I'm With You

By: Karin-sama

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim to own any Fruits Basket character or plot idea. Ideas and characters taken from the series Fruits Basket are used without permission purely for non-profitable (at least in the currency value of the term) fun.

Chapter one: Standing on the Bridge

How long would it take before anyone noticed? The cold of the metal guardrail was beginning to seep through her wool mittens as she watched the slippery darkness of the water move beneath the bridge. One day, certainly, would pass, maybe two. The restaurant would send someone to stop by once they figured out the phone was disconnected. Whoever it was would find the cat. They wouldn't leave the cat.

Snow drifted around her in soft circles, settling in patterns on her coat. She could see a fleck above her vision as one caught in her eyelash. They swept in cyclones off the bridge and down into the current. Once they touched the black, they disappeared. Wouldn't it be just that easy? Fall, and disappear.

And everything would be black. No more nightmares. No more starting at strange sounds or movements. No more empty feeling in her chest. Someone, surely, would find the cat soon. Miki, most likely.

She thought again, standing alone by the guardrail. She thought of her apartment that was waiting for her. The apartment that until recently had been spotless. She had shared it with her mother for ages. Then her mother had been killed in the car accident. The apartment had been left to her.

That was all she could remember. She worked at the Tsunami, a popular restaurant / club within walking distance of the apartment. She'd been working there ever since the accident. She was a cook in their kitchens. She'd made them famous with her signature fish sauce. She had never told anyone how she made it. The secret, of course, was the strawberries.

She leaned farther over the railing, feeling it press beneath her ribcage, seeing the river from a new unobstructed vantage point. Her face felt cold, and she wondered briefly how much colder she would be, and for how long, once she was in the water.

She'd been ok, considering, after the death. Her mother had apparently set her up in style, though she had never guessed that they had so much. She'd made friends quickly among her coworkers at the restaurant, especially Miki, one of the waitresses. Miki used to walk her across this bridge on evenings when they both closed up shop. Miki would chat and total up tip money in her head as they crossed the water, drop her off at her door, and head off to catch the last bus across town.

Sometimes, when they were running late and the bus already gone, Miki would return and stay the night. Now Miki had a new boyfriend, which was understandable, but it made trips home lonelier.

That wasn't how it happened, though. Meeka bowed her head over the rail, lifting one foot from the pavement to try and mimic the sensation of floating. It wasn't even at the restaurant or at home. It was a shortcut she had taken home from the grocery. It was early afternoon on a beautiful day during the summer. How many months ago? It seemed like such a long time. The day was gorgeous; the path through the park seemed the only logical way to go. It would be nice to watch families together. It would be nice to remember and pretend.

The cold that enveloped Meeka now had nothing to do with the wind or winter. She closed her eyes, feeling slightly dizzy since she was mostly balanced by her gripped hands on the rail and her weight on the bar. Perhaps she would fall by accident, without ever having to make the decision on her own. That would be the easy way. She hated making decisions.

Her hair had been long then. Long and loose behind her, blown a little back by her movement. She was walking without really looking where she was going. She was watching a mother pushing her little girl on a swing. Meeka's mother had pushed her on a swing.

It shouldn't have been a big deal. She walked right underneath a willow tree. The branches snagged in her hair. It had probably happened to her a million other times in different places. It wasn't even dark outside.

Meeka drew in her stomach muscles tight at the memory. Once she felt the tug on her hair, it was as if she had gone blind. She had squeezed her eyes shut, holding her breath. The branch held on for a moment, but let go quickly as her knees buckled under her. She dropped her grocery bag and pulled all her limbs as close to her as she could, overcome with strange emotions of loss and terror. People must have stared. All she could see was light on a wooden floor and a pale red robe sweeping close to her. Then black. Then nothing.

The young mother from the swing had come over to her and gently helped her put her things back in the bag. Her eyes had a little concern mingled with pity, but she hadn't asked any questions. That was a relief since Meeka had no answers. It was just a branch.

But she had her hair cut as short as possible the next afternoon.

That was the moment where things started spiraling. Images turned up in her dreams that made her tense, ill, and frightened. There was an animal, deformed, fanged, and dark. There was her mother's grave wet and pelted with rain. There was a girl in a black cloak. But the worst, and the most frequent nightmare, was a black haired young man. His face was cruel and beautiful. He made her tremble on the inside. He stabbed at her spirit. She hated and feared and obsessed about his face.

Where had she seen him before? She couldn't remember. And trying to remember made her realize a few things.

The apartment she remembered with her mother was not the apartment she lived in. She remembered going to a high school when her mother died, but when she had gone to the high school in the city it looked nothing like what she remembered. Instead of blue uniforms, they wore brown. She had asked the principal. They had never worn blue uniforms.

Why did she remember wearing blue? And why didn't she remember graduating?

Since that day in the park, she questioned everything she ever thought of. Why had she responded like that? Why did her grandfather on her father's side not come help her? Why couldn't she remember finishing high school when she remembered clearly making the promise on her mother's grave? Why couldn't she find her mother's grave? She could see it, in her head, but had combed every cemetery in the city with no success. Why wouldn't she have been buried here? Worse, why couldn't she remember?

With every new question, the black eyes in the cold, lovely face filled with more hatred, malice, and a little satisfaction at her torment. She ached with a longing that she couldn't place, and despaired that the eyes thought that was amusing.

She asked her landlady about the apartment. Who had it belonged to before? When had she and her mother moved in? How was it being paid for since Meeka had yet to make a single rent payment?

"Your mother?" The landlady asked with a curious expression. "Honey, a man rented this place out for you. He said someone was staying here and sends me a check every month."

"A man," she repeated, wondering if it was the same one in her dreams. "Who is it? What is his name?" The woman had stared at her with the kind of look one gives to those who are mentally challenged.

"I'm not sure. It's never on the checks; they look like they're from some business. But, wait, he did tell me his name." She paused, looking far upward as if the memory she wanted were just out of her vision. Meeka wrung her hands worriedly. Who was this man? Did she know him? She must, right? Otherwise, he wouldn't be paying her rent.

"I remember," the landlady said, smiling. "Sohma. His name was Sohma." Meeka's hopes fell. Although Sohma was a common last name, she didn't know anyone with it.

It made her paranoid and fearful. Where did she come from if all her memories were of this city? What if someone had kidnapped her and put her in this place to keep watch on her? What if something had happened to her, something that was so terrible even she couldn't remember it, and she had been sent away? Who was Sohma? Why did seeing a man in her dreams that she didn't recognize fill her with such dread? What was wrong with her that everything was so confusing and yet so empty? Were Sohma's eyes cold and black? Was it that man who paid her landlady? And if so, what were the chances that he would just show up at her door in a pillar of terror one evening after work?

She had bought a lock for her apartment door.

What had really brought her up short this night on her way home, though, wasn't the fear. It was terrible, and she certainly wished she could lie in her bed at night and rise from it in the morning without the interruptions between. What the worst thing was about the images and the questions was that no one seemed to know or care. Hadn't she had a life before her memory started? Didn't anyone from that life notice she was missing?

Where were her relatives? If this Sohma person had cared enough for her to make sure she had a place to stay for what seemed to be an indefinite amount of time, then why didn't she know him? Who was she anyway? Where did she belong? In the beginning, she thought the keen sense of grief and loss was because her mother was gone. Now she wasn't so sure. Was there someone else that was absent? Some other person she pined for? But if there were, and they hadn't contacted her, didn't that mean that she was longing for something that wouldn't respond?

The dreams and the absence of her best and only friend, Miki, had brought her here. It was too much. Her memories didn't match her life, and she realized for the first time just how useless and meaningless she was. No one missed her. No one needed her. No one thought of her except Sohma, who paid her rent. But if Sohma had black eyes, then the one relationship she still had (though distant) was too frightening to think about. And so she stood on the bridge, watching the water.

Miki would be surprised at the apartment. Meeka didn't keep it up the way she used to. She remembered the comforts of having her hands in soapy water. When the black-eyed man started appearing, she noticed that just the acts of cleaning weren't enough. Something was missing. Some sound or presence that her soul told her should be there, wasn't. All she knew was that pieces of herself were missing, and nothing she did replaced them. She was empty, a shell moving on instinct and routine. When she looked at her hands, they seemed like someone else's hands. Her clothes weren't her clothes. Nothing was right. She thought she was crazy, but no one seemed to notice. Miki chattered her nonsense during the day, and Meeka knew she smiled and spoke back, even though she was writhing on the inside between the extremes of terror and numbness.

She felt unloved, confused, and very much forgotten. She was afraid of her dreams, of herself, of everything that she had apparently left behind. The hopelessness of never being able to find out was crushing. The loneliness of missing someone she didn't even know existed was maddening. It made home an uncomfortable destination.

The bar under her ribcage was beginning to hurt with her weight pressed against it. She would have to move soon, one way or the other. Maybe one more night would change things. Maybe tonight something new would enter her dreams, something more welcoming.

But if it didn't? Could she handle these feelings any longer? Would one night be too long? She opened her eyes to look out at the cold choppy current. Once she was there, she couldn't change her mind. Would she want to? The tiny lights in the water from the street lamps reminded her of the glint that always shone in the eyes of the black man. She shuddered. Perhaps this is what he wanted. This was his plan all along, though she could never have known. Who was he? And if he were watching her, would he be happy when she was gone? She closed her eyes again, feeling the wind around her ears which made it seem as if she were floating.

"Tohru!" The name wasn't hers, but her body responded to it instantly. She pushed back from the bridge and felt the cement back under her shoes. She clutched her hands to her chest, feeling her pulsing heart. Calm down, she told herself, breathing deeply, no one was calling you.

But when she turned to complete her trek across the bridge, she found someone staring at her. His eyes were wide in shock and worry. His hands were at his sides, clenched tight. When she looked at him, her heart leaped again as if seeing an old friend. She felt the impulse to rush over to him and grab his hands. She wanted to be with him, though she was certain she had never seen him before.

"Don't you know it isn't safe for girls to be wandering around this late," the young man said. He looked about twenty around the eyes, though the leather jacket he wore made him seem younger. He wore no mittens, but the hood of his sweatshirt was pulled out of his coat and up over his ears.

Meeka paused, fighting with herself. That voice. He sounded restrained. He sounded angry. She took a step toward him. He sounded wonderful.

"Do you live around here?" The man continued, fidgeting a little as if he wanted to go to her as much as she wanted to throw herself at him. "Can't you talk?"

"Yes," Meeka said, surprised that she had to swallow first before she could get the word out. Had it been that long since she had last spoken? "I mean, yes, I live around here."

The youth shook his head as if he were suffering fools. "Well, come on then."

"What?" Meeka took a step back. Come on, where?

"Well, I'm not going to let you walk home by yourself. It's late, and it's dangerous. Now come on." She paused. What if he were setting her up? What if he wanted to find out where she lived? She'd heard stories about things like this happening. If it was so late, what was he doing out and about? Whatever it was, it couldn't be good.

And yet, she was sure he wouldn't hurt her.

She fell into step beside him as if they had always walked across the bridge together. Her hand seemed to want to hold his, since it twitched toward him in automatic movement. She caught him looking at her out of the corner of his eye, then quickly shift his gaze elsewhere if he saw that she had noticed. There was a worry there that she didn't understand. The corners of his mouth turned down as if he were suppressing intense rage. Or perhaps he was trying to keep some other strong emotion in check. All Meeka knew was that for the first time in months, she felt better. Safe.

They didn't speak along the way, but Meeka didn't feel nervous or pressed to say anything. That was odd to her since she normally babbled around new people, especially new people who were this silent and broody. She found herself amazed that her heart was so calm striding in this young man's shadow. Everything about the meeting was strange. She was taking a stranger to her home and it was after eleven at night. There was no one else there, and no one to help her if she needed it. She should find a way to get away from him. She certainly shouldn't let him know where she lived! It wasn't as if he were overly friendly either. He was curt in speech and hard in body. She was certain he could very easily best her in strength, speed, and tricks. He wasn't exactly the kind of person who would normally win her attention or affection. In fact, now that she looked at him without thinking about her feelings, he was rather frightening.

But she didn't want him to leave her.

He didn't seem surprised when she led him up the stairs to her attic apartment. The place was well-lit, clean, and in a good neighborhood. He did seem surprised when she drew a key from her pocket to unlock the door.

"You lock your door?" He asked her, as if she had never locked a door before in her life.

"Well, yes," she stuttered, unsure of herself. How could she describe the kind of panic that might follow her into these rooms if she didn't at least try to put up some barrier? It wasn't as if it helped anyway. "You know, a young woman, living alone. You can't be too careful."

He grunted in reply and held the door open for her to enter first. For the first time since she had stopped caring if the place were tidy or not, Meeka was ashamed of her apartment and the mess.

There wasn't a lot of room in the apartment. There was a small kitchen where the front door opened, and this, naturally, was the worst room of the house. Every dish she owned was sitting in or near the sink. What wasn't there was scattered in other parts of the house. She was sure there was at least one cup and saucer by her bed where she'd tried to comfort herself under her quilts after a horrible time trying to sleep.

She hadn't swept in a good long while, or dusted, or much of anything. She had taken care of the cat, so at least everything pertaining to his housekeeping had been tended to.

"I'm sorry about the mess," Meeka squeaked, horribly embarrassed when she realized that this stranger that she so wanted to impress was staring around with his mouth open. She went about the kitchen, moving things and straightening in nervous fidgets while he stood at the door as if expecting her to do something. "Please have a seat. Would you like some tea?"

"No," the man said, shaking his head as if to clear it. "I mean, I'll make it. Why don't you run yourself a hot bath? You've got to be cold."

"Um," Meeka didn't know quite what to do with that invitation. How could she possibly feel comfortable taking a bath when she knew there was this strange person in her kitchen?

Her cat, Kyo, meandered in from the back bedroom while she considered the dangers of leaving the stranger alone in her house. He greeted her with a warm meow and then curled himself around her legs. From his position of safety at her feet, he stared at the newcomer, but then surprisingly rubbed himself against his legs too.

"Well, I guess if Kyo likes you," Meeka consented as she smiled at her pet. She realized as she looked at them both together that Kyo's fur was exactly the same color as the stranger's hair, orange.

Her guest froze in the act of petting the cat. "What did you say his name was?" He asked, staring at her with that half-shocked, half-hopeful expression again.

"His name is Kyo," Meeka said, still smiling at them. "And he usually doesn't like strangers. Not that I bring strangers home every night, though. But if he trusts you, then I trust you."

"Good," her new friend said, not looking at her as if afraid she would suddenly notice something about his face that would startle her. "Now how about that bath?"

"Right. Are you sure?"

"Go on. I'll have tea ready when you get back. Now go."

For reasons she couldn't explain, she felt compelled to move. It would be fine, so long as he was here, in her apartment, making tea in her kitchen. She finally felt as if she had come home.

She knew immediately once the hot water was running into the tub and she could faintly hear the clack of dishes being moved together a little ways down the hall that these were the sounds she had been missing. All those evenings where she had played the radio as loud as she dared with other renters living below her had been in an attempt to replicate these sounds, this presence. She had no idea she had been so lonely.

But it wasn't just loneliness. It was the certain movements of this stranger's hands as he talked. The particular way he made a fist. The way he closed his eyes before speaking something. All of those minor details had been observed and made sense. Everything about her logic told her that this entire situation should be awkward. And what made it even more so was the fact that it wasn't.

Even though Meeka hurried through her bath as much as she could, the water feeling much better than she had anticipated, her orange haired escort had not only made tea but was making a heavy dent in the dirty dishes near her sink and had riceballs sitting on a platter next to her steaming cup.

"I didn't know if you'd eaten anything," he explained as she stared at the much improved kitchen and food. "I figured you could save it for tomorrow if you weren't hungry."

"No, I'm hungry. Thank you." It hadn't occurred to her until just that very second that even though she had spent her entire afternoon and most of her night in a restaurant, she had not eaten a single thing. "Please have some too."

When he sat at the Western style table, he curled one leg underneath him. He had removed his coat, but she couldn't see where he had stashed it. He wore a light green sweatshirt and khaki cargo pants. She had put her pajamas on and hadn't thought about it.

The riceballs were very plain, with only a slight dusting of salt. She thought she was the only one who liked riceballs this way. "These are great," she told him as he sat watching her with a mug in his hands. "I always make my rice this way."

"I know," he said absently, which made her stop chewing a second to look at him. What did he mean, he knew?

"Who are you?" She pressed, determined now to figure out why his being in her kitchen was so comforting. "If you don't mind my asking."

For a second he looked panicked. Then he smoothed his features over again and answered, "I'm no one special."

"But your name? I'm Meeka, by the way, I don't think I mentioned it before."

"Meeka?" The way he held his mouth made it seem as if the name felt strange to him. "I guess it suits you." Then he sighed the way a person does when they know they have to come up with some answer even if they don't want to. "My name is Niko." She didn't believe, but couldn't say why.

"It's nice to meet you, Niko. I don't know what you must think of me, inviting strangers into my house when I don't even know their name." Niko made a funny noise, kind of like a snort and a grunt at the same time. It made a pressing need of explaining herself rise in her chest. "It's just that I've been having the most horrible time here by myself at night, and it just feels so natural for you to be here, and even Kyo likes you so you can't be one of those people you hear about on the news who kidnap girls."

"You're babbling," Niko said, gently, and even though the words were a little abrupt, he was smiling as he said them. "So I guess you must be feeling better."

She felt herself blush, more at his smile than at his words. When she looked back up into his face, though, the smile was gone and he was once again serious.

"What do you mean, having a horrible time?" He asked, tightening his grip on his teacup.

Meeka felt tears sting her eyes and quickly took a gulp of hot tea so she could hide it. It had been so long since anyone had really asked her about herself. She knew that her emotions were always near the surface, but hadn't expected such a strong reaction at such a gruff question. "It's nothing really. It probably wouldn't make sense if I told you."

"Try me. I'll listen."

Meeka hesitated a moment more, but realized that since he was already in her home that she may as well trust him a little more. "Well, I've been having these dreams. I see the most random things. A mouse in a cage, a bright lit wooden floor with a light red robe sweeping across it, a black dog, and the worst is this man." Niko's knuckles turned white around the cup.

"A man?" He encouraged, and Meeka could tell it was a struggle for him to keep his voice calm.

"He's dressed all in black, and he has the blackest eyes." Meeka shivered even though she was no longer cold. "I see them everywhere. I don't know what it is about them. They're just the same as anyone's eyes, but they make me so afraid. It's getting to the point that I would do anything to just make it stop."

Niko, who had been contemplating his plate, raised his eyes quickly as she finished. There was understanding in his eyes and a deep pain, but before Meeka could ask about his expression, he asked a question of his own.

"You said you see the eyes everywhere, but have you actually seen the man from your dreams?" Niko seemed very genuinely concerned, which made Meeka feel even more like she could trust him. She had expected him to think she was a little off.

"No, I've never seen him. I just imagine him everywhere. But as soon as I started seeing him in my dreams, I started noticing other things too."

"Like what?" Niko pressed, leaning slightly across the table.

"Well, stupid things really. Like my school uniform. I distinctly remember wearing a blue school uniform, and I've always lived in this city, but the principal at the high school told me that they had never used blue at their school. And I can't seem to find my mother's grave. I can see it in my head very clearly, but I've checked every cemetery within miles of here and she's just not there. You'd think I could remember where my own mother was buried, right? I'm starting to wonder," she paused to laugh nervously, hoping that her words weren't going to chase off Niko. She didn't know what she would do. "I'm starting to wonder if I'm crazy or something."

"When did all this start?" Niko seemed uncomfortable with her memories, but she could tell that he believed her. She wondered why for a moment, but quickly moved on. He was the one being nice to her, after all. She explained about the walk in the park and how the branch had caught in her hair. He nodded.

"So that's why you cut your hair," he murmured, staring into his quickly cooling tea. His statement brought Meeka up short.

"I'm sorry, but I didn't think I told you I cut my hair," she challenged him. Sometime during their discussion she had made up her mind that somehow she knew who Niko was. She wasn't sure where she had met him before, but there was no doubt about the feelings of familiarity he inspired. He startled a little at her words, but recovered quickly.

"Well, your hair is too short right now to catch on anything, so I just figured you must have had it cut since then." Meeka settled back down, but only for a moment.

"Niko," she said, leaning across the table a little now as well. "I know you."

He stood up so fast he nearly upset both their tea mugs. "What are you talking about? I've never met you before."

"You called me something else when you saw me at the bridge. Why?"

"It was a mistake, that's all. I thought you were a friend of mine; you look just like her. I called her name and then saw I was wrong. But I couldn't just leave you there by yourself, so here we are. That's all there is to it."

Meeka shook her head. She was so close to figuring it out. At least she thought she was. He must know the answers that she was looking for. All she had to do was get him to tell her.

"But you feel so familiar to me. You know what kind of riceballs I like. When you called me by that other name, everything inside me jumped as if it were mine. I don't know who you are, or who you were, to me, but I'm sure that we knew each other."

"I'm telling you, Meeka, that I've never seen you before. I'm sorry about what you're going through, but you've made some kind of mistake. Everyone gets lonely. Everyone wishes for things that aren't real, but whatever you think is familiar about me must have been traits from someone else you know.

"Anyway," Niko continued, calming himself down and grabbing his coat from where he had hung it on her doorknob. "I'd better get going. I have an appointment in the morning."

The idea that he might leave her alone hadn't really registered with Meeka until she saw him shrugging into his coat. "No, wait," she said quickly, reaching for his arm but pulling her hand away at the last second. "Please don't go. It's really cold out tonight, and it's so late that there are no more buses. Won't you stay just a while longer? I have a spare mattress and blankets." He looked skeptical. "I should at least make you a good breakfast after all the trouble I've put you through tonight. I know you probably couldn't tell when you came in, but I'm actually a pretty good cook. I work at the Tsunami and everything. You must be right. I'm the girl who can't remember what color she wore in high school, so I'm sure you would remember better than I would if we've ever met before. I'm sorry for being so desperate about it." The words she was saying weren't exactly true. She still felt that he knew the things she wanted to know.

"Tell you what," Niko half-sighed, draping his coat over one of her kitchen chairs. "Why don't you go to sleep? I'll stay for a while to make sure you're sleeping all right before I head out. Ok?"

Meeka thought about pressing him. Hadn't he been listening? Didn't he realize what would happen if he took himself out of the apartment? The black eyes were most assuredly waiting on the threshold for him to leave so they could rush right in behind him. Even so, if it were true and she really didn't know him from somewhere, then it really wouldn't be appropriate for him to stay the night. She'd just met him a little over an hour ago. Perhaps if she didn't make early demands on his time, he would come back.

"Until I'm asleep?" She checked, just to make sure he meant what he said.

"Yeah, I'll wait until you're asleep. Now get going." She smiled at the command, but still hesitated at the point of the kitchen where it changed into hall. "What?" He quipped, gathering up their tea mugs. "You need me to tuck you in too?"

"No," she said quickly, feeling a blush rise to her face. "I'm just really glad you're going to stay. Thank you so much."

"Whatever," Niko shrugged and turned his full attention to the kitchen table as she made her way to her bedroom. It looked like it used to before she started having nightmares. The shadows weren't hiding anything sinister. Kyo had already curled up on her pillow, ready to settle down for the night. It'll be all right this time, Meeka, she thought as she pulled her covers over her shoulders. Kyo was purring softly. She could hear water running in the kitchen. She sighed contentedly for the first time in months and closed her eyes without fear.

Sometime in the darkness, she began to see images that made no sense. She followed a black dog down a flight of stairs. Miniature figurines of the Chinese zodiac were set along a banister including a small orange cat. A face peered down at her while she knelt on a cushion in a finely detailed room. The face was a man's, not smiling, and had eyes that were mis-matched as if one were blind. She could feel the hotness of tears on her cheeks and all the way to her neck. Her hands were clenched tightly.

"Wait a minute, Hatori," a smoky voice purred from somewhere behind the one candle glowing in the room. "I want them to see this."

Meeka could feel the muscles of her stomach tighten as she curled over her knees in supplication and pleading. "You don't have to do this," she heard herself whisper, but doubted anyone in the room had caught the words.

There were footsteps on the wooden floor, but she couldn't force herself to lift her head high enough to see who it was. Something told her she already knew, and that she didn't want to see the looks on their faces. She didn't want that to be the last she could picture in her final moments of memory.

"Akito," a child's voice pleaded.

"This is what happens," the smoke voice said sharply. "I told you before. She brought it on herself. She wanted to be what I already am. She thinks she understands us, but she can't. So watch, and then never speak her name again."

"I'm so sorry," Meeka gulped through sobs. A hand touched her head and she jerked sharply away from it.

"Calm down," another familiar voice, still in darkness. There was no longer a burning candle, and she no longer knelt on the floor. There was still a hand on her head. "There's nothing here but me." It took her a moment to recognize Niko's voice, which sounded slightly irritated, but once she did she struggled to get closer to him. The hand on her head remained, and another firmer hand pressed against her shoulder.

"Hold still," he commanded and she did as she was told. "You were having a nightmare and cried in your sleep. Was it him again?"

"It was him," Meeka felt her heart rate returning to normal. She could make out Niko's silhouette on the edge of her bed. His hand was soft against her skin, and she wondered if he might still be cleaning up in her kitchen. "Someone in the dream called him Akito." The hand on her shoulder tightened into a fist and Niko took a quick intake of breath.

"Can you tell me all that happened? Who else did you see?"

Meeka told him about Hatori and his one blind eye. She explained about the two sets of footsteps and how she hadn't lifted her eyes to see them. She recited every word she had heard in the dream.

When she was finished, Niko stood up. She was immediately afraid.

"You're not leaving, are you?"

"I've got to," Niko said, his voice angry again. "Look, I know it's going to be hard for you, but I have got to get going. There's nothing that's going to hurt you, all right?"

"How can you be so sure?"

"Just trust me, ok?"

"Niko," she reached out to him, but he was already across the room. She could see his shadow on the wall from the light in the hallway. "Will I ever see you again?"

"I'm not sure. Maybe."

"I'd like to, if that's not too forward to say. I feel better with you. I'm glad that we met tonight."

"Me too. I'll see what I can do. I don't come up to the city much, but if I do come again, you'll be here right? No more late nights standing on the bridge?"

"No."

"All right, then. That's a promise." He closed her door, but she didn't lie back down even after she heard him on the stairs outside the apartment. She propped herself up on her elbow, thinking about Niko and her dream. She had never had such a vivid one before. No one had ever spoke. There had never been any names. She wondered what it meant. Did it have anything to do with Niko? With the name he had called her at first? What was that name? Tama? No, Tora. She shook her head, staring at the little slivers of moonbeam coming in through the blinds on her bedroom window. She felt her soul stirring within her, as if it were waking up for the first time, and she said the name, knowing that it was hers, hearing it echo in her mind in many voices, some friendly and welcoming, some fast and worried, and one voice, Niko's, pulled itself up above the others, even though it was softer than any of them. Her heart warmed and her pulse quickened. She said the name again.

"Tohru."