"Kuronue!"

Kurama woke tumultuously, his breathing unsteady in the night air. He tightened his hands into useless fists, wishing for something to strike. It was not quite chill enough for his breath to smoke, but he felt as if he could see it anyway, tortured exhalation born of nightmares, anguished ki dissipating among the shadowy trees.

The hypnotic swish, swish, of a redstoned pendant on a silver chain.

A flash of smile, demon-bright and shining, and the indigo eyes that he remembered. Arms long and agile, pale and twined with ribbons of black, nimble-handed chimera with the sure touch of a thief. Or a lover.

Such dreams as seared through his heart in the mortal midnight, mercilessly unforgotten. The way he ran, like wind at evening, twilight-touched and faster than thought. The raised ki of a raid together, adrenaline of success bringing their gazes up bright and fierce as they looked playfully at one another. The last touch of Kuronue's skin, strong as silk and supple leather, the final sound of his panting laughter--

The snap of his chain, its skittering fall beneath the standing trees.

And his scream. He only screamed once, proud demon, when the sharp bamboo pierced him, sealed his destiny. The only nightmare of the perfect thief-- agony more than pain or starvation, more even than death . Being caught.

Always Kurama woke then, shouting Kuronue's name as he had those many years ago. He could never dream long enough to save him, to pull him from that hateful bamboo-trap and bear him into the haven of the night.

Could never find the broken chain.

If he'd had the yoko strength that silvered his blood, he would only have shaken himself and curled back to sleep. But there was too much of memory in the strained human body in which he slept, too much of strained mortal darkness. Minamino Shuuichi was grieving someone he had never known, and yoko Kurama was bittersweetly dormant.

No, he was not the fox that night. Careful, as always, of his companions' rest, he moved away from the group, sitting in the fallen leaves and scrubbing futilely at the ghosts of demonred stains on his feet. Kurama wept for the blood-- so much blood he had lost-- and for captivity, and for the fact that he, feeble ningen now, had to weep at all.

"Kuronue..."

"Kuronue?" Half a dozen questions flickered through Koenma's mind as he narrowed golden eyes at his demon visitor. What he finally settled on saying was, "What do you care about Kuronue?"

"Nothing," came the strained reply. "Are you going to tell me where he is, or not?"

Koenma sighed. "The location of a... best-forgotten makai thief is not information lightly disclosed, Hiei. I ask again, why is it important for you to know?"

Hiei shifted his ruby gaze away, looking at anything but Koenma's discerning god-eyes. "Kurama," he said at last. "Kurama has nightmares. Of Kuronue. You owe me, kami; I want a chance to kill the bastard."

A flicker of pain hit Koenma, just behind his eyes. ~Aa, Hiei, you are not as opaque as you think you keep yourself.~

"Kuronue is dead, Hiei."

Another might have gasped, or frowned. Hiei's silence only became more profound, considering. So caught up in the idea that Kuronue was a bitter memory from Kurama's past, he had not considered that he might have been a lost companion.

"Give a different slant to Kurama's dreams?" Koenma raised an eyebrow, perhaps hoping to get a reaction from the koorime. "They had something of a reputation together, those two."

"Unsurprising." Hiei looked unperturbed, but Koema thought there was an undercurrent of emotion in his stance. For a long moment he did not speak.

In the silence, Koenma cast his mind back. Wisped memories-- floating rumors, artifacts run missing that no sane thief could have gone after-- and always, the sheen of innocence on those twin demon smiles, black and silver both. "The Amber SightJewel of the reikai? Why, is it missing?" Then the two would laugh, never quite touching, their hands or eyes moving possessively in the warm youki around each other. "If you'll not be needing us, we've been summoned back to the makai..." And what to say to that? Enma Daioh had always been forced let them go, constrained by his own powerful justice. Not to say that he didn't encourage his subordinates to lay better traps in the future.

Koenma remembered yoko Kurama, on one knee before his tremendous father, glaring silver-hot mutiny with his shoes covered in unfading demon blood. And insisting to the Lord of the Dead that he didn't know where the stolen gold-Mirror was. He would not betray anything; he could not. Though he had only to confess to know the spirit lost to him was wandering in the reikai somewhere, safe.

Protesting innocence though the partner he'd been unable to save had bled to death with a bamboo stalk through his thigh, in the trap that had been laid for the both of them.

Hadn't Enma Daioh given over his responsibilities to his son about then?

Enma Daioh, Jr. started when Hiei spoke again, though for the suddenness of it or the actual request he could not tell.

"If he's dead, that means he's here. You can give Kurama time with him, then."

It hadn't even been a request, really; Hiei had spoken as if it were the natural, logical conclusion. Which perhaps it was, in his demon-brain.

"No," Koenma said reflexively, not even allowing himself to think about the paperwork. "Absolutely not. There are rules, Hiei; otherwise the worlds would dissolve into each other. I cannot allow makai visitors to ones who have passed through the Gates, more will bleed through--" He shuddered, wondering why his mind had provided just that particular image. He tried not to think of Kuronue's crimson demon-blood on Kurama's trembling feet, and failed.

"Hn. None of this changes the fact that you owe me, kami." Damn smug words from the demon.

Koenma tried to keep his voice from shaking. "And so you would spend the one favor of a god, merely to secure your kitsune's peace of mind?"

Hiei closed his eyes, swallowing the violent words before they could escape him. "I know yet a little of the prices of things, Koenma." ~I have learned many things by paying such prices,~ he did not add. "Kurama nearly lost his last fight. The demon against him took Kuronue's form."

Koenma's eyes narrowed. "What does that--"

Hiei never let him finish. "He almost lost, kami, do you understand? His enemy was a puny one; it should have been an easy fight. A grieving kitsune is a miserable opponent. His ningen self isn't accustomed to the depth of his yoko memories. If you don't help him he won't be-- an asset to our team."

There it was, the reaction Koenma had been watching for earlier, the slightest hitch to that low, balanced voice. It was no comfort to realize he'd guessed accurately. "So a grieving kitsune looks bad on Urameshi team," he said, rather unkindly, unable to stop himself. "We all have pasts, koorime. Why should I go out of my way for Kurama's?"

The firedemon took a step closer reflexively, anger hot in his already burning eyes. ~Because he would never ask you to-- is that not reason enough?~ He would have lifted a hand against him but for Koenma's raised finger-- one summons and Hiei could become a permanent resident in the reikai, as well. With nothing gained. Hiei subsided, fuming. "Don't you care at all," he said thickly, "about your reikai tantei and his group?"

Koenma bristled. "I should ask you, don't you care too deeply about digging up your kitsune's past?"

Hiei was irritably silent. Then he said slowly, "His past was never buried, Koenma. I care only about laying it to rest." He flicked his eyes away from Koenma's face. "For his own sake."

There was nothing to be said to that.

The dream was different this time. He walked through the broad stand of bamboo trees, feet treading softly against the hard stone of the pathway. His ki whispered that he was not truly alone, his trouble-sense high and alert. There was a kitsune rippling just beneath the surface of him, thirsty for release at the slightest provocation.

A slurry of bamboo leaves fell down about his ears, and without even thinking he leapt, muscles straining. Mid-jump he achieved yoko, and it gave him an extra burst of strength, tail flung out for balance and keener eyes scrying more in the uneasy lighting.

With a twist and a pivot, he landed on his feet, only inches away from what had sprung open beneath him-- a bamboo trap, all honed-sharp branches and deadly waiting cage.

He lost his balance and found himself on his knees before it, soft-furred ears quivering with the humming nearness of the deadly thing. Oh, such cruelty in dreams. With masochistic tenderness he ran his palm and fingers along the length of a bamboo spike, watched himself bleed into the wood.

When he touched his face, tears thinned the languid flow of his blood. More dizzy than angry, lost in the terrible déjà vu of the place, he touched his hands to the ground, dropped his forehead to the cool unyielding stone. Thin rust-colored handmarks remained on the stone walk, for he was bleeding like a ningen, brilliant color turned dusky in the air. Numbly he looked down at the smudges he had made, like the imprints of leaves after the rain, shadow echoes of the shapes of living things, dancing still forever. ~Yes, I was here, and here I grieved, and here is the stain of myself to prove it.~

"Kuronue..."

Kurama thought he would awaken, thought for sure that his devious subconscious would pull him out of dreaming to the waking hurt all over again. But not so, this time. He spent a long moment staring at his slowly bleeding hand, realizing that it was beginning to sting like needled teeth were taking bites of his flesh.

Terribly real pain, for a dream.

He was caught all off guard when a rustle of leaves behind him broke the eerie silence. Trying to gain his feet and spin around and retreat all at once muddied his already overworked sense of balance, and he tipped toward the bamboo cage--

And found himself caught.

Securely, in nothing more perilous than a pair of slim arms.

When he struggled blindly, deft hands steadied him. Long-fingered and not quite gentle-- Kurama knew the touch of a thief, hands like his own.

He tossed back his silvered hair and stared. The indigo eyes that he remembered, and the demon-bright smile. Memory-etched lines resonated along the edges of his face. But something flickered behind that gaze that he had never even dreamed. There was no other word to speak, but the only word he ever spoke, in dreaming.

"Kuronue."

Kuronue laughed. "Who else? Damn ungraceful for you, Fox-tail," he snugged Kurama tighter into his chest, as if he were in danger of falling again. "Thought I remembered you a little more agile than that."

Surprised into a laugh, Kurama found his arms winding round the other demon's middle, splaying grateful hands against the slender black wings at his back. Oh, but he felt so right... If this were a dream, it was surely the most blessed one he'd ever had, and he'd be a damn fool to lose his chance by asking stupid questions. "Only when I was trying to impress you, Raven-eyes." The familiar nicknames sounded odd to his time-distanced ears, but came willingly enough to his tongue. "Why--" He reminded himself again not to ask questions. "I guess I should thank you for saving my skin?" he grinned, leaning playfully against him.

"Again," Kuronue said ruefully-- but without any of the bitterness that Minamino Shuuichi, underneath, was expecting. "And such fine skin it is, too, kit." The fingers Kurama had dreamed about were questing up under his tunic, sending delicious tremors through him. "That much has not changed."

Slow feral sigh, and Kurama molded his body against his lost partner's, his own hands hungrily pushing beneath clothing. He spoke low, a throaty possessive growl against Kuronue's collarbone. "If I remember, Raven-eyes, it was not my skin you so loved about me."

Kurama arched into Kuronue's skilled fingertips at the small of his back, twining his leg around the other's so Kuronue was forced to reach his hands still lower to support the writhing kitsune.

"How very clever that you remember," the chimera's voice was warm in Kurama's hair, and Kurama's blood thrilled to hear the desire-thick cadence he still could cause. Greedy fingers sought the firm sweet line of his hip, and he tilted his head up and back and found Kuronue's mouth with his own.

Oh, yes.

Together they toppled in the scattered bamboo leaves, the earth-- beyond the path, far beyond the forgotten trap-- springy and moist beneath them. Kuronue used his wings to buoy him and landed on top, laughing triumphant at his advantage, feeling the radiating heat of Kurama's desire pinned beneath him.

"Mine tonight, Fox-tail." He knelt between the fox's legs, smoothing back his hair almost reverently.

Kurama didn't ask, didn't argue, only wriggled his hips wantonly against Kuronue's thigh, aching to bring him closer before the end of the dream.

"Ah," he scolded. "Not yet, impatient fox." His voice grew quiet. "I want to savor you." And with deliriously slow movements he pulled Kurama's tunic over his head, loosed him from his white pants.

Kuronue breathed deeply, and Kurama felt his whole self blossoming pale and uncovered under that discerning indigo gaze. He almost asked him what he was seeing, but there was such light in his eyes that for a moment he didn't dare to speak.

Sprawled naked and trapped beneath Kuronue's powerful hands, Kurama moaned involuntarily, angling his head up and plundering the small warm place behind Kuronue's earlobe with his nimble tongue. "Yours tonight, Kuronue," he said, without really knowing why.

And the floodgates opened, something tremendous burning along each rushing touch that Kurama felt surely the Gates between the worlds had opened up before him.

He managed to slip Kuronue from his tight black clothing, unwinding his armbands in a heady spiralling movement that dizzied them both. He was just as demon-fine as Kurama remembered, translucent pale skin traced with constellations of spiderthin veins. For a sick moment, he thought of blood-- oh, there had been so much blood-- and then the thought was gone, blissfully gone, and the only blood was the building pulse that joined their uneven breath and the excruciating glorious heat between his legs.

"Kuronue--" His body was singing it too, dancing towards release with a body above him that he never expected to feel again. Only dimly did he feel the drying blood on his own palm becoming something else, metal-thin and cold to the touch, for then the world exploded and galaxies of stars were born around him.

"Ku- Kurama--" And then Kuronue, too, came, his wings beating, and his face was wild and fierce and free.

Free.

Kurama woke up, on his back, weeping a different sort of tears.

Hiei walked stiffly to the riverbank. Such dreams he'd had, hot and real behind his eyes like the visions after he used his Kokuryuuha, or when Kurama was in high yoko and radiating dream-ki. These were unlike any dragonfire-dreams he'd ever had, though, vivid-- Kurama, all sensual silvered fox essence, standing before Hiei and touching himself like a wanton thing. As if it were a dance for him, a seduction... But then there had been someone else, dark haired and winged, who'd mumbled inscrutable things and stalked off, looking rather pleased with himself.

So strange. Hiei shook his head. And so potent! He'd not slept much at all after that, and now the thought of facing daylight was daunting, especially with that damn beautiful kitsune walking in their group. Hn. Maybe a splash of cold water would--

Kurama was there, kneeling by the riverbank.

Too late he tensed to flee silently the way he had come, for Kurama spoke, only barely lifting his head. "Good morning, Hiei."

There were dull tear-tracks on his face, and Hiei felt ashamed to see him thus. But there was nothing of that agonized grief that had sung across his nerves for the past month. A little sluggishly, Hiei realized that Kurama had deliberately not washed away those tears.

"Morning, Kurama," he said, shortly. He noticed that Kurama had his hand curled underwater, and his eyebrows were drawn together, just slightly, as if in pain. "You hurt yourself, fox?"

Kurama did not quite smile. "Cut myself somehow." He lifted his head and met Hiei's gaze evenly. "You? You look like you didn't get any sleep."

"Hn." Inwardly he winced that he'd been transparent enough to reveal that weakness. But then, this was Kurama, and with a foxfire glow to his eyes that hadn't been there since-- since he'd started having nightmares. "Odd dreams," Hiei mumbled.

Kurama uncurled his fingers underwater and released a long breath. "So did I," he said quietly. "So did I." Then he stood, stretching himself lithely, reminding Hiei exactly of the free grace of the Kurama in his dream-- unfettered by anything at all, ningen or yoko.

Hiei glanced down at the riverbank, the light shimmer of the stream where Kurama had washed his hand. Faintest traces of his blood spun in the eddies there, tinting the shimmering water palest red. Wait-- it wasn't blood any longer, it was something glinting in the reeds. He bent and lifted it from the river, crystalline drops shaking slowly from the length of it.

What he had mistaken for glimmering watercurrents was in fact a long silver chain, with a blood-red stone in its setting.

In that lightning way that dreams resurface after hours of waking, Hiei recalled-- with alarming clarity-- the moment when the dark-haired being in his dreams had spoken to him. Only a word, but with enough of feeling behind it that it made him shiver.

"Arigatou."

He dropped the pendant in the river.

Kurama had already headed back to the others. "Coming?" He paused mid-stride to look back over his shoulder, and there was a true smile on his face.

Hiei returned the smile. "Aa. Wait for me."