[FFML] [Haruhi] [Dark] Error in Calculation: Chapter Four

[Brian Randall]

     Error in Calculation

     Chapter Four: The Third Afternoon

    	A 'Melancholy of Suzumiya Haruhi' fanfiction.

	Disclaimer: The novel 'Suzumiya Haruhi no Yuutsu'/'The Melancholy of
Suzumiya Haruhi' is the creation of Nagaru Tanigawa.  No disrespect is
intended by the posting of this fanfiction, as I do not own the
characters or settings involved.  I'm merely dabbling with another set
of paints.  ;)

     Additionally, a character or two is borrowed from Higurashi,
which is the creation of Ryukishi07, but don't read too much into
that.

     Note: Yeah, you know exactly how this chapter was going to open.
I'm not fooling anyone. :)
	---------------------------------
     Ryouko's eyes opened, and she frowned suddenly.  "Oh?" she asked.
 "How...?"

     Haruhi's hands suddenly broke free of whatever force was holding
them in place, latching onto Ryouko's extended wrist.  "I'm sorry,"
Haruhi said, her voice genial, strangely apologetic.  "I'm used to a
much more passive role than this."

     Ryouko blinked twice, then struggled to break free of the other
girl's grip.  If he could have moved, Oishi would have dropped his
jaw, despite the bleeding wound in his gut.  How was it possible for
the girl to ignore the wound in her chest?

     A bizarre tessellation of geometric patterns shot across the
ground from beneath Haruhi, scribing strange shapes that Oishi
couldn't identify as they rapidly encompassed a large portion of the
hallway, rising into the air and describing a rectangular prism.  His
stasis broke as a hand hauled him backward, dropping him roughly in a
sitting position.

     He grunted in pain as Nagato Yuki turned towards him, briefly
spitting out a string of compacted gibberish before the pain of his
wound vanished.  "Stay still," she said in her quiet monotone.

     Too stunned to do anything else, Oishi could only stare as the
small girl stalked forward, suddenly thrusting her hands, knife-like,
into Asakura Ryouko's back.  Asakura didn't seem to feel pain despite
the blood that sprayed across the strange walls around them, and her
smile lessened only slightly.

     "I didn't think you would both become involved," she said, a
trace of resignation in her voice.  "I had prepared for one of you,
but not an alliance.  Even so, I did well trying, didn't I?"

     "No," Haruhi said, shaking her head slowly, before her image
wavered, distorted.  The knife in her chest dissolved into flakes of
white nothingness, melting like snow, and her wounds vanished.  Where
Haruhi had been moments before, Kimidori Emiri lay in the same
position, still gripping Ryouko's wrist.  "You have no understanding
of negative emotions."

     "I thought it would be a detriment to be subject to such things,"
Asakura said, her smile carrying into her voice.  "But, that's okay!
I acted as a catalyst!  Even if it's not much, at least I caused some
change!"

     "We will know why you chose to terminate the observation
subject's primary life form of interest," Emiri said clearly, her pale
green eyes locked on Ryouko's.

     "I really don't understand the organic concept of death," Ryouko
said, shaking her head minutely in apology.  "I just wanted to see a
change; I'd gotten bored observing a static subject."

     Nagato spat out another string of gibberish and removed her hands
from Ryouko's body, which healed itself as Oishi stared, dumbfounded.
"All of your accesses are sealed," Nagato informed the girl quietly.
"With the consensus lost, you are confined to your organic being."

     Kimidori Emiri produced a smoother string of gibberish, releasing
Asakura's hands and adding, "All data manipulation is blocked to you,
and your countermeasures and backup protocols have been disabled."

     Asakura stood up straight, frowning as her hands felt her body,
patting her stomach, then reaching behind herself to touch her back
curiously.  Emiri climbed to her feet.  "I don't really understand,"
Ryouko said again, examining her fingertips closely, turning her hand
over.  She studied her fingernails with consternation.  "Is this the
concept of irony?  I don't see how it applies to us, anyway."

     "I will show you," Nagato Yuki whispered, producing a knife
identical to the one Asakura had previously used.

     "Nagato-san!" Oishi protested, trying to climb to his feet, but
too slow -- the schoolgirl plunged the knife into Asakura's abdomen --
the same place that Asakura had stabbed him ... and Kyon.

     Asakura allowed a shocked, amazed sound to escape her throat,
eyes widening as she stared at the knife.  "It's incredible!" she
choked out.  "I never knew....  Aaah!  Is this fear?  Amazing!  And
organic life forms ... alway experience this?"  Somehow, Asakura found
it within herself to smile again, even as she sank to her knees.  "It
hurts!"

     "This injury is not even lethal," Emiri noted.  "With medical
help, your life could be saved."

     Asakura turned her gaze upwards.  "It's too much!  How can they
withstand this?" she asked, tears shining in her eyes.

     Nagato trembled slightly, a tremor running from her feet upwards,
until her hands shook.  Her voice was harsh, a sudden departure from
her almost constant monotone.  "Did you enjoy making Kyon experience
this?" she asked.

     More tears flowed.  "I never knew," Ryouko murmured again.  "Ah!
I wanted something interesting to happen!"

     On his feet again, Oishi couldn't make himself take a step
forward.  There was no mysterious force binding him in place, but he
couldn't believe what he was seeing, didn't think they would tolerate
his interference.

     "I hope this experience is suitably unique," Nagato said softly,
tearing the knife free, then slamming it home in Ryouko's stomach two
more times in rapid succession.

     "Nagato," Emiri said slowly, ignoring Ryouko's form as it
collapsed to the ground, the girl curling around her injuries, sobbing
and laughing at the same time.

     Yuki raised her hands slowly, palms up beneath her face.  Oishi
stared, seeing crystalline tears splash down the normally impassive
girl's face, landing in her cupped hands.  The blood on her palms
mixed with her tears, creating a bizarre mosaic.  "I don't understand
this," she said softly.  "Am I in error?"

     "You chose to be subject to emotions because that is what your
faction feels is the right thing," Emiri answered, and for once, Oishi
didn't feel that 'too calculated' tone in her sympathetic voice.  "And
you must, too.  But we don't choose _why_ and _how_ we feel, if we
choose to feel.  We simply feel.  That's genuine, not simple
emulation.  If we cannot accept both good and bad, we don't accept the
experience and cannot observe it in its entirety."

     "Which of us," Ryouko gurgled out, giggling and crying together,
"is hurt more?!  Ah!  This irony!  This agonizing, beautiful-"

     She silenced abruptly as Emiri leaned over and pressed a
fingertip against her head.  Then Emiri straightened and embraced
Nagato, and the smaller girl leaned into Emiri the tiniest amount.
"He took me to the library," she said, her soft voice quavering in
minute awe and uncertainty.  "I would like ... to go again."

     "What..." Oishi began.  "I don't....  I don't understand."

     Emiri shook her head softly, raising her gaze to meet the
detective's.  "We don't have much time," she said apologetically.
"And there is much we cannot explain."

     The tessellated geometric patterns surrounding them in a strange
prison suddenly contracted, drawing into Ryouko's body.  Nagato broke
free of Emiri's embrace, and reached -- somehow -- into the still
girl's body.  But this time, there was no spray of blood, and her
hands emerged clutching a sparkling, shimmering strand of _something_
that hurt Oishi's eyes to look at directly.

     "I'd like a good explanation," Oishi snarled.  "That ... thing
... whatever it is, assaulted my assistant!  She tried to kill
Aida-chan!  Hell, if I understand this at all, she _did_ kill Kyon!"

     Ryouko's body suddenly rose, visibly unmarred, though her eyes
were closed, as though in sleep.  Oishi couldn't help but flinch when
she dashed past him almost faster than he could blink, stopping at the
elevator entrance and turning around.  Eyes still closed, Ryouko
charged down the hallway towards Oishi at a more sedate, human pace,
then crashed through one of the windows lining the hallway, tumbling
into the dim, rainy day.

     His jaw hung slack until he heard the sickening, moist impact.  "What...."

     "In the struggle," Nagato Yuki said, seeming to be in control of
her emotions once more, "it is obvious that she fell through the
window and landed badly."

     "Indeed," Emiri agreed.  "It is unfortunate.  Thankfully, you
were able to protect Suzumiya Haruhi."

     Oishi's eyes flickered between the two girls.  "This isn't over,"
he warned, shaking his head.

     "Be reasonable," Emiri said peaceably.  "We are not opposed.  Our
goals do not run counter to one-another."

     "Goals," Oishi said, latching onto that word and collecting his
sidearm.  He checked the spent clip, and was not surprised to see the
missing bullets replaced.  He doubted they would do anything to the
girls anyway.  Thumbing the safety on, he thrust it back into its
holster.  "Fine, what is it you're trying to do here?"

     "Asakura Ryouko was a rogue element," Nagato answered.  "The
damage she has caused must be reversed."

     "Y...you mean ... you can bring back the people she killed?"

     "That is impossible," Nagato answered.

     "For us," Emiri added.  "We require Asahina Mikuru.  Beyond that
our immediate goal is keeping Suzumiya Haruhi safe from harm.  It is
of the utmost importance that she be made as physically and
emotionally comfortable as possible."

     "Or what?" Oishi asked, turning his back on the girls and leaning
through the  broken glass window that Ryouko had crashed through.  If
they wanted to kill him, they could, he realized with resignation, one
hand going to the now-healed stab wound that Asakura had given him.
There wasn't even a remaining cut or stain on his shirt.  Her body was
limp below, ringed with shards of the shattered window, and the heavy
rain washed the blood seeping from her body into grim crimson halo.

     "We believe that within the next forty-eight hours, possibly less
if Suzumiya Haruhi is made uncomfortable, that this world will be
destroyed."

     Oishi gazed at the street below, his eyes not really following as
a half-dozen patrol cars screeched to a halt in the parking lot around
Ryouko's body.  "Fuck it," he decided.  "Alright.  I'll believe you.
I think I might believe anything, now.  But in order to get this by my
superiors, I need Suzumiya Haruhi -- or someone who can pass as her --
to come in with me to give a statement."

     He glanced back, unsurprised to see Emiri's features shifting
back into Haruhi's as he watched.  Nagato Yuki had already vanished,
presumably doing ... whatever it was that they needed done to the real
Haruhi.

     "Additional, I'm going to need to bring someone else from my
office in on this."

     "Within reason," 'Haruhi' told him, neither nodding nor shaking
her head.  "We are not here to perform miracles casually, and our
presence must be kept secret.  Please remember that we chose to reveal
ourselves to you here; had we wished, you would not have discovered
us."

     Oishi just shook his head and sighed again, as Akasaka burst into
view, charging down the hallway from the fire escape, stun-gun in
hand, a dozen uniformed officers behind him.

     ***

     Alone in the club room, Haruhi stared across the top of the
computer monitor.  A board was sitting at the table -- Kyon and
Koizumi playing Othello, again, probably.  The pieces were set out, as
though it had stopped mid-game, and the two had just stepped outside
for a moment.  Steaming teacups in each of their places reinforced the
image.

     A book sat on Nagato's seat, 'Paradise Lost', a bookmark sticking
out from somewhere near the end.  She startled when the door suddenly
opened, Nagato Yuki entering, then shutting it behind her.  "How are
you here?" Haruhi asked, as Nagato took her seat, setting the book in
her lap without opening it, her eyes fixed on Haruhi.

     "Anything can happen in a dream," Nagato answered after a moment.

     "Well, I was pretty sure it was a dream," Haruhi admitted,
sighing, turning to stare at Kyon's empty seat.  "You using so many
words gives it away for sure."

     "Even so, in human psychology, dreams may have significance,"
Nagato returned.

     "What's this one about?  I don't get it ... why do I dream about
Kyon being gone?  I want to dream about him being _back_!"

     "Yes," the spectacled girl agreed.  "He should come back."

     "And why do I feel so numb?" she sighed, folding her arms on the
desk in front of her, resting her head atop them.  "I should be angry
... or sad.  All I feel is ... empty.  Like someone managed to turn my
emotions off."  After a moment, she added, "I guess that's not true.
I still feel sad.  But I thought I should feel more."

     "Dreams allow you to reconcile known facts with theorized
possibilities," Nagato said after a moment.  "If you wished for
something to change, could it not appear in the dream?"

     Haruhi sat up and stared at the other girl, who merely stared
back, reacting only to push up her glasses when they slipped.
"Right," she decided, turning to focus her gaze on Kyon's empty seat.
"Kyon-thoughts," she mumbled.  "Warm, fuzzy, Kyon-thoughts."

     There was a ripple in the color and texture of the dream, and
from nothing, Kyon was suddenly sitting in the seat at the othello
board, looking at her with shining eyes.  "Haru-chan," he said in a
deep, romantic voice.  "I love you!"

     She sighed, shaking her head, and Kyon vanished.  "But that's not
true," she grumbled.  "Kyon wouldn't do that.  Stupid idiot only likes
Mikuru."

     Another image of Kyon formed, this one irate, arms crossed over
his chest.  "Who are you calling stupid, you insane moron?" he
snarled.  "You're the one fixated on impossible things!  Why wouldn't
I prefer a big-chested airhead?"

     Haruhi giggled, feeling something crash through those strange
emotional barriers, tears filling her eyes.  "That's wrong, too," she
choked out, as the momentary hilarity fled her.

     Nagato was at her side, one tiny palm against the small of
Haruhi's back.  "I am here," she said.

     "I guess that's what this dream is about?  I can't have Kyon, but
at least I have friends?"

     "It is complicated," Nagato said after a thoughtful moment, her
unblinking eyes fixed on Haruhi.  "I am sympathetic to you."

     "What, even though you never say anything, you feel the same
way?"  Haruhi sighed, shaking her head.  "You liked Kyon, too, I
guess?"

     Nagato didn't respond for a long moment, then she nodded, very
slightly.  "Yes."

     Haruhi grimaced, shaking her head again.  "I don't know if I like
this dream."

     "I am sorry.  What would you like?"

     Haruhi blinked, turning a quizzical glance at Yuki.  "Are you for real?"

     Nagato's stoic silence returned.

     "Eh ... my own imagination," Haruhi sighed.  "I want Kyon back.
But I don't want to see Kyon in a dream, and wake up to realize it's
_just_ a dream."

     "I see."

     "But you can't bring people back from the dead ... can you?  You
probably know the science stuff better than I do.  Or, hell, I know
for sure you follow sci-fi better.  What does speculative fiction tell
us can be done?"

     Nagato answered without hesitation, "Scenario one: In
contemporary human sciences, reductionism records the human mind as a
series of electro-chemical impulses across the brain.  These can then
be broken into chemical and electrical packages, explained by
chemistry, and then physics.  However, it is commonly accepted that
despite this, there is no sufficient technology on earth capable of
rendering a functioning mind from the available data of those parts."

     "Uh ... so ... the whole is more than the sum of its parts,
right?  Aristotle in the Metaphysics?"

     Nagato nodded.  "That is the general principle of holism.
Therefore, a holistic wavefront would be a more accurate
representation of human consciousness."

     "So, we're all formulae?  And if we could get the precise formula
for Kyon, we could recreate him?" Haruhi asked, raising an eyebrow.

     "Your own consciousness would not be able to contain that data."

     "Yeah, you're right," Haruhi mused, frowning.  "After all, if I
tried, it would merge with the holistic wavefront that represents
_me_, right?"

     Nagato's nod, again.

     "So, first of all, I'd have to get his formula, anyway."

     "If such an observation existed, accurate to the moment when his
consciousness ceased, it would be recorded as a static value," Nagato
added.  "The wavefront both changes via observation, and is in a
constant state of flux while consciousness is active."

     "Something really complex, like a Fourier transform on the
standing wavefront?"

     Nagato blinked several times.  "Much more complex," she finally answered.

     "Bleah," Haruhi grumbled, tilting her head to one side.  "That's
too bad.  I might be able to figure out a Fourier transform or two.
Ugh, what kind of messed up life do I have to dream about this as a
coping mechanism?"

     "Your own wavefront would be modified by proximity to those
wavefronts around you," Nagato noted.  "Various overlaps, collisions,
amplifying elements, converging elements-"

     "Right, right," Haruhi sighed.  "Heisenberg and Schroedinger.
The mere act of observation affects changes; until something is
observed it's a series of multiple probability waves.  Only when
observed do they actualize into reality.  Okay, so it's way too much
math and science for our mortal minds to calculate.  You said scenario
one, though, so what's scenario two?"

     "Scenario two: time travel," Nagato answered.

     "That's refreshing," Haruhi mused after a moment, sitting up
straight again.  "Better than the wall of metaphysics.  Except that it
poses a whole new and different series of physics issues, to say
nothing of paradoxes.  I suppose we could go back in time, to when
Kyon was....  A...anyway, we could swap him out for a clone, so that
our comprehension of reality was unchanged."  In a slightly different
tone, she added, "I really liked that game.  It was kind of old, but
still a ton of fun.  I think Kyon would have liked it, too."

     Nagato continued staring, unblinking.

     "But that probably won't work," Haruhi continued, shaking her
head, "unless you buy into the divergent time-line theory, in which
case time travel isn't really time travel, it's dimensional travel to
alternate, yet similar realities.  If reality supports anything other
than a stable time-loop, that's what it'd have to be."

     "A stable time-loop reality would also necessitate predetermination."

     "I could deal with Kyon being predetermined to live."

     Nagato nodded faintly.  "Scenario three: A being of sufficient
power to recreate reality."

     "I wish," Haruhi mumbled, tears springing to her eyes.  "But
there isn't such a thing."

     "Power does not infer capability.  Assume that I had the ability
to record a holistic standing wavefront, and also had obtained a
recorded model of the wavefront that represents ... him.  Even with
that data, I could not perform reassembly and expect satisfactory
reintegration with our reality."

     "Okay, dream-Yuki," Haruhi said, shaking her head.  "You have a
magical computer brain that can fit all that stuff and you can do the
formulas in your head.  Can you travel through time?  Can you reshape
reality?"

     "We are searching for a time traveler," Nagato answered.  "When
we acquire the ability to alter temporal reality, we will become more
aware of its limitations."

     "The reality reshaping is still a problem."

     "Yes.  Therefore, I am closely recording your own holistic
standing wavefront."

     "What, I can reshape reality?" Haruhi asked, snorting.  "If I
could, then--  No, wait.  You're right.  Of course I can; this is a
dream.  Okay, so I can reshape reality.  And you can learn how to do
it by watching me?"

     Nagato's head shook.  "Two issues arise.  Firstly, what I ... am
is not capable of creating an imago that does not already exist within
this reality.  Direct control over your power would destroy the very
thing ... I hope to find.  Secondly, through a functional mechanic of
quantum stability, this power is unique.  It cannot be copied."

     "So I would die if I gave it up?"

     "Negative.  The power is not inherently a function of your
wellbeing or stability, though those things would naturally effect
your power."

     "Yeah, sure, logic follows.  My waveform changes, the way my
power works is altered."  Haruhi allowed herself a single, somewhat
bitter laugh.  The science fiction conjecture of her dream did at
least allow her to escape the grim reality she actually lived in,
without being as insipid as _actually_ dreaming of Kyon.  "Okay, so I
give you the power, but we still can't time travel to go back and fix
things, paradox free."

     "Worry only about giving me permission," Nagato replied.  "Your
power will be returned to you after this is accomplished."

     "Super magical computer girl Nagato Yuki, here to save the day
with the power of heart," Haruhi mumbled, frowning.  "How does this
work?"

     Nagato hesitated, her mouth open as though to speak before she
thought better of it.  After a long minute of further, abortive
gestures, she finally said, "It is difficult to explain.  I must ask
you ... to bet on me."

     "What the hell," Haruhi said, smiling sadly.  "You got it.  If I
can't trust you in a dream, I'm more messed up than I thought."

     "I require your trust in the waking world," Nagato added.  "Even
if I cannot explain these things there.  I also would request your
permission to erase your memories concerning this reality and the
events that have happened here, should our attempt to repair it be
successful."

     Haruhi frowned, turning to stare at Kyon's chair.  The cup of tea
at his seat still steamed.  "I'll believe in you," she said quietly.
"I guess I couldn't really remember all of this, or else I'd really
freak Kyon out by...."  She swallowed, feeling her cheeks warm up.
"But, anyway, if you're a magical computer girl time traveler or
whatever, and you do it ... you go back in time and fix this ... I
want you to promise me that you use those powers to make sure Kyon's
happy, no matter what."

     "I will," Nagato replied instantly.  At Haruhi's questioning
glance, Nagato finally broke eye contact, staring towards Kyon's empty
seat.  "I promise.  Your permissions have been acknowledged."  Then
she hesitated, turning back to look at Haruhi slowly as she added,
"Thank you."

     "Maybe this dream isn't so bad," Haruhi said, before everything
faded away to comforting darkness, as she had the vague impression of
Nagato leaning towards her.

     ***

     After spending a few hours eliminating some of the Shinjin with
the Russian, but unable to collapse the closed space, Itsuki was
relieved to see another pair of crimson orbs streaking towards the
remains of the currently collapsing giant.  There wasn't much point to
comparing their powers directly -- they were more-or-less the same
powers, after all.  But the Russian seemed tireless, and Itsuki's
strength was waning.

     Landing on a skyscraper rooftop, he watched the orbs streak in,
light vanishing and revealing the pale man who spoke poor Japanese,
and the Caucasian woman who was flawless at it.  "Greetings," she
said, nodding at Itsuki and the Russian.  "May I ask for clarification
on what happened this morning?"

     "I haven't observed Suzumiya directly since before Kyon was
killed," Itsuki answered, shaking his head.  "But I believe that she
knows he's dead, now, where she only suspected, before."

     The pale man jabbered for a minute, something Itsuki could only
pick occasional words out of -- meaningless pronouns -- before
stuttering, stumbling over one specific set of syllables: "To-- Soo...
 TSU...ru...ya," he finally managed, glancing at the woman next to him
for clarification.

     She furrowed her brow, turning back to Itsuki to say, "Ah ... he
says his handler let him know that the Organization -- or at least,
parts of it, have had a recent altercation somewhere here, in
Nishinomiya with the Tsuruya family."

     "This family, they have time traveler?" the Russian asked,
stroking his chin thoughtfully.

     "Maybe," Itsuki allowed.  "Ah ... my handler also mentioned that
she might stay with Tsuruya, but if she had, the Organization would
not have had much trouble getting in and capturing her."

     "What about when the Organization was fractured?" the woman
asked.  "It would presumably be much harder to rally forces for such
an effort, then, if there was intense infighting and no alliances
could be certain."

     "Well ... how recent is this information?"

     The man answered in English, "Two days ago."

     "If ... someone knew what was happening, or maybe someone tried
to capture her for use as a trump card to manipulate the others,"
Itsuki conjectured, "then maybe that's it.  Whoever's got the greatest
power base has it because they're holding her.  That means we have to
get a hold of her as quickly as possible."

     "Strongly agree," the Russian said.  "But is late, and am very
tired.  Vill sleep, then fight some more."

     The woman shook her head.  "In any case, no matter what we do, we
know how upset she is.  We know that there's going to be a lot more
closed space.  It's unfortunate, but ... I don't think we'll be able
to stop it.  Only delay it."

     "We have to buy enough time to get to the time traveler," Itsuki
said back, shaking his head.  "It's the only answer I can see."

     "Yes," the pale man agreed.  "Good ... luck."

     "Thank you," Itsuki replied, bowing to his colleagues.  "I'm
going to see if I can get any more information from my handler."

     The others bowed back, even the Russian, after a moment.

     Flying back to the apartment, he noted with wry amusement that he
had carelessly barreled through the balcony door on his way out,
leaving a twisted, shattered remnant of it behind.  He flew through
the gap, then landed on the floor and crossed back to real space.

     Arakawa's eyes flashed to him, one hand going to the knife
concealed in his jacket before he relaxed, nodding.  "Welcome home,"
he said.

     "Thanks," Itsuki replied, frowning, looking around.  "Is Mori out?"

     "Shopping," Arakawa replied, adjusting the dial of his radio.
"Another update on Asakura Ryouko."

     "Yeah?"

     "After killing a detective in the interview room she was in, she
decided to try killing Suzumiya-san.  The lead detective on the case
was bringing Suzumiya-san into protective custody, and ended up
struggling with Asakura.  Somehow ... in the fight, Ryouko crashed
through a window and fell seven stories, dying on the scene."

     "So .. she probably wasn't a TFEI?" Itsuki asked, frowning.

     "We can't know that for certain."

     Both of them spun as the lock turned, and the door swung open.
Mori stepped in, carrying a plastic grocery bag, and quickly shut the
door behind her.

     She was wearing a nondescript outfit, and had her hair up in a
bun, along with a pair of thick looking glasses.  She smiled, some
tension seeming to fade from her when she saw Itsuki, and all three
relaxed together.  "Welcome home," she said, kicking her shoes off and
removing the glasses.  "I'll make something for us to eat."

     "No," Arakawa said, standing and stretching his back, grimacing
as it popped.  "I'll take a turn.  You rest."

     "Thank you," Mori allowed, as the older man took the grocery bag
and stepped into the kitchen.  "Koizumi-kun, has Arakawa updated you?"

     "Yeah," Itsuki allowed, collapsing into a seat on the couch.
"About Ryouko, anyway.  What about Suzumiya?"

     "She's in protective custody," Mori answered with a frown,
smoothing her skirt out and sitting next to him.  "The police have
her."

     Itsuki draped a hand across his eyes.  "Any good news?"

     "The detective she killed was Mizuno Aida, an Organization plant
that wasn't allied with us.  For what that's worth."

     "And Suzumiya-san's not surrounded by TFEIs," Itsuki mused,
straightening suddenly.  "Keeping Suzumiya-san safe is still a
priority.  Do we know that she'll be safe in police custody?"

     "Perhaps, and perhaps not," Mori answered, grimacing.  "We don't
have the manpower or connections to try and collect her ourselves."

     "Protective custody ... do we know where?"

     "Well, for now she's at the station house, but at some point
later this evening, or tonight, she'll be transfered.  Unless Tamaru
gets assigned to watch her, he won't know where."

     "Hmm," Itsuki mused, pursing his lips.  "I didn't want to risk
it, but....  For Suzumiya-san's safety," and for Kyon, "we may not
have a choice.  What about bringing her here?"

     "But, how?" Mori asked, looking at him in consternation.
"Exposing her to closed space ... think of what could go wrong!"

     "Think of what already has," he sighed, rubbing his face.
"Right.  Do we know exactly where she is?  In, um, an interview room,
or a holding cell, something like that?"

     Mori stared at him for a long, silent minute, her eyes boring
into his.  "Okay," she sighed.  "I'll find out.  Anything on your
front?"

     "Confirmation that the Organization has Asahina-san," he
answered, grimacing.  "And that something happened at the Tsuruya
estate, but not the specifics of it, whatever it is."

     "Well, I'll look into that, then," Mori said.

     Arakawa returned to the room, carrying a tray loaded down with
sandwiches, which he sat on the small coffee table between the three
of them.  "Interesting weather for summer," he remarked, looking out
the window.

     "I think it reflects Suzumiya-san's mood," Itsuki answered
glibly.  "Though, there's no rain in closed space."  He took a
sandwich, ate it without tasting it.  "Mori-san, Arakawa-san, I'm
going to take a nap.  Once we know where Suzumiya-san is, exactly,
I'll go get her."

     Mori nodded, her worried gaze following him as he trudged into
the bedroom he had woken up in earlier.

     ***

     After bringing an inappropriately over-sized task force to the
scene of Ryouko's death, and returning the shaken Oishi to the station
house, Akasaka had gone to his hotel, showered, changed his clothes,
and returned.  Even with that much time to try and calm himself, the
sudden brutality of Aida's murder left him rattled.  He also respected
Oishi as a detective, but the man was getting on in years, and in less
than perfect physical condition.

     The idea of him somehow overpowering Asakura Ryouko was nothing
short of laughable.  So when he found himself, after Oishi had given
his statement on Asakura's fall, and he had given his own statement on
Asakura's attack on Aida, sharing the detective's favorite smoking
balcony, he actually asked the larger man, "Any cigarettes to spare?"

     Oishi began to pull a single cigarette from the pack with shaking
fingers, then barked an abrupt laugh, shaking his head.  "No,
Akasaka-kun, now is not the time to start," he said, bringing it to
his own lips instead.

     The NPA agent sighed, checking behind himself to see that the
door to the building was closed.  A convenient overhang kept the
now-endless rain off the pair.  "So," he said, crossing his arms over
his chest.  "You got into a struggle with Asakura?  And she fell?"

     Oishi grimaced, a shaky hand lighting his cigarette.
"Akasaka-san, I don't know if I believe what really happened myself,"
he muttered.  "I'm not really sure what....  Eh.  Look, did you get
that background check on Kimidori Emiri?"

     "Yes.  She lives one floor down from Nagato Yuki, and one floor
above Asakura Ryouko."

     The heavyset detective raised one eyebrow, then shook his head.
"Whatever," he sighed.  "I shouldn't even be surprised.  Family?"

     "Records are impeccable," Akasaka mumbled, rubbing at the bridge
of his nose.  "The only real problem is that her family is just as
unreachable as Asakura's, Asahina-san's, or Nagato-san's."

     "I don't think their families are real.  I'm sure if you tracked
down the people who were supposed to be their middle school teachers,
their neighbors when they were younger....  I think no one would
remember them.  I'm not sure what they even are....  Well.  You've
figured that I didn't really overpower Asakura, right?"

     "It seemed likely," Akasaka agreed, leaning against the wall,
studying the detective's back.

     "Witches, vampires ... demons ... I don't know, and I don't think
I care anymore.  They're not human.  That's what didn't really _fit_
for Asakura.  When I tried taking Suzumiya-san down the hallway to the
elevator, Asakura arrived first."

     Akasaka rolled the words around in his mind.  Vampires?  In
daylight?  Witch didn't seem to fit either.  Demon....  But then, what
did he know?  She moved faster than a trained martial artist.

     She'd gotten that knife to kill Aida _somehow_.  Once she kicked
the reinforced steel door of the interview room open, she had
completely vanished.  The report he wrote up of the incident already
looked implausible enough as it was.  "Well, she moved between the
station house and her apartment faster than emergency vehicles with
sirens on," he said aloud.  It might not be _that_ far-fetched.

     "I'm sure we'll find PCP or some other conveniently unlikely but
plausible justification in her apartment," Oishi said sourly.  "When
Asakura came down the hall, she was babbling about how ... how boring
it was killing Ky--  That is, Student K.  Something about Suzumiya-san
not reacting well enough to interest her.  The main thing was she
didn't know what it was like to be _human_.  Or something like
that....  She stressed 'organic' a lot.  I don't know...."

     "She's in autopsy.  We'll have a toxicology report later,"
Akasaka said quietly.  "If there was anything truly ... alien about
her, I'm sure they would have called us by now.  I don't know about
... witches or vampires.  But I also don't think PCP would honestly
explain things.  And if she was on those kinds of drugs ... how was it
that you fought her without her hurting you at all?"

     Oishi dropped one hand to his stomach and bowed his head.  "She
stabbed me," he said quietly.  "While talking about how ...
unsatisfied ... she was when she killed Student K.  His last words."

     Akasaka stared at the detective a moment longer, then looked out
through the late afternoon rain, the city shining wetly around them.
"Oishi-kun...."

     "Yeah ... maybe I'm just seeing things," the heavyset man sighed,
flicking his cigarette off the balcony and into the rain.  "But bear
with me a moment longer.  This isn't just me being upset about
Aida-chan being killed.  Suzumiya-san's been interviewed?  We have her
testimony about Asakura's conversation with her in class this
morning?"

     "Yes," Akasaka agreed, frowning.  "Yamada-san conducted the
interview, I believe.  I know you're under a lot of stress, but this
case seems to be solved.  Whatever has happened, it's behind us,
right?  We know that she's the one responsible for killing Student K,
she tried to assault yourself and Suzumiya-san, she assaulted your
assistant, and ... well, she's dead now.  I think you can let this go
now.  The NPA can manage the investigation of the other loose ends,
the things that aren't really part of this case -- Koizumi-san,
Kimidori-san and Nagato-san's backgrounds-"

     "This case isn't over until we find Asahina Mikuru," Oishi
overrode him, shaking his head.  "Come with me; we're going to have a
little discussion with ... Suzumiya-san in my office."

     Pursing his lips together, Akasaka nodded.  He didn't like the
idea of the detective being crushed under the pressure of the case,
but still wanted to believe that Oishi had good reason for acting the
way he did.  And how much would it really hurt to give him the benefit
of the doubt, anyway?  As long as he didn't badger Suzumiya, who had
suffered enough already....

     ***

     She woke from he strange dream, feeling a blanket of lethargy
pinning her in place on the futon.  Her eyes slowly drifted open, and
in the evening gloom she saw Nagato kneeling on the side of the bed,
looking down at her with an unreadable expression.

     Everything came crashing back at once; the comfortable emotional
barrier of the dream was gone, and her eyes snapped shut again, tears
welling within them.  Kyon was gone.  And no pseudoscience dream
discussion was going to change that, no matter how much she might wish
otherwise.

     She sniffled, curling onto one side, and burying her face in the
thick blanket on the futon.  She should be grateful, she should tell
Nagato that she was glad to have a friend looking out for her....  But
she couldn't muster the emotional strength.

     Kyon was gone.  "I miss him," she croaked out, when she finally
managed to speak.

     "Yes," Nagato agreed, one hand gently resting on Haruhi's
shoulder.  "Sit up."

     Still sniffling, Haruhi struggled to rise, assisted by the smaller girl.

     Nagato handed her a glass.  "Drink."

     Nodding wearily, Haruhi raised the glass to her dry lips and
forced herself to swallow one mouthful after another, until the glass
was empty.

     Nagato took it away and set it down, before her tiny hands
somehow pushed Haruhi back into the bed, pulling the covers back up
over her.  "Rest."

     Haruhi wanted nothing more than to curl up and wait for the rest
of the world to go away ... but something about the dream stuck with
her.  "Hey," she mumbled, "why are you taking care of me?"

     Nagato stared, her gaze unwavering.

     "Doesn't matter," Haruhi sniffled, curling up on her side again.
"I'll trust you anyway."

     Nagato's tiny hand brushed some strays hairs from her face.  "I
am glad," the stoic girl whispered.

     Comforted by that gesture, at least, Haruhi let herself drift
into peaceful oblivion once more.

     ***

     The last few days had been full of new experiences for Koizumi
Itsuki.  He was still awkwardly startled whenever he woke up to find
Mori sitting over him, one hand touching his face, an unreadable look
in her eyes he wasn't ready to think about....  But aside from that
new experience, there was open rebellion.  Equal partnership in the
new, desperate plan with those who had joined him.

     And one he was quickly coming to enjoy, using his powers for
something other than simply fighting Shinjin.  After slipping into
closed space and flying through the shattered balcony entrance --
still intact in the real world -- he streaked directly to the police
station, wrapped in his crackling crimson orb of power.

     Tamaru's information placed Suzumiya in a detective's office,
alone for the moment.  The detective was busy doing paperwork, or
giving a statement, Itsuki wasn't certain.  He knew he had a window of
opportunity, though, and he didn't want to waste it.

     The power wrapped around him allowed him to smash effortlessly
through the concrete and steel reinforced walls, then blasting through
a dozen rows of desks in the police station before drifting to a halt
before the door to the detective's office.  The door wasn't locked, at
least in closed space, but the room was empty of other people.

     Not that he expected to see anything but other espers, and if
they were in this room, well....  He pushed that thought from his mind
and glanced around.  A single desk, facing the door, a comfortable
looking, imposing chair behind it.  Smaller, but still comfortable
looking chairs facing it, a small table in the middle, covered with
scattered paperwork.

     "No more time," he told himself.  How long could he expect his
window to last, anyway?  He stepped back into the waking world,
watching color and form ripple through the monochrome monotony, and
catching part of a conversation.

     "...unbelieva--  WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?!"

     He swore under his breath -- there was a large man in a black
shirt with a red tie sitting behind the desk, and a thinner man in a
blue shirt standing at his side, both staring at Itsuki in amazement.
Sitting in one of the chairs by the door was Suzumiya.

     He wasted no time, leaping to her side and grabbing her wrist.
"Come with me," he cried urgently, hauling her to her feet and back
through the closed space barrier.  He wished he'd had time to warn her
to close her eyes; the crossing was traumatic to the senses of normal
humans if they weren't used to it, and trauma was the one thing that
Suzumiya needed the least.

     "I'm sorry," he said, bowing his head.  "I don't have much-"

     Her hand gripped his tightly, and he felt something constrict
about him, freezing him in place.  He stared, able to breathe, and
blink, and allowed the freedom to move his mouth.  He was so stupid,
he berated himself.  He could sense Haruhi's emotional turmoil, even
though it felt sporadic, somehow ... suppressed.  But he felt
_nothing_ from the girl who somehow held him immobile.

     "You're not Suzumiya-san," he finally said aloud.
	---------------------------------
     Author's notes: I kind of liked the Yuki/Haruhi discussion....

-- 
Brian Randall
--
I write fanfiction. Too much of it. You can read it here, thanks to a
kind grant from the Larry F foundation:
http://www.florestica.com/brandall/
--
Together. Allegiance or death. BIGFIRE!
--
Haiku of my lament:

Forgive my spelling,
my U.S. education,
is the source of blame.