Botan laughed at his tentative question. "Not unless I've wanted them to." When that answer failed to erase the Seishi's look of concern, she added seriously, "I won't let you fall, Amiboshi-san." The Reikai guide returned the flautist's gaze steadily, allowing him to see her sincerity.
He smiled slowly. "I trust you, Botan-chan."
"Well, climb on then!" she invited. A moment later, she inquired, "Oh, you don't mind heights, do you?" as they began to rise higher in the air.
"I've never minded them before." Amiboshi was slightly flustered. Where was he supposed to put his hands? The oar wasn't that big and he was finding it difficult to balance. How did Botan make it look so easy? Yet, there was no way that he would have given up this opportunity to get away and spend some time with this fascinating young woman, and if he had to deal with a little bit of discomfort, then so be it.
She noticed his dilemma and, blushing, suggested, "You can hold onto me if you need to."
The Seishi noticed the flush on her cheeks, but since he was feeling just as awkward, he couldn't bring himself to make a joke to lighten the atmosphere. "H...Hai, if you don't mind." Carefully placing his hands on the guide's hips, he marveled inwardly, I wanted to get to know her better, but this... Trying to take his mind off the situation and avoid contemplating how very good Botan looked in her outfit, the Seishi turned his attention to their surroundings. It was a beautiful day. The sky was a clear blue with only a few fluffy, white clouds interrupting it.
Botan flew over a grove of trees where brilliantly colored birds nested. Just as they were almost beyond the forest, however, a spine-tingling howl rose from the ground, and the birds erupted out of the trees in a panicked flurry.
"What's happening?" Amiboshi was becoming concerned. The birds were so agitated they weren't paying any attention to other creatures that might be in their path. If this kept up, they would probably collide.
"That howl--it was from a taromi. The birds recognized the sound and are trying to get away, but the creature's call has damaged their flight sense." Botan knew better than anyone just how dangerous it would be to lose control at this altitude. The birds' flight was so unpredictable that she couldn't pick a direction to avoid them, and some had flown above her, eliminating the option of simply going higher. She was forced to make constant twists and turns as she fought to avoid collision. But the taromi usually travels underground. Its hunger must have caused it to surface. We're lucky that we are in the air and it wasn't aiming at us.
The creature was especially feared among the residents of the Makai because of its voracious appetite and the ability to use its voice to paralyze victims. Without that ability, however, the taromi would never have a chance of catching its prey; it moved too slowly with its stubby legs to run down its dinner. While it did not feed often, when the taromi came aboveground in search of a meal, it left a path of carnage in its wake until it was satisfied and returned to its subterranean nest.
Amiboshi fumbled with one hand inside his tunic and pulled out his flute. Shimatta. To calm the birds I need both hands to play, but I'll lose my balance if I let go. Botan turned her head back and met his eyes just as they filled with the determination of his choice. I can't let anything happen to her. She's done so much for me and my brother. I *won't* let her be hurt! With that last thought, the Seishi let go of his companion and channeled all of his concentration into playing a soothing melody.
Just as he knew would happen, Amiboshi felt himself slip off the oar and begin to fall toward the ground that was so far below him. He winced as Botan cried out in horror, "Nooo!"
The Seishi sighed inwardly in relief as he noticed the birds begin to settle down and resume their perches, allowing Botan to fly safely once more. Yokatta. Amiboshi allowed his eyes to close as he calmly accepted his fate. After all, here in the Makai he was as real as its denizens, which meant that he could experience pain and even death. This time, however, his death--the destruction of his spirit--would be permanent, with no chance of reincarnation.
As soon as the air was clear once more, the blue-haired girl bent over her oar and dove toward her falling companion. The fall had happened so fast that she was left grasping air as she lunged to catch hold of him, and the precious moments that she had been forced to wait for the birds had seemed to last several lifetimes. Faster, faster, she chanted within her mind. I can't let him fall. I *promised*! The oar became a blur of motion as she hurtled toward him, refusing to believe that she wouldn't make it in time. "Amiboshi-san!"
The flautist's eyes snapped open at the emotional call of his name and widened as he saw Botan's desperate race to reach him. He reached out his hand, then glanced behind him at the fast-approaching ground. It would be close, but maybe she would reach him.
One incredible and dizzying loop later, Botan swooped under the Seishi and slipped her free arm around his torso as he reached out and wrapped his arms around her in a tight embrace. Part of the magic of the oar prevented the jarring thud of the his weight from greatly affecting its flight. Taking them a safe distance away from where the taromi was hunting, Botan concentrated on quickly bringing them to a halt a foot off the ground.
Letting go of the oar, she turned to hug the Seishi to her, completely oblivious to anything other than assuring herself that her companion was safe. The shock and adrenaline of the last few minutes left Botan drained and near tears. "Amiboshi-san, I'm so sorry. I promised you that I wouldn't let you fall, and then this happens." The stress of the situation finally overwhelmed her control and she started to cry.
Allowing himself to slip off the oar, Amiboshi tugged to bring Botan to stand next him. Taller by several inches, he cuddled the girl in his arms, allowing her to rest her cheek on his shoulder as he leaned his face against her hair. "Shh, daijoubu," he whispered softly. "I'm okay, we're safe now." Slowly he stroked his hand up and down her back, trying to comfort the badly shaken guide.
"Demo, if I had been a little more careful..." she hiccuped.
Amiboshi chuckled. "It still would have happened." He leaned back and tipped her chin up so that he could look into her sad eyes. "I have a habit of disregarding my personal safety in a crisis. Besides, I should be thanking you for saving me," he reminded her. The Seishi cupped her cheek in his hand and used his thumb to brush away a tear. "Thank you, Botan."
In that moment, she realized that this man would come to mean more to her than anyone ever had before...and the thought frightened her badly.
The subtle approach was *not* going to be effective.
Kurama sighed and absently laid out the papers he would need in a few hours for his evening class. He had mentally rehearsed his request a dozen times, building his arguments logically and attacking the possibilities from several angles, in an attempt to find a tactic that would make the conversation progress smoothly. In none of his envisioned scenarios, however, did he reach the end of his prepared statement before Hiei set the apartment on fire.
He firmed his jaw and pressed his lips together. The youkai wouldn't react well, no matter how he phrased it, but he had to try. The topic had to be broached. Whether Hiei agreed with or forbade the course of action, at least it wouldn't weigh down his conscience for the remainder of their life together.
So, subtle persuasion was out. What did that leave? "Do you want fish for supper? And by the way, I'd like to sleep with someone else, if that's all right with you..." He shook his head. It might almost be funny, if he weren't absolutely serious.
Any further contemplation was cut short as he felt his lifemate's dark youki draw near. "O-kaeri," he said, turning from his desk to see the familiar figure hop down from the sill and close the window behind him.
Hiei grunted a minimal response and started peeling off his clothes on the way to the bathroom. Whatever he had been up to, it had left him dusted with red-orange clay, turned to mud where it mixed with his sweat, and his hastily discarded shirt bore several gashes that would need mending.
While the youkai scrubbed away the worst of the rust-colored streaks, Kurama picked up the trail of clothing and dropped it in with the rest of the laundry. Hiei emerged from the bathroom, his warded bandages gleaming white against his skin, the crystal of his necklace glistening like the water droplets sprinkled across his neck and arms. He shrugged into a clean outfit practically identical to the first.
With that done, he paused to tilt his head at the fox. "What is it?"
Despite the many times he had practiced his speech, the words died in his throat under that blunt regard. This was going to hurt. A lot. And he wasn't sure which of them it was going to hurt more. "Hmm?" he murmured as he collected his thoughts.
"You're staring like I've been gone a week." Always one to get to the point, he reached out and ran a finger slowly down the youko's chest. "Do you want...?"
Kurama touched a hand to that of his lifemate, stilling it, and flashed a slightly regretful smile. "Always," he admitted. "But right now we need to talk." He looked away from the confusion in the other's face, taking in the walls and furnishings of their small bedroom. "Not in here," he amended. Neither of them would welcome the associations.
He led the way to the living area, the fire demon a noiseless shadow behind him, and sat on the edge of the couch. He fixed his gaze on his lap, knowing that if he looked up he wouldn't be able to start. "Hiei, what I'm about to ask--I don't want you to answer right away. Hear me out, think it through, come up with questions...take as long as you need. This concerns both of us." He risked lifting his eyes.
The youkai's expression remained vaguely puzzled, but he nodded his assent.
Kurama took a deep breath and expelled it, trying to release his tension. "I'd like to request your permission to have a child."
There, he'd said it. Hiei wasn't showing signs of exploding yet, but he was frowning slightly. After a moment's silence, he uttered a single, controlled word. "Nani?"
The redhead's heart sped up at the dangerous tone. This was his only opportunity to explain himself while they were both still reasonably calm. "I've had a very lucky life. I've survived centuries based on chance, skill, and good friends. However, someday that luck may run out." He leaned forward, clasping his hands between his knees. "I care for you too deeply to want you to wind up alone. If anything were to happen to me--"
"It won't."
"If it does," Kurama repeated more forcefully, "I want to leave part of myself behind, for you."
The youkai held up his right fist, the black dragon twining unseen around his forearm. "Nothing gets to you," he swore, "without taking my life first."
Kurama swallowed a groan of frustration at his lifemate's refusal to consider the possibility. He hadn't wanted to bring up the incident that had begun his introspection, but he saw no other way. "It isn't that simple. You can't always be there. You couldn't prevent what Seiryuu did to me." He struggled to keep his voice even. "If it hadn't been for Kaika, the god would have absorbed my soul, and I would be gone forever."
Hiei glared as if he wanted to hit something--or preferably someone. "He *what*?"
"I'm all right now," Kurama said reassuringly, although he wasn't certain he believed it himself. "But the experience serves as a warning. We can't necessarily choose our fates."
After a brief hesitation, the youkai twisted his mouth into his habitual smirk. "So, you had a close call. You got scared. Deal with it."
The fox surged to his feet, his anger flaring despite his best intentions. "Yes, I was scared!" He bit down on his lip, reliving the utter helplessness and desperation he had felt, trapped in the monster's belly, able to do no more than wait for the end. "...Not of death. I was terrified that my soul would be absorbed by Seiryuu and I would never see you again. But I was even more afraid that you would attempt to come after me."
"I stay with you *here*." Hiei made a derisive gesture at the apartment. "You think having a kid around would stop me from following you into hell?"
"I've watched you with Yukina. Family is special to you--probably more than you realize. This would be good for you."
"Hn." The fire demon clearly had little faith in that opinion. "And how would you have this child?"
As hard as it had been to reach this point, he knew it would be even more difficult to continue. He paused to allow his flush of anger to fade. There was only one answer, and though neither wanted to hear it, it had to be said. "In the usual way. I would find someone willing to be the mother and--"
"Break your vow?"
He fought the impulse to wince at the reminder. He was fully aware of what was at stake. "That's why I'm asking for your permission. If you won't give it..."
"I don't."
"...*After* listening to everything I have to say, then I'll abide by your decision. I won't push, and I won't bring it up again unless it's at your request. Besides, didn't we also agree to be honest with each other about our thoughts? This is important to me, Hiei. You can at least give it a fair chance."
The air around the smaller demon was becoming uncomfortably hot. If looks could kill, his youko lifemate would be skinned, spitted, and roasting his tails over an open flame. When he spoke, however, the words were drained of all emotion. "How would you...find someone?"
Kurama shrugged. "There are female youkai who would consider it a small price to pay, to have me." It wasn't a boast, it was the simple truth, particularly with the added incentive that the child would be taken off her hands before it became an inconvenient burden.
"Not to *have* you," Hiei corrected. "To use you."
If it made him feel better to acknowledge the superficial nature of the arrangement, the redhead wouldn't argue. He ceded the point with a nod.
"Tell me one thing, fox. Why should I care? If you bring home some stranger's brat, what makes you think I should have anything to do with it?"
It was the one aspect of the idea that Kurama completely regretted--any child of his would possess none of his lifemate's blood. Still, they could share in the raising of it, if not the creation. "Do you suppose the Seishi love their prince any less because his mother isn't one of the seven?" It had been Hoshi who had inspired him, the son not only of the emperor and his wife, but also of Nuriko by proxy.
Hiei opened his mouth to snarl out a response, then abruptly changed his mind and clamped down on whatever he had been about to say. He turned his back. "You were afraid of losing your soul." His forced neutrality couldn't hide the hurt in his voice from one who knew him so well. "Don't expect me to surrender mine."
In a swirl of black, he was gone.
Hiei stood on a branch at the top of a tree, gazing out over the human city with an expression of blank disdain. Occasionally a gust of winter wind would catch him, pressing his cloak tight against his body on one side and whipping it away from him on the other. The temperature didn't bother him, yet he was cold inside in a place no wind could ever touch.
He had failed.
The muscles in his arms knotted as he clenched his fists. He hated mistakes, detested weakness. Any slip, the smallest oversight, could spell death...or worse. That was why he strove to be the best and never relaxed his vigilance. Even so, it had not been enough. And this time, it had not been he who paid the price.
He had allowed himself to be distracted, and Kurama had nearly been destroyed.
A searing rage built in his chest, a fury aimed toward anything that would dare to harm his fox. It burned there, a primal fire that he refused to release, though it was agony to contain it. He welcomed the pain. He deserved it. And the heat of his anger was almost enough to reach the ice that trapped his heart.
He forced the thought aside. No. He wasn't ready to face that, not yet. With a violent shake of his head, he leapt from the branch, blurring to a new perch, then another, making his way across the city faster than any mortal eye could follow. He ran with no goal in mind other than to keep active, to focus on something besides the decision he would have to make.
Not yet.
Darkness fell as he circled the area. The stars shone dimly through wispy clouds, no match for the harsh glare of the humans' lights. He paused to catch his breath on a shadowed rooftop, feeling the first twinges of exhaustion but unwilling to return to the apartment to rest. He needed to be alone.
He despised failure in combat, but he could understand it. He could pinpoint cause and effect. If only he had stayed to fight with the others, if he had pitted his strength against the dragon, if he had protected that damn fool youko... Those were physical, concrete actions he could have taken. He could work out his frustration through just such physical acts as well, particularly if that entailed revenging himself upon the next unfortunate to threaten his lifemate.
It was the other, more abstract failure that he couldn't fathom. He could no longer provide what Kurama wanted, and there was no way for him to make up for the lack. Unless he let go.
He growled, expressing his distaste for that option in the most direct fashion. The fox was *his*. Forever.
He glared down at the street below, uncertain what to do. He wouldn't let anyone get her claws on Kurama, not even for a single, meaningless night, yet he couldn't stand to see his lifemate unhappy. If he flatly refused, as his instinct urged, how would it affect their relationship? If he gave in...?
A murderous gleam entered his eyes. There was no way for him to contemplate the matter rationally. He knew he would cheerfully rip the throat out of any woman who touched his youko. He didn't want to choose. He didn't want the choice to exist.
Why did that fox have to be so stubborn? Why couldn't he simply remain content? Did he have to pour so much of his heart into his pleading eyes and soft voice? How did he expect Hiei to be able to think straight after the issues stirred up at their confrontation?
Fed up with his useless musing, the fire demon vaulted into motion once again. This time, however, he had a destination planned. When it came to emotional problems, if he was in over his head, there was always one person willing to offer advice, someone he could trust with anything. It didn't happen frequently--he liked to keep his affairs private--but in this case, he didn't know where to *begin* devising a solution on his own.
It was a sign of how shaken he was that he had let his barriers slip, revealing enough of his turmoil that Yukina hurried outside to meet him, her concern already evident. Once he was in her presence, however, he didn't know what to say. He ached, he raged...he couldn't define what he felt. What right did he have to involve her in this?
She locked eyes with him, silently offering her assistance, no matter what the trouble. The chill wind toyed with her hair as she stood patiently, disturbing her even less than it had him.
"Is it betrayal?" he asked at last, his deep voice barely audible. "Is it betrayal, if I give my permission?"
"Tell me about it."
He did so, conveying the afternoon's conversation as efficiently as he could. He had tried several times to put a stop to it then, hoping that if he interrupted the flow of words, the youko would finally give up; he didn't like it any better coming from his own mouth. When he finished, he looked away. "Stupid fox." For the first time in a long while, the phrase held no hint of affection.
Her touch was a gentle snowflake on his arm. "Did you ever want to have a baby?"
"No."
"Have you ever thought about it?"
"No."
"Why not?"
He turned back and attempted to glare at her, but he couldn't maintain it in the face of her well-intentioned curiosity. "Because it's not possible." He had never been interested in becoming intimate with anyone other than his lifemate.
She gave him a pleased smile. "I like to think about the impossible," she said, as though she were sharing a delightful secret. "It was impossible that I should find my brother, alive and strong."
He frowned. "That's..." He would have said "foolish," but it wasn't, not for her. She had believed in him. Despite everything, she had never lost hope. "...Different," he concluded. "What Kurama asked to do--"
"Forget that for now."
"What?" He stared at her, wondering how much of the situation she understood.
"First, think of the goal. Then you will know what it's worth to you to reach it."
He hunched his shoulders, reluctantly considering. He had never pictured himself as a father. His life hadn't exactly been conducive to thoughts of domesticity. He had no frame of reference for what a normal childhood should be like--what would he do with a kid if he had one?
He tried to ignore the memory of trusting arms wrapping around him, a small body settling onto his lap to hear a story. He snorted, disgusted at himself. The royal brat had caused all this; now was *not* the time to be thinking of him in such a light.
He had always hated constraints on his freedom, and that was precisely what a baby would be. He had already given up a great deal to stay with Kurama in the Ningenkai...although what he received in return, a partner he could count on, more than made up for the reduction in his anchorless wandering. There were rewards he had never imagined before meeting the youko. Might there exist just such unanticipated benefits from putting time and energy into a child? Was that what Kurama had been hoping for when he had devised his plan?
The fire demon pondered his unpredictable, frustrating lifemate. He didn't doubt the other's loyalty. He knew this wasn't an elaborate excuse to find another lover. He realized that the offer was made out of caring and concern, that the youko wanted to share himself in a new way.
Even so, acceptance wouldn't come any more easily.
A glance at his twin showed that she remained calmly optimistic. He focused once again on her advice. What *was* his goal in this case? To have a child? No, that was merely the means by which Kurama intended to obtain...immortality, of sorts. More specifically, a continuance of the bond between them, beyond their individual lifetimes.
The next question must be, what was that bond worth to him?
Everything.