Haiku was a good cook. As good as himself, Kurama admitted
grudgingly as he sampled every dish. She had been almost a different person
once Shubata had joined them. Almost. She chatted and gave little fleeting
smiles as Shubata steered the conversation this way and that, flitting from
subject to subject like a butterfly.  He found out that she was taking
graduate courses in history and was a research assistant for the curator at
the local museum. Still, Kurama could feel that her good humor was forced.
The smiles never touched the hardness in her eyes and there was a tension
about her, as if her facade took some supreme effort to maintain.

	Shubata pulled him into a discussion about herbs and their healing
properties as they neared the end of the meal. The old man knew a lot about
Ningenkai plants and as their conversation progressed, he discovered that
Shubata had quite a background in healing. It was so fun to find someone
who actually wanted to talk plants. Yuusuke, Kuwabara and Hiei had never
really wanted to know about his tools. Their only interest being in how
long his concoctions and ointments would take to 'fix them up' so they
could fight some more. He was so engrossed that he didn't see the caution
come into Haiku's expression as he and Shubata started to exchange
formulas. He glanced up as she rose and started to gather dishes. He
started to rise, to help.

	"No, Shuichi. I will do it. Please, continue your discussion. It's
very interesting."

	Something in her tone made him focus sharply on her. He realized
that he had slipped and she had picked up on it, that she was becoming
suspicious. He knew it had taken a lifetime for Shubata to learn his skills
and here he was, an eighteen year old young man, making suggestions of what
to add to a hangover cure that would make it take effect faster.
Suggestions that had delighted Shubata and set him grinning with a, "Yes!
That would work, wouldn't it?"

	He would have to be more careful. He studied the Sensei as he
started to 'dumb' himself down with an inward sigh, looking to see if the
old one had seen it, or had been purposely leading him on into a trap.
Shubata seemed only happy to find someone to talk about his passion with.
There was no duplicity in his expression or tone. Kurama began to ask
questions of the Sensei and pretended to be surprised to hear the answers
as Haiku finished clearing the table and began to rattle around in the
kitchen. She brought out a tray with a new pot of tea and two small plates
with slices of cake and put it between them on the table.

	"Aren't you going to join us, Haiku?" Shubata asked plaintively.

	"No. I've got to watch this girlish figure, you know."

	Shubata gave her a scowl. "Feh. You forget. I've SEEN you eat!"

	That got a real smile from her. It was...like the sun peeking out
from behind the clouds on an overcast day. And gone just as quickly. Kurama
decided he was definitely going to find some way to make her smile more
often.

	"I need to get some work done anyway, so if you will excuse me?"

	Shubata waved her away with one hand and a playful pout as Kurama
nodded and wished he knew her well enough to know what to say that would
entice her to stay. He saw the Sensei's eyes follow her until she turned
into the hallway, saw the little troubled frown that touched his mouth and
the concern in his eyes. But it was hidden as quickly as Haiku's smile as
he turned his attention to the dessert and gestured for Kurama to pour him
some tea.

	Kurama started hunting information on Haiku as he poured for them
both. "Shubata-san, is Haiku your grand-daughter?"

	Shubata took a swallow of the tea. "No. Like you, she is my landlord."

	He took another bite of cake and motioned for Kurama to start on
his as he chewed, his eyes sparkling with amusement as Kurama worked over
that statement., confused. There was much more to it, he was sure of it.
Shubata finally relented after another sip of tea, his expression serious
for once.

	"They put the building on the market a while ago because I couldn't
pay the taxes on it. Haiku bought it and was kind enough not to throw an
old man with no family to take him in out onto the street. Though with all
the comings and goings and dust and noise of that first month, I was sorely
tempted to leave," he gave Kurama a wink.

	"But the end results were more than worth it. I now live in a
beautiful house with a remolded dojo and a wonderful woman who is a
daughter to me in everything but blood. I have been truly blessed by the
Gods, Shuichi-san," he finished with a soft smile.

	Kurama smiled and nodded back as his mind worked furiously. That
story just didn't add up to the hard exterior that Haiku had showed him.
But she was very different with Shubata. Why? A knock drew their attention
and a head peeked timidly over the edge of the stairway opening. Shubata
glanced up at the clock and clucked to himself. He waved at the boy and
quickly took the last bite of his cake as he rose.

	"Excuse me, Shuichi-san."

	Kurama rose and bowed as the old man hurried for the stairs. "Feel
free to watch the TV if you want. If you want music, you'll have to ask
Haiku. I'm afraid to touch the thing!"

	Kurama smiled to himself as Shubata's head disappeared. He finished
his dessert, then did those few dishes and worked on familiarizing himself
with the kitchen.


* * *

	Haiku slid the door to the studio shut behind her and wandered over
to lean her forehead against the glass of the window and stared at the
street dimming in the coming dusk. It always got worse at night. She
crossed her arms across her chest and grabbed her shoulders, needing a hug
that none of her ghosts were able to give as the despair wrapped itself
tighter around her, turning the ache in her heart that she couldn't get rid
of into a soft, sobbing keen. But she couldn't go home, couldn't loose
herself into the healing of her dreams yet. Not until Shubata died. That
had been her promise when she had thrown his life into such turmoil. And
she had come to love that old man dearly, would not forsake him.

	"So, who's dancing attendance on me tonight?" she asked the air
softly and winced inwardly at the bitterness in her voice.

	"Oh, Haiku. You are such a toad when you're like this!" a sweet
soprano whispered in her ear.

	Helena must have drawn the short straw tonight. She glanced
sideways at the brown-haired woman in roman garb.

	"Who did he see?"

	Helena frowned and didn't answer. She didn't have to. Ryoga. The
void opened up, trying to suck her down. They were all around her suddenly,
murmuring their love, their reassurances that it would get better, that it
would pass as stinging tears flooded her eyes.  Darius' rumbling bass rose
above the others.

	"Come home, Haiku. Stop doing this to yourself!"

	"I can't! I promised!" she hissed, fighting back the dark, the
hurt. "Just go away!"

	They left as quickly as they had appeared. All but Helena, who just
stood by her, offering the silent comfort of her presence. When it had
passed, she straightened and went to the easel, Helena walking soundlessly
behind her, and studied the roughed out image of Ryoga with a critical eye.
Well, she hadn't really liked where this painting was going anyway. She
should have known better than to try to do one of him this soon.

	Helena shook her head with a rueful smile as Haiku preempted the
suggestion they had all agreed upon and she had been asked to present
tonight. Haiku had already pried the top off a can of primer. She settled
on the high stool, then began to obliterate her work with deliberate
strokes of a wide paintbrush.


* * *

	Kurama lay on the futon in his new room and stared at the dark
beamed ceiling. He was tired, but sleep was eluding him. He rolled over
onto his stomach and winced a little as the necklace dug into his chest. He
slid his finger under the fine chair around his neck to pull out the tear
shaped gem in it's fine cage of five slender gold wires. The opalescence of
it caught the dim light and flared with fire colors. He gazed into it for a
moment, then wrapped the fingers of his right hand around it and rested his
chin on his hand. Memories of Hiei, of one hot summer night flew through
his mind. It had been the week that their team had split up. Yuusuke had
already left to take control of the territory he had inherited and learn
the 'joys' of ruling and Hiei had come to tell him that he had decided to
take up Mukuro's offer.

	It had just...happened. And Hiei had let it. He had hoped that Hiei
would stay with him. Would understand how much he loved him, needed him.
Yet in the morning when he woke up, Hiei was sitting next to him, dressed
and ready to go. He had opened is mouth to protest, to beg if that's what
it took. Hiei had leaned down before he could get any word out and stifled
them with a kiss as he pressed something into his hand.

	"Good-bye, Kurama," he had whispered in his ear, then he was gone.

	Gone and Kurama hadn't seen him since. But he had left this small
piece of himself behind. This tear. Kurama still worked for Konema as a
Spirit Detective, that being part of his parole agreement, and so would get
little snippets of news about Hiei when his boss was in a good mood, which
was becoming a rarer and rarer event. But it sounded like Hiei was
succeeding and happy. He was happy for him. He was...

	People were around him, murmuring softly. A lot of people. A part
of him said he was dreaming. Another part, an older part, informed him it
was much more. He studied them from under his eyelashes, recognized the
young man from this afternoon and strangely, five of the people from the
paintings in Haiku's library. The others he didn't know, but they were all
dressed in costumes from varying times in history.

	One of the men, dressed in renaissance clothing, came close and
looked down at him. "He's very beautiful. I hope Haiku uses him for a
model."

	"Is he the next one?" a female voice asked.

	"He can't be. He's not even human," a cranky male voice answered.

	Kurama tensed, on guard now.

	"He is! As human as you ever were!" another male voice answered.

	They started arguing about his humanity as he tried to form a
question and found that he couldn't talk.

	"Enough! You'll wake him up!" a bass cut through the voices and
silenced them. "Away. It doesn't matter. Haiku will not take another for a
while."

	The people winked out, leaving only one tall, lean, figure, his
brown hair and beard streaked with silver. He was dressed simply in a rough
spun brown fabric robe. Ice grey eyes stared at him and he knew this was
the owner of the bass voice that the others had obeyed. Then that figure
also blinked out of existence. He sat up, breathing hard, released from the
dream and fully awake. There was that same strange rei in the room. He ran
his fingers through his hair and wondered what the hell was going on.

to be continued...