#llu writes

As much as she usually talked, Morgan had a variety of ways to be effectively silent - four, in fact. He'd gotten used to them (they didn't last long), even knew some of what she was worrying about when she was quiet. This was a fifth silence, a new silence. The direct stare. Not irritated, not angry, not even with some kind of intent, but...observant. And not crime-scene, bug-under-a-microscope, genius-cataloging-the-details observant. She was simply looking at him. 

Karadec refused to look up and catch her staring. In his peripheral vision, he could see her in the bullpen's kitchenette, lazily stirring the coffee in her cup, one hip balancing her weight against the island countertop. And watching. Him. Karadec resisted the urge to clench his jaw, but he had to re-read the paragraph in front of his eyes. For the third time. He'd better turn a page soon, or she'd notice.

Oz swooped in and saved him at just that moment.

"Hey, Morgan, can you take a look at these photos?" The younger detective unwittingly interposed his body into the sightline between Morgan and Karadec, and Karadec exhaled in relief. 

The relief was short-lived, however. The pair were sent out on a case and while Morgan didn't directly watch him the whole time he drove, he caught her sneaking frequent glances in his direction. They weren't furtive; he was pretty sure she didn't even realize she was doing it. They interviewed people of interest and followed leads all afternoon, and anytime Morgan wasn't in hyper-focused consultant mode, her gaze unconsciously drifted back to him.

When they pulled back into the police parking garage, Karadec put the sedan in park and clutched the steering wheel with both hands. "Morgan, you've been staring me down all day. What's up? What did I do?"

"Wait, what? I have?" Morgan gave him an entirely different look, confusion wrinkling her brow.

Karadec puffed out a breath that was halfway to a laugh. "You have. You seriously have. Maybe no one's told you, but your eyes are like lasers. It has not been comfortable. Did I piss you off? You don't seem pissed off."

"I'm not! You thought I was mad?"

Karadec raised his hands to defend himself. "No, I just can't figure out why else you'd be looking at me like this."

Morgan pursed her lips and scrunched them to one side; more confusion, if Karadec was reading her right. He was. She seemed at a loss as she consulted whatever thoughts were racing through her mind.

Finally, she spoke. "Your tie is crooked. Just a little bit." Morgan held up her thumb and forefinger, about a half inch of space between them.

Karadec frowned and looked down, then flipped open the mirror on his sun visor and minutely adjusted the tie.

"Better?"

"I dunno, crooked was kinda cute." She shrugged one shoulder under the heavy, blue-striped fake fur jacket she wore.

"Any other personal observations you'd like to share?"

"Are you letting your beard grow out?"

"Mmm, yes and no. I changed the setting on my trimmer," Karadec conceded.

Morgan wrinkled her nose. "I'm on the fence."

"I didn't ask for your opinion, Gillory." Karadec unstrapped his seat belt and opened the drivers-side door before she could add in anything else.

Morgan copied his movements, hauling her ever-present mom-purse up over her shoulder as she exited the vehicle. 

"Morgan, Morgan, shhhh," he said as he slid into the thinly padded chair next to her and wrapped two arms around her shoulders.

"I--I need to go home, but I have to know if he makes it out of surgery..." she sobbed, helpless.

"Yeah. Being a basket case around the kids right now won't help anything," replied Karadec, with instant understanding.

She cried some more, holding onto one of the arms pressed into her shoulder, almost able to forget thoughts about the state of her make-up, totally unable to forget images of her captain, bloody and pale, sitting and looking oh-so-wrong at a park picnic table in the dark. When the sobs finally eased, she let go of Karadec's bicep and sat up a little. He released her and leaned back, still swiveled toward her in the thoroughly uncomfortable hospital chair he inhabited. Well, at least, her chair was uncomfortable. She hadn't tried the one next to her to take a sample survey.

"Oh, crap, I cried on your suit," she said, reaching up to brush away the wetness of her tears.

Karadec caught her hand before she could touch his shoulder. "It's fine, Morgan. Extenuating circumstances."

His joke made her try to smile. He didn't let go of her hand. Morgan noticed for the first time how haggard he looked. Oh. Right. Lucia.

"God, how are you?" she asked.

His grip and his expression tightened. "Terrible. This is the worst day of my life. I...how am I ever going to forgive her, Morgan? I'm so angry, and I love her so much. It hurts. Much, much more than the first time."

Morgan squeezed his hand back, grateful for the pressure. "I'm sorry. So sorry."

To her surprise, Karadec bowed his head and leaned forward, resting it on her shoulder. He sighed, his breath tickling her neck and sending a shiver down her spine.

"What did we do to deserve this, Morgan?" His voice was thick, a little muffled against her jacket.

"Absolutely nothing," she snapped. "We didn't do anything, Karadec. Other people made choices, and the consequences suck for us. They chose to break the law, they chose their own selfish goals over the lives that would be affected. These damn webs of lies, and all the collateral damage...none of it is your fault, or my fault."

Karadec lifted his head to look at her face, surprised. She'd jumped from tears to anger in a split second, but she was too tired for anger and it melted away under Karadec's observant gaze.

"That's my opinion, anyway," she finished, shrugging.

He nodded slowly. "You're not wrong."

Morgan sighed. "I'm also not telling you everything."

Karadec's eyes sharpened, and Morgan shook her head.

"Not like that; don't worry. We're all good. I am just...ugh. Wagner kissed me. I'm not sure how I feel about it."

Karadec's suspicion changed to disbelief, his eyes widening. He unconsciously withdrew his hand from hers and leaned back a little. Which kind of hurt, if Morgan was honest, but she ignored it.

"He what? When did this happen?"

"Okay, back story, during the big heist case with that guy that killed his fiancee, he got real drunk and--"

"I don't like where this is going--"

"--And I made sure he got safely home and left him there. With his dog. But he would have tried something if I'd let him. It was after."

"What was after?"

"The kiss, asshole. After the case closed, he kissed me in the elevator."

"Morgan...okay, number one, I didn't realize we'd reached the stage of our partnership where you call me names, and two, why are you telling me this?"

Morgan shrugged. "Who else can I tell? Ava? Lieutenant Soto? Ludo? You're pretty much the short list, Partner."

Karadec nodded. "Fair enough. So does that mean you two are..."

"Oh, god no," Morgan shook her head. "He's confused, and I was convenient. Let's just say I won't take it personally when he comes to his senses." 

Karadec pursed his lips. "So I don't need to sign you up for the department's Ethics in Relationships course?"

It was Morgan's turn to purse her lips, imitating Karadec, to his obvious annoyance. 

"I won't deny there's an attraction, but that man's life is even messier than mine." Reality set in as she said the words, and another wave of dread washed over her. "If he even lives."

She felt hot tears sliding down her cheeks before she realized her eyes were wet. Karadec turned to sit parallel beside her, his hand rubbing her back as well as he could over her large, furry jacket.

"We're going to get through this, Partner. I'm here," he murmured, his voice pitched low and soft.

Menolly looked up sharply, then grinned. "Sorry. I should ask straight out, shouldn't I? I'm so used to employing a subtle method with all these ego-driven holders I've met…" Domick grinned, too. "Not to mention ego-driven Masters. It's good to have you back at the Hall for a season. I was worried you'd lose your touch, playing only the popular tunes. And composing on your own, you're as good as you've ever been." "Ha! Better when I can get you to look over my work," Menolly insisted. "Anyway, my question…it's a personal one." Domick quirked an eyebrow, silently encouraging her to continue.

They had done themselves proud at Half-Circle, once someone remembered their fame for harmonies and Alemi asked her to set her fire lizards loose. She thought she might never forget the wide, shining eyes of the hold's children as her ten performed for the pleasure of the hold, and to swelling applause. She hoped that someday, somehow, her father could realize that flights of fancy could lead to real-life, valid, valuable experiences. And that he could loosen his tight grip on the concept that life was only well-lived if it was industrious and profitable in every single moment. Menolly shook her head, ridding herself of thoughts of Yanus.

She rose and took her time dressing. The only thing she had to do today, besides care for herself and the fire lizards, was a make-up rehearsal with Domick and Talmor in the afternoon.

Menolly found Domick poring over sheet music in the practice room, five minutes ahead of rehearsal time. The silence in the room was broken by the shuffle of papers as he flipped back and forth through the pages.

"You never did dance with me," Menolly teased, one hand on her hip in mock irritation as she stood in the doorway.

Domick looked up, unsurprised to see her. His thick eyebrows rose high as he played along, pressing a fist to his chest in ironic apology.

"My deepest regrets, Journeywoman, for my thoughtlessness in leaving you without a suitable partner."

Menolly brought her hand to her mouth to cover a giggle, and tried to school her attitude. She wasn't here for playful banter, she thought to herself. What was wrong with her? She didn't need Master Domick thinking she'd gone empty-headed after one good party.

To her surprise, instead of the sour rejoinder she expected after her mirth, Domick rose and set down his instrument.

"Talmor is predictably running late. May I rectify my glaring omission from the wedding celebration?"

Arms splayed out, her guitar neck held in one hand, Menolly stared at the master. "Here? You want to dance? Now? There's no music."

"We're in the Harper Hall, Menolly. There's always music." Domick stepped forward and relieved her of the instrument, setting it atop the sheet music cabinet next to the door.

Mouth slightly agape, she considered his words as he took her hand in his and placed the other upon his shoulder. Setting his other hand at her waist, Domick hummed a familiar tune. Shyly at first, then with increasing volume and confidence as he took her through the dance steps. Menolly couldn't quite identify the old song, but she knew the timing. Domick led her in a slow waltz around the practice room, his gentle, somewhat nasal tenor pleasantly filling her ears. His warm hands led her through several turns, allowing her to gain confidence with the unfamiliar steps. When she finally looked up from her feet, she found Domick's dark, bark-brown eyes focused on her face. She was easily of a height to meet his eyes, so she held his gaze, taking in his features as he must be taking in hers.

He had a squarish face, with a heavy brow, deepset eyes, and a broad nose. His jaw was roughened with stubble, as befit a rest day. The slightest tension of concentration hovered over his brow as he hummed. In all other respects, his expression was the most relaxed she'd ever seen it.

Menolly wasn't sure whether she would call his face handsome. Expressive, yes. And familiar, definitely. But with a different look than she'd ever noticed before. Not as someone teaching and instructing, despite the dance steps. Not as someone gauging her talent or ability. The Domick she saw now was someone simply enjoying her company, one step at a time.

Unable to take any more, he ducked backward into the hall and let Jim Gordon and Batman take the lead. The apartment was crammed so full that there had only been room to swing the door open. Forensics was waiting in the hall, too, ready to begin recording and dismantling the scene. The Commissioner had insisted on waiting for Batman to join them.

The Dark Knight leaned forward at the threshold, rather than stepping right into the small opening afforded by the doorway. Columbo approved. Gotham was a weird city, all right. It was incredible that the police department allowed a costumed crusader, with no official identity, to consult on police matters…but so far, the man seemed smart and competent. Unlike some of the psychics and crazies the LAPD consulted at times. He remembered one incident when a psychic walked directly onto a bloody carpet at a crime scene and declared loudly that a murder had taken place. A waste of time and money, was Columbo's opinion.

"The door wasn't deadbolted?" Batman asked, looking up and down the jamb.

"No, only locked from the outside," replied Jim, looking at his notes.

"So someone has a key. I supposed we'll find out soon enough if one of the victims is the resident."

"Yes, once we get all this makeup off of them. God, it's repellant…" Jim turned away, his face red with both anger and sympathy.

"Who found them?" Batman continued, ignoring the personal commentary.

Columbo cut in. "The landlord. Someone turned the stereo on and left it loud. Around 11 or 12 o'clock, other residents started to complain about the noise. But apparently it was blaring for hours, and no one really knows when it started."

"That in itself gives us a window, though. If it had started last night, or the night before, someone would remember. This tableau was staged during the day, or early evening at the latest," Batman concluded.

Columbo found himself nodding with Jim. The logic was sound.

"I think," Jim said slowly, turning so that his words would encompass all of the people lining the hall, "that we should begin with printing the door, and then the first row, and then remove the first row of people and chairs. We're going to need ambulances and gurneys on rotation. No sirens. We have to handle the first set of bodies here in the hall, so keep the residents in their apartments, please. As soon as we have enough room, we move operations fully into the crime scene. There are just…so many…"

He trailed off as the eyes of all three men were drawn back into the horrific scene, still and silent before them.

"Check each and every one for a pulse. We've had survivors before," Jim instructed.

Columbo, Batman, and the Commissioner moved back, out of the way of the forensics crew, and let them get started.

Several hours and cups of coffee later, the trio were ensconced in the apartment's kitchenette around an old formica table with four steel chairs. The padding on the chairs matched the flowery pattern of the tabletop. Despite its age, the furniture set was well-cared for. Columbo thought it would be a steal if the apartment's possessions were disbursed in an estate sale.

There was a yellow ashtray in the center of the table. Columbo looked at his cold, unlit cigar forlornly. He'd lit a match earlier, but snuffed it immediately upon the protests of both of his compatriots.

Despite his bulk and size, Batman moved around the small space with a light step and no noise at all. It was unnerving, thought Columbo. Not in a bad way. His gait was somehow familiar, but Columbo couldn't tease it out. It was as if it matched someone else he knew, but was just 'off' enough to dispel speculation. Columbo decided that was probably on purpose. But overall, he liked the guy. And he needed to take his mind off this one, inconsequential mystery and point it toward the second. Toward the multiple murders, a mass murder really, that was going to take up residence in his nightmares for years to come.

"They probably weren't all killed here," Batman murmured, breaking into Columbo's train of thought as if he'd been speaking aloud.

"Yes, that may be true, but then how did the killer or killers manage to bring this many in to stage the bodies?" interjected Jim, one gray, bushy eyebrow raised thoughtfully.

"We'll soon have the apartment cleared and we can go over it with a fine-toothed comb. And we'll have all the photographs in situ to make sure we haven't missed anything," Columbo said, half to himself.

Beauty and Menolly's other fire lizards exploded into the air around Branth. They trilled both nervous sympathy and encouragement to their owner as the trio dropped even lower. Menolly wanted to ask Domick how he was doing, but she knew she wouldn't be able to hear his answer. Finally, Branth landed neatly on the huge pavers and by then, Elgion was joined by three or four women of the hold and as many children as were able to sneak away from chores to ogle the huge dragon and his bold rider.

T'gran leapt off Branth's neck and assisted the two Harpers to the ground. Domick, once his feet were on a steady surface, insisted with Menolly that they could carry their items when the holder women swarmed and tried to help. Most of the fur-insulated cases carried instruments. Some were to stay with Harper Elgion, and some were Domick's and Menolly's personal property, even though they hadn't yet been asked to play at Alemi's wedding. Elgion's eyes widened with appreciative delight when he saw what they carried.

"You've a new lap harp for me, don't you?"

He held out two hands insistently. Domick lifted one carry-case by the strap and handed it to him. Menolly watched, amused, as Elgion cradled the small harp's bulk in his arms.

"The old one literally broke apart in my hands one evening. It was quite embarrassing, but in all fairness, I think it may have been original to the hold." Elgion pulled a face, and Menolly giggled.

Some of the tension roiling her gut eased at his friendly demeanor. She wondered how he managed to maintain a sense of humor and fun after five years around Yanus. Perhaps Elgion simply knew when to stow it safely away.

T'gran said his goodbyes and was quickly aloft upon Branth, then between. The crowd of children melted away as the Harpers entered Half-Circle Sea Hold, but the women accompanied them to the great hall. A few good-naturedly asked after Menolly or complimented her hair or clothes. At twenty, Menolly had grown into her formerly gawky frame. She had no doubt she was much changed in their eyes.

Menolly was awkwardly bent over, divesting herself of four instrument carry-cases and one personal knapsack, when she noticed the sudden silence in the hall. She raised her head, then stood sharply straight as the small crowd parted to reveal her mother, Mavi. With hesitant steps, drying her hands on an apron tied at her waist, the woman came forward. She was older, with new lines on her face that Menolly didn't remember. Her posture was straight and tall and her arms still very strong. Her hair was deeply streaked with silver. Mavi's eyes were huge and liquid, but she held Menolly's gaze firmly. Menolly forced herself to stand very still, fighting a nonsensical urge to turn and run. Her throat was so dry, she could barely voice a greeting.

"Hello, Mavi," Menolly said softly, just as Mavi pulled her into a bone-crushing hug.

Surprised, Menolly kept still, but softened enough to pat Mavi where she could reach her.

"Welcome, Daughter," Mavi whispered against Menolly's hair.

When Mavi drew back, Menolly saw that her eyes held tears. Five years and more melted away as Menolly beheld the sorrow, regret, relief, and contrition in the face of a woman who had never cried in all the time Menolly knew her. A lump rose in Menolly's throat as unspoken feeling passed between mother and daughter, all of an instant. Mavi released her hold, but ran her hands down Menolly's arms as if to reassure herself that Menolly was real. She took Menolly's hands in her own and blinked rapidly, clearing the unshed tears away. A tremorous smile widened a mouth unused to the exercise as Mavi looked up into Menolly's face.

As their boots touched down on the cobblestones of the Capital, Yami and Finral both looked at Yami’s arms in surprise. Was he wearing sleeves? Yami felt at his arms and ribs. This shirt had buttons. He hated buttons. It had a collar. He hated collars. Yami gripped two fistfulls of fabric and pulled. The shirt shredded instantly, revealing his familiar A-cut undershirt beneath. Yami nodded, satisfied.

The softly fluttering shreds glowed, rose, and arrayed themselves around Yami. Then they attacked. Yami felt uncommonly like a sausage being shoved into a casing. The collar throttled him as it attempted to button itself around his thick neck. Face reddening, Yami yanked at the shirt again. It came apart easily, but the telltale glow of magic brightened and the pieces once again came together. Three more tries produced the same result.

Damn, that is some persistent magic, Yami thought, chest heaving as the shirt slithered over his torso and recreated its seams and folds.

He turned to Finral and threw up his hands, despairing. “I’m already late. I can’t believe she did this to me.”

Finral, dumbfounded, nodded in agreement.

Yami ducked his head and muttered, “Alright, shirt, I’ll compromise. You can’t button all the buttons; I’m dying here.”

The shirt released the two top buttons and Yami breathed in deeply. But it slipped neatly into the waistband of his pants - a counter offer. Yami accepted the bargain.

“See ya in three hours,” he growled, not looking back to see if Finral heard him.

The Capital felt unusually peaceful today as Yami made tracks to the castle. It irked him. People stared at him - they always did - but the ki was different. Something was missing. He’d gone three blocks before he realized their gazes held no fear. He’d always assumed their fear and stress had to do with the dangers to the kingdom. It never occurred to him that being in the presence of “the Foreigner” and the leader of the worst Magic Knights Squad caused such a strong reaction. Yami’s scowl deepened and he felt a ripple of fright in the ki around him. Good, they should be afraid. He had a hair hex and a homicidal shirt. It was not a good day to cross him.

Somehow, Yami made it into the Conference Room ahead of Jack, Rill, Fuegoleon and whoever the latest Purple Orca captain was. He stared Silva down as he took his usual seat next to Charlotte. Her ki was off, too. He didn’t know what to make of that, so he crossed his arms and fumed. Feeling confused always made him angry. Vangeance wore a half smile and Yami lifted his chin in acknowledgement of the other Captain.

With the entrance of the remaining Captains, their meeting was underway. As usual, William led the discussion, which centered around recent skirmishes at the border of the Diamond Kingdom.

“...our scouts found several ways through the border, which is disturbing,” William informed them. “It hasn’t been secure, and it’s likely the Diamond scouts noticed it, too. We can shore up the weakest points with increased patrols, but we need to conserve strength for domestic issues as well.”

“Trap magic,” Yami interjected.

“What’s that?” asked Fuegoleon.

Yami uncrossed his arms and leaned his chair back on two legs. “Set trap magic alerts, like a picket fence across the border. They don’t have to be actual traps, we just need them to trip in time to warn the nearest patrol - and preferably, a team of reinforcements back here at the Capital.”

Yami steeled himself for ridicule and doubt. Nozel, and the others too, always shot his suggestions down the moment they left his mouth. The only time they listened was on the battlefield, in the heat of the moment, when their own plans had failed and they were out of options.

He was shocked to see heads nodding all around the table.

“Good idea, Yami,” William replied. “I’ll tell the Wizard King and we’ll move on this immediately. You have a member who’s good with traps, don’t you? He could collaborate.”

A fleeting feeling of belonging washed over Yami, confused him, and pissed him off all over again. He refolded his arms and shrugged.

“Do what you want.”

---

Charlotte walked next to Yami as they left the Conference Room, her normally porcelain complexion a vivid pink.

“Are you sick or something? You’ve been red for like, an hour,” asked Yami.

“I’m fine,” Charlotte muttered, looking off to one side. “Did you change your hair?”

Yami sighed gustily. “It’s hexed. I guess I’m going to have to figure out some kind of cure. Who the hell hexes a man’s hair?”

Charlotte glanced up at him and smiled. A tiny dimple Yami had never noticed before appeared in one cheek.

“It doesn’t look that bad. Maybe you can keep it if it doesn’t get worse.”

Her ki completely mellowed in that moment. Oddly, it was exactly the same as when they fought the Kingdom’s enemies. Yami stared into her pretty blue eyes, momentarily lost.

“If you say so, Prickly Queen.”

Charlotte’s expression stiffened. Her ki snapped back into the familiar feel he associated with Charlotte Roselei. She quickened her pace and swept past him into the street.

“Until the next time, Yami Sukehiro.”

Her relaxation was disturbed by a resounding bellow from deep within the hideout. It sounded vaguely like her name.

“I forgot, Yami wants you to get rid of that shirt,” said Finral as his awkward fingers pulled through Vanessa’s locks.

“Pfft,” she chuckled, waving a hand in the general direction of the shout.

A sparkle of thread magic wove through the air and she knew it had released the spell.

Vanessa opened one eye and looked up at Finral. “So how did things go in the Capital?”

“Weird. I think something’s wrong with the Captain, but I can’t put my finger on it. I mean, he’s always serious - except when he’s not… y’know?”

Finral’s brow made the cute little wrinkle he got when he tried to think hard. Vanessa opened her other eye and regarded him soberly.

“Don’t try to understand Captain Yami. It’s a wasted effort, believe me.” She sat up and rested her arms behind her head. “You can trust he always has our best interests at heart.”

“I do, I do. It’s just…” before Final could say anymore, a loud roar shook the entire Hideout.

“We’re under attack!” Magna shouted, dropping the hand of cards he held.

Luck and Gauche stood with him, focused on the shuddering walls and windows. Bottles rattled, dishes smashed to the floor, chairs fell over, and the very stones beneath their feet felt loose. Vanessa, Finral, Luck, Magna and Gauche drew closer together, quickly joined by those running in from the rest of the house. The Black Bulls stood back-to-back in the center of the large room, fists clenched, ready for anything.

---

Yami sat with his hands pressed together, concentrating. He grimaced hard enough to bite his tiny cigarette butt in two. He spit out the short end and went back to his deep thoughts. Something was different today.

I go to war once more, but this time my opponent bows with respect and flees the battlefield, he thought. It’s time to press the attack!!

With a mighty yell, Yami parted his hands and pressed his palms against the walls of the bathroom stall. He tensed his muscles in anticipation of victory.

C’mon, Yami, surpass your limits—right here, right now! He told himself, gritting his teeth.

---

The shaking and shouts reverberating around the Black Bulls’ Hideout produced no enemies. No one burst in through the front door. No opponents were visible through the windows. The Black Bulls looked at each other in confusion.

“Should we go look for it?” Asta asked, sword held high in his sinewy arms.

“Maybe one of the magical beasts escaped,” suggested Noelle.

“No, they can’t! They’ll tear up my garden, la!” Charmy shouted.

She ran for the door, but Gauche caught her around the waist.

“Don’t be hasty! This could be a trick to lure us out,” he warned.

Charmy’s little legs stopped squirming as an explosion from the interior rocked the building. Smoke poured out of the hallway that led to the back rooms of the Hideout.

“They’re already inside!” screeched Magna.

Twin fireballs erupted in his hands and Luck’s electric armor sizzled to life.

“Whoever it is, they’ve got a lot of mana,” Luck said.

Heavy footsteps echoed. The team waited cautiously. An obscured figure wandered slowly through the smoke.

“Who-” asked Gordon, squinting.

Grey’s hands flew to her cheeks.

“Captain!” she shouted.

Yami sauntered out into the main room, hand pressed to his belly and a satisfied look on his face. He quirked an eyebrow at the gathered Bulls.

“What are you idiots doing? Is there a fight somewhere?”

Nero crossed her arms. “I don’t know, Captain. You tell us.”

Yami smiled.

“Not anymore,” he answered, patting his stomach.

The crew collectively wrinkled their noses, but wisely made no comments. Everyone relaxed and powered down, wandering back to their activities. Barring the lingering smoke and destroyed dishes, it was like nothing had happened.

Vanessa frowned and put a finger to her cheek. “Oh, Captain...your cloak’s in tatters again. Let me.”

“Don’t,” Yami replied, holding up one hand. “Don’t you dare.”

“Your hair’s back to normal, too.”

“Good. Don’t touch it.”

“But Captain...you looked so…” Vanessa couldn’t quite finish her sentence as he drilled her with a hard stare.

“Looked so what? Respectable? Vanessa, I learned something today.” Yami lit a match and held it to the end of his cigarette.

Not sure if she wanted to hear, Vanessa snuck glances left and right, but there was nowhere to hide. She put on an expression of polite interest and clutched her arms around her waist. Please, please, I don’t want to know what he learned about the bathroom, she thought. But Yami’s eyes had a faraway look as he blew out a puff of smoke.

“You fixed my cloak and suddenly everyone respected me. The Black Bulls respected me, the people of the Capital respected me, the other Magic Knight Captains respected me, hell, even my own body respected me.

“But I don’t want respect based on my looks. Anyone can have that. I could have had that a long time ago. I want respect for my accomplishments. Anything else is just hypocrisy. I expect you— all the Black Bulls— to pass your limits, to gain accomplishment and merit. It’s what I demand of myself. If no one will respect me for that, then the man I am now exposes their bias, their ignorance, and their unworthiness.

“Vanessa, not everyone is worthy of being a Black Bull. Remember that.” Yami grabbed the leg of one chair, righted it, and snapped up a newspaper. He sat and read and said nothing more.