A/N- This one gets pretty suggestive near the end. It also goes into about 3 percent more detail about what happened in Spirit World than the previous chapter did. It also is in Hiei's point of view, picking off from where Botan left off, sort of overlapping the story (by Boton giving background and Hiei giving more of an epilogue). Yes, I'm also going to let you decide how the romancing actually went, since I only touch on that for about a sentence. But it happened :D And basically this is me writing deep and thoughtful things and not going into too much detail. Sorry about that. I can only hope that you enjoyed this and review.

Part II

Koenma is dead. When I heard this, I didn't know whether to celebrate or to comfort you. But when I heard the rest, you made the answer quite clear. George, Ayame, Kuwabara, Yusuke, Kurama… Yukina. These names all flew through my ear, registered themselves and then flew out the other side. I could only see the desperation in your eyes, the dependence on merely my presence. Instantly it was too cold, and you needed to be warm.

You said something to me then, in that small embrace. I don't think you knew I heard. You probably didn't even mean to speak, didn't mean to utter those words into my chest.

"The world is Stopped."

The world is Stopped? This was news to me; the world has been Stopped for me for a long time. The axis has gathered dust and the gears haven't turned in decades. Maybe it almost started moving when I had a purpose, when I found Yukina. But that time was too short, and the reasons too few. And now Yukina was gone.

Dear god, Yukina was gone.

But you hugged me tighter then, sensing my mind was wandering, almost breaking. I needed to hold together the pieces.

I think I saw my mother that day, standing next to her own grave in serene grace unknown to most of her kind (they're all animals, really, milking the world for finery until someone they don't want comes around and they scurry back into their homes like the rodents they are). Her hair was tied up, but I couldn't see her face. I don't know why I couldn't, but I do not normally question such things, so therefore I didn't. But it would make sense, wouldn't it? Where else would her soul go if Spirit World were gone? The Grand Canyon?

I tried to call out to her, but my voice was lost on the wind. Instead, words came out in whispers, and they seemed to speak even louder. So I told her of my life, of my sister's life, how I found her. And I told her of the present: of the uneasiness in the air, of my newfound susceptibility, about something was wrong and what was it what was it what?

At first I thought you were one of the Koorime. You look a lot like them, you know. Blue hair, pleasant face, same type of dress. It's your disposition and eyes that stand out, though, you know. You are too cheerful, too carefree to be compared too closely with that race. They are solemn, stony-faced and angry.

You didn't utter a word of protest when I took you back to the ground, to the warmth. In truth, I don't know why. You stayed where I put you and healed, and when you were healed you begged me to get my wounds cleaned. I don't know how the learning process got to this point. It evolved, I suppose, from one spark of change (like flint on steel) and developed into something much more than that, where both of us were healed and healthy with new pink flesh unable to forget the past but still stronger than before.

This is what scars are made of. Over time (weeks, months, years?) the worlds have changed. We have changed.

Now you plant a kiss on the back of my neck; the most vulnerable part of my body when I am in battle, and it sends a chill down my spine. I pat your head and the kiss you planted grows with every second into something beautiful. A tree, a vine, a bush, a blade of grass, or flower—it doesn't matter, it grows into something pinkandredandblueandblack and neither of us can control it and it goesandgoesandgoes and wait—

I pause and our heavy breath can be heard in the quiet. A noise.

Grind-click.

The gears start turning this mechanical world again, shaking the dust off its slats.

"What is it?" You look up, face flushed and coated with sweat, bright eyes concerned.

"Nothing," I tell you. "You should be a mechanic."

You look confused, but you smile anyway when you notice the corners of my mouth turned up in a happiness I haven't known in a long long while. Yes, it is turning slowly, but it is definitely not Stopped.