After the mission had failed, they'd gone their different ways. The journey home was a long one; Himiko was used to going out of her way for missions, especially to avoid anyone finding where she lived. That late at night, the roads were almost empty, and as her motorcycle thrummed smoothly between her thighs, there was nothing to do but think, feel, relax.

She found she didn't want to. It would be better with a distraction, she knew, her palms sweaty on the handlebars. A goal. Something to strive for, something to turn her brain off completely - don't think about it, don't *think* about it.

Himiko saw Ban die that night.

She'd caught him with the flame poison, saw him catch fire, heard him scream, smelled the sweet scent of burning flesh. She'd seen Ban writhe in the grip of it as the flames swept down, and she'd known, I've done it, he's dead, he's dead, he's dead, Brother...

Something had twisted inside her then, grief choking her with the flames as they rushed down towards her, to consume her as well. Now they both were dead and she was alone, and what if it had been a mistake? What if she'd misunderstood? The tableau was there to understand, her brother slumped, Ban's hand soaked with blood, but killing a murderer shouldn't feel like that, she knew, shouldn't feel like she'd been the one to crush her brother's chest, shouldn't-

And it was a minute later, and he was alive, a miracle of resurrection and an illusion.

The rest had been combat, intense, a lashing out at denial, belief, at everything that threatened to burn her alive. And then they'd lost, and the GetBackers were gone, and Himiko was left with three things:

Ban will save his friends.

Ban covered me with his shirt and let me sleep unharmed, protected.

I've killed Ban, and it's over.

She arrived at her apartment more quickly than she'd expected and parked her motorcycle, taking her helmet off to stare up at the doorway. She should be planning revenge, she thought blankly. She should be finding a way to overcome him, to put him behind her, to kill him for real. She should be feeling the rage and hate that sustained her these last six months.

The keys were heavy in her hands as she fumbled them into the lock, and she found herself shaking with exhaustion. She should kill Ban, because he killed her brother, but right then she couldn't even consider it. She was exhausted, and for the first time in half a year, she was empty. It was a peaceful feeling, and she twisted the keys, stepped into a dirty apartment. She should have taken care of it more, she thought blankly, staring at the mess. A place only gets to that state if you live in obsession and stop caring about yourself.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow, she'll clean it up, she decided. She'll make things better tomorrow. With this hate gone, at least she could focus on that, for a little while. At least until the hate comes back. Tomorrow.

"I'm home," she murmured to an empty apartment, and stumbled across the room to collapse into bed and sleep.

Ban woke and spent a moment trying to identify whatever had woken him. He turned in the driver's seat. "Ginji, did you say anyt-"

Ginji was fast asleep, exhausted from that day's work, snoring softly and his belly exposed. Ban sighed, lips twitching up in amusement, and tugged Ginji's shirt down. "Catch your death, idiot," he muttered.

He couldn't quite get back to sleep, so he stepped out of the car for a smoke. The night sky was clear, stars thick in the air, and that was strange for a city this size. Cigarette between his lips, he raised a hand as if to catch one of the constellations, long and winding.

It was so clear that he could make out the faint skatter of stars around his own constellation, a fine powder dust of them.

"Have a good dream," he whispered to nobody in particular.

Turning back to the car, clambering into its warmth, he tossed the cigarette over his shoulder. It hit the pavement and extinguished.