Anyway, wasn’t it better that she NOT be here? he muttered abrasively to himself. That way, he could go in, get what he needed and leave without having to go through another uncomfortable scene with her. He didn’t have time for her, and having to brush her aside would mean witnessing that same, forlorn look in her eyes. He definitely didn’t want to go through that again.

Quick and painless, he rationalized. It was the best way.

And yet, he remained standing there, gazing at the door without going inside, that plaguing question of where she could be resolving any will he had to act.

Humans were so frail, he brooded. When he had left her, the wound on her arm had reopened and she’d been bleeding again. It had been a nasty cut to begin with. Perhaps it had become inflamed and she’d needed to seek medical attention for it. That would explain why she wasn’t here now. It seemed a logical and satisfactory explanation. But instead of satisfying him, it only served to feed the rising restlessness he felt. Shifting his gaze, his eyes flickered over the glass, absentmindedly focusing on the reflection of his tall frame outlined by the glints of light from other windows opposite Midori’s apartment building.

Such concern for her – the fact that it drove his thoughts angered him and his lip curled in disdain.

"I’m not waiting for her dammit!" he hissed aloud, squashing the wayward inner voice tempting him to stay.

He forced himself into motion then, reaching for the door to see if it was locked. It wasn’t and he slid it back noiselessly. With the back of his hand, Murakumo negligently pushed the curtain aside and entered. Once across the threshold he stopped, diverted from searching for a clean shirt as he looked around with interest at the place that Midori called home.

It was small, with what appeared to be only three main rooms: the kitchen the living room and the bedroom. It was adequately furnished with furniture that wasn’t new, but well cared for, and everything appeared spotless. There wasn’t a speck of dust anywhere. Not even on the neatly arranged books that lined the shelves along her living room wall.

Slowly, Murakumo circled the room, taking an interest in everything he came across. What was it, he idly wondered as he pulled a book from the shelf, that he found so fascinating about her. He smoothed the cover of the book he held as if he expected to glean the knowledge he was seeking from it. But after looking closer at the title, Molecular Biology: A Practical Guide to Genes and Proteins; his lips quirked into an odd smile. He doubted he would find the answers he was looking for there.

Putting the book back, he continued on, making a complete circuit of the room, stopping in front of the raised counter that separated the living room from the kitchen. There were a few pictures poised here, a phone and a pad of paper with a pen on top of it. Moving the pen aside, he picked up the pad and squinted through the darkness to see what was written on it.

Nothing fancy. Simply a grocery list. On the surface it didn’t tell him much – except that she appeared to be out of bonito flakes and daikon radishes. But if he discarded the plainness of the message and looked at its structure and form, he could see quite a bit more. Her handwriting was small and neat, each character created with painstaking precision. There was a graceful symmetry in the slope of each line and the sweep of every curve that reminded him very much of Midori herself. Putting the pad of paper back, he took up one of the photos next to it and looked at it, a scowl turning down the corners of his mouth.

He recognized the Kushinada standing with her arm linked through Midori’s in the foreground. But the figure in the background is what had brought on his scowl. It was that imperfect fool, Kusanagi. Quickly he returned the picture to its place, spinning on his heel and moving away to escape the mocking memory of Kusanagi’s words. Despite his decision to cooperate with the humans, Murakumo would’ve loved to have knocked a few of Kusanagi’s teeth out after he’d insinuated that Murakumo was developing a taste for human companionship. Murakumo stopped in the middle of the room and again ground his teeth just remembering it.

That fool’s assumptions shouldn’t bother him, but they did. Perhaps it was because, deep down he sensed a grain of truth in them that he was loath to admit. Jerking his head around, Murakumo was abruptly drawn from his disturbing thoughts by a scraping sound. Unclenching his jaw, his eyes flew to the door as he recognized the sound as that of a key being inserted into a lock.

So, Midori had finally come home.

Much of the restlessness that had held him captive since he’d arrived began to dissipate, and he battled a rising impulse that bid him to stay where he was until he saw her walk through the door. But his pride and the memory of Kusanagi’s taunting words proved a stronger motivation and they nudged him into fleeing before he had a chance to see her. Flitting across the room, he swished past the curtains, bolting through the sliding glass door just as the door handle began to turn.

Murakumo barely had a chance to slide the door shut behind him before the light inside her apartment came on. Crouching low, a small trickle of sweat inched its way down his temples and he clenched his hands, trying to calm the chaos simmering inside him. He’d convinced himself to come here with the excuse of having a clean change of clothes. But now that he was here, it was not a shirt that he wanted. Momentarily closing his eyes, his hands crept over his face, his fingers lacing through his hair and he pulled in frustration. He felt as if some unseen force was manipulating him, and he couldn’t seem to keep his thoughts in order or his emotions under control.

Resisting the urge to open the door and go back inside, he rose to his feet, and moved away from the door, sliding down into a sitting position against the wall. Crossing his arms over his chest, he leaned his head back and waited, trying not to think of what Midori might be doing on the other side of the wall. Carefully keeping his mind blank, he stared dully up at the blinking beacon atop one of the endless skyscrapers, his grey eyes flickering over to the door, checking every so often to see if the sliver of light spilling across the ground from inside was gone. After an hour or so, it went out. But still he remained where he was for a few minutes more, just to make sure that Midori was sleeping safely.

Finally rising to his feet, he stole softly over to the door, hesitating a fraction before he slid it back, more cautious in his movements this time. Stepping over the threshold, he once again paused, but this time, it was to listen. Silence. Moving stealthily through the darkness, he approached Midori’s bedroom, his ears pricked to hear the slightest of noises.

She was under the blankets, turned away from him, and before he could think better of it, he moved to look at her. He wanted to wrap his fingers around her shoulder and shake her awake and found the temptation almost too hard to resist, so he turned away. If he touched her, he thought, the chaos inside would explode. He must remember that his goal was to destroy the Tengugaki and if he gave into the fascination he had with her it would only dim his focus. He needed to keep his distance from her for the time being, until he could learn more about the weaknesses of his enemy.

Prowling around her room, he looked for where she might have put his shirts, hoping that she had brought them to Tokyo with her. He was relieved to find them in her closet, hanging neatly next to her own things. Not bothering to make a conscious choice, he grabbed the first one he laid his hand on, taking the coat hanger as well. Considering how fastidious she was, if he took the shirt and not the hanger, she would probably notice right away. He rearranged the other shirts so that there was less of a gap where it had been and then turned and left the room, making a mental note to purchase some things for himself.

If he had to keep coming back here every time he destroyed an article of clothing, he would go through the things Midori had purchased for him in very short order, and she would know that he’d been here. She would also realize he was avoiding her. In his mind’s eye, Murakumo recalled her expression as he’d left her standing alone in Takachiho. Her feelings of pain had been an almost tangible thing and he didn’t want it to happen again. He didn’t want to hurt her.

Moving quickly through her apartment, he removed his torn shirt as he went and slid the new one on, leaving the same way he came. Jumping over the rail of her balcony, he flitted down into the alley, discarding his old shirt in a garbage can before turning to walk up the grimy alleyway. Forcing his thoughts away from the small apartment twenty stories up, he settled his attention on searching for more of the Tengugaki. He couldn’t sense them, but if they were all as craven as the one he had seen in the subway tunnel, then he estimated that they preferred to attack where there was the least chance of retaliation. That meant patrolling areas where people went, but that were still isolated: wooded pathways of parks, secluded pedestrian tunnels and maybe even alleyways like the one he was currently in.

Kusanagi’s eyes trailed away from Momiji and he studied the baby who was starting to make fitful grunting noises, his tiny fist waving. He was going to wake Momiji up any minute now. Kusanagi’s eyes flickered critically over the faint bluish circles of fatigue beneath her eyes. She really needed her sleep he thought resolutely. Breathing in a soft sigh, Kusanagi carefully leaned over, removing Momiji’s arms from around the infant, and scooped the baby up.

Holding him in the crook of his arm, Kusanagi climbed onto the bed, taking up the space next to Momiji where they baby had been and positioned a pillow between his back and the headboard.

Looking down at the now pacified infant Kusanagi softly complained, "Who gave you permission to sleep on my side of the bed, you little green bean?" Noa waved a tiny, demanding fist at him and Kusanagi’s lips quirked into a sardonic smile. "Arrogant just like you’re father, I see," he noted wryly. "Just be glad the bed hog didn’t boot you off the bed like she did me –"

He tilted his head in Momiji’s direction but broke off what he was saying when he heard her mumble sleepily. "You must have been dreaming, Kusanagi. I would never boot you off the bed."

Kusanagi turned his head and smiled down at her. She still had her eyes closed, her cheek nestled deeply into her pillow, but her lips were curved into a smile as she reached out, feeling for his leg to give it a weak and sleepy thwap. He chuckled and leaned over. Hooking his index finger around her braid he tugged on it lightly as he placed a feather soft kiss against the curve of her cheek.

As he sat back up, Momiji wiggled towards him, wanting to get closer and she heard him chuckle again.

"See," he teased, "you’re not even sleeping now, and you’ve already set in with your wily moves to push me off the mattress so you can have the whole thing to yourself."

"No," Momiji refuted with a sigh, reaching out to drape her arm around his waist, her eyes still closed, "you’re safe as long as you have Noa. No booting off the bed while you’re holding a baby."

Kusanagi looked down at the bundle in his arms. "Did you hear that? Seems you’re my lucky talisman." Momiji heard the light note in his voice. "I guess I’ll have to bring you to bed with me from now on so I’ll be safe."

A moment of companionable silence stretched between them, and then the atmosphere subtly changed when Momiji quietly commented, "I called Midori while you were gone."

"And what did she tell you?" Kusanagi asked just as quietly, his jocular demeanor now serious. He already knew some of what Momiji was going to tell him. But he was curious to see if she had been able to learn more about what had passed between Midori and Murakumo than Kusanagi had.

"It was definitely Murakumo at the iwatto," Momiji sighed, opening her eyes and staring at Kusanagi’s nicely shaped leg. "She did her best to deny it, but I knew it was him. She spent an entire week nursing him, Kusanagi." Her voice was tinged with apprehension. "I encouraged her to tell Mr. Kunikida about it, but she refused." Momiji sighed again, the weight of her worry carried in its sound. "I think she’s in love with him - as impossible as that seems to me. I guess my only option now is to tell Mr. Kunikida myself, but – I’d give anything not to have to do that."

"I don’t think you’ll have to worry about telling Kunikida, Momiji," Kusanagi replied impassively, "He already knows. He came across Murakumo and me in the subway tunnels earlier today."

Momiji’s eyes widened and she jolted to a sitting position. "You confronted Murakumo?" she cried, leaning towards him. "What happened?" Did you fight him? Who won?"

With every question, she leaned ever closer to him and now she was in danger of toppling onto him. Kusanagi was forced to put his hand out to steady her, but found he had to push harder than he’d expected when she leaned forward again. Her eyes widened in horror and shock as she got a good look at his face, and Kusanagi stifled a grimace.

He watched as she put her hands to her mouth, and she cried out in horrified accents. "OH MY GOD! What!?..." she gulped, "- What happened to your eye!?"

Kusanagi let go of her, as she subsided back onto her heels and sat staring at his left eye. Her reaction wasn’t surprising. Actually, when he’d gotten home and taken a good look at it for the first time, he’d reacted in much the same way – but for a completely different reason. His eye had been sore as hell, so he’d known it was bound to be discolored. But he’d been hoping that he would be able to hide the blow he’d taken to the face so he wouldn’t have to explain to her the details on how he’d received it.

He’d immediately realized though, as he stood inspecting the damage in the bathroom mirror, that there was no way of hiding it. The lid was all puffy and swollen and the skin around it was bright green and yellow: two colors that distinctly refused to blend in with the copper tint of his skin. Even if he’d somehow managed to hide the color of it, there was no way to hide how swollen it had become.

"I hope to god you pounded Murakumo senseless for that!" Momiji cried.

Kusanagi grunted non-committally and then replied wryly, "Murakumo didn’t do this, Momiji. In fact, Murakumo refused to fight me at all."

Momiji blinked owlishly at him, unsure that she had heard him correctly.

"He… refused to fight you?" she repeated uncertainly, wondering if perhaps Murakumo had hit Kusanagi so hard that he couldn’t recall it happening.

"That’s right," Kusanagi replied mildly, watching the myriad of changing expressions on her face.

"You’re absolutely certain he didn’t hit you?" Momiji fingered her braid, curling the loose strands of the tail round and round her finger as she waited for Kusanagi’s answer.

"I’m one hundred percent certain," he replied unwaveringly.

Momiji was completely perplexed then. Why Murakumo would behave so; well, un-Murakumo-like? she wondered. "Was he still wounded?" she mused aloud, "Could that have been the reason why he refused to fight you?"

Kusanagi shook his head.

"No, he’s definitely recovered all of his strength," he replied a sullen note creeping into his voice as he recalled how Murakumo had easily pinned him to the ground. "He’s as strong as he ever was, but – he just… refused to fight. He claims he is now our ally."

There was complete silence in the room as Momiji digested this, having as much trouble as Kusanagi had first had in believing it.

"What on earth would make him say that?" she finally muttered, utterly baffled until a sudden thought occurred to her. "Do you think it’s because of Midori? Because he has feelings for her? "

"That would definitely explain a lot, and it’s not out of the realm of possibilities. Especially since she’s in love with him," Kusanagi responded. "But even if he did care for her, I don’t think he would do it just for her – in fact, I know he didn’t do it just for her - although, she has to factor in his decision somewhere. But really, I think his biggest reason is because of Noa."

"- You mean Noa is his son?" Momiji asked after making the connection.

Kusanagi nodded. Her surprise was much less dramatic over the origins of the babies birth than it had been over the fact that Murakumo had refused to fight. Kusanagi watched her gaze automatically pivot to the docile infant lying in against his chest.

"It makes sense, doesn’t it?" she concluded after a moment or two. "It would explain how Murakumo was able to awaken – he and Noa are of the same blood, so when Noa was born, it would have triggered Murakumo’s rebirth. - But Murakumo not wanting to fight." Momiji shook her head. "I still can’t believe he would give up his plans for an Aragami kingdom."

"When I came across him in the subway," Kusanagi said after a moment of introspection, "he was fighting against a Tengugaki, trying to save a trainload of passengers. To put himself in that much danger would be folly, unless he was sincere about his intentions. As for his kingdom - I don’t think he’s given up his dream of that, Momiji. The only thing that has changed is the way in which he will achieve it.

"It seems that Susan-oh has convinced him that Noa is the key to the Aragami kingdom that he wants." Kusanagi looked down at the baby, noting the blue souls that stood out so prominently on his skin. "Even though he is part human, this little one bears the souls of an Aragami like his father. And I suppose, when he’s older, his own children will also have Aragami souls. The two races will mingle together in his line; neither one having dominion over the other." Kusanagi continued to stare at the mitamas, a burgeoning dread filling his chest when he thought about Susano-oh’s plan for the two races.

"I wonder if our children will be like this too," he pondered in a wooden voice, and immediately wished he could bite his own tongue off at the look of dismay that flashed across Momiji’s face before she managed to hide it.

That Kusanagi might not wish to have children because of the possibility that they would have mitamas had never occurred to her before, and she gave him a searching look, hoping that that wasn’t the case. Even knowing that they could be born with mitamas didn’t affect Momiji’s desire to have children. She still wanted them because, with or without mitamas, they would be his children.

Unable to discern from his tight expression what he was thinking, Momiji reached out and took Noa from him, cradling the infant against her. Smiling down at the baby, she stroked the soft down on his head for a moment before her earnest green eyes returned to Kusanagi.

"Would that really be such a bad thing?" Momiji wanted to know softly, "If they were to have mitamas?"

Kusanagi dropped his brooding gaze away from her. He focused on the tiny baby nestled against her and didn’t reply. How could he? He thought helplessly, without making it sound like he would despise any child born to them who carried mitamas?

"You know, Kusanagi," Momiji began meditatively, watching Noa’s eyelids begin to droop as she continued to soothingly stroke the soft strands of his hair, "the morning after Noa’s birth and the battle between Kaede and Tamanasu, my mother met me here at the house. She and grandmother came, I think, because they sensed something terrible about to happen." Momiji bowed her head and murmured, shamefaced, "I couldn’t tell her, you know. I couldn’t summon the strength to tell her that her eldest daughter had died in the early hours of the morning trying to protect me. And when I finally did tell her, I was helpless to stop the suffering I knew I was inflicting upon her. I watched her spirit crumble right before my eyes." Momiji closed her eyes a brief moment, trying to regain her wavering composure that was threatened by her painful recollections. Taking a deep breath she murmured, "I would have given anything to have spared my mother that grief, but I think now, the only real comfort that she could have had at that moment would have been in knowing that Kaede had been her only daughter."

Momiji saw Kusanagi’s startled expression and watched his eyes darken in dismay at Momiji’s disturbing admissions.

"It’s true," she murmured seeing that he was about to deny what she’d said. "The morning that I returned home from the iwatto to find her and grandmother here, she told me she’d she wished I’d never been born to her." Kusanagi looked staggered by her words, and Momiji knew that he didn’t yet understand what her mother had meant. "She didn’t say it to be cruel, Kusanagi. She simply said it because she was afraid." Kusanagi looked nonplussed and so Momiji explained softly, "On that morning, I think that even though I didn’t tell her about Kaede, she somehow sensed a fear she’d carried with her for many years had finally come to pass, a fear I confirmed for her a day later by telling her about Kaede’s death. – It was hard to watch her openly grieve. There was such pain in her eyes," Momiji recalled sadly, and then added, "But, you know, Kusanagi, even though it was more obvious than before, I think Mom started grieving long before she ever lost Kaede; probably even before Kaede and I were even born. The roots of her grief were most likely conceived when she learned that she was going to have a baby, for she knew what that meant."

Momiji paused for a moment, her eyes distant and thoughtful and Kusanagi remained silent, just watching her as she continued to absently soothe Noa to sleep.

"- Being the Kushinada – it’s not something that a mother wants to pass on to her daughter." Momiji’s eyes wandered back to Kusanagi to see if he discerned what she was trying to say. His expression was fathomless, but he remained silent and serious, listening intently to her, and so she continued. "It’s every mother’s instinct to want to protect her child because she loves her; and yet for the Kushinada, from the moment her daughter takes her first breath, that right is taken away. Her baby becomes the tool that she once was, and the roots of fear begin grow, and she worries that the day of fate which has passed her by, will dawn in her daughter’s lifetime - and there will be nothing that she can do to shield her precious child from it." Momiji stopped for a moment, her gaze going down to the small bundle she held in her arms. "I can understand why my mother said that she wished that I had not been born to her," she murmured with quiet understanding, an affectionate smile for the baby she held curving her lips. "It’s because she loves me so much that she does not wish me to have to bear the burden of the Kushinada."

Her smile faded and she looked up at Kusanagi, her eyes darkened by the shadows that had been carried by her line for far too long.

"It will be the same for me too," she predicted heavily. "I do not wish to pass on the duties of the Kushinada to my daughter. I do not want her to be used as a tool whose only purpose is to be destroyed and to destroy others. I cannot change the fact that she will become the Kushinada. –" Momiji stated, aggrieved. "But, if my daughter – no," she shook her head, "if our daughter were born with Aragami souls – then she couldn’t be used as a tool. - I would be able to live happily, knowing that the day will NEVER come that her blood would be spilled on an altar of sacrifice," and then her eyes took on a flash of fire as she declared vehemently. "And ff Aragami souls would ensure that that never happens, then, I pray to god that she IS born with them. Don’t you see, Kusanagi? Having those souls would be a blessing for her; not a curse!"

The truths that Momiji had revealed held Kusanagi’s tongue between his teeth for a moment and he could only sit and stare at her. Having said everything she’d she wanted to say, Momiji subsided into silence. Her green eyes stared steadily at him while the baby slept on, nestled peacefully in her arms and the bittersweet image of them together struck a chord somewhere deep inside of him.

Suddenly he felt as if he was gazing into the not so distant future and he was seeing Momiji with their baby; a baby with Aragami souls, souls that brought hope for the child instead of oppression. Feeling suddenly overwhelmed, he looked away. Swinging his feet over the side of the bed, he silently moved to the window to stare blindly out into the darkness.

"You’re truly amazing," he whispered humbly without looking at her. "If someone had told me that I would one day consider having a mitama a fortunate thing, I would have laughed in their face. But you –" he turned to look at her, not bothering to hide his emotions shimmering brightly in his eyes. "I truly think you could make me believe anything," he confessed.

Momiji didn’t know what to say, feeling overawed by his words. Kusanagi crossed back over to where she was sitting with her knees tucked beneath her on the bed. Putting his right palm against the mattress, he leaned forward and cupped her cheek, his eyes traveling across her features as he softly said, "I imagine that our daughter will look just like her mother; which means I will have my work cut out keeping all the boys away from her. I can tell you that I don’t look forward to that," he murmured lightly and then added more seriously, "– but if she has the same wisdom that her mother does; we will indeed be truly blessed."

"And if she is born with these?" Momiji asked in a hesitant voice, her hand touching his shirt, tracing the outline of one of the blue beads embedded in his chest.

Kusanagi caught Momiji’s hand, his intense gaze catching and holding hers.

"It’s better that she is born with them," he acquiesced with sincere conviction. "Our daughter should have the right to shape her own future without being used as a pawn in a war of races."

Momiji gave him a radiant smile, and he smiled back, grimacing a little as it crinkled the tender corner of his battered eye. Kusanagi immediately straightened up, not wanting Momiji to notice his reaction. Although he hadn’t meant it as one, their conversation about mitamas had served as a diversion, neatly sidetracking the issue of his eye. If he was lucky, he might be able pass the remainder of the night without having to tell her how it had gotten damaged and then by the time the sun rose, his eye would be completely back to normal; thus, furthering his chances of successfully evading the issue. That was if he was lucky; which, it appeared he was not. He realized with a sinking feeling that Momiji had indeed observed his discomfort.

"Let me get you some ice for your eye," she said, scooting towards the edge of the mattress so she could stand up. "It looks really bad."

"No, it’s fine, really," he told her quickly, waving away her concern.

Momiji laid the now sleeping baby in his crib before she answered, "No it’s not. It’s all bruised and swollen. Ice will help to bring down the inflammation," she informed him as she sailed through the doorway before he could offer any more protest.

While she was gone, Kusanagi had a quick debate with himself. What the hell was he going to tell her? he wondered uneasily. He could tell her that he’d fought the Tengugaki, which he had, while conveniently omitting the fact that it hadn’t hit him in the eye. His omission would spare her a lot of discomfort for the time being, but in the end, it would most likely backfire. Once they returned to Tokyo someone was bound to say something. Then, not only would she hear the whole tale and be unprepared for it, but she would also realize that he’d lied to her.

And Kusanagi had been with Momiji long enough to know that it wouldn’t matter to her that his lie had been told to try and spare her feelings. What would matter the most to her was knowing that he’d failed to be honest with her.

"No lies then," he murmured to himself with a heavy sigh.

When she came back, Kusanagi was sitting resolutely on the side of the bed waiting for her. He eyed the small bag of ice she was carrying, heartily wishing that it had been the Tengugaki that had punched him. Momiji held the ice out to him and he took it from her with a muttered thanks. Tilting his head back, he gently placed it against his eye and waited for the questions to start.

"Kusanagi," Momiji began, watching his face tighten as the cold bag touched his skin. "if Murakumo didn’t give you the black eye, then how did you get it?"

Momiji had expected the uncomfortable look to dissipate after he got used to the feel of the cold, but it didn’t. It remained steadfastly in place and if anything intensified with her question.

Kusanagi’s mouth hardened into a sour line. "That would be because of Sakura," he mumbled.

Somberly eyeing Momiji’s gaping expression, he removed the bad from his eye and rose from the bed. Prowling over to the window, he pushed the curtains aside and made a semblance of peering out into the darkness. But what he was really doing was wishing that he could avoid this entire discussion altogether.

"Sakura hit you?" Momiji asked incredulously from behind him.

"No, not exactly," he hedged, a thread of hostility running through his voice as he added, "But she definitely instigated it."

Kusanagi grimaced. He hadn’t meant it to sound so aggressive. Catching his reflection in the windowpane, he forced his features into a composed expression before turning back around to face Momiji. Propping his hip on the windowsill, he crossed his arms, the ice bag still clutched between his fingers.

"Sakura told someone to hit you?" Momiji’s eyebrows disappeared beneath her bangs. She knew that Sakura could be catty at times, but that seemed a little drastic - even for Sakura.

"That’s what it amounts to, basically… although, if you had been there, it might not have seemed that way." Kusanagi shifted, having trouble maintaining his impassive expression. To hide it, he repositioned the bag over his eye so that it covered half of his face.

Momiji watched him, getting the distinct impression that he was avoiding her gaze, and a vague feeling of apprehension began to wrap itself around her midsection.

"How would it have seemed if I had been there?" she asked warily.

Kusanagi shrugged, his gaze somewhere down around her knees. "I dunno," he mumbled vaguely in reply, "It’s not that important really."

"Oh, but I think it is," Momiji disagreed moving to stand right in front of him so he had to look at her. "Anything that results in you having a black eye cannot be considered unimportant. Did you get into an argument with Sakura? Is that what happened?"

"No." His response was distance as was his countenance.

"Did you insult her?" Momiji continued relentlessly.

"No," he repeated, a slight frown turning down the corners of his mouth.

"Then how is she responsible for your black eye?" Momiji asked, rapidly becoming exasperated with Kusanagi’s laconic replies.

"She just is," he maintained with stubborn reticence.

Momiji’s mouth tightened into a thin line and she spun on her heel and stalked away from him, going around the bed to where the phone was.

"What are you doing?" Kusanagi asked, watching as she picked it up.

"I’m going to call Kome," Momiji replied haughtily, her nose going into the air as she placed the receiver against her ear. "If Sakura was in the tunnels, then I’m sure that Kome was too. I’ll just call her and ask – gah!" Momiji broke off, making a frustrated noise as she realized that the phone was still unplugged from the night before.

Plunking it back onto its cradle, she directed a fulminating glance at Kusanagi and headed determinedly for the door. "I’ll just use the one in the living room instead," she muttered, but was brought up short as Kusanagi sprinted forward and impeded her progress.

"Isn’t it a bit late to make a social call?" He asked her in a smooth voice, placing his considerable bulk squarely in the middle of the doorway.

"This isn’t a social call," Momiji retorted, crossing her arms as she stared accusingly up at him. "I’m sure Kome will understand my concerns and relate to me what happened. - Since it seems your so determined to keep it a secret."

"It’s not that I don’t want to tell you, Princess," Kusanagi replied with a harried expression, "it’s just that once I tell you, I have a feeling that you’ll wish I hadn’t."

"How could you possibly know that?" she fumed, "I’m not the type of girl who buries her head in the sand, Kusanagi. And besides that, I hate it when you keep things from me!"

Kusanagi gave her a knowing look after which he threw up his hands and exclaimed, "All right, fine! I’ll tell you. - But don’t say I didn’t warn you!"

Stretching out his hands, he wrapped his fingers around the soft terrycloth of her robe. The ice bag made a soft, squishy noise as it hit her sleeve and he began pedaling her backwards toward the bed.

"I think you’ll want to be sitting down for this," he muttered, pushing her down until she was perched against the edge of the mattress. Bag still in hand, he crossed his arms and stood silently in front of her, giving her a seething look before he began his explanation. Finally, after a long pause in which Momiji desperately fought the impatient urge to prod him, he began.

"It happened after Murakumo left," he said. "I had just finished giving Kunikida a status report on the situation with Murakumo, and we - meaning myself along with the other TAC members - headed up the tunnel towards the train wreckage to help with the clean up and first aid there. Kunikida was in front with Ryoko; then it was Kome and Yaegashi, and then me, Sugishita and Sakura."

Kusanagi heaved a heavy sigh at this point, his gaze flickering watchfully across her face as he admitted, "In all honestly, Sakura probably thought that she was safe in saying the things she did; because otherwise, I doubt she would have said them –"

"What did she say?" Momiji asked when Kusanagi stopped abruptly, the suspense beginning to wear thin.

Kusanagi mentally cringed, recalling with appalling clarity Sakura’s words.

"Your aura has radically changed, Carrot Boy." She’d observed in a low tone, "I’ve never seen it like this before. It’s so damned bright! And your energies are so far off the charts, I’m surprised you haven’t burst into flame! "

Kusanagi had ignored her comments, stonily staring ahead into the darkness along the tunnel. But in retrospect, he should have trussed her up and tossed her in a ditch somewhere along the track to avoid what came out of her mouth next.

"– if I didn’t know any better, I would say all the signs point to the fact that you’ve gotten laid in the last twenty four hours! I take it congratulations are in order to you and Momiji? Way to go," she’d grinned slyly, adding as she’d nudged him in the ribs, "I hope she was worth the wait."

She’d taken pains to keep her voice down, but she might as well have shouted it for the galvanizing effect it had had.

"Sakura -" Kusanagi began, proceeding with painstaking slowness. He tried to discern the best way to soften what the brassy psychic had actually said, but then realized with chagrin, it was almost impossible to render her blatant sexual inquiry innocuous.

Clearing his throat, he did the best he could by saying, "- Sakura made a comment about a change she’d noticed in my aura." Attempting to keep his expression blank and his tone as even as possible, he continued to watch Momiji’s expression for any signs of danger as he muttered, "Because she’d noticed these… changes… … She wanted to know if they were, ah, the direct result of, ah, my having… slept with you."

Momiji tensed, disliking very much where this conversation was headed. She could now see why Kusanagi had been reluctant to talk to her about this. The grimness of his eyes told her that there was worse yet to come.

"W - what did you tell her?" she stuttered, unable to keep the tremor of foreboding from her voice.

"I didn’t tell her anything," Kusanagi replied flatly, "although if I’d had the chance, I probably would have told her to go to hell. But I didn’t even get to do that."

"Why is that?" Momiji asked.

"Because Kunikida has exceptionally good hearing for an old man, that’s why," Kusanagi replied.

Momiji’s eyes widened in horrified reaction and she moaned.

"Oh god." Clenching her hands together in her lap, she stared up into Kusanagi’s grim countenance. "Mr. Kunikida overheard her!?" she asked, praying he would deny it.

He didn’t.

"Yes." the word made Momiji cringe even more.

"What…what happened then?" Momiji’s question came wobbling out in a squeak.

Kusanagi’s lip curled in irony, and he deliberately put the slushy bag of ice up against his bruised eye leaving Momiji in little doubt as to what had happened next.

"At least he had the decency to confront me before he made me into a punching bag," Kusanagi told her.

Oh lord. Momiji’s body went cold and then hot.

"Kusanagi," she wheezed in hollow voice, "you didn’t - tell him that –" she stopped, dread stealing her voice away.

"Tell him that we’d slept together?" Kusanagi finished for her, the eyebrow over his one, undamaged eye soaring.

Kusanagi’s flat tone made Momiji’s face brighten and she clenched the lapels of her robe closer to her body as if trying to hide what she had done.

"Of course I didn’t tell him," he responded with a touch of asperity removing the bag from his now numb eye and tossing it on the bed.

"If you said no, then why would he hit you?" Momiji frowned in confusion.

"Because I didn’t say no," Kusanagi corrected, shaking his head at her. "I just didn’t say anything." And when he saw the look she gave him, he added mildly, "I wasn’t going to lie to him, Momiji. He is going to be my father-in-law – sort of…"

Momiji gave a little nod of understanding, although secretly, a part of her wished that he had lied. She found this whole situation completely mortifying.

"So," she breathed, "he took your silence as an admission of guilt?" Then Momiji gave a little hiccough of miserable laughter before answering her own question. "What am I saying? Of course he did. What other conclusion would he draw from it?" Momentarily dropping her face into her hands she moaned again and then said, "I take it that’s when he hit you? – With everyone standing there, watching, of course"

Er, well, he had a few - words - to say beforehand," Kusanagi explained, and then paused. "No wait… come to think of it, he was saying those as he hit me; so, technically, you’re correct."

Momiji bounced to her feet, pacing a little as she fidgeted with her robe, her belt and then the tail of her braid. Her restless footsteps carried her towards the window and she stopped to look out into the darkness, still swirling the tail of her braid round and round her finger. "How am I supposed to face him knowing that he knows…" her troubled words trailed off into a disconsolate silence and Kusanagi softly sighed.

He’d known it was going to be this way. Stealing up behind her, he gently tugged the thick rope of hair that she was toying with, slowly pulling it from her grasp to let it trail freely down her back. She looked over her shoulder then. The emerald eyes that met his were shadowed with such distress that he immediately reached out.

His arms encircled her and turned her around, pulling her into a comforting embrace. "It’s really not that bad, Princess," he murmured bracingly. "Once I told Kunikida that we’re getting married, he calmed down quite a bit. At that point, I think he even offered to brush away the dust while picking me up off the ground. Either that, or he was trying to get in a few extra whacks under the pretext of helping me."

His tone was blithe and airy as he tried to lighten her mood; but Momiji didn’t respond to it the way he’d hoped.

Instead she leaned heavily against him, her face burrowed into his chest and she plaintively cried his name.

"I’m teasing, sweetheart," he assured her with a brief squeeze, silently wishing he was better at offering her the comforting words she needed to hear. Drawing in a deep breath he said gently, "I know you didn’t want Kunikida to know, Momiji; but at this point, that can no longer be helped. I would’ve rather he hadn’t found out as well– since it would have saved me the misery of a sore eye. But, in all honesty, I don’t think he even realized he’d thrown the punch until I was lying on the ground. He looked completely shocked that his fist had actually made contact." Kusanagi chuckled a little in remembrance. "I would have to say, he was probably more surprised to see me lying in the dirt than I was to be there. But maybe that’s because he thought I would try to dodge him."

"And you didn’t?" Momiji mumbled the question into his chest.

"No."

"How come?" she asked after pondering it silently for a few moments.

"Because, he was furious with me, and, looking at it from his point of view, I felt he had every right to hit me. It’s his way of protecting you, you know," Kusanagi explained and then added, "– He told me when I first came to Izumo to, er, keep my hands off of you, so I can’t say he didn’t give me fair warning beforehand."

Momiji finally pulled her nose out of his shirt to tilt and inquisitive look at him. "I don’t recall him ever saying that."

"Well you wouldn’t," Kusanagi remarked with a hint of a smile. "He said it to me while you were in the hospital after your accident. But even if you had been there, Princess, I doubt he would have said it where you could have overheard it. He knows it would have embarrassed you. – Which is another reason why I think that he regrets what happened in the subway tunnel. He knows how your interfering friends from the TAC will be. They’re bound to put you under the spotlight over something like this. If he’d taken a moment to think things through, I doubt he would have made it such a public spectacle. But then, again, I don’t think his rationale had anything to do with his actions at all since, when it comes to you and your welfare, he is hardly a rational man." Kusanagi slanted a smile at her then. "- In case you haven’t noticed, that’s one trait I wholeheartedly share with him."

Momiji struggled to put the whole thing perspective, knowing that it was too late now to do anything about what had happened. "Well," she sighed in resignation, "At least most of the furor over all of this will have died down by the time we get back to Tokyo – "

Kusanagi cleared his throat, and Momiji immediately became alert when he shifted uncomfortably.

"I - don’t think that’s going to happen," he unwillingly observed.

"What?" Momiji asked disconcertedly. "Why not?" she demanded a little more tersely than she meant to and felt Kusanagi’s hand against the back of her head, pressing her face back into his shirt as if he was trying to cushion her from what he was about say.

"We have to return to Tokyo tomorrow," he said.

Momiji remained perfectly still for a moment, and Kusanagi wondered if she had heard him.

"Momiji," he called, but still she stood unmoving. He had to call her name several times before she finally reanimated, again pulling her head out of Kusanagi’s chest.

"No," she stammered in protest, her concern now focused more on what returning to Tokyo would mean for Noa more than it would mean for herself. "That can’t be right!" Her earnest green eyes tilted upwards and she said, "I thought Kunikida wanted Noa to stay here in Izumo."

"He changed his mind after he heard about Zan Kazai, the Sentinels, and your idea about the ceramics."

"Changed his mind!?" Momiji squeaked in alarm, taking a step away from him, "but, but…"

Kusanagi reached out and grasped her arm to keep her from retreating further as he explained, "Kunikida thinks your idea has exceptional merit, Momiji and he wants Ms. Matsudaira to begin working on the ceramics right away. Once they have a prototype, she’ll need to have access to Noa in order to test the ceramic’s efficacy at cloaking his energy from the Tengugaki."

Momiji bit her lip and reluctantly nodded and Kusanagi gave her an understanding look.

"Don’t worry, Momiji," he said reassuringly, "Noa will be just as safe in Tokyo as he is here - until the new moon that is – then; he won’t be safe anywhere, unless we have that ceramic field to protect him. Then, while you’re helping Ms. Matsudaira with the ceramics, I’ll be helping the TAC to track the Sentinels." He turned his face slightly away from her at this point, his skin crawling a little as he remembered the pounding sensation that had inundated him for the short time he’d been in Tokyo. And he wondered if he would be able to sleep at night once they returned there. "The city is overrunning with their energy, Momiji," he told her grimly, his face pulled into taut lines as he recalled the carnage in the subway. "If Tamanasu returns as Zan Kazai said he would, then I want to make certain that the rest of the Tengugaki have failed to build up their power. If Tamanasu doesn’t have any comrades to siphon energy from, then maybe it will be easier for us to take him down."

Kusanagi turned away from his dark musings to direct a searching gaze at Momiji. She was nodding in agreement to everything he said, but he got a glimpse of the dread shadowing her eyes before she glanced away. He was all too familiar with the fears she felt because they were the same as his own. If they should fail, the consequences were too terrifying to truly comprehend. But, he reminded himself, trying to shake the feeling of impending doom, not everything about the future was as bleak as it seemed. One other subject that he and Kunikida had discussed he had yet to tell Momiji about. Perhaps now would be a good time to do it.

"Momiji, there is one other thing that I need to tell you" he said softly, and Momiji tensed again, wondering what it could possibly be.

Stealing herself for more bad news, she took a deep breath and brought her gaze back to him.

"Kunikida would consider it a great honor if we were to marry at his home, Momiji. I told him I would have to discuss it with you, but I was thinking that, if it could be arranged, we could have the ceremony in a few days time – maybe at the end of this week."

Kusanagi was relieved to see the shadows recede as Momiji’s eyes brightened once again.

"Thought sounds wonderful," she smiled.

Kusanagi smiled too, but it quickly transformed into a wicked grin.

"I’m glad you don’t mind it being rushed," he told her, "since I don’t think my face can stand up to the rigorous pounding Kunikida would inflict for the constant changes that will undoubtedly be occurring to my aura."

Momiji’s eyes rounded, and she playfully jabbed him in the arm. "Kusanagi!" she exclaimed repressively and he chuckled. "Be serious, I’m sure Mr. Kunikida wouldn’t hit you again, even if your aura was flashing red white and blue, " she observed mildly, while her face filling with one of those colors.

Kusanagi raised a challenging eyebrow and whispered seductively, "Would you care to test that theory, Princess?"

Momiji leaned comfortably into his solidness, drawn by the intimacy in his eyes, but declined his offer.

"I think we should at least wait until this eye heals," she suggested with reluctance pointing to the vivid patch around his eye, "before we try and tempt fate again."

Kusanagi put his arm around her waist and heaved a martyred sigh as he led her back towards the bed. "I was afraid you were going to say that," he lamented teasingly as he helped her under the covers.

Removing his t-shirt he climbed into bed next to her. He turned on his side, flinging his arm over her hip and drew her back up against his chest. He relaxed, enjoying the soft feel of her flannel nightgown against his chest along with the nice curves that it hid with its deceptive volume. Ooh, how he itched to tempt fate, he mused, no matter how many bruises it would cost him. But it was too soon. Momiji’s body would need a chance to recover.

"Ah, Princess," he breathed, unable to keep his palm from appreciatively tracing the tempting curve of her hip before he made himself still its movements. "I know we’re waiting, but even so, remind me to stay away from Sakura until after we’re married. Her psychic abilities have definitely become a hazard to my health."

"You wouldn’t have to worry about her abilities if we decided to wait until after we’re married," she humorously pointed out.

"Unh-uh," he responded plaintively, his arm tightening around her. "I don’t want to do that – I don’t think I can do that."

Momiji gave a sleepy chuckle and wiggled closer to Kusanagi, ignoring his heartfelt groan.

"I don’t think I want to do it either," she admitted with a smile which stretched into a grin when he groaned again.

Laughing at his comic show of discomfort, she whispered, "Goodnight, Kusanagi."

E-MAIL: rurihoshi@mail.com