2056
(Sixty-one years after YYH events.)
Hiei:
It's been a long time. I had to search so very hard to find you, if this message even arrives before you move on.
I would welcome a visit. You don't need to be at the service, but perhaps we could talk. I would like that.
My address is just as it's always been, and I no more lock the windows now than ever.
Yukina
She stood in the half-lit kitchen, all chrome and shiny stainless steel and smelling of lilies, bio-engineered to keep fresh and strong for a week after the funeral they adorned.
Her dress was black, despite the way cultural norms had shifted in the last sixty years. It was more common to wear white, to celebrate the man's life, but no one had faulted the widow for appearing somber and sad.
She stood in her kitchen and listened to her small kingdom, a matriarchy of grandchildren and great-grandchildren, being put down for bed.
The moon was rising. She'd seen the moon rise tens of thousands of times, but never so pale and empty.
And then something rustled and he was there, in a black suit that was currently in fashion but aesthetically horrid. It did nothing for his height or his hair, which he had defiantly kept in its natural straight-up style through the trends that more or less aligned with it and those that did not.
He looked no older than twenty-five, mature and steady and at ease in this time so far distant from what he'd once known. He smelled of lilies, too, though she suspected that he'd forgone his usual cologne very reluctantly.
She smiled at him, and rested one pale hand on his upper arm. "Hello, Hiei."
He nodded, and his legs were stiff to keep himself from fidgeting uncomfortably. "Yukina. I didn't know what service you meant, at first, but all things are accessible if you're prepared to trawl through enough records."
She nodded, and the smile shrank into something more befitting a mourning widow. "It's funny, isn't it? He was always so excited about new things, using the virtual controls as though they were just an extension of his arm."
"He did with most weapons," Hiei confirmed, because he hadn't been around enough since that long-buried time to comment.
She blinked, and then beamed, suddenly reminded of the brief flurry of life-and-death struggles that had brought them together in the first place. "It's been so long," she murmured quietly. "So much happened, between then and now.
"Six decades of monotony and raising half-breeds," Hiei said spitefully. He stepped back, away from her hand, and crossed his arms. "I could never have done it."
"Kazuma and I chose our path," Yukina said beatifically, and stepped closer, bridging the gap with no effort. "It was a beautiful service."
There was a brooding silence, and then Hiei bit out, "I saw."
She put her hand out again, but didn't touch him. "I'm glad. He would have liked that."
Hiei breathed loudly through his teeth and his chest bowed out far enough for his arm to come in contact with her. Her fingers moved along the soft black material of his suit. He said, "Of all things, when I first met him, I would never have pegged Kuwabara as dying of old age."
"I'm sure he would never have thought you would come to his funeral," she said reflexively, and then the sorrow pulled her heart down and the smile disappeared again. "Hiei. How have you been?"
"Better than you have," he snorted.
"I was surprised that you stayed in the human world, after Yusuke was gone and Koenma forced you to make a permanent choice between them."
He glowered at her table, made of sturdy, real wood. "There was nothing for me in the Makai." He pushed past those thoughts and gestured to the kitchen that had old technology and her out-of-fashion dress. "I'm apparently more suited to adapting than you."
"There's nothing wrong with staying the same," she said softly, to herself and to him. "I've been quite happy, for a long while."
"Wonderful," Hiei muttered to himself, almost bitterly.
"Thank you for coming. Kurama's here, too."
He looked down. "I don't care. He's old, I imagine. And soft."
"His body is human," Yukina agreed. "The demon spirit is slowing the affects of time, but it won't keep it back forever." She breathed in, sharply, to keep from sighing. "He wears it well, though. Very dignified."
"I won't see it. I have no interest in an aging fox."
Her hand moved up to his shoulder. "He's not like us," she reminded him. "None of them are. It's no one's fault."
He turned his cheek to her and glared at the wall.
She guessed, "But that doesn't stop you trying to blame someone, does it."
"I'm going," he said sharply.
"Alright," she said easily, and stepped closer to him, and hugged him. "Stay in touch."
He made a quiet sound of agreement, but promised nothing. They both knew that he wouldn't.
And then she let go and, with another rustle, he was gone.