When all the paramedics and coroners and concerned neighbors had finally packed up and gone, he was left alone in a silent, empty house. Family members had been called, the body had been taken away, the neighbors had given their condolences and retreated to their homes...and now there was nothing here but cold shadows and empty rooms.

Dazed, numb, and lonely, he wandered into the bedroom and stared at the bare, rumpled sheets of the bed. They were still warm, and the bedside lamp was still on. Nothing was out of place...except her.

He had felt it the moment she was gone. Like an electric shock, like a bullet through his heart--a sudden, horrible sense of aloneness, as if he'd been abandoned into a great void. He'd awakened in an instant...to find that she had left him.

Giving a shuddering breath, he let the spells and illusions drop. The wan, hollow visage of an ancient ningen faded to reveal the handsome, grieving features of a much younger man--with black-tipped fox ears and a long, bushy white tail.

He stared at the empty bed for long, silent moments, eyes strangely vacant yet focused. Unsteady steps brought him to her side of it, where he knelt to run his fingers across the smooth, cooling sheets; her fading warmth was still there, he could feel it. Her scent was still strong here, still as familiar and beloved as always, not even touched by death. Her pillow was sweet with it, as he leaned down to breathe it in. Her scent had not yet begun to dissipate, as her warmth had.

Already that part of her was leaving him--her warmth was vanishing beneath his fingertips. Already her voice, her face, her gentle touch was lost to him...

The tears burned in his eyes and overflowed as he buried his face in her pillow, breathing her scent and grieving aloud. The pillow barefly muffled sounds that were not sobs, but a hollow, wavering, mournful keening no human throat could have produced. Ears flat, he nuzzled her pillow and let go the tears that both shock and his illusions had locked away from prying ningen eyes until now, his pain and sorrow finally pushing past his controlled masks; alone in his empty bedroom, he grieved for the loss of his wife, his mate, his beloved, the other half of his soul.

Uncounted minutes passed as he cried himself out, alone in their bedroom. He missed her horribly, even after so little time--but he was so used to having her with him, to feeling her within, as if her heart beat alongside his own. The emptiness hurt after spending so much of his life beside her; he'd been blessed with ninety wonderful years with her, almost to the day--that day they'd met as little children beneath the Clock Tower...

When he had no tears left, he had to stop; after crying all his grief there was nothing left inside him but that empty place where she had once been so warm and bright. She had cried many more tears into this pillow over the years...tears of sorrow, tears of joy--the tears of life, where he cried only for death.

Time had killed his beloved. She had not died of sickness or injury, but of that curse that befell the frail, mortal ningen race. Though half of the blood in his own veins ran as mortal as hers, the other half was ageless--pure, powerful youko--and as the years passed, the differences between them had begun to show. He would grow old faster than many of his friends, family, and companions--but far, far more slowly than she. His life would span centuries--but hers, mere decades. And her time had run out...

She had cried tears for that, too; when her face had begun to show lines as she approached her forties, when her hair had become spun through with strands of gray as she entered her fifties...yet he remained young and strong, untouched by Time. As she began to realize her ningen mortality, that she was leaving him behind, growing old--and terribly afraid that he would stop loving her--she cried into this pillow, while he comforted her and promised her he loved her more than life itself and he would never leave her.

And he never did, not even when her hair grew nearly as white as his fur and the face she saw in the mirror was an old woman's--her spirit within still burned with the fire he knew so well, and he loved her all the more. He did not see the aged mortal shell--he saw her, just as bright and strong as she had always been, a pulse within his soul like the beat of a heart. Her heart, that he felt as closely as his own.

But now, even that was gone...and the void beside his heart ached like a physical wound. She had clung to life and joy for his sake, lighting his world--but without her...he could not go on. Even now, he yearned to join her in the release of oblivion that had freed her from the sorrows and pain of her old age...and would free him from the agony of being alone.

Alone. If only he could lie down here, surrounded by her scent--lie down and sleep, and never wake. But he couldn't--not yet...there were still things he had to do. She wouldn't be happy if he left anything undone--it was not like him, she knew, to leave loose ends.

Once more, he composed himself, fingers unconsciously smoothing the dampened pillow as his face cleared and the masks began to piece themselves together again. Gradually, he allowed himself to focus on the presence, his keen ears catching the faint rustle of shadow-on-shadow, coming closer. It was something that had been there since the first moments of his tragedy, but had chosen to keep itself hidden as the medics arrived and ningen flooded the house with noise and commotion.

A second figure shifted near the doorway, bathed in the shadows there, nearly invisible.

He didn't so much as look at the dark shape, but spoke in soft, level tones. "I thought I smelled you around..."

The shadow stepped through the door, large black wings folding close to fit through the passage. The figure resolved itself into a second young man--younger still, perhaps, than the first. If Kuroba Kaito, a kitsune hanyou, didn't look a day over thirty-five even after ninety-seven years of life, the Shinigami named Kudo Shinichi didn't look a day over twenty.

"Kaito..." Shinichi discovered that words were very hard; even after knowing Death for so long, he'd learned that there was little of comfort he could say in such times. "I'm so sorry. I tried to get here in time to warn you. But...I barely made it in time to help her go."

One of the hanyou's ears flicked as he stood up, barely glancing at the other youko. "You couldn't have stopped it...?"

Sadly, the dragon-winged figure shook its head. "No...I could hardly even see it coming. You know that just because I'm a Shinigami doesn't mean I can control it like that. When it's really time, there are...higher things. I can't..."

"Jiichaaaaaan!"

A shrill, familiar voice sounded from the front hall, its originator rapidly moving in their direction. Shinichi stepped aside of the door just in time to let a small bundle of fur and energy barrel through it.

Kaito automatically reached down and scooped up the young boy, even if he was getting a little too big to be held. There were tears in the youngster's eyes, and he was sobbing something barely distinguishable about his Great-Grandma.

"There there..." Kaito soothed, wishing someone was here to comfort him like this. "It's okay, Ao-kun..."

Seven-year-old Kuroba Aoi pulled back to look into his great-grandfather's eyes--identically blue, identically sad. The boy resembled him so much--so very surprising when Kaito's mostly-human grandson had inherited only those eyes. But then again, youko heritage did some strange things sometimes.

Kaito's son and daughter had gone on to marry ningen; even though they had inherited the ears and tail from him--albeit dark red-brown-furred--their kitsune powers were just strong enough to allow them to disguise themselves. Such complicated things as what Kaitou Kid did on a regular basis were almost beyond them--though Toichi-kun had tried his hardest to follow in his father's footsteps. He'd succeeded, and had accounted well for himself through several excellent performances--but it was difficult for him; though Kaito fully understood, his son had still grieved that he could not live up to that legacy.

Kaito's three grandchildren looked almost perfectly human; only their eyes were odd and their fangs just barely sharper than ningen standards. None of them could do more than merely change the color of their hair and eyes.

But the only son of his only son had, by happy accident, fallen in love with a beautiful young red kitsune vixen, and the child she bore was strong. Little Ao-kun was nearly identical to a hanyou, bearing the distinctive ears and tail--tipped with rusty cinnamon in tribute to his mother, instead of Kaito's black.

But the murderering scum of that horrid Organization still walked free; Kaito and his family--and his friends' families--had been fighting them for decades, growing ever closer to their goal of eliminating the evil Syndicate and seeing final justice done. Along the way, all of them had lost loved ones in this covert war that raged behind the closed doors of the night.

His grandson's wife had been killed soon after Aoi's birth, in some ghastly reprise of the senior Toichi's demise. Kaito's daughter had lost her son as well, when the young man tried to fight off enemies beyond his near-nonexistent kitsune ability. Not just his family, but Shinichi and Hakuba and Heiji as well--all of them had lost children, parents, loved ones...and far too many innocent bystanders had been hurt, as well. And it only made their hate of that Organization grow.

Aoi's father had survived to love and raise the boy, but without his mother he would know nothing of kitsune. Kaito's son, the younger Toichi, had done his best to help, but Aoi's powers would soon outstrip his grandfather's and leave the child with no one to turn to.

There was no one left to teach Aoi the ways of the Kitsune Kaitou Kid--no one but Kaito himself.

Eventually, Aoi cried himself out, and Kaito sent him on his way back to his father. Shinichi watched silently, knowing that Kaito didn't feel ready to face too many people yet--and didn't want to break down in front of the boy.

"He's getting big," the Shinigami observed lamely, to break the uncomfortable silence.

"Yeah," Kaito Agreed softly. "He learns so fast...so much every day. He's got more kitsune in him than me..."

"You're proud of him." It was not a question.

Kaito glanced back. "I'm proud of all my children."

The silence persisted for long, empty minutes. Shinichi shifted nervously, wings rustling. "Well...I should go...Ran will want to know if you're okay..."

Kaito flinched at her name, but replied. "Yeah, I'll make it. Shinichi..."

"Hm?" The Shinigami paused.

"Thank you. For...helping her..."

"She didn't feel anything," Shinichi told him, quiet and almost hurried. "She just...stopped. She was peaceful..."

Kaito's eyes turned to him, hollow with grief, and the Shinigami winced. Just because Death was part of his existence didn't mean he liked it any more than anyone else. It always hurt.

"She said...she loves you," he pressed on, before his nerve failed. "She said she'll miss you--and she wants you to try to be happy..."

Kaito's faint smile made him trail off. "Thanks. Don't worry so much."

Looking faintly guilty, Shinichi shrugged awkwardly.

"And...Shinichi..."

"Yeah?"

Kaito's eyes went distant, as he gazed through the open door toward the room where his family was gathering. They didn't live far away, and the news had spread like kitsune-bi. He could hear Toichi's voice coming in the front door, calling for him--and his daughter Aomi replying to him...and her daughter with her...and Aoi's father... "Shinichi...after I finish training Ao-kun...I want to go with her."

Shinichi let out a tremorous breath. "I figured as much," he said with a shaky smile. "Even if I hate the idea." His expression grew faintly pleading. "The world doesn't need to lose you so soon, Kaito. There are too few white kitsune left any more. We need Kaitou Kid, and...all of us...we'd miss you..."

"I know," Kaito replied, with an understanding smile that was almost peaceful. "But I just can't wait another three or four centuries to see her again."

"I understand..." Shinichi did understand, all too well; even if they were both youko, he would outlive Ran by a dozen decades at the very least--not a thought he liked to dwell on. Despite their powers of Death, it was so hard for Shinigami to die; he was likely to outlive his friends and family by much longer than he wanted. "I'll do it, but I won't like it..."

Kaito chuckled softly. "I'd rather it be you; I'd never ask anyone else."

"Thanks...I think." Shinichi shifted awkwardly, his wings visibly drooped with sadness at Kaito's request of him. "I better go...your family wants to see you."

"Yeah," Kaito replied. "Thanks, Shinichi. See you later."

With a hard swallow, the Shinigami nodded silently and stepped out. He vanished into the hallway shadows and was gone.

With an effort, Kaito steeled himself to go out and face his family--his son, his daughter, their children, and their children--all of his offspring that remained alive through their battles with that terrible Organization. He loved them all so much, more than words could say. And they would all miss him when he left, especially Ao-kun...but by then the kit would be old enough to take care of himself--and to finally take on the mantle of Kaitou Kid.

And he knew that Kuroba Aoi had far greater potential than his own; perhaps the power of his own father, the first Kaitou Kid, would once again walk the world beneath the moon, free as the wind.

He was leaving his father's legacy in good hands; he had nothing to worry about when he joined his love in the beyond. The world would still have at least one white kitsune left--and Kaitou Kid would still live on to bring down the evil Syndicate and see justice done at last. It seemed fitting that his beloved's youngest namesake would be the one to finally do what generations of Kurobas had been trying to accomplish for decades.

Sighing deeply, Kaito's gaze traced back to the empty bed, toward the place she had once slept--always beside him, always with him. No matter how aged and tired she had been, she had always loved him, determined to stay with him--and he with her, forever. Now she was gone...and he couldn't stand the loneliness, the emptiness within his heart.

But he couldn't go with her yet. His family still needed him. The world still needed Katou Kid. He would have to bear it, somehow, for a little longer.

Wait for me. Just a few more things to do, and then I'll be with you, he thought, as one last tear traced down his cheek. Wait for me, Aoko...

Fin.

Notes:

Hm. Well, that was horribly sad. No clue where Brain-chan got this, but I was reading Icka's "Tomorrow" when it happened. BAM. So we wrote, we cried, we HTMLed....and thus, here it is.

The quote at the top is Biblical (sorry!), and so is the title--which comes from Ecclesiastes 7:2b, "Death is the destiny of every man; the living should take this to heart." Dunno where the morbid idea to stick that in there came from either, but it's there. -_- Silly Brain-chan.

^_^ Arigato for reading!