She swam like a minnow through the hazy seascape of dreams; never sure of where she was, or where she was going. Even here, within the confines of her own unconscious mind, she was pursued. Large, angry nightmare-sharks lurked in wait for her where ever she swam, tearing at her mind with their sharp, memory-fragment teeth. They could only catch her for a moment before she would wrench away and flee towards some momentary patch of safety, but those few seconds were enough to fill her with terrifying images: men swarming over a wall like a living tide, a woman's limp form resting in a pool a spreading blood, a man's sneering face becoming obscured as dark water washed over her face and her vision left her. While the images were bad enough, what was worse was the haunting sense of familiarity, as if she had seen these things before. Confused, frightened, a prisoner of her own mind, she did the only thing she knew she could do—she swam away from the nightmare- sharks and the cruel pictures they tried to show her.

Occasionally, she would surface back to consciousness, breaking through the dark waters (so like the ones in the nightmare of the man's face) into the Bright World above. If she saw anything during this time, she could not remember it. Touch and hearing were her companions for those few moments she was lucid. There, in the bright world, there were no nightmare-sharks, but only cool, comforting hands, that stroked her hot forehead with cool cloths, and held her upright while they spooned warm broth down her parched throat. The hands changed sometimes. Often, the skin was soft and gentle, feeling like a bolt of silk against her fevered skin. A woman's hands, though she did not know how she could tell. The other hands were stronger, with a sense of controlled power to them. When she awoke to find these hands near her, she was deeply comforted, and the nightmare-sharks did not appear so rapidly when she sank beneath the waves again. It got so that she believed the hands were a talisman of protection against them; she would find herself grasping them tightly when she felt herself losing her grip on the Bright World again.

Sometimes, she would rise close, but not completely surface into the Bright World. It was there that she heard the voices, many, many of them. An older woman's voice, singing cheery tunes, or soothing lullabies. A man's voice, strength running like an electric current through it, inquiring after her health or her responses for the day. There was another man's voice as well, cheerful and competent who came in and spoke in jargon she could not always understand. These voices belonged in the Bright World, and she was comforted to hear them. Yet others rose up from beneath her, and these voices would fill her with dread. Often she could not make out any words, just an endless screaming that went on and on until the sky darkened around her and she sank into the circle of nightmare-sharks that were inevitably waiting for her again. She heard screaming, and a malicious laughter, and they both followed her down and down and down…

Darien glanced over to the bed, while Mrs. Toshida filled him in on the girl's progress for the day, "…she ate a bit more of the broth than she usually does, and was able to keep it all down. Her fever still hasn't come back yet either, which Dr. Furuhata says is the best sign of all. He expects her to make a full recovery. She's been restless all day, which the good doctor believes that she is slowly regaining consciousness. He says she could come around at any time."

"Indeed," he murmured, still watching the girl. She was moving about a bit more than normal, even with her ribs still taped. For the first two weeks, she had lain passively on the bed, more like a giant doll than a human woman, her body wracked with pain and her mind beset by fever dreams. Motoki had been worried by the sudden onset of pneumonia, but not overly surprised.

"With all this girl has gone through recently, I'd have been more shocked if she hadn't come down with something. Weeks of insufficient food, rest, shelter, and the weather's been turning colder…the extra rest isn't going to inhibit her healing much. It'll go slower than if she were perfectly healthy, but that's going to be counterbalanced by her being much less active. Still, keep a close watch on her—I don't want her fever to get much higher. Also, make sure she stays hydrated, and start getting some food into her. Liquids and thin solids are best—it'll put something in her stomach, without undue stress on the rest of her. It's going to take some time for her body to get used to having sustenance again anyway."

Close to a month had passed since Darien had first brought the girl into his home. The first two weeks, she had been unconscious almost constantly, first from the pain medication Motoki was judiciously giving to her, and then from the illness itself. The biggest issue was the result her constant coughing would have on her fractured ribs; she needed to cough to loosen the build up in her lungs, but her ribs needed to stay immobile for them to heal properly. Once, Motoki had asked Darien to move her to a hospital, just for observation, but Darien had simply raised an elegant eyebrow and asked what one-hundred percent foolproof plan Motoki had devised to keep her safe. With no answer in mind, Motoki had let the issue go, binding her ribs tighter and increasing the dose of the pain medication. As the pneumonia ran its course and her ribs healed, Motoki was able to begin easing her doses, and the girl began having moments of lucidity. They did not happen long, nor did they occur regularly, but they were signs that she was regaining her health and strength. Less than a week ago, Motoki had taken her off of the antibiotics completely, and had lowered her painkillers to almost nothing. Now, they all just played a waiting game to see when she would wake up completely.

They were all eagerly waiting for that time, and not just because they wanted to make sure she was entirely healed. She was a mystery, one that just begged to be solved, but until she recovered, there would be no more forthcoming clues. Motoki's examination had revealed everything it could about her physically, now they just had to wait until she was capable of communicating with the again. There were certainly dark secrets buried within her mind, one didn't have to be a psychic or a psychologist to realize that. Many of the times that she began to silently writhe or whimper, it wasn't pain that twisted her face, but fear. The first time she had violently clutched his hands to her chest, he'd jumped back, startled, but had soon noticed that when she held on to his hands, she calmed, her face smoothing out once again.

Again, Motoki was there with an explanation. "She trusts you, old son. You may have whacked her a good one with your car, but you're also the one who saved her from those thugs, and brought her home to food, rest, and medical attention. Now, whatever horrors her mind holds for her—and being unconscious, she probably a lot closer to them than usual—you seem to be the only talisman that can keep them at bay. If that's what works, let her use that, it'll only make things easier for her." Then he'd laughed. "Who would have thought that you'd be playing a shield for an innocent damsel in distress?" Darien had just given him a sour smile in return; most of the time, Motoki's sense of humor went in for the bizarre.

Still, since then, whenever he went into the girl's room to sit and watch over her, he'd pull the chair close to bed, and hold one of her cold, thin hands. Often, there'd be no reaction at all, save for a slight ease to her breathing, other times, a slight, but breathtaking smile would flit across her face. Either way, holding her hand helped ease some of the guilt that constricted his heart whenever he looked at her slight form, still bundled in bandages.

Guilt was a fairly new sensation to Darien, at least, guilt this all-encompassing. He was a business mogul, used to performing deeds that certainly weren't going to be earning him a spot on anyone's "Nice Guy" list. No, he never tried to harm anyone personally, but he certainly didn't balk at a business venture if it meant that someone, somewhere was going to be harmed by it. Business was like gambling: for someone to win, others had to lose, and Darien played to win. If other people hadn't realized that yet, that certainly wasn't his fault. He'd been burned plenty of times in the beginning, too, but that hadn't stopped him from playing. Instead, he's retrenched, absorbed the lesson that his failure had taught, and the ventured forward again, less vulnerable than before. He'd learned that he was in the business of making money, not friends; and while he never stooped to anything illegal or unethical, that didn't stop him from being cold, calculating, or cunning. He was ruthless, brilliant, and practical, a combination that made his business rivals sweat. Still, while people called him a merciless bastard behind his back (and one unforgettable time, directly to his face; an accusation that had simply made Darien laugh), Darien had a personal code of honor that forbade him to harm an innocent. Which was made much easier by the fact that he rarely found himself near anyone he considered to be such.

He'd learned at an early age that keeping people distanced was the only intelligent way to deal with the them; even before he had ventured into the business realm. His relationships were all cool, casual affairs like the one he'd shared with Beryl: useful for decorating his arms and warming his bed, but nothing further than that. Fortunately, he knew plenty of women who not only understood the limits he imposed, but enjoyed them. A brief fling, with no expectations or promises, ending before any kind of commitment was even possible; yes, he kept his attentions to the women who knew the score and would have been appalled if he'd offered them anything further or more lasting. His business relations were handled much the same way. He had a circle of acquaintances that were useful for business contacts and opportunities, and dutifully attended social functions where his presence as a major businessman was required. Outside of that, Darien chose to keep his own counsel. This had nothing to do with expediency, simply that Darien vastly preferred his own company to that of most others. The only two exceptions he had ever allowed to enter into his heart and life were Motoki and Reika, and it had taken years for even Motoki's irrepressible charm to penetrate Darien's tough exterior. Now, it seemed as if this injured girl was slipping beneath his defenses as well, and she wasn't even conscious while doing it. The aforementioned guilt had been the first chink into his invisible armor—by doing her a great injury, even accidentally, he had violated his own code and that demanded that he make reparations. However, simply providing her the medical care she needed, and then a bit more in the way of funding after her recovery was complete, would have sufficed if he were motivated only by his guilt. But that was not the case. The girl's vulnerabilities awoke within him an heretofore unexpected desire, nay, need, to protect.

Well, to protect her anyway. He'd just concluded a deal this afternoon that certainly suggested that he didn't need to worry about any new humanitarian impulses cropping up in his business dealings. He hadn't put any of his rivals out of business today, but it hadn't been for lack of trying.

Yet, sitting next to the girl, knowing she was relying on his touch to keep her safe, made the world of business machinations seem very far away. Fortunately, he still had enough self-control to convince himself it was only because he was interested in the mystery she represented. That was some comfort, anyway.

Her very existence became an endless round of swimming and surfacing and sinking again. She became more adept at fleeing the nightmare-sharks, and it felt as if she were growing stronger as well. She was able to escape them more quickly, and the images they projected at her were becoming more blurry, losing their cohesiveness, and their ability to provoke a nameless dread. Yet right now, there weren't any in sight, and it seemed as if the border to the Bright World was closer today than it had been before. Usually, it took all of her energy to break through to the surface, and that left her far too drained to stay very long. This time, however, she felt different. As if today, she could possibly win her way through, and stay in the Bright World forever. Swimming down as deep into herself as possible, she paused for a moment, then spun around and shot to the surface, as fast as she could go. Nightmare-sharks lunged at her, tried to catch her and break her momentum, but she was agile and quick, and they could not touch her. As she came closer to her goal, she could hear the voices again, especially the voice that made her think of the air right before a thunderstorm, quite, but filled with unleashed power. She took strength from that voice, and put on an extra burst of speed, shattering the barriers that had kept her chained in her unconscious mind…

The first thing she noticed was that the Bright World (consciousness, her mind whispered,) really was bright. There was too much light to see properly, and she'd had to close her eyes a moment after opening them, because the sudden, unexpected pain. She tried to raise her right arm to shield her eyes, but could not because her hand was caught in something. She moved her left arm as well, suddenly terrified that she had been caught and bound. It moved easily. An inaudible sigh escaped her lips, followed by an abrupt influx of memories: the crash, the fight, the examination by the friendly doctor with the laughing eyes. And her dark savior; he'd rescued her from the men, the streets, and even her own troubled mind.

"I see you're awake." The voice was familiar, dark and rich like pure Swiss chocolate. "That's excellent news. I was starting to think that you were indecently lazy." Her eyes had grown used to the light a bit more, at least to the point where she could look out through the veil of her golden lashes. There, sitting next to her bed, was her rescuer. His dark hair was somewhat tousled, and he wore a languid half-grin as he looked down on her. Her right hand was tucked securely into his own, which explained why she had not been able to remove it. Another quick glance showed that he was dressed in a warm, cranberry sweater, opened at the throat, and a pair of comfortable khaki pants that looked crisply tailored. In all, he looked relaxed—almost indolent, but there was something about him that made her think of a giant panther: all coiled power held in reserve, but accessible at a moment's notice.

"How are you feeling?"

Automatically, she opened her mouth to answer, but not a sound emerged. She flushed, and he had the grace to look chagrinned. "Not only a stupid question, but one thoughtlessly asked. I apologize. One moment please."

She felt a brief stab of disappointment when he released her hand.

"First of all, you've been unconscious for a long time—nearly a month," he said, in answer to the question he saw leaping into her face. "So, I'd be able to tell that this light is probably God-awful bright, even if you hadn't been squinting and blocking it out with your hand. You're probably also hungry, as we've pretty much kept you to an all-liquid diet, and possibly a little sore, considered you still have a few healing injuries, and stiff muscles from not moving around much." While he was cataloguing her list of plaints, he'd been methodically moving about the room, shutting the shades at her window, turning off the overhead light, and turning on another lamp closer to her bedside, which gave off a dimmer, golden glow. "So, did I miss anything?"

She gave a brief, internal check, moving her various limbs and doing a bit of stretching. For the most part, he was correct, but he had missed one vital issue. Biting her lower lip and flushing a bit, she pointed at her bladder, and then her kidneys. She was pleased to see that he got her message immediately.

"Ah, yes, well, I guess that does make sense. Your bathroom is connected to this room--" he pointed at a small door on one side of her room, "and I think I'll just step right along and have Mrs. Toshida come and help you there. I don't believe you're up to walking unaided quite yet."

Her face fully aflame now, she nodded in gratitude as he gracefully slipped out the door. The last thing she wanted was his help in going to the bathroom, no matter how normal a function it was. Actually, that was the second to last thing she wanted. The actual last thing she wanted to do was find out how that necessity had been taken care of while she was comatose, and what role her savoir had played during those times. There were certain bodily functions she was uncomfortable envisioning any stranger aiding her with, but especially a strange male. That went double for one that she was already finding devastatingly attractive.

She had been prepared to be embarrassed about the whole ordeal—invalid or not, she was a grown woman with an adult's control over her bodily functions, but the bustlingly efficient Mrs. Toshida did not allow for such futile emotions. "So, it looks like you've finally come around," Mrs. Toshida announced cheerfully as she entered the room. Pausing for a moment to find the best place to situate the large, pewter tea tray she was carrying, she then continued, "that'll please the doctor. He said you'd be waking up any moment now. I figured I'd come in and see if you needed a hand while he called the doctor and told him the good news." During the brisk explanation, Mrs. Toshida had maneuvered around the bed, turned the covers down, and helped the young girl to her feet.

It was a staggering walk, as her knees threatened to buckle with almost every step, and her ankle still was not up to having all of her weight supported on it at once, but the petite housekeeper never seemed to have any trouble compensating. Once they entered the bathroom, Mrs. Toshida guided her over to the sink, and made sure she had a good grip on the counter before letting her go completely. "All right, dearie, I'm going to run you a nice hot bath now," she said, pointing across the bathroom to where a large screen rested in front of an absolutely enormous bathtub. "A month of sponge baths may be fine for an invalid, but now that you're awake, you probably want something a bit more substantial. If you need anything, just let me know, but you'll be fine, won't you?" She smiled a bit at the girl's enthusiastic nod.

Mrs. Toshida had considerately placed her very close to the room's other facility, but it was still a few moments before she was properly situated upon it. By that time, Mrs. Toshida had already drawn the screen and started the bath water, providing excellent cover noise. As an additional precaution, she was also keeping up a running monologue, listing the chores she still had left to do, "Well, since the doctor is likely coming over, I'll need to set out a few extra place settings, I'll have Fumi set out another bottle of wine to chill as well. I should also add some juices and fresh fruit to the market list, we'll be needed them as winter comes in…" The girl flashed a quick grin; this wasn't quite as good as being able to use the bathroom alone, but she did appreciate the older woman's attempts to grant her as much modesty and privacy as possible.

Using the sink once again to leverage herself up, she made sure her nightgown was straightened and her hands washed before she pulled on the little chain connected to the toilet. It was an additional moment before Mrs. Toshida pulled the screen aside. She beamed to see the girl standing up and drying her hands on one of the thick navy blue towels next to the sink. "Ready for that bath?" was all she said, however, then laughed at the girl's excited grin. This time, instead of ducking under her arm and holding onto her waist again, Mrs. Toshida clasped the girl's arms, and guided her to the bathtub. They wobbled a bit more on the trip, but every step was a small victory. "From unconscious to walking in just a few short moments," Mrs. Toshida cheered. "There's no doubt about you getting better, now."

It wasn't until they reach the tub itself when trouble reared. Leaning against the wall, the girl waited for Mrs. Toshida to leave so she could get undressed and step into the tub. The water steamed, and the subtle fragrance of cherry blossom bath salts reached her nose. It looked so hot and inviting, and she couldn't wait to let the water close over her skin. However, it was just as apparent that Mrs. Toshida, for all her delicacy just a few moments before, had no plans to leave. Slightly irritated, the girl pointed at herself and the tub, then made brisk shooing motions with her hands, hoping her smile would add a bit of politeness to the gestures.

Mrs. Toshida just shook her head firmly. "Sorry, dearie, but this time I'm staying." The girl also shook her head, and intensified her movements. However, her will was nothing compared to the solid granite wall that was Mrs. Toshida's approach to duty. "Now listen here, young lady. Who do you think has been keeping you clean for the last month? Is that honestly something you think I'd allow any of the men to do? I've seen every inch of you, and there's nothing you have that I hadn't seen before anyway, so you can stow that modesty away until it's needed again." Embarrassed anew at the reminder that she'd been bathed in her sleep, still the girl held her ground.

"You're going to need a hand both with that nightgown and getting into the tub," Mrs. Toshida continued on with her relentless practicality. "Your ankle isn't strong enough to hold you yet, and when you put your weight on it to step in, you're going to fall flat on your face. More injuries are the last thing you need right now, missy, and if you fall into the tub, there's a good chance you could drown before you right yourself again. I refuse to have to explain to Mr. Chiba or the good, young doctor how you managed to kill yourself while I was supposed to be taking care of you. Now then, I can either lend you a hand, or I can strip you and dump you into the bathtub. It's your choice." Eyes flashing mutinously, the girl turned around, allowing Mrs. Toshida to begin unfastening the buttons that held her nightgown closed from collar to waist. Getting into the tub, there was one treacherous moment when she thought she was going to fall, but Mrs. Toshida's strong arm was there to catch her before her knee had finished buckling. She gave a rueful smile as a thank you, and Mrs. Toshida patted her hand in response. "Don't worry, dearie, this is only while you regain your strength. You'll be back to taking your own showers before you know it."

Leaving the girl to get settled into the tub, the housekeeper returned into the bedroom for the tea tray, and then brought everything back in to the bathroom. The tea tray, the girl was delighted to find, was an ingenious contraption. While it looked like an ordinary tray, wooden legs were built into the bottom and unfolded out. Completely assembled, it was the same height as the sides of the tub. She could drink tea and have a few pieces of toast while reclining in the bathroom, and not have to fumble around on the floor trying to feel for where she'd left them, nor worry that they would fall into the tub itself, being precariously perched on the water-slippery surfaces. Even better than that, when Mrs. Toshida closed the curtains around the bathtub, there was a convenient opening for the girl's arm to reach through to reach the tray.

She leaned back against the back of the tub, letting the hot water soak into her muscled. The shower curtains were a dark blue, and the light that shined through them was dim and comforting. It felt good to be somewhere completely warm and safe, and somewhat private as well. As if sending the girl's mood, Mrs. Toshida did not attempt to initiate conversation, instead pulling out some knitting and devoting her attention to the afghan that was slowly forming. Even the steady clacking of the needles was downed out by the sound of the water lapping against the sides, and the girl could pretend for a few moments that she was completely alone.

Never had a simple bath felt so wonderful. She hadn't had a proper bath in…well, longer than she could remember. Living in the streets hadn't provided for many opportunities to get clean, and those few it did provide were scanty, inferior specimens at best. Quick showers at some local shelter or gym were okay, but she had learned swiftly that anything left unguarded for long was considered fair game by the other homeless people waiting for showers. Also, the showers were communal, which carried their own dangers as well. Just because the showers were segregated by sex didn't mean that anyone was safe. Sometimes, the strongest there simply wanted to show off their power. Sometimes, they wanted…other things. No, the showers were no place to dawdle; just a brief scrub to make sure she was clean, and then she was gone. Because of her silence and her tendency to keep her head down, she'd escaped the worst, but she'd seen more than enough. And the same instinct for danger that let her know whenever the men were getting close to her, also let her know when the showers were an unsafe place to be. More than once she'd stopped a shower abruptly, still covered in soap, to walk out and get her clothes. And seen the angry looks on some of the other faces, the expressions of predators whose prey was escaping.

The alternative to the showers was just as bad, however. Public fountains were a ready source of clean water, but they were also, well, public. During the day, she could get away with washing her face and hands in the fountains, especially if she made it look as if she were overheated a bit and just needed to cool off, but washing anything more than that was something that her pride could not tolerate. People rolling up their sleeves or pant legs to wash their bodies was a common sight, and common knowledge that those people were homeless, drifters, too poor to go anywhere else. Though that might be true in her circumstances, she'd be damned if she let anyone else know that. She didn't want to see the expressions of mingled pity and disdain in their faces when they looked at her. At night, it was possible to sneak a quick was at a public fountain, without the prying eyes of the public on her, but the nighttime held different dangers. Nighttime was when the real predators came out to hunt, ones that made the cruel women in the baths look like mice. Better to go dirty than to risk being caught.

She let herself drift, like a flower on the waves. Here, she was safe; if they'd wanted to hurt her, they'd had plenty of time to do so. And amongst her admittedly rich and luxurious setting, she felt more like herself than she ever had before. It was as if some part of her recognized these types of surroundings, and responded to them. Settling back, cradling a mug of tea in her hands, she closed her eyes and track to track down where this elusive feeling of familiarity came from.

"So let me get this perfectly straight. You managed to lose the girl—again." Tonsho, the angelic-voiced leader of the gang, audibly swallowed, but did no more than nod. "You are aware, that this is the second time that you allowed her to disappear completely. There has been no trace of her for over a month. What have you to say for yourself?"

"We've been looking, sir. We've checked hospitals, morgues, shelters, everything. We think she's with the guy that helped her out that night."

"Oh yes, the mysterious man who single-handedly trounced you and your men. Another telling point that suggests I hired the wrong crew to get this done. You still haven't been able to figure out who he is, correct?"

The office was dark, the only light coming from a dim lamp on the wide, mahogany desk. Behind that desk sat Tonsho's employer. He was puffing on a cigar, with his feel kicked up on the desk in front of him, but Tonsho was not fooled by the relaxed pose. There was an ugly tension in his voice, and an air of barely restrained violence in the room. While Tonsho was fairly certain that he could take the other man in a fight, he doubted that it would ever come to that. Though he'd never clearly seen the man's face, everything about him screamed "snake," from the sinuous way he moved, to the oily, unctuous way he spoke. One had to listen to hear the steel threat under the velvet words. Tonsho never doubted that hidden in the room somewhere was a gun, or something equally lethal that could take him out if he ever made one move his employer didn't like. He would prefer it if the other man just said "One wrong move and you're dead," but he got the feeling that this man never did anything straight forward if there was an underhanded way that would yield the same results.

"Let us catalogue your list of failures so far, shall we? You managed to not only not kill our little rabbit the first time, you also let her get away from you. Then, it took you well over three weeks to find her again. In that span of time, she could easily have found sanctuary and spilled everything she knew. Which, may I remind you, not only includes information about you but also information about me. I'm sure I hardly have to tell you that that is insupportable."

"But sir, I told you, she didn't say nothing. I don't think she can talk at all. And when she runs from us, it ain't like she recognizes us. She just runs."

"That is irrelevant. Just because she didn't say anything doesn't change the fact that she could have. Your idiocy gave her the opportunity to do so. Then, once one of your men finds her, he bungles the mission to such an extent that you never have a chance to close. Whose bright idea was it to try and snatch her off the street in broad daylight!" Tonsho winced. It hadn't been his idea, but as leader, he took the blame anyway.

"Any number of nonviolent ruses would have worked, and kept her guard down, but no, again, I had to employ morons! Somehow, it is impossible for your gang to chase down one half-starved girl, never once catching her in the course of two weeks. The one time you get close enough to do so—or so you tell me—she is suddenly saved by some caped hero who comes down from above in time to kick your sorry asses and then take the girl and fly away." The sarcasm was becoming biting now.

"And now, for over a month, we're back at square one, no idea where she is, or what she's saying. Every time the door opens, I have to brace myself in case it's a police officer wanting to have a pointed talk to me about the…issues of a few months ago. And, again, this is all due to your ineptitude. What have you to say for yourself?"

All of Tonsho's usual eloquence deserted him. He just shrugged helplessly. I've got more men out looking for her than ever before, I'm calling in favors from other people. I've also widened the search a bit, and have people combing her usual haunts. I've also got some nice-looking girls on standby who'll be able to draw her to a secure location once we do find her, and won't wince when the job is finished. Unfortunately, the man behind the desk already knew that. That was the original report from over a month ago, but nothing had changed. Sure, he was pouring even more people into the search, but without any idea where she went, it was like looking for a needle in an entire field of haystacks.

The man behind the desk watched Tonsho squirm with pitiless eyes, fully aware of the dilemma going on inside the gangster's head. When the silence stretched out beyond a few minutes, he waved a hand. "Forget it. I see that nothing has changed. Listen to me very well Tonsho. If the rabbit is not found before the week is out, I will be very…put…out." He enunciated the words very carefully. "I have waited far too long for this to let one slip of a girl and an incompetent gang of bully boys destroy all of my hard work. Either you find her, or someone from the city morgue will be finding you."

Darien was in his study, pacing, when Fumi announced the arrival of Dr. and Mrs. Furuhata. How long does it take to get the girl to the bathroom and then dressed in something decent, he growled to himself. It certainly shouldn't take twenty minutes! And yet, here are Motoki and Reika, but no sign of the girl.

"That impatient to see us?" Motoki teased from the study doorway. Darien glared at him briefly, but stopped mid-pace and put on an expansive smile.

"To see you? Certainly not. Reika, on the other hand…" he gave his best friend's wife an openly admiring glance. "Always. I keep telling her we should just run away together, but she worries about who would keep you fed if she left." All three of the grinned. It was a rare few who got to see Darien's playful, teasing side; most people weren't aware it even existed. "Hello, darling, how are you?" he asked, giving Reika a quick hug. "Finally got curious about your husband's newest patient?"

She hugged him back, kissing his cheek. "I've been curious," she said, "but I didn't think I'd learn much from watching her sleep. Now that she's awake, wild horses couldn't keep me away." She frowned at Darien. "Convention says this is where I need to tell you to eat more, that you're looking too thin, but Mrs. Toshida does too good a job for me to do that."

"I'm sorry my bachelor existence leaves you nothing to criticize."

"I didn't say that, I just said I can't harp on what you're eating. I can still tell you're working yourself to the ground though. You look tired. You need to sleep more."

"It's nice to know you care, dear."

"I wouldn't go that far. But when you keel over from exhaustion and overwork, who am I going to foist Motoki off on when I want a girl's night out?" They all laughed a bit at that. Fumi then returned with a tray of refreshments, and they all settled down in Darien's study; he in his overstuffed leather chair, and the two of them curled up together on the loveseat, looking for all the world like a pair of dating teenagers. On a deep level, Darien envied their sweet, easy relationship, one only had to look at them and see they were in love. But, as usual, his pragmatic side squelched that thought before it could become fully formed. True love came to very few outside the movies. That Reika and Motoki had found it did not mean that he ever would, especially when he didn't want to lower his internal defenses enough to let someone else in. Love was a game of power that only came out equal on the rarest of occasions. He didn't want that kind of power over someone else, and was damned sure he wasn't going to give anyone that power over him.

"So Reika has another reason for being here besides just gracing us with her company," Motoki said in between sips of tea.

"Really?" Darien raised a charcoal eyebrow at his best friend. "Is keeping you out of trouble become a 24 hour job now?"

"Har har. Actually, my beloved wife has a skill she thinks may come in handy tonight."

"What's that?"

"I'm fluent in sign language," Reika answered, setting her teacup down. "Both ASL and Tokyo JSL. I studied it for about three years in college."

Darien whistled. "Yet again, my dear, you amaze me. This is going to make talking to her much easier than waiting for her to write it all out."

"I thought it might," she said smugly. "And if you boys are very good, I might even tell you what she says."