A/N:

I left this slightly open-ended. It is meant to be that way. I find many of Miyazaki's works may be interpreted different ways – that's what we writers do, isn't it? – and I emulate him. The Spirited Away and haircut references all being there. What did you think of the relationship I developed between my main characters, I wonder? I meant for one-sided attraction and an unlikely friendship, but it is difficult to read over one's work objectively. The torment of leaving it as such was great… (if you clamor for an epilogue, give me ideas on what to include and I just might...)

The lyrics I have used have been Smiths/Morrissey. The poem mentioned in this chapter is (my all-time favourite) The More Loving One by the (favourite and beloved) poet W. H. Auden. It speaks of grief, of nature, of unrequited love, and I think anyone can relate to such things.

- - -

8. Looking up at the Stars

Tomorrow
Will it really come ?
And if it does come
Will I still be Human ?
All I ask of you is one thing that you never do
Would you put your arms around me ?
(I won't tell anyone)

- - -

"After you left Hana told me that Monsanto is under investigation by more humans, and that the lighthouse had to be restored. I swam," he ignored the flash of humor on Morgan's face, "to the lighthouse. Then I made my way here."

"You went across land because you were worried about me…" Morgan picked a leaf out of his hair and Fujimoto turned away.

"The reason I care for the ocean, Morgan, is to prevent spirits of human greed and pollution from turning it rotten. I felt such a spirit arising here, and I had to stop it. That ritual was meant to summon it, likely to dispose of you. It's my job to prevent such spirits from surfacing. But it seems I'm too late, and without my magic I'm useless!"

He had brought a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, frowning, and Morgan resisted an overwhelming urge to wrap her arms around him.

"Why do you feel it's all your responsibility?" she said abruptly. "Surely the reason you care for the ocean is love? So why must you act as guardian?"

Fujimoto glanced over his shoulder with those wide, despairing blue eyes and Morgan felt a heart-wrenching sense of helplessness, of responsibility and frustration and something distant, steely and dark.

"You're running from something that happened a long time ago, is that it? When you were human?"

"I am not running from anything, though we would do well to leave this place," Fujimoto sniffed.

"Wait," Morgan shot her companion a calculating look. "I'm starting to see. You must have felt powerless to improve matters when you were human. You can't stand feeling so again."

"If you are quite finished analyzing my motivation…" The tone was more reproving than irritated.

"Tell me and save us the trouble? I'm not going anywhere until you answer, you know." A strange smog was beginning to cloud her vision but Morgan waved it off to being hit on the head too often.

"Don't you realize we've got to leave this place? There's a spirit coming, and that human made sure it will be dogging you."

"Then you'd best tell me soon," shrugged Morgan, though now she held her shirt collar to her nose to mitigate the stench which was becoming unbearable.

Fujimoto visibly repressed a groan of sheer frustration. Sensing that she could not out-stubborn her opponent, Morgan changed tack.

"Then promise to answer my questions when we get out of here."

"Yes, yes, very well, will you please hurry?" Fujimoto held open the door expectantly. Morgan walked out quickly, feeling fleetingly guilty. Curiosity always won out.

"What would Granmammare do? Why isn't she helping you anyway?"

"She cannot be everywhere at once," said Fujimoto, and he sounded weary. They walked toward Katashi's office.

"You tell yourself that every day, right? And yet you seem in awe of her," said Morgan nonchalantly.

"She has that effect on most beings, yes."

"There's a word for that. Uxorious. Doesn't sound like a healthy relationship."

"Well it's certainly better than ceaseless bickering."

"I wasn't drawing comparisons by any means," Morgan shot back, surprised by the vehemence.

"We're wasting time," Fujimoto peered around anxiously. "The papers could be anywhere… when I think about the stakes involved-"

"We'll find them," said Morgan firmly. "And I have a good idea of where."

The licenses were on the floor of Katashi's office, which was still unlocked, and rather the worse for wear. Morgan picked them up, shuffled them into a semblance of order and put them into an inner pocket.

"So what're we gonna do about the spirit? Can we lure it into a landfill or something?"

"It needs to be purged of whatever human influence it has absorbed, and then purified by the clearest water. If I had my elixirs we might hold it off…"

"Right, let's beat it then."

Just as Morgan spoke a strange, oozing, sizzling sound came from the conference room next door. Fujimoto's eyes widened and he sprang for the window of Katashi's office, flinging it open. Rain gushed inside on the wind.

"Come along-" he said, swinging his legs over the sill and slipping and sliding on the ledge. Morgan followed without pausing to consider.

Outside it was wet and dark and Fujimoto had somehow scrambled across onto a pipe that ran along the side of the building, well below the window. His hair whipped in the wind and Morgan was reminded of when, after nearly drowning, she had seen him with fiery hair that splayed everywhere, and for some reason the smell of baking bread.

"I'm a sucker for redheads and it's going to get me killed," she whispered, voice lost on the wind, and jumped. The pipe creaked and slid from beneath her feet, and Morgan felt herself lose balance and the world tilt...

Wiry arms grabbed her around the middle, and just in time. Fujimoto winced as Morgan clutched his hair in panic, and it took some time to get the clingy writer to let go.

"Come on, stop that," Fujimoto coaxed, petting Morgan and looking uncomfortable. They were getting steadily more saturated with water, standing precariously on the side of the building whipped by the sea wind.

Glancing down at Morgan, who had finally loosed her grip, Fujimoto gave a hint of an exasperated smile.

"S-sorry, I don't-don't like heights," she grinned apologetically, tinge of hysteria lurking beneath her voice.

Fujimoto led them along to the nearest window, which opened inwards, and helped Morgan through. Panting and dripping they stood in two puddles and gazed, open-mouthed, at the industry around them.

It was like standing inside a watch the size of a ballroom. Mechanical gears whirred and turned, and immense vats of chemicals were connected by a tangle of metal pipes that obscured the ceiling. A labyrinth of huge metal machinery on the ground floor was punctuated by assembly lines that rushed various steel parts across the floor. The clanging and bubbling and steam echoed, magnified by the size of the room, like some mechanical beast. The entire place was lit by an enormous, screeching furnace on the far side which heated a vat of something acrid. A large pipe labeled Runoff ran along the wall. Morgan noticed a lever coming off the runoff pipe. She depressed it from open to closed and heard a dull thud.

"Chemical processing room," said Morgan. Now she was the one leading, ducking under pipes, beneath billows of steam that sent blistering hot air in their path, searching the perimeter of the room for an escape. Fujimoto looked awed and disgusted, and she wondered idly just when he had been a lighthouse keeper and how well he knew of industry. She tugged him along just in time to avoid being scorched by a flume of smoke, though the smell of charred hair filled the air.

"This way," said Fujimoto, spotting a door. It was industrial grade, thick steel and a wire-glass window, and it was absolutely intruder proof. Morgan was tugging fruitlessly at the handle when she noticed a dark shape moving beyond it.

"Uh, Fujimoto, I think we'd better find another way out…"

"What?" frazzled, Fujimoto peered through the window. And brought a hand to his forehead. "Oh, this is getting worse. It's not taking a hint."

The door, which had not budged at their forceful entreaties, began to shudder.

Morgan gaped around. A ladder led up a vat of something sizzling, and there was a ramp that ran level with a row of windows, perhaps offices. It was dizzy work climbing, metal treacherous beneath their wet hands.

I really don't like heights, thought Morgan, leaning on the side of the ramp as Fujimoto scrambled up after her. The ramp spanned the entire room and led to a door that was cracked open. Fujimoto was leaning down and watching the shuddering door. There was a sound like tearing metal and the hinges came loose.

"Disgusting," gasped Morgan, covering her nose. "What is that?"

"Let's go," said Fujimoto shortly, dashing for the half-open door and dragging Morgan by a sleeve.

The carpeted hallways of the factory were unsettling after the bare metal of the previous room. The identical office doors and cool lighting felt artificial and eerie.

They stumbled along, eager to find a stairwell. Blinking red cameras winked from the ceiling. They swept past a room marked security where Katashi was lounging in a leather chair, watching several screens with a smug expression. He stood and leaned on the door jamb casually as they passed.

"Dead end!" he called after them, laughing. Unfortunately he was right. The hallway led to a locked door leading to the stairwell and Morgan and Fujimoto were forced back.

Behind Katashi, crawling closer, came a dark, lumbering shape. Katashi grimaced from the stench.

"Wait, stay back," said Morgan, but the creature advanced with surprising speed. "It's not after you-" Fujimoto had taken a step forward, looking grim and determined. He began to chant what sounded like a spell.

Morgan panicked. She raked her hands through her hair and her fingers came away with a hairpin. She dropped it, fumbled, and got it into the door. She flung it open with her shoulder, grabbed Fujimoto by his bright cravat, mid-spell and all, placed another hand on the small of his back and pushed him onto the stairs.

"Better run, love!"

Then she slammed the door shut with a final click. Fujimoto had stumbled against the railing in surprise. On the stairwell, only a faintly rotten smell remained. It was strangely quiet. The door, he discovered, was locked.

- - -

The government delegation had been inconvenienced by the storm. The man who spotted the lighthouse beam first had shouted with jovial relief. Making dock at the fishing village, the delegation secured their ship and immediately headed for the nearest restaurant to calm their nerves by settling their stomachs. The Captain had ordered a remedy for a long sea trip.

"Sake all around," said the Captain.

"Of course," said Makoto, giving a deferent nod and placing a bowl of steaming rolls before the dozen or so men.

"Would you like some tea, gentlemen?" Hana had approached with her kettle and begun to pour. "I would like to speak with you, Captain," she added in a low voice. The Captain, a young man with a sparse mustache and quick hazel eyes, said he was happy to oblige her.

"Good," said Hana, drawing back her yellow curtains. "See that lighthouse over there? I have an interesting story to tell you…"

- - -

Fujimoto must have paced a dent in the concrete floor of the stairwell by the time the door knob turned and Morgan had stumbled through. The rain had turned her short hair into wild waves and washed the blood from her face and now she looked dry and in shock. Fujimoto, who had been contemplating various gruesome ends for his would-be rescuer, was now staring blankly at her as she gestured him down several flight of stairs, eager to put space behind them and the hallway. When they were several floors down she paused for breath and reached a tremulous hand into her shirt to withdraw t

he bronze talisman, which glittered vividly in the light. She gave an astounded, lopsided smile, and seeing Fujimoto's glare, added a wink. That was the last straw.

"Morgan-" Fujimoto snapped, then sighed, continued in a softer voice, "You foolish, presumptuous, reckless human!"

"Yeah, that's me."

He was shaking her, anxious frown melting, and Morgan tried not to laugh or break down with nerves.

"It was the talisman… warded that thing off, and it went back after Katashi instead," she explained, suddenly feeling exhausted. "What was it?"

"Stink spirit," said Fujimoto, and Morgan's eyes widened behind her hand, which still clutched her collar to her nose.

"Those are real, too?"

"Unfortunately. I'm not surprised to find one here, although they usually stay away from the ocean," he grimaced. "The pollution and oil spill must have created it."

Morgan fingered her talisman.

"Actually came in handy after all."

"We have what we came for," said Fujimoto. He too looked infinitely weary now that they were relatively safe.

"Shouldn't we…" Morgan glanced up the stairwell.

"Think of what he did to the sea. To your home."

Morgan frowned in indecision. Fujimoto raised an eyebrow.

"It is his greed that called forth the spirit. This is our only way to be rid of it."

Morgan nodded reluctantly.

"It is only fitting he is devoured by his own greed."

Fujimoto looked curiously at Morgan. Averting her eyes, she conceded.

"All right. Two birds with one stone. Let's go."

- - -

The rain had subsided to a faint drizzle, clouds clearing to reveal a starry sky and a moon that loomed round and bright over the sea. Fujimoto's finned cruiser was skimming the soft waves slowly off of the large drainage pipes of the factory on the seaside. There was no more runoff leaking into the sea, and with the help of Ebisu and several elixirs, the water near the factory was becoming less murky and viscous, beginning to flow back.

Morgan was perched on the nose of the cruiser, hands intertwined in the little bird's nest where Fujimoto stood tall, cloak billowing out behind him. She looked up: hair streaming, he cut a lithe and graceful figure. All around them, the ocean reflected the pinpricks of stars, and the moon formed a gleaming trail of silver which speckled the dark surf. After the excitement in the factory the ocean felt dreamy and detached – another world.

Glancing down Fujimoto raised his eyebrows.

"Ebisu," he said, indicating a bubbling turbulence in the waves further offshore. "He is pleased with our progress."

"Hmmm."

A comet streaked across the moon, a flash through the deep sky.

Fujimoto stepped out of the crow's nest, leaned over the side of the boat near Morgan and withdrew a handful of the dark water from a patch where the moon was reflected. The light stayed within the droplets, which began to wriggle faintly, writhing in Fujimoto's slender palm, and then the light formed two curious eyes which blinked.

Morgan gasped as the droplets jumped from his hand and into the sea, became larger swells, dispersed.

"It's coming back?"

"The balance is improving," Fujimoto nodded, content. "My absences, my elixirs, and the cleansing rituals all helped." The moonlight played off his blue eyes, tired and pleased, and Morgan couldn't refrain from wrapping her arms around him. This time Fujimoto seemed less uncomfortable – perhaps he was growing used to her human quirks. When Morgan ended her brief embrace, he sighed, considering the stars, and laid an arm absently on her shoulders. They both settled on the bow, staring at the sky, Fujimoto's arm cushioning Morgan's head, which was still sore from her encounter with Katashi.

"Are you going to leave?" Morgan asked, idly twisting a long strand of red hair that glinted with a pearly fire in the moonlight. She had questions to ask him, she had his word that he would answer, but somehow she could no longer bring herself to force Fujimoto to speak. Perhaps regard has turned to respect, she mused. How inconvenient.

Fujimoto kept his eyes locked on the moon. The effect created an inhuman glow across his face and particularly in his sunken eyes. Morgan wondered if the make-up was an illusion or a side-effect of restored magical ability, for it was as undeniably impressive as Fujimoto's singularly off-putting and strange manner. It was also endearing, but she quashed that thought.

"Not until more of my power is restored," said Fujimoto finally. "I never do see the stars from below."

Morgan sighed contentedly, began pointing out constellations. The lighthouse beam cut a swath of white across the sky. Morgan said, "I know a better place for stargazing though I'm not too keen on heights."

- - -

Dawn bloomed pale lilac over the ocean, though it was obscured by the bamboo forest to the East. Hana and Makoto had driven down the road to the Kaito House.

"Very courteous of them to offer their help," said Hana, examining the government delegation, a truck which was following Makoto's Mitsubishi. "What a relief that young people can be accommodating these days."

"They were well fed," confirmed Makoto, "And we did promise to bring them proof. I wonder…"

"Oh, Morgan-chan will be back with it soon," said Hana, as Makoto pulled in to park and the delegation crew followed, unloading crates of supplies. "She's got a sea wizard looking out for her. A shame they had not met under different circumstances…" she shook her head, smiling.

The crew made quick work of their mission. Fresh wood replaced charred boards, windows were installed and support beams replaced. The sun shone brightly after the storm of the night before, and a fresh breeze off the ocean invigorated the workers, giving them strength to accomplish in hours what would normally have taken days. Under Hana's sharp orders the team were eating sandwiches and drinking tea as they waiting for layers of the pale pink paint to dry. Hana examined the work with a critical eye and, disregarding the occasional Susuwatari, found the Kaito House sufficiently improved.

- - -

"The big bear," she gestured up at the fading sky. "And there's Polaris."

"I had almost forgotten," he said faintly, long nose turned upward.

"I won't forget. I'm going to write about what happens when we let corporations poison our environment." Her tone grew fervent, a promise. "I'll expose Monsanto to the world."

"Good."

"You'll visit, won't you? When you've got the time?"

"Of course I will. Who knows what trouble you'll stir up next."

"Don't forget, I rescued you first," waggishly.

"Of course," a sardonic sidelong glance.

They examined the constellations, growing lighter, named some, admired others.

"Looking up at the stars, I know quite well…" she murmured, grew quiet.

"That for all they care I can go to hell," he supplied helpfully.

"You know poetry?" she sounded surprised, delighted, beamed at him.

"That one. It felt appropriate, at one time."

"I know what you mean," she sighed.

"Yes."

Dawn blurred the stars behind them, the sea trembled softly in front. The lighthouse beam silhouetted two figures, one clinging to the rail, the other raising an elegant hand to the ocean. A wave smashed to wriggling droplets below them, far below, and an unlikely fan of sea-spray foamed to their very feet, high above the sea. The taller brought its hand to where the other held onto the rail, settled thin fingers on warmer ones.

The beam was lost over the vast expanse of the sea, then surfaced, accusingly on a factory by the shore, no smoke escaping it now. The beam swept across the Kaito House, where Hana was directing repairs, and down toward the village, where the fishing boats were heading out, where Ebisu gave a merry wave with his fish prancing about him, and back into the depths of the horizon, where it was lost somewhere in the periwinkles and corals of the rising mist of dawn.

- - -

AN:

Thank you for reading. Please leave feedback, and if you made it this far you deserve some sort of prize. Truly.

And… Fin.