yes."

His hesitation told Midori what she wanted to know, and her tongue flickered out, nervously moistening her bottom lip before she summoned up the courage to tell him, "I don’t believe you."

Murakumo’s eyes followed the motion of her tongue and she saw a flame of desire leap in his eyes before he ruthlessly extinguished it, saying in a steely voice, "You are such a foolish girl to doubt me. Once I have defeated this new enemy and regained my son from the Kushinada, then I will begin my plans for re-establishing my kingdom and the human race will be no more."

His threatening words slid over her, but Midori paid little heed to them as her attention was caught and held by what he had said about his son.

"Your son is with Momiji?" she asked in a startled voice and then winced when he shot from the bed, his fingers biting into her wrist as he dragged her closer to him and leaned down to glare at her.

"You know the Kushinada? How? How do you know her?" he hissed furiously, wondering what game Fate was playing now.

"Sh-she is my best friend," Midori stammered, twisting her wrist to try and free herself, and then grimacing and saying, "- Please let go! - you’re hurting me!"

Murakumo looked away from her and abruptly released her. Finally free, Midori pulled her wrist to her body and massaged it, watching as Murakumo’s face once again took on that brooding, absorbed look and wondered what was going through his mind.

"I – I don’t understand," she mumbled in a puzzled sort of way after a moment, and then added, "why would Momiji have your son? What about his mother?"

At her words, something flickered across Murakumo’s face, disappearing almost before she had seen it, and it was only after he spoke that Midori realized what it was.

"Hikaru is dead," he intoned in a voice devoid of emotion, his face just as wooden as his words as he turned his head to look down at her. "She died giving birth to my son."

Even though he stared impassively at her, his expression didn’t fool her. She had seen his sorrow before he had had a chance to hide it. And Midori’s eyes filled with grief for his loss.

"I’m so sorry," she said, her brown eyes bright with compassion as she gazed up at him so that Murakumo felt a strange sliding sensation in the middle of his chest.

Fighting it, he again looked away from her and said frostily, "Spare me your platitudes, human! I do not need them. She meant nothing to me."

Midori stared steadily at him for a moment or two and then sighed, saying nothing as she moved forward to finishing cleaning his arm.

After a few more minutes of prolonged silence, she softly whispered, "Keep telling yourself that long enough, your highness, and perhaps you can make yourself believe it."

His face registered no reaction to her words. It was almost as if he hadn’t heard them, but Midori knew better for she felt the muscles beneath her fingers ripple as his body stiffened. But she was weary of fighting with him, and only wanted to leave. So she quickly finished what she came to do, his arm clean and neatly bandaged before she turned away.

"I truly am sorry," she told him softly, stopping by the door but not turning to look at him, her dark head bent in defeat, "not just for what happened to Hikaru, but also for what happened this morning – I know how - it repulsed you, and I just want you to know that - it won’t happen again." Her voice had become unsteady, a note of pain creeping into it, and so she stopped speaking and drew a steadying breath. "I’m quite tired, so I think I’ll wish you good night, Murakumo."

And then she fled the room, leaving him staring after her, his face still blank but his steel grey eyes seething with suppressed emotion. He had taken a step to go after her before he realized what he was doing and then he forced himself to stop. Turning around, he stretched out on the bed, still fully clothed and closed his eyes, his mind struggling to come to grips with everything that he had learned and trying at the same time to suppress those defiant feelings that made him want to focus on nothing but Midori.

His had been a brilliantly simple plan, he thought infuriated; a plot worthy of the leader of the Aragami. - So why was Fate making everything so damnably difficult?