I own neither YuYu Hakusho nor Weiss Kruez. Only the plot, narrative, and the occasional, (brief), OC are mine. Not for profit.
The warm, moist, tropical sea breeze curled through the window, opened a crack for just this purpose. Weiss, though exhausted from the arrival fight, had debated whether or not to open the window. Just as they had debated the safest place to sleep in the suite, the watch schedule, whether they dared eat the enormous feast provided them, whether or not they could survive their unexpectedly ravenous hungers if they didn't eat the food, shower schedules, and anything else they could contrive to put off sleep. In the end however, the overwhelming exhaustion won out and one, by one, team Shiro slept.
The warm breeze wove among them, redolent of tropic perfume and bearing the breath of Morpheus, doing a favor for his cousin. The little breeze ruffled a lock of hair here, toyed with a shirt collar there, and wove itself into the the sleep of all four young warriors. Making their sleep deep, healing, and open to the presence of others. . .
Yohji woke up to the knock on his door. Then he realized, rather unexpectedly, that he hadn't woken up at all. He recognized this dream, the way the sunlight came through windows and whited out the edges of the room and the long, long walk to the door. He knew what he would find if he opened it.
Auska would be standing there, blood dripping from her head. Her clothes would be torn open and askew, baring the perfect flesh of her breasts and stomach, marred with her own gore. So he sat. He couldn't bear the sight of Auska, wanton and bloodied, again. To his surprise he continued to sit. Always before the dream would take control and walk him to the door. Maybe- the knock came again. How long could he sit? Could he stall until Omi came to make him get up?
A third knock, and this time, "Yohji." It was her voice, her wonderful, terrible voice. "Yohji, If you want I can knock forever, but I can't come in until you open the door and let me."
Then softer, gentler, "Yohji, stop being an idiot and open the door. I've missed you. Please, Yohji."
That pulled him to his feet and carried him across the floor. He knew, he knew, there were consequences to inviting ghosts, but he could never tell her "no," about anything.
He opened the door and there she stood, just like she had the last dozen times he'd dreamed of her, except. . .. There was no blood. She wasn't dressed in the wreck of her work outfit, but a light summer dress that was a perfect match for her favorite hat. And she smiled at him, truly smiled. Yohji didn't know how to react. This couldn't be real; his guilt wouldn't let go of him that much. He couldn't be dead; her smile would make this heaven, and Yohji was sure he wasn't headed there.
Auska gave him the little smirk that said she knew what he was thinking. "Whatever you're saying to yourself, cut it out. And, I can't walk through you -so move it, you big oaf!" Gently, but insistently, she pushed against his chest with one of her small, strong hands. He staggered back, clasping her hand to his chest like a last hope, all but dragging her inside with him.
She followed him inside and into his arms. Real, and soft, and so, so beautiful. "Damn, Auska," Yohji murmured into her hair, "I never want to wake up. Just stay here with me?"
She kept her arms around him but slid back enough to look up into his face. "I don't want you sleeping your life away, Yohji!"
"It's no kind of life without you," he answered.
She shook him just a little, her expression suddenly frustrated with him. How he loved the way her nose would scrunch when she glared. "Yohji! Snap out of it. If you keep flaking out like this you'll get yourself killed!" He started to open his mouth, but she cut him off again. "You may not care about that. But, Yohji," and she grabbed his chin, tilting his head down to meet her eyes, "you'll also get your partners killed too. Do you really not care about that?"
And that was too much too take from her, of all people. Helpless to stop himself, he wrenched away from her. Trying to escape the pain, yet having no where to run. He finally settled a few steps away, back turned to her and arms wrapped around himself. "I guess that's one thing I'm good at," he whispered, voice hollow.
"Dammit, Yohji." Her voice was soft and sad now. She put a hand on his shoulder and turned him to face her, his head bowed and eyes hidden behind the curtain of his fallen bangs. "I'm sorry, Yohji." Her hand swept through his bangs, tucking them behind each ear and coming away with a few loose strands. She half turned away, this topic was difficult for her too. "I shouldn't have said that, that way. I didn't mean you want to get your partners killed. 'Cause I know you don't." She looked over her shoulder at his eyes. "I do know you'd do anything to prevent it. But it's a dangerous world, Yohji. It happens. Sometimes you have to choose, even between partners. Which you did. And I am so, so grateful that you loved enough to do it."
His head snapped up, and he all but screamed, "I killed you, Auska! Twice! How can that be love!"
"Yes! Yohji, you killed me! But it was only once. Get that through your stupid head! I left you to die- not the other way around. The fact that I died and you lived was just bad luck, or my bad Karma for abandoning you." She turned aside again, her fingers nervously twining his shed hairs between them.
"Auska," he soothed, "you didn't abandon me. I begged you to go..."
"Why, Yohji? Why?"
"I wanted you to live!"
"Idiot." She looked up at him fondly. "How does that mean you killed me, in Yohji-land?"
"But- you died."
She laughed at him. "Because a whole bunch of third-rate Yakuza wannabes got very lucky, that's all." She turned back to him, taking his hand and pulling him with her to sit on the bed. "If you really need me to, then I forgive you for it. You don't need it, you committed no sin, but I'll forgive you anyway, both times."
He winced. "You can't argue the second one wasn't my fault. I strangled you, with my own wire, and I'll never know if it was because you tried to kill me, or because your last breath was his name."
She snorted. "That's easy. My last word was your name, and it was spoken in that alley. She sighed. "Yohji, the fact is I did die in that alley. My heart stopped my breath stopped, I was dead. And that's when that bastard Masafumi stepped in.
"You remember what he made of himself? I'm sure you've noticed a few look-a-likes in the tournament?" Bemusedly Yohji nodded back. "Well that isn't an accident. Masafumi had been experimenting with human-to-demon conversion for some time. I was just a great opportunity. So he stuck a low-grade demon in my body and used it to revive me."
She turned to him and put her hand on his heart. "I was alive, Yohji, but I was a prisoner in my own body. I wasn't even allowed to have so much as a thought or feeling that wasn't Masafumi approved. I was allowed to hate you for "leaving" me in the alley, but I wasn't allowed to remember that I'd been the one to walk away."
She leaned forward and dropped her head to his chest. "It was hell, Yohji. The only thing that could have made the torment worse is if I had killed you." She looked up at him from under her hat. "If my life was the price to leave hell. . .. I am so glad you loved me enough to pay it." She threw her arms around him and shuddered, sobbing.
He pulled her hat from her head and dropped it by the bed, fingers running through her hair, tousling her curls. He kissed the top of her hair. "I guess you're right, Auska. Logically, I'm not guilty." He paused. "But losing you hurts so much that I'm not sure I'll ever convince my heart."
She sat up, lip trembling, and pinned him with her gaze; her eyes luminous from tears. "Just promise me you'll try, Yohji."
He nodded solemnly. "For you, I promise I will try." He leaned forward and sealed the promise with a kiss.
Quite without anyone intending it, the kiss grew, and spread until she was lying half under him and he was pressed, the long length of him, against her, from nose to knees. "You know," she whispered, "I do have till dawn, and that is a while away..."
He smiled down at her. An open grin, full of love, and joy, and for the first time in a long time, life.
Later he followed her around the small room, helping her dress, finding her shoes where they'd thrown them. Drawing her smell in, the way she moved, the bend of her wrist, the arch of her throat, sating himself on her presence. Storing up the memory of her against the coming drought.
At last there was nothing else to do to put off leaving. Every step dragging through clay, he walked her over to the door. She stopped and just looked at him for the longest time. Then she sighed and squared her shoulders. "One last thing I came to do. I mustn't leave without it." She slipped a wide black braided band around his wrist, tied with a black-and-blond love knot.
He tilted his head curiously. "What is this?" he asked.
She sighed and took a firmer hold on his hand. "I made it for you." She touched the interwoven and endless loops of black and gold. "This is a love knot." A smile flitted across her face. "My love for you. She touched the band. "And this is woven from a murdered woman's hair, mine".
Yohji jerked back like he'd been burned. But she held him.
"You're an assassin, Yohji. For all the right reasons, but you kill people, nightly. This hair," she rubbed the sleek loop of hair again, "cries out for justice and vengeance." She smiled up at him. "Exactly what you give to the victims without other recourse. This, is crafted from my hair." Then her thumb caressed the endless ebony-and-gold lover's knot. "And this is made from ours. It is my love gift to you. I'm not going to give you some fragile flower or something like that. I'm giving you a weapon, Yohji, because I want you to live. And love, if you can find someone worthy of it, and watch over your crew of little brothers for a long time. And I want you to be happy. So I'm giving you something to fight with." She touched the bracelet again. "That will never break as long as you don't, and will cut what you want it too, but support who you want to save, and will never, never run out on you." She touched the knot. "And that loves you like I do, because it's made with a piece of that love."
She stroked his cheek with her free hand. "We never had enough time, Yohji, but I loved every minute we had." She gave him her heart in her smile and opened the door.
"Auska, I don't want you to leave without me." He reached out his hand as she turned to walk out the door.
She stopped in the doorway and looked over her shoulder, the light already growing painfully bright beyond her. As her figure faded into the growing glare, she smiled at him. "Don't worry, Yohji. One day I will be back, and then I won't be leaving without you." She blew him a last kiss and was gone.
Omi was standing in a child's nursery. He turned about in the center of the room, gazing into its corners confusedly. What in the world was he doing here? He should be on the island, it was his watch! The others! Omi turned to dive out the window, he had to get back to Weiss-
Omi froze. Mamoru? Only his family called him Mamoru. "Oh, please. . .." he silently begged. No more, not while everything he had left was in such peril. One more drop of filial blood on his hands would shatter him.
"Mamoru." The voice was sweet and gentle and womanly, yet completely unlike... . "Won't you face me? It's been so long since I saw your smile."
Omi shuddered, a thrill of mingled fear and longing shaking its way down him from skull to toes. He wanted to. But he knew if he did. . .. If he did he would remember. Still he hesitated, unable to turn yet unable to leave.
There was such love and loneliness and a longing, so like his own in that one word. Omi was turning before he knew it. As he turned, first the corner of his eye caught the shining edge of her shape. Then slipping into his view, like a full moon rising onto a black and starless night, came her face. The more he saw the faster he turned, the more he recognized, the more memory burst into the back of his head until with a blinding flash of hugs-warm-toys-puppies-cake-running-laughing-love, "Mother!"
In a desperate leap, Omi crossed the distance between them, wrapping his arms around her and burying his face on her shoulder, so much taller against her lithe frame than he'd ever been in the memories which now flooded him. Gently, she wrapped her full sleeves around her lost son and held him as he wept and shook through the pain of restored time.
Eventually, the shaking slowed and then ceased, and she guided them both to the floor to sit. Reluctant to let go, he held her hand for a while until he noticed, "Mother, why is your hand so cold?" Puzzled, he looked to her for an explanation.
She smiled rather wistfully. "You know why, my Mamoru. My hand is cold because I am dead."
He wanted to deny it. But he had far too much experience with reality's habit of heartbreak to argue. Besides, the fact raised a far more immediate possible problem. "Did we finally fail then? Are you here for me? Am I finally, truly dead, Mother?"
Surprisingly, considering how hard they'd always fought to live, the possibility didn't actually frighten him. Or rather it did, but the fear was mixed with an equal sense of relief. His mother wouldn't have come for him if he was headed to hell after all.
She laughed, the light cheerful sound that she'd always reserved for times he'd done something endearing or silly. Child-Mamoru had tried very hard to be endearing just to hear that laugh. "No, love. You and your new brothers aren't dead yet." Her voice lost the laughter and her eyes became serious, though just as loving. "And I am here to teach you something to keep it that way."
He smiled at her. He knew his smile was a little weak and watery, but he wanted her to understand how precious this moment was to him. But now that she had come to the point of the visit, there would be the training she had come for, and then she would vanish too. At least it seemed he would be allowed to keep her lesson, if not the memory of her face.
He sat a little straighter and focused his attention on his mother. Whatever it was, he would learn it, and this mission would succeed and then he would move on to the next evil scheme to thwart. That was life wasn't it? You went from problem to problem, did the best you could, and never quit until the bad guys were beyond hurting the innocent ever again.
Abruptly his chin was lifted by one elegant finger. "Oh, my dear little one. Don't be like that. Your life has purpose beyond the valuable work you do. Your own happiness is important too. That is probably the Takatori flaw, you know. It destroyed both your father and his brother. They were both so intent in their responsibilities that they lost everything else. The only fundamental difference is that one of them forgot how important happiness and love both are, and your father never did." She leaned forward and kissed the spot on his brow she'd always kissed when he was ill. "Don't you forget either."
She shifted to pull him around the low table and against her side; like she would to show him something special when he was small. She waved a hand at the stack of gleaming paper in front of them. "Mamoru," her voice took on her teaching tone, "you know what your father's family were, do you remember what mine did?"
Omi sifted through his new-old memories and finally shook his head. "No, Mother, I'm afraid I don't- only something with words?"
She smiled, confident and conspiratorial. "I never passed on this skill because his hold was too strong on your brothers. Then," her smile wilted a bit, "you were lost." The smile regained its mischievousness as she picked up a brush. "I'm sorry, my son, you won't remember everything from our visit together. But what I teach you now will stay. Let me show you the first handful of 'something with words'." She dipped her brush in the ink.
Aya sat on the edge of his sister's hospital bed and stared in stunned disbelief at the slashed sheets. Hadn't they done this already? Found his stolen sister? Wasn't she already awake and dancing in and out of the sun in the Koneko? Or perhaps that was the dream. He sighed in his heart, unwilling to further profane her resting place with his unclean breath. He lifted his hand, he knew he had no right, but he was so alone, and he missed her smile so much; maybe, just maybe, to touch the fabric where she had lain would be allowed?
Footsteps on hospital tile interrupted his musings. He listened to them grow closer behind him. Ah, he knew this dream now. He dropped his head and closed his eyes in resignation. Soon the footsteps would stop and the voice would whisper in his ear all his guilt, all his murders. Would hiss out all the indelible uncleanliness that forever separated him from the last person he loved, the last that loved him.
The footsteps stopped, next to him. "Seriously, Aya, and I say this as a friend, when you get off this island? Look into some Trazadone or some Lithium because this isn't just survivor guilt. This is full out suicidal depression." A grin crept into the warm tenor. "And I didn't enjoy our brief friendship enough to want to pick it up again this quickly!"
Bafflement written all over his face, Aya blinked up into the smiling face of Kritiker investigator Botan.
"Come on, Aya." Botan extended a gloved hand. Shocked, Aya accepted his hand and was pulled to his feet. Botan kept a hold of his hand but shifted his grip to one more comfortable for walking. Confused, Aya tried to pull his hand free, but Botan hung on.
"No," Botan said, "Don't get upset about this, Aya. I need to bring you somewhere, and if we aren't holding hands while we walk you will get lost in this place. You spend too much time here anyway."
"Where are we then?" Aya asked, no longer fighting the grip of the hand in his.
"I'm here to see that you get a gift. The only place you can get it is in the past. Like I said, a place you spend too much time in."
"I don't," Aya groused as they walked.
"Yes, you do," Botan responded. "You keep going back to that Hospital Room. Every time you start to let it go you run back there to your guilt and your despair, and most importantly, your isolation."
They stopped before double doors to a study that had suddenly replaced the hospital hallway where they had been walking. Botan turned to face Aya. "As I said, Ran, I am here to give you a gift. It should be someone else doing this, but you're still so preoccupied with the past that we decided it would just be too dangerous for you, so I came instead."
"Father's-" Aya began, and his voice hitched, "father's study?" His hand came up and gently pushed a door open. He walked inside, pulling Botan with him. "I haven't seen this in..."
Botan interrupted, "Because you haven't let yourself, Ran. You've been stuck in that hospital like a looped program for years now. I came because you need something here. There is nothing you need there."
Aya scowled at Botan. "I need something here? What could I need in my father's business office?"
Botan's answering smirk was wry. "A lot of things. Answers for one. But we don't have time for that. You'll have to learn to come back here on your own for those. Today you're here for something you will need when you wake tomorrow. Ask yourself, what did you look for when you came here as a child?"
Aya's eyes narrowed in a way that promised there would be other visits. He dropped Botan's hand and slowly circled the room, looking for whatever-it-was he was here to seek. At last he said, "The only thing I wanted here was Father's approval. Which I almost never got. I can't imagine what. . .."
"Stop," Botan interrupted. Aya was facing a blank space of wall.
"It's a blank wall," Aya snarled, turning to glare at Botan.
Gently, but firmly, Botan's hand came up and gripped the side of Aya's face, forcing his gaze back to the wall. "What did you always want to play with as a small boy, then just looked at as an older child, then finally pretended not to notice as a teenager? What were you always told 'you're not old enough' about?"
Suddenly, Aya recognized the wall where there had always hung, and he now saw it still did, a beautiful red-and-gold sheathed katana.
"Well, Aya," came Botan's distant and retreating voice from behind him. "Are you old enough now?"
Aya stepped forward and set one knowledgeable hand on the saya near the guard and the other farther down the length to balance it. From behind came a second, well loved, set of hands to help him take it from the wall; and with that un-hoped for aid, Aya finally felt old enough.
Ken didn't wake up. Though he felt awake, he somehow knew that his consciousness was an illusion. The misty floor and indistinct horizons were good clues too. He'd always associated this landscape with one of his "I'm dead" dreams. He was a little worried that this oddly real version was going to end like most of them -dropping him into an infernal lake of fire. That would probably hurt more than usual. Of course he could hope for the far-more-rare Golden Gate version. He wondered if he'd be allowed through them this time. Then his "soldier sense" abruptly warned him he was being flanked and he whirled to face the threat.
Out of the rolling mist and dis-focused air walked a figure. A bit taller than Ken, the walker was a young man with brown hair and a slight build. He wore a long blue tunic over a white sleeved shirt and some kind of tan trousers which caught at his ankles, above soft slippers. A bright red cape floated in the young man's personal breeze. Which almost distracted Ken from noticing the "Jr" on the teen's forehead and the blue binky in his mouth. What was really distracting though, was the coruscating sense of the grave that Ken could taste rolling from the unassuming figure.
"Ken." The person stopped just outside Ken's reach. He continued, "Do you know who I am?"
"No." Ken answered. "But, I should. . . I should be afraid, but I'm not. Why? Who are you? Why are you here in my dream?"
The teen smiled. "All of them fair questions Ken. In order then: You should be afraid because your spiritual senses aren't asleep anymore like they used to be. So you can tell what I am, even if you don't know my name. You do know me, just not by name. My name is Koenma." He pointed at the "Jr" on his forehead. "And all you Weiss lost your fear of death some time ago. For you it's familiar territory. Last, I am in your dream because you four have friends you don't know about, and some of those are in very high places. Next to me in fact."
"Am I dead?" asked Ken.
"No, not now," Koenma answered, "but you've all set one foot across that line at least once. You, Ken, have crossed into my realm no less than three times. Do you remember the museum, and the warehouse, and the car crash?"
"How could I forget?" Ken muttered bitterly. "So I don't fear you because I don't fear death? I'm not sure about that."
Koenma nodded. "Oh you don't. I never said you had lost your respect for death, nor meant to accuse you of courting it. You simply no longer fear it." He pause and took a step closer. "Here, let me show you. " He offered his hand. "Allow me a more formal introduction. Koenma, Junior King of the Dead, pleased to meet you."
Ken's hand came up and gripped the offered hand by reflex. The skin was cool and smooth against his own palm. Not warm and human, perhaps, but neither frightening nor unpleasant. He held the clasp a polite moment and let go. Koenma did not. Ken began to be a little uncomfortable. Then when his palm began to tingle and burn while still the god-ling held him, he began to be apprehensive.
While Ken's breath shortened and he felt his adrenaline begin to rise, Koenma spoke again. "I wish I could simply remove your memory of this and let you have a normal life. Unfortunately, your 'normal life' isn't very normal to begin with, and in your current state you'd inevitably attract the wrong attention. Then you would get in over your head and end up destroyed or corrupted. So I've decided to take action myself."
The not-unpleasant sensation of fire had coursed up Ken's arms and was now climbing his neck and rushing down the center of his body.
"Considering where and who was involved," Koenma continued, "it may well have been inevitable. But Weiss -well you've been straddling the line between normal and beyond for a very long time. The four of you dance along the border between life and the death like it was a flowery meadow and not an iron absolute. All of which made you ready for this."
His free hand started to glow and rise. "One of the best privileges of godhood is that you get to grant the occasional wish. You may write this off as a dream if you like, but I'm going to give you something you asked for, a weapon." Koenma's hand gently touched the center of Ken's forehead. "And when you are offered help unlooked for: take it."
The world flashed a neon blue, before it quickly faded to black.
Yuusuuke was half-on-half-off the sofa in the shared living/reception room of their rather opulent guest quarters. The Tantei had debated strategy, fruitlessly, late into the night. They knew that the demon underworld and the human underworld were in this up to their rotten, little necks. They knew many of the major players. But every possible motivation they could contrive failed to explain the players and actions they did know, let alone left room for the ones they didn't. Was the Tournament Committee after money? Then why move so fast. The original Dark Tournament -which many of these people had helped run, had made a week's spectacle of the event. Making money on tickets, broadcasts, tapes, and especially the gambling.
This Tournament Committee was going to be out of combatants in another day or two at this rate. Less than half the time to spend gambling. Even if they were running the gambling simultaneously world-wide by remote they were still cutting their potential profit by half.
Were they after power, some sacrificial ritual? Then where were the priests or sorcerers or active damn spells that afternoon at that free-for-all? It just made no sense. The only thing that was clear was that they wanted to kill fighters, in the ring, as fast as possible. They were missing some crucial piece of the puzzle and it was driving them all crazy.
Eventually Genkai had declared a halt before frustration could come to blows. Yuusuuke had slept an hour or so, but he never needed much sleep anymore, and found himself awake and at odds just before dawn. His feet were propped casually and comfortably on the silk brocade cushions and a pen was precariously balanced on his upper lip as he fought boredom. The others were in their various suites about individual chores and he was killing time with the pen. The pen, which in turn, made a solid attempt at putting out his eye when he abruptly leaped to his feet as Botan swooped through the wall. "Botan!" he burst out in surprise, "glad you could make it here! I was afraid this place would be super-warded."
Botan gave a little disgusted sniff, "With all the effort these jerks have gone to to invite me?"
"Hunh. Good point." Yuusuuke said, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Then," interrupted Kurama as he and the others entered from their own suites, "dare we hope that the knowledge we seek is carried by so lovely a blossom?"
Botan hopped off her oar and giggled at the compliment. "Actually," she answered, pulling a small pile of folders from her sleeve and passing them around, "we were finally able to get complete dossiers on those fighters you were following. And," hedged Botan, "it turns out the situation is a little more complicated than we thought-"
"Weiss?" interrupted Hiei, "what is this?"
And from Genkai, "After that free-for-all earlier it was clear Omi was into something well over his genki little head." She shook her head regretfully. "After his performance there I can't even say I'm surprised it's assassination."
Botan sighed. "Well, I should have expected not to surprise Master Genkai."
Genkai continued, "I think I better talk to him again. If he's a trained agent and not some kid fiddling where he shouldn't be, some things he said shed a disturbing light on the possible purpose of this tournament."
Kurama looked up from the file he was perusing. "Should we approach them? From the information in these files they seem to be investigating this tournament with an eye to ending it, just as we are. But they are ordinary mortals. If we approach them, will it not draw the attention of the Tournament Committee? Would we not imperil them?"
"Actually," Botan responded quickly, "approaching them is exactly what Koenma-sama wants you to do." That stopped the paper shuffling and got Botan the room's undivided attention. She flushed. "Well, this Weiss is their organization's premier team. They are the ones that get sent in for all the really dodgy jobs. Especially all the supernatural jobs. Over the years-"
"Years?" Hiei was faintly incredulous.
"Omi has been in this game since Kritiker rescued him from kidnappers at age eleven." Botan flapped her sleeves in agitation. "But back to what I was saying. Over the years this has had umm, an affect on them. They've all died and been revived at least once, were ground zero at a major, fortunately failed, demon summoning, have psychics as a major reoccurring nemeses, and this 'pink stuff', don't ask me to explain that I don't understand it, is really sticking to them. After all that, they aren't really normal anymore. Lord Koenma thinks that attacking this tournament from more than one angle can only be a good thing. So he's 'poking' this oddness of theirs a bit. Give it a little definition. He just wants you to give them a few pointers is all." She pulled her cuteness out and turned it on full blast.
The Tantei were long since inured to Botan's industrial-strength cuteness and deflected it with nonplussed stares.
"Let me get this straight," Yuusuke finally said, "Koenma want us to take these guys as students?"
Botan shrugged, "Students or not would be up to you, but these guys were just ordinary joes a very little while ago, and he feels your input could determine whether they survive this or not." She grinned brightly. "Well, gotta go! Death never rests!" She hopped onto her oar and escaped out the wall just ahead of Yuusuke's diving grab.
"Idiot," observed Hiei. "After millennia of quick escapes, you think you're going to catch her when she knows you're coming? He raised the file he held. "What shall we do about this?"
Genkai sighed, "That would be the question." She took the file Hiei held. "Lets pass these around the group and read them in detail. I will be talking to Omi at least, but as for the rest of Koenma's little request, lets get all the information first."