It was an evening like countless others: long, tedious, filled with noise. They were camped on the bend of a river. Gojyo and Goku were shouting and their voices bounced of the escarpment of red stone that rose up above the water, announcing their presence to anyone who wanted to listen.

'Death is very close,' Sanzo said.

He clicked the safety off his gun and pointed it at them. They ignored him, caught up in the pointless struggle they went through every single night. Gojyo's hand was planted squarely on Goku's forehead, keeping him a long arm's length away.

'You're so tiny and cute,' Gojyo sang.

'At least I’m not a lanky, stringy pervert like you. With big feet!'

'You know what they say about men with big feet,' said Gojyo.

'What?'

Goku’s voice was sharp and inescapable. That stupid kappa, to wind him up like this. Didn't they ever get bored?

'Shut up or be killed!'

Sanzo's head ached and now his throat was sore from shouting, but at least he'd made them fall silent, if only for a moment.

Hakkai appeared at his shoulder, smiling.

'Your decibel level was at least at loud as theirs, Sanzo. It's impressive.'

'Oh, you can shut up as well,' he said, but far more quietly.

'Perhaps you should go for a walk before dinner,' Hakkai went on. 'To relax,' he added.

Sanzo put his gun away.

'‘Don’t think you can manipulate me like you do the others.'

Hakkai raised his brows and smiled another terrible little smile. 'I would never dream of it, Sanzo. Gojyo, will you fetch some firewood, please?'

'Yeah, sure.'

Hakkai was worse than usual. Goku was even more demanding than he normally was. Only Gojyo was calm. But even that was wrong, because Gojyo was usually as calm as a cat trapped in a sack. But then they were all tired, all the time, even Goku.

'Just-- leave me in peace. I'm going for a walk,' he said, not meeting Hakkai's eyes, and stamped off.

'Not too far,' called Hakkai.

'Don’t think I'll save you if you're attacked by bears, Sanzo-sama,' said Gojyo, with a little wave. 'Because I won't.'

'I wouldn't bother asking for your help, idiot,' he said, automatically.

There was a gentle tug on his elbow. Goku was there, twisting his fingers into Sanzo's robe.

'Are there really bears? If there are, I should come too, Sanzo,' he said in low tones, quite unlike the way he'd been speaking before, with Gojyo.

Sanzo yanked his sleeve away, squeezing his eyes shut at Goku’s voice. The imagined pleasures of meeting and fighting a bear were plain on his face, along with something else less definable.

'I don’t need saving from damned bears,' he growled, 'only from you. Just let me have a little peace.'

'But Sanzo-- ouch.'

Sanzo put his fan away. 'Leave me alone.'

It was cool in the woods. He walked slowly, until he found a clearing with a fallen tree. It was rotting and covered in lichen, but strong enough to bear his weight and he settled down to work his way through his remaining cigarettes. Bears, indeed. He had to laugh, and the sound was soft in the twilight. He saw Goku's face again and the way he sometimes looked up at Sanzo with an expression of more or less complete adoration. What a fool. He'd never told anyone, but Goku never truly went away. Sanzo still heard his voice, even if only faintly and underneath the actual clamour the monkey made. His heart squeezed and he rubbed at his eyes.

Goku was growing up. Looking at him properly, it was plain to see. His jaw was squarer. His face was losing its roundness. His wits were sharpening, even if he was still barely more than an idiot.

The river was nearby; he could hear it through the trees, flowing wilfully over the land. He was like that-- Genjo Sanzo went anywhere he damn well pleased and nothing would stop him. But all rivers had an end, a place where they went tumbling into the cold, salt-heavy sea water, losing whatever power they had. Stupid. Flotsam would be more like it. Kouryu the river orphan, carried along from who knew where to an end that meant nothing but separation. Smoke curled from his lips as they pulled into a bitter smile. He was caught in his own trap, as surely as if he'd shut and locked the gate himself. There were things he needed to say and they were the same things he never would.

All he could do, captivated, was to let Goku think he was the one following. In truth, Goku had always been the leader, guiding Sanzo's footsteps to a place where he was at last strong enough to say 'leave', and to shove Goku away, to wherever he was going. Son Goku had more needs than he could ever fulfil and Sanzo suspected that there was no one on earth that could, or could be what Goku needed someone to be: an equal.

'Shit.'

He lit another cigarette. It was possible to think too hard. How could Goku ever manage without him?

It was late spring and twilight lingered in the clearing. Sanzo sighed. He'd built himself his own cage, had chosen a master and his will to go on was faltering in the face of the inevitable.

One day Goku would be gone. He wondered if he would still hear his voice.

Goku was stretched out flat on the ground, his arms spread wide on the close-cropped turf. This was better than being cramped up in the back of Jeep. He stretched until he thought his joints might pop out, but that was good too. Hakkai could probably put 'em back in if they did.

'What made the grass this short, do you think?' he asked Hakkai after a while.

'Rabbits, I expect.'

Goku grinned. 'We could catch one and eat it!'

'Hmm. There wouldn't be much left once Sanzo had shot it, or if Gojyo used shakujou on it. Let's eat the things we bought yesterday instead.'

Without looking, his head still laid back on the grass, Goku listened to the small familiar noises of Hakkai making dinner. There was the rattle of pans and the rasp of a blade through vegetables, the rustle of twigs and leaves as he laid kindling for the fire. He could always tell when Hakkai wasn't really paying attention to what he was saying. They hadn't been shopping yesterday at all; it had been the day before. Hakkai's voice had a distant quality to it, as though his thoughts were somewhere else.

'Okay,' he said, more to himself than to Hakkai. 'That's all right.'

Hakkai mostly said things that managed to touch the small, empty place inside him that was always there, so it was easy to forgive him for not listening now.

He dug his fingernails into the earth, his fingertips pushing into the knotted roots of the grass and the hard packed dirt underneath. It was good to lie like this, replete with the fullness of the day and with the anticipation of food. The ground pushed up against his back and the sky arched above him, its milky blue dome fringed with a dark edge of trees. The sky was darkening at the edges and he stared up, feeling the pull of it, as if he could detach himself from the weight of the earth and float upwards to push his head into the clouds. That would be fun. It'd be even better with someone else there. He played with that thought for a bit, happy until it struck him, with a jolt in his belly, that it wasn't Sanzo he was thinking of with him. It was someone he didn't even know. That was stupid and crazy. How could he be wanting to be with someone he'd never even met?

He breathed deep, hating how it felt not to be able to remember his past. He was empty in a place where he should be full. Impatient, he turned his attention to the smell of smoke from the fire and cooking and conversation. Gojyo was back with the wood. His voice fell and rose softly as he talked, and whatever he was saying made Hakkai laugh. They laughed together a lot. He liked it and yet it made him sad, the way they looked at each other sometimes. It made him feel empty as well, a little. He raised his eyes to the early stars.

'Fetch water for tea, please Gojyo,' he heard Hakkai say and then the kappa's footsteps tromping off down to the water.

It was comforting to feel the weight of the earth under his shoulders, pressing him up to meet the sky. He lay quietly, as always with more than half his attention fixed on Sanzo: where he was, (in the woods approximately 500 yards away); what he was doing (smoking, muttering something to himself); his mood (probably bad, mostly unguessable). There were unthinking calculations going on all the time: like how quickly he could get to Sanzo if there was trouble with one of those bears. He didn't choose to think these things; he just did, as naturally as breathing. Sanzo was the centre of everything, the pivot around which Goku's world revolved. Once Goku began to let himself think things like this, his thoughts usually strayed to an area that he knew was dangerous-- it was something he liked to think about privately, when no one else was around, because it hurt a lot. How strange it was that none of them had any proper family, apart from each other. Sanzo was like his family. He was like his father. He wanted to tell Sanzo that so much, especially on those days when Sanzo was truly miserable. Maybe he should say it. One day.

'Nah,' he whispered, imagining the stinging fan and the furious silence. But I can think it, can't I? If Sanzo was father, what would that make Gojyo and Hakkai? The thought cheered him up and he smiled to himself at the thought of calling Hakkai mother. From his own observations, he knew the things that mothers did.

No, Hakkai couldn't be really called mother, any more than Sanzo could be called father. And anyway, wouldn't that mean that Hakkai and Sanzo would have to-- he laughed now, putting his hand over his mouth at the sound and trying to stop the embarrassing images. And Gojyo-- Gojyo had a brother, they all knew that. They liked each other, he could tell, in the same way he liked Gojyo. He wondered if all brothers were annoying.

After a while, he realised the camp had gone quiet apart from the bubble of stew over the fire. He sat up and looked around. His sharp senses picked up immediate danger-- the stew was burning! He leapt up and poked at it with the spoon Hakkai kept for cooking; it wasn't like Hakkai to just leave the dinner like this. He wavered with the spoon in his hand, looking in the direction of the river, sure something was happening. Under the rich smell of cooking, there was a trace of Gojyo and the tingle of Hakkai's qi. Maybe, he thought, fishing out a lump of meat to chew on, there were sometimes things more important than food. The stew boiled thickly and he went to stir it again. After a while, when it was clear Hakkai wasn't hurrying, he sat down to wait for his family to come back.

He stomach gurgled. It was empty, but it would be full soon.

The kindling was damp and the matches weren't sparking and both Gojyo and Sanzo had taken their lighters off with them. Hakkai's fingers slipped for the fifth time and he stopped, putting everything down and taking a deep breath. He had the urge to blast the fire to pieces and to let them all eat cold tinned food, but he didn't do that, because he was Hakkai and he was going to make a fire and cook stew if it killed him. The flash of anger passed quite quickly. It always did these days. His power didn't come from hate, after all, and he got stronger every day.

Goku was saying something about eating rabbits and he tried very hard to listen but there was something else he wanted to think about right now, something very important.

He didn't think about Gonou much any more. Unlike Hakkai, Gonou had never understood his own power, not until it was far too late. There had been a time, all the years he'd lived with Gojyo, when he'd pretended that he didn't have Gonou and Kanan lingering behind him like the sharp earthy scent of charred wood and burnt stone. He wondered if Gojyo had known they were there too. It was very likely. Not much got past Gojyo. But even the worst guilt fades away and it had helped, when he had managed to stem much of the self-loathing, that he was a new person, freshly minted and with unexplored, dizzying power.

It was a simple thing now to take up one of the slender twigs and crush it to a fine powder in his fist. But that was the underneath part of Hakkai; the destructive, unloving soul-- the part that made the anger. It wasn't the most important part though. It had to share him, he forced it to share, with the Hakkai who made things better, who healed and comforted and could quite possibly love someone again. Yes, that was what he wanted to think about now. How did one go about it? He picked up his chopping knife and began to slice vegetables for dinner.

How clever, like a magical trick, that once you let yourself think about something properly it lost its power to terrify. Kanan was a past treasure, a memory of warmth and sunny days. Gonou was a shadow, someone he had been once, but was no longer. No, he didn't think about Gonou.

He had something else on his mind these days and it was something that gave him wild and abandoned dreams - it seemed he had a hunger and a wish for life, not death.

He took a long slow breath and looked over at Goku, who sprawled in abandon on the grass like he'd been dropped there from the Heavens. Well, they were all tired today, although thankfully no one's clothes were too bloody. His mind moved to dwell on these familiar cherished domestic matters. Two years of arbitrary laundry arrangements on the road made little things like keeping yourself out of the range of flying body parts important.

'That monkey's spaced out over there,' said Gojyo from behind him, making him jump. 'Wonder what's going in his head, or do we really want to know?'

Gojyo let fall an armful of wood and crouched down to flick his lighter against dry leaves, running his fingers over the powdery remains of the twigs that Hakkai had destroyed as punishment for not lighting.

A curl of smoke rose from the fire as the flames crackled into life, eating up the wood and leaves. Gojyo stayed next to him and Hakkai stole glances at the firelight reflected in his eyes.

'You okay?' Gojyo said.

'It wouldn't light,' said Hakkai.

'Well, it's doing fine now,' Gojyo said, not looking at him.

'I was just thinking,' Hakkai said, with a real smile, 'about the past.'

'What about it?'

'I don't know. Actually, Gojyo, you made me forget.'

Gojyo turned his head and their eyes met and held. 'Is that right? I'm glad to hear it.' He looked surprised and pleased.

Hakkai had to look away, but he laughed quietly. 'Will you fetch water for tea, Gojyo?'

'My work is never done with you around,' he said, springing up. 'Yeah, of course I will. Anything you want.'

'Yes, perhaps' Hakkai said to himself as he watched Gojyo's back retreat into the shadows down by the water.

Gonou had never had time to understand his own weaknesses. Hakkai had had years of learning. He wasn't the man he used to be, but he was glad about that.

Gojyo's trouser cuffs were stained with something nasty, and it smelled like it might be entrails or-- whatever was worse than entrails. He should've got the soap from Hakkai.

The river was dark and deep at his toes, but it was like this all the way along the bank. There were no shallows. He breathed deep then let all the air out of his lungs in a rush. Such a shame they didn't get holidays; Gojyo's neck was stiff where he'd wrenched it chopping a youkai in half-- possibly that also accounted for the stains on his trousers.

Hakkai wanted water for tea. Right.

Hakkai wanted something, but Gojyo had no idea what, or if he did he wasn't telling. No, not even himself. He crouched down; this close to the water the smell of the river was heavy and strong; weeds and mud and unnameable river things. He leaned over to dip the kettle in the water. It was so still and quiet here-- there were no sounds from the camp, only the faint crackle of the fire and the soft splash of fish and frogs in the water. The light was almost gone now, apart from a dusty orange smudge above the trees. He stayed still, crouched, looking up at the stars and wondering if Hakkai was really okay. Black shadows moved across the water, careening in impossible curves: bats snapping up insects.

He turned his attention back to the kettle and the freezing water washing over his hand. There was enough light left for Gojyo to see his own reflection on the surface of the water and he stared down.

'Well, shit,' he muttered.

The Gojyo in the water had black hair instead of red and the scars were hidden by shadows and the strands of his hair that fell down around his face.

Black hair and black eyes and smooth skin. He looked like anyone else. An exceptionally handsome anyone else, obviously. He clucked his tongue at himself. People thought he was vain, because of the hair he supposed, but he couldn't remember the last time he'd looked in a mirror except to shave. He didn't have to look to know what was there, what everyone else saw when they looked at him. It was old news. It wouldn't tell him anything new, would still show him the same face staring back, red and scarred.

Girls used to tell him he was beautiful but he'd never believed them. Because why bother to believe someone who'll be history in the morning. It wasn't like they would've understood if he laid out his family secrets to them: a half-breed and not even one from love, but from a cheap romance. Better to leave them before they left him. There weren't that many women anymore and somewhere in the countless, violent, homely days of their journey, he'd stopped dreaming that a chaste and loving girl would be waiting for him at the end, if there ever was an end.

The kettle was full, anyway. He looked back over his shoulder to where there was a glimmer of fire. Hakkai was kneeling, poking the flames to make them flare up. Light twinkled on his eyeglass and in the dark the fire made his face glow unnaturally bright, as though it was a mask. Gojyo shivered and pulled the kettle up, then yelped in surprise as the bank under his feet sagged and crumbled and he was thrown head first into the black water.

It rushed down his throat. Water hit his lungs and burned; he didn't know which way was up or where the light was. The river fought him; it was stronger than he was and its freezing currents wrapped round him like cold, clinging arms. A few more mouthfuls and soon he was thinking that having to breathe didn't matter so much after all-- his thoughts scattered and all he could think was that it was good to float like this. His limbs were light and the water wasn't cold now at all, but warm, its hard grip changing to a soft caress.

He stopped fighting; instead he let himself drift in the dark and all things became beautifully clear. Everything he'd ever touched had been tainted: by poverty and its miseries, by prejudice or by loneliness. Mostly these days it was guts or blood, or both. Something else popped up into the blackness like a bright star: there was someone he loved, although he didn't like to think so. That person was tainted even more than usual; even more than Gojyo. But some things could be perfect and pure, not matter how scarred they were.

Gojyo was scarred and imperfect, yet he was endlessly willing to try and make it not matter. The person he loved didn't know the depths of Gojyo's passion or the giddy currents of his affection. Neither did Gojyo, he saw that now. It all seemed so plain, down here where the world was washed away and Gojyo weighed nothing. Then he stopped thinking altogether.

'Wake up, oh please wake up,' someone was saying, very close to his face.

He opened his eyes to see Hakkai leaning down over him, dripping wet. Hakkai's hands were jerkily pressing at his chest and suddenly Gojyo realised why: he twisted over and choked out the water that he'd swallowed. It came out in a rush-- smelling of mud and foul plant matter.

'Thanks,' he croaked. 'What the hell happened to me? I remember falling and then-- ' he wasn't sure. He frowned. Hakkai was gazing at him. 'You're bleeding,' he said.

Hakkai put a hand to his own face and touched the wounds there: scratches that looked just like claw marks, and on his hand were the neat imprint of sharp teeth. Drops of water were collecting at the tips of Hakkai's hair and were dripping on him in a slow, cold trickle.

Gojyo stared up at him. 'What happened?'

'Oh. Nothing, really. Well-- I had to jump in and pull you out.'

Hakkai fell silent and Gojyo could hear the soft gurgle of the river as it flowed into the night.

'Did you see anything in the water?' Hakkai said, softly.

Gojyo remembered the face with the black hair and the smooth, perfect skin. 'I don't know,' he said, slowly. 'Maybe.'

'Do you feel all right, Gojyo? It was strange, down there-- your eyes were open and-- well, I thought I was too late. I'm glad you're safe. Also, what were you thinking? You should be more careful. I can't believe you thought that this part of the bank was stable, or that the river was safe, or-- '

'Hakkai-- '

'And your hair is in your eyes.'

Hakkai reached out and brushed it to one side and his fingers were shaking.

'Hey. Look, don't worry. I'm okay. Guess I must have more kappa blood than I thought,' he said, immediately having to turn back over and cough up more water.

Hakkai patted his back and Gojyo just knew that he was making it hurt less with a dose of qi. The place where his hand was went cold, very slightly, then hot and Gojyo tried not to dwell on how weird it was that Hakkai was putting a bit of himself inside Gojyo. If he thought too hard he might even start blushing. Hakkai could do that to a man.

'You need to change out of your wet things,' Hakkai said, when Gojyo was finally able to stand.

'Into what?'

'Umm. Well, perhaps Sanzo will lend you his spare robe.'

Gojyo stared. 'You just saved my life and now you want me to get shot?'

Hakkai smiled his good smile, the one that meant he wasn't bothering about being polite.

'I'll be fine - I'll dry off overnight. Just, ah, Hakkai.'

'Yes, Gojyo?'

'Just-- stay near.'

It was fully dark now, and their campfire was a cosy orange glow in the night. As they approached, Gojyo saw Goku was lying near it, dozing. He looked peaceful and there was stew on his chin and a blanket had been draped over him. Sanzo was next to him, cigarettes and two day-old newspaper in place, eyes shut and snoring gently.

Gojyo sat down beside them and reached out to warm his hands. The stains were gone from his trousers, he noticed. He was cold, tired and clean.