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Kurama was not certain what roused his mind and tugged him back into the realm of consciousness. Perhaps it was the plush, itchy carpet of the hotel room irritating his neck and face. It could have been the aroma of the darkened forest and the salty sea, drifting in through the half opened window. Some sound may have echoed from the hall and prodded his ear drums, but whatever the reason, Kurama opened his eyes and found himself lying quite sloppily on the floor. The bottle given to him by The Beautiful Suzuka was still sitting on the nightstand where he left it, as was the complimentary alarm clock that blinked 11:16 in neon red.
“One minute less than last time,” he muttered to no one at all.
Team Urameshi's hotel suite was still. The fifth member of their company, Genkai, died earlier that day. Kurama had not shared a room with her, but he felt her absence all the same. She had been conquered by Toguro, or so he assumed, for he had sensed a power that could belong to no other. Since then, Botan had departed the living world, most likely to escort Genkai's soul into the beyond. The other girls and Kuwabara were all sleeping, and Yusuke and Hiei were still outside somewhere, battling demons of their own.
As for Kurama, he was mustering a bit of grace and peeling himself from the floor, which he had seemingly inhabited for the past sixteen minutes. That was the only logical deduction he could make at the time, for after he drank the liquid in Suzuka's bottle, his memory had become a blur, and he'd woken up sprawled out on his stomach. He sat down on the bed and sighed heartily. This was the second time he consumed the Fruit of the Previous Life, and the results were still underwhelming. Had he even transformed, as he had done during his fight with UraUrashima? It was possible that the item Suzuka gave him was part of a cruel hoax, an attempt to mend an ego bruised by losing.
He tilted the bottle in his hand and observed the strange demonic fruit suspended in the murky liquid. The scent seemed genuine, but exactly what the potion had done to him, he could not pin down. Just as Kurama was considering a hare brained scheme involving a camera from the concession area in the lobby, he was distracted by a familiar disturbance at the window.
“I need you,” Hiei announced, bluntly.
Kurama stared back at the small youkai for several unbroken seconds, his green eyes wide. Hiei seemed unaware that his demand held any hidden connotation, and was glaring in at his team mate with burning impatience.
“How flattering,” Kurama joked, quickly squashing the rapid thump of his human heart with a weak scrap of humor.
“Don't let your head swell, you were my second choice,” Hiei said as he hopped through the window and leaned on the sill. “The old woman would have been better suited, but we all know how that ended.”
“Depending on what you're asking, that statement could be misinterpreted, Hiei,” Kurama stated.
The demon glowered with annoyance.
“You're not funny.”
“I've been known to quip a witticism or two,” Kurama said, smiling lightly.
“Are you going to help me, or not?”
It was then that Kurama was struck with the ingenious idea to make Hiei pay for his valuable, and dwindling time with a favor of his own. The full influence of the demonic fruit was till unknown to him. A capable observer was exactly what he needed.
“Of course, but only if you'll do me the same kindness,” Kurama answered.
Hiei was accustomed to taking what he needed from Kurama for free. Food, clothing, hot baths and a place to sleep had always been given to him willingly, in exchange for nothing more than his company. Kurama seldom asked for help, which meant the shadow of his rival, Karasu, was haunting him more severely than Hiei could have guessed.
“Fine, what do you want?”
“You first,” Kurama offered.
Hiei withdrew several trinkets and a roll of cloth from his pocket, and laid the objects out on the carpet. Kurama sank from the bed to observe them, already getting a faint idea of what Hiei required.
“I need someone familiar with my youki to help secure these wards,” Hiei said.
Kurama let his eyes wander over his comrade's charred, battered arm and hand.
“Then, can I correctly assume you're close to reaching your goal?” he asked.
Hiei smirked and cocked his head back slightly, feeling no need to don a shroud of modesty before the kitsune.
“I'm impressed,” Kurama said. “Demons for centuries have said taming the black dragon couldn't be done. You've achieved what no one else has before you.”
“All who came before were too cowardly to reach for true greatness,” Hiei said. “Shying away when the dragon is within sight is how so many have been swallowed up by it. Only I have possessed the tenacity to face it directly.”
“What was that you said earlier, about getting a swelled head?” Kurama jabbed.
“Just shut up and help me,” Hiei snapped back.
After an hour or so, the medallions and cloth Hiei brought with him were glowing with a subtle aura. The spell was successful, and tomorrow morning, the wards would help contain the power of the dragon until Hiei was ready to unleash it. Kurama hoped that circumstances would not bring the Jagan user to that end, but he knew all too well the extent of Team Toguro's power. There was a dangerously real chance that the Dragon of the Darkness Flame would still consume Hiei's body and soul if his youki did not prove mighty enough. In spite of this horrific possibility, the fire demon was confident, even eager. It was more than Kurama could say of himself.
“Now for my own quandary,” Kurama said when they finished.
Hiei glanced at the round bottle still perched on the table by Kurama's bed.
“The fruit in that vessel was the primary ingredient of the smoke in the Idunn Box,” Kurama said. “Its power is what caused me to regress in age and finally transform during my fight with UraUrashima.”
“What did you do, rob that ridiculous clown when no one was looking?” Hiei asked.
“Suzuka gave the potion to me,” Kurama answered. “He also gave Kuwabara the charmed sword handle we saw him with earlier. That item was the basis for Shishiwakamaru's Banshee Shriek. Both items are capable of conjuring impressive power, if they're genuine, that is.”
“You think he gave you a fake?”
“I'm not sure. I've sampled the juices of the fruit twice so far, but I'm afraid I'm having trouble maintaining any memory of what takes place during the supposed transformation,” Kurama admitted. “That's why I need your assistance.”
“You want me to sit back and watch to see if you change to your demon form, or fall on your face,” Hiei said, and shrugged. “Why not? Both outcomes seem amusing.”
Kurama picked up the bottle from its resting place and pulled out the stopper for the third time that night.
“The effects seem to last for about fifteen minutes. Until then....” Kurama smiled weakly, and downed a sip of the deep crimson concoction.
Hiei sat on his own bed and waited. A short time passed, during which he watched Kurama, somewhat bored, and they did not speak to each other. It was only when his youki flickered slightly and the fox went rigid that Hiei leaned forward with interest. At first, Kurama stood with his eyes open, staring through him. The Jagan user counted the seconds, wondering if his partner would stay in this trance for the entire fifteen minutes before tumbling to the rug in a heap. After a full thirty seconds ticked by, though, Hiei felt a sharp crackle of youki against the bare flesh of his arms and face. The air became heavy, and Kurama's human body was obscured behind a swirling white fog of energy.
The fog became more oppressive, the looming power more overwhelming, until Hiei instinctively held up two cautious fists and got ready to defend himself. He did not move from the bed, though, curiosity winning out over self preservation. Something huge was in the room now, something sinister, something spectacular. This being was not Kurama at all, he was something so much better, yet somehow frightening and foreign all at once.
When the haze cleared, Kurama was gone. He was not crumpled on the floor, he was not on the bed, he was not anywhere. He had temporarily ceased to be and had been replaced with a majestic creature who gazed down at the stunned young fire demon and said,
“Ah... Hiei. I finally get to see you with my own eyes.”
The stunning beast called Youko Kurama reached out one long, deadly claw, and with inhuman care, grazed it tenderly down Hiei's smooth cheek. Had anyone else touched him so intimately, Hiei might have lashed out, or run, but he was so captivated by the youkai towering over him that he could do nothing but stare.
“You're speechless,” he crooned. “Not unlike many who have come before you, though I suspect an apparition like yourself won't take long to come to his senses.”
Kurama pulled his hand away and ran it through the long white mane that fell to his waist. He flicked both ears, twitched his tail, and slid his palms over his physique, seemingly enraptured by his own magnificence. Hiei watched closely, and could not deny that he, too, was impressed by the flawless demon that stood before him. This was Kurama's true self, the form he'd been forced to leave behind when he made the choice to chain himself to a human body to survive. During the kitsune's fight with UraUrashima, Hiei had nearly salivated over Youko's enormous power. Kurama deserved that sort of status, he deserved to be revered and feared again.
That was what Hiei told himself at that time, but the longer tall, white apparition stood and groomed and smirked and was engrossed in the glory of his own existence, the more Hiei wondered if this was really the Kurama he wanted to call his friend. Hiei no longer felt like an equal, he felt like the sole member of an audience who had come to witness the legendary thief's grandeur, but never tread close enough to touch.
“You two are less alike than I thought,” Hiei finally said.
The fox's pointed ears perked forward. He came closer and smiled down at Hiei with a queer sort of delight.
“How satisfying to hear you say that,” he said. “I can see why my lesser half finds you so appealing. Not only are you fearless, your abilities are nearly as impressive as mine.”
Hiei frowned.
“My mistake. You're both conceited.”
Kurama ruffled Hiei's hair lightly and laughed out loud.
“Is that what you think of him?” he chuckled. “Strange how that false eye allows you to gaze across such great distances, yet you can't see what's right in front of you.”
“I have no idea what you're talking about,” Hiei scoffed.
“Are you sure about that?” Youko grinned darkly, and dropped to the floor. On his knees, he was eye to eye with the fire demon perched precariously on the edge of the mattress. Two glistening gold orbs looked Hiei over, basting him with a malicious hunger the Jagan user had not felt from Kurama before.
“Do you think a person like me would have done what he's done, unless there was something to gain?”
“Hn, a thief only cares about gain,” Hiei said.
“Very true,” Youko replied. “Which leads me to point out the gross incongruity of your relationship. You own nothing, Hiei. You have little fame, no land, no influence, and certainly no heritage that one would want to flaunt.”
Hiei's frown deepened and he narrowed his eyes.
“Yet Shuuichi complicates his already insufferable human life to look after you. He feeds you, clothes you, lets you sleep in his bed. He lies to his human mother on a daily basis, misses school, stays up at night wondering what kind of trouble you're getting yourself into. He even risked his own freedom to break you out of jail, and for what reason? Did you think he was doing it out of the goodness of his fragile, fleshy human heart?”
Youko's claws reached out to him. The tiny daggers extending from his fingers traveled along Hiei's jaw, to the tip of his chin. They pinned him in place, daring him to escape, but Hiei remained rigid and met the yellow eyed stare that was fixed on him.
“No...” Youko whispered. “No one is that generous, least of all a thief. Shuuichi is paying himself with the fantasy of what could be, for as I said, you have nothing to offer... except.... yourself. ”
Hiei could not move, then. He could not blink, nor breathe, nor run away, even as Youko's smooth lips were closing in on him. They hovered near enough to feel his heat and taste the smokey aroma that was all his own. The scent had been left on Kurama's pillows and sheets night after night and kept him awake and driven him insane and this dark side of him was about to lean in and capture it.
But the darkness did not consume him, for at that moment, smoke diffused from every inch of Youko's form and filled the room again. Hiei remained frozen in place, and waited without moving a single muscle for the magical aura to clear.
He heard Kurama before he saw him. A sharp gasp and the unmistakable throbbing of his pulse filled Hiei's ears. When the smoke finally cleared, two familiar, though startled green eyes were staring back at him.
“H-hiei...” Kurama glanced down to observe their uncomfortable proximity, and swiftly pulled away. “It seems the transformation was successful, since I'm clearly not where I was when it began.”
“It was,” Hiei said. Kurama was distracted enough by his own predicament to miss the sight of Hiei's hands gripping the bed covers roughly. “What do you remember?”
“I'm not sure,” Kurama muttered. “It's strange, I feel like I've just awoken from a strange and pleasurable dream. But, I suppose I also feel relieved. With Youko's power at my disposal, I may have a chance of defeating Karasu.”
“You have your answer, then. Looks like you don't need me anymore,” Hiei said. He finally rose from the bed.
“Hiei,” Kurama said abruptly. The demon cringed at the sudden urgency in the fox's voice. “Please, wait for a moment. There's something else....”
He sat down on Hiei's bed. The sad smile he wore beckoned the fire apparition to come back, though the pull was not strong enough to make Hiei sit again.
“I said I may have a chance of winning. Fifteen minutes isn't much time.”
“For me it is,” Hiei mumbled. He glanced over his shoulder at the window that was calling for him. He was desperate to leap through it and lose himself in his preparation once more. The cold black night was welcoming, and best of all, it was simple. The darkness would not twist him up inside. It would not lull him and trap him and tell him secrets he never wanted to hear.
“We're very different, you and I,” Kurama sighed. “Maybe that's why we get along so well.”
“Maybe.”
When Hiei heard Kurama swallow roughly, he clenched his teeth together and turned away.
“Hiei, please sit down.”
He would not.
“I'm not one to beg...” Kurama said.
He would have to.
A jagged bolt of lightning shot up Hiei's spine when Kurama touched his wounded wrist. His caress possessed all the care with which Youko had touched him, but there was something more there.
Gentleness.
Hiei slowly sank to the bed and stared at the floor.
“Hiei, I know it's not something you want to accept, but,” Kurama's words lingered in the air for a moment as he turned his hands over carelessly in his lap. “But, I might die tomorrow.”
The fire apparition still refused to look at him, though his ears were open.
“My human life hasn't been what I expected it to be. I never thought I would remain here long enough to mature, for one. I didn't anticipate allying myself with other youkai, and I certainly didn't think I would ever call one of them my friend. I also couldn't have believed, in my previous life, that a simple human woman could teach me so much.... that I could learn from her the art of selflessness.” He shifted slightly, begging silently for Hiei to meet his eyes. “Perhaps inhabiting my true form has spurred something inside me that Shiori tempered, because... what I'm about to ask of you is entirely selfish.”
Kurama reached out and ran his fingers up the mangled skin of Hiei's right arm. Hiei stared resolutely ahead as his companion felt his forearm, his elbow, his shoulder, and up his neck until Kurama's hand was in his hair and he could ignore the touch no longer. He turned, and instantly felt sick.
Youko had gone away, but so had Kurama. Sitting beside him was a human boy, sad and helpless. His mouth hung open slightly. His eyes seemed moist.
“Will you kiss me?”
Hiei looked at the lips that were still parted, longing to be met. They did not smile, or frown, or twist up with regret. They simply waited and expressed the somber resignation that meant Kurama was convinced he would soon breathe his last breath. It would have been easy to close the gap between them and get it over with, but that would be no different than killing Kurama himself.
“No,” he said. “I won't let you waste yourself on me.”
“Hiei... why...”
“Because,” he took Kurama's hand in his own and pulled it away, “you're not going to die tomorrow.”