"Can we get on with this?"

Tai looked up and frowned at me, still pissed from earlier, perhaps, or maybe irritated that I'd interrupted whatever nostalgic days-of-yore type thoughts he and Koushiro had been indulging in. Or, maybe he just wasn't looking forward to cutting the love of his life to bits and pieces. Eventually, he nodded.

"Right," he waved a hand vaguely at Jyou, "follow me."

Jyou picked up his little bag of tools and followed Tai, off through the solid double doors labelled "Storage," leaving Koushiro and I alone with the endless flow of data. Now, the only thing left to do was wait. If the autopsy revealed the cause of death as natural, as we were all quietly hoping it would, my job was done. If not...I would have to plan my next move.

Koushiro swung out of his chair and paraded down to the coffeepot to pour another glass. He didn't offer one to me, and he didn't offer me a chair to sit in, but that was just how he'd always worked, like he was functioning on some inner bit of coding that stated: IF I-can-take-care-of-myself = true THEN you-should be-able-to-as-well = true END IF.

Either way, I was more interested in the computer monitors than caffeine or a seat, so I made my way over to one of the largest monitors and stared. It was odd to think that an entire world had been reduced to binary and pixels on these screens, and odder that a fairly unassuming-looking redhead was maybe the only person in the world who could tell if this bit here was a mountain and if that bit there was a potentially violent force of Digimon. Once, I would've been able to tell too, just by looking. I don't miss those days.

"Long time no see, Ichijouji," Koushiro said finally, coming up beside me and smiling opaquely.

My relationship with Koushiro has always been an odd one. In everything we say, there has always been an undertone of "I am geekier than thou" that gets left unsaid. When I first began my...redemption, that was a common ground I desperately needed to connect with his generation of Digidestined. Even after I was well on my way to becoming the upstanding moral character I am today, that bond remained.

We've never been particularly close, but we've always been far more frank than I allow myself to be with most of the others. Like I said, odd.

"Creative, Izumi."

"Sorry, you must be getting tired of hearing that."

I sighed. "It has come up."

"Can you really blame us? One day you're fine, and the next, you're back-pedaling as fast as you can."

"It was a necessity."

"Or maybe just cowardice."

I frowned at him, and he stared back, poker-faced, raising his eyebrows a fraction. He seemed determined to wring some sort of heartfelt confession out of me, but I'm hard to beat in a staring match and eventually, he looked away and shrugged.

"Or maybe not. Do you mind if I turn on the news?"

"Go ahead," I said and walked back to the table to find that seat I had spurned earlier. Behind me, I heard a click and then some white noise before a middle-aged anchorman's voice replaced the silent streams of data.

"The Tokyo High Court dismissed an Afghan man's plea for refugee status earlier today, overturning a lower court decision that repealed the Justice Ministry's decision to deny him that status."

There was a loud, heavy bang, and both Koushiro and I turned to see Tai and Jyou re-enter. Jyou was frowning and scrubbing his glasses on the edge of his lab coat, but he didn't look particularly worried or disturbed. Just a little confused. Tai, on the other hand, looked pale and on the point of vomiting, but Tai was no doctor, and if he'd stayed through the entire autopsy then he had every reason to look sick.

"So?" I asked when they'd crossed the giant lab to where Koushiro and I were waiting.

"Um," Jyou blinked slowly and put his glasses back on. "I'm really no coroner. I can't...tell you the time of death based on her body temperature or whether there are fingerprints on her body or, or anything like that..."

"What can you tell us, Jyou?" interrupted Koushiro calmly. He was probably the only person capable of carrying on a level conversation if the expressions on Jyou and Tai's faces were any indication.

"Not much. Um, there's some signs of hyperextension in her arms and legs, a lot of muscular stiffness, and, well, I can't be sure without a CAT scan, but I'd say her nervous system went completely haywire. Cause of death was respiratory arrest resulting from continuous spasms of the respiratory muscles."

There was a silence. Having a friend die is never an easy thing (I know, trust me), but in every friendship, it's inevitable; someone always has to die first. To find out the details of a friend's death, to actually have some knowledge of what the final moments must have been like...it's a very different thing. Of all the men present, I had known Sora least well; it was not my place to break the silence. As much as I wanted to.

In the end, Koushiro did. "You mean she suffocated? Do you know the reason? Nothing happens without some sort of reason."

"I don't know," Jyou grimaced, as frustrated as I was becoming. "If she had been shot or stabbed or...or...actually, physically strangled, I could tell you, but as it is?" He sighed heavily. "I found ramen in her stomach and a band-aid on her finger. I can't...I can't give you anymore!"

He sounded drained, and I felt the same way. A police officer would have experience with murders. He would be able to feel if circumstances were suspicious. I had hoped that the autopsy would turn up something definitive, one way or another. Instead, it was just another dead end to deal with, and I was running out of ideas.

Across from me, Tai practically fell into a chair. He rubbed his forehead and smiled a little, but the smile was far from genuine. "Thanks, Jyou. You did great. Above and beyond the call of duty, man. I'm just not looking forward to the phone call I'm going to have to make." Tai brought his hand to the side of his head, fingers stretched so that his thumb was at his ear and his pinky near his lips, miming a phone. "Matt? Yeah, this is Tai. Hate to tell you, but your wife was killed by fucking noodle soup."

Fucking noodle soup...

Something clicked, and I sat forward so quickly that Tai jumped and Koushiro's coffee mug nearly tipped over.

"Is that possible?" I asked Jyou. "Are there any poisons, insecticides, anything that could produce similar symptoms?"

"On ingestion?" Jyou thought for a moment and then shook his head in a daze. "Well, yeah, I suppose so. Heavy metal poisoning would produce something similar. Herbicides and insecticides would leave rashes and other signs on the skin. Um..." he fiddled with his glasses. "I can think of a couple of rodenticides that would have the same effects. Zinc phosphide, but it's pretty slow-acting. Matt would have noticed something weeks or months before hand."

If Yamato wasn't the murderer, I thought and promptly threw the idea away. He had no motive. And Tai had no opportunity, and Hikari...well, who knew about Hikari.

By that point? Stingmon, hopefully.

"Strychnine," Jyou said loudly, "strychnine would get to work in about fifteen minutes, and it would lead to pretty much every symptom I observed." He paused. "Why? Do...do you think she was poisoned?"

"We have to rule it out, don't we?" I replied, already fishing in my suitcase for the bottle of ramen. "From the way the kitchen was laid out, it looked like Sora had been in the middle of cooking dinner when she died, and who doesn't test their cooking as they go? Ah, there!" My fingers touched glass, and I pulled the bottle out for the others to see. "This is some of the ramen. Could you, I don't know, break it down and look for strychnine?"

Jyou took the bottle and peered at it closely, as if he could wheedle out the chemical compounds with his eyes alone. "Yeah, sure. But I'll need the right equipment."

"That," Koushiro said, looking immeasurably pleased to finally have some way of helping, "I can do."

He led the way to a computer at the far end of the row of workstations. Computer, however, was putting it politely. The thing looked like it had originally been a computer of the home computing variety but over years of trial and error, wires and buttons and slots had been added until it looked more like a monolithic pile of junk.

Koushiro swung into a chair in front of what could, grudgingly, be thought of as a keyboard.

"This is what we usually use for processing new samples from the digital world," he explained, mostly for my benefit. Tai and Jyou seemed familiar enough with the machine. "Usually it just converts the organic material our teams bring back into binary but with a bit of tweaking, I can probably get it to break things down into chemical compositions instead."

The tweaking went quickly, and for anyone who has ever thought of themselves as more than passing competent with a computer, it was shaming to watch. From that moment on, I've never hesitated to call Koushiro a genius. He deserves that title far more than I do. When he was done, the ramen was portioned out: half remained in my little bottle and half was poured into a metal cylinder which Koushiro plugged firmly into one of the machine's slots.

Nothing beeped, and no lights flashed, but soon a solid list of chemical formulas was forming on the screen. H₂0, C₆H₁₀OS₂...

Jyou whistled low. "Looks like your instincts were right, Ken." He stabbed a finger at a formula. "C-twenty-one-H-twenty-two-N-two-O-two. That's strychnine. Koushiro, can you give me an idea of the concentration?"

"It shouldn't be there at all, should it?" Tai hissed. His face had begun to cloud over, and he was glaring furiously at a spot just beyond the computer screen. "What does the concentration matter?"

"Anyone with rats can get their hands on strychnine," Jyou pointed out. "Matt and Sora would've had to be being careless for it to get in their food, but it's not outside the realm of...possibility..."

He trailed off, but it didn't matter. By that point, none of us was really listening; we were staring at the numbers that were beginning to appear on the screen.

"Shit," Tai breathed.

"That--" I did the calculations quickly. "That's nearly two hundred milligrams a spoonful."

"More than enough to kill her?" Tai's voice was cold.

"Oh, yeah," was Koushiro's answer. "Even I can tell that."

"So it was murder."

Maybe it was Jyou that said it. Or Tai. Either way, at that moment, we were all thinking the same thing. And as much as I'd been dreading knowing for sure, I found myself more relieved than depressed. Yes, Sora was dead and killed in a horrible way, but now, at least, I was on a surer footing. Witnesses. Evidences. Questioning. I had done that stuff before. As far as qualifications went, I was better off now than I had been a few minutes ago.

Now, I had a hope in hell of doing the right thing.

"Tai? I'm going to need to fly out and have a talk with Yamato again, can you--"

Tai's expression didn't change. He didn't even look away from the monitor. "There'll be tickets waiting for you at the airport. Anything else?"

Jyou bit his lip and looked at me, then back at Tai. Koushiro just frowned sadly. I might have been feeling better about this case, but Taichi Yagami certainly wasn't, and he's grief was so evident at that moment that even I couldn't help but feel for him. He was handling it better than Yamato had been, but then Yamato has always had a habit of transmuting any negative emotion into blinding anger. Tai...just looked distant, clearly miles away from the matter at hand, thinking of a woman with red hair and patient eyes.

"I'd like to make a few phone calls. To Stingmon, and Miyako as well."

"Sure," was all Tai said.

Koushiro gestured with his head, and I followed him back down the row of workstations to a phone hook-up. It was far enough away from the others that I could have a private conversation if I kept my voice down.

"Just press one for the outside line," Koushiro told me, even his voice quivered a little.

After he walked away, I pressed one and then dialed my office number.

Click. "Greetings. Ichijouji and Stingmon, private detectives."

"Stingmon? It's Ken."

"Ah, any news, Ken-chan?"

Even if Tai wasn't worried about tapped phone lines and nosy reporters at the moment, his earlier chastising about caution stayed with me. I decided to err on the side of caution.

"Well, we know about Sora for sure now," I said, trusting that Stingmon could put two and two together (and not get five). "What did you find out about Hikari?"

A sigh. "Nothing that you didn't already know. Kindergarten teacher. Separated from her husband. One kid. By all accounts, a wonderful, upstanding citizen. I mean, Ken-chan, she's Hikari. It's not as if she's been running rampant around the city committing armed robbery or...kicking puppies."

I tugged a hand through my hair, frustrated. Had I been expecting as much? Y-e-s.

"So there's nothing?"

"Nothing public access, at least," Stingmon admitted. "I didn't try talking to the other Digidestined. They might be able to give you more information. Or you could always talk to Hikari herself."

Which was exactly what I'd been hoping to avoid. Thanks, Stingmon.

"Thanks, anyway."

"No problem, Ken-chan. Will you be coming back to the office tonight?"

"No, I have to have another talk with Yamato. Take care, pal."

"You too, Ken-chan."

I hung up and dialed Miyako's number. Our number. Whatever. It rang twice, and when someone finally answered, it wasn't Miyako, and it wasn't one of our kids.

"Ichijouji residence! Mimi Tachikawa speaking!"

"Mimi?"

"Ken!" she squealed. "Miyako, it's Ken! Hey, Ken! How are you? We haven't talked in so long. I've missed you! How are you?"

"I'm..."

Was there a point in trying to explain to Mimi Tachikawa exactly how I was feeling? Well, maybe. Mimi had grown up since she moved to New York. Or so I'm told. She was a Big City Girl now, and in a lot of ways, that had made her more conscious of the little things she'd tuned out before. Like other people's feelings. But, still...

"I'm fine, Mimi. Would it be possible for me to speak to Miyako?"

"Hm? Of course!" There was a pause as, presumably, she handed the phone over to Miyako.

"Ken! Where are you? What's going on?" Miyako sounded angry. "Why didn't you call sooner?"

"Sorry, Miyako. Things have been busy."

"What's going on?" she asked again.

"Just...things. I can't say more over the phone, but it looks like we were right about Sora."

"Oh. Oh, god."

"Yeah. Look, I'm not going to be able to come home yet. Will you be ok?"

She rallied. "Mimi flew in this morning. We'll be fine. Don't worry about us."

"Good... Look, I gotta go."

"Right. See you later then. Love you."

"Yeah," I hesitated. I am such a bastard. "Love you too."

I hung up and stared at the phone for a long time, thinking about how hard it was getting to lie to Miyako. Before I could get too deeply entwined in self-loathing, though, Jyou came over to join me. He had his med-bag in one hand.

"I'm going to head back to the hospital now," he said. "Walk out with me?"

"I should probably talk to Tai first."

Jyou looked sceptically over his glasses. "Is there really anything you can say that would matter to him, right now?" He asked and looked back over his shoulder. I followed his gaze.

Koushiro had managed to get Tai to sit down, and just the feat of moving seemed to have broken whatever had been holding back Tai's grief because now he his head cupped in his hands. In the face of this big man, larger than life in so many ways, who always felt things out loud, Koushiro seemed a small force. But one to be reckoned with, nonetheless. He crouched in front of Tai, one hand resting on Tai's knee, and spoke quickly and softly. Soon, the convulsions of Tai's shoulders faded, and his hands dropped away from his face. From where Jyou and I stood, it even looked like he smiled.

There was something strangely intimate about the whole tableau, and I felt embarrassed to watch.

"No," I said finally, "there probably isn't."

"Right," Jyou agreed and nodded toward the elevator.

We left without interrupting to say goodbye. It wouldn't have seemed right.

In the foyer, people were bustling about as the evening shift came on duty, and the day shift cleared up to go home. Jyou and I made our way around the security guards and reception staff and out the front door to the fountain.

"Don't be a stranger, Ichijouji," Jyou told me, smiling sadly.

A shadow passed across my face, and I glared up at the flag, flickering in the wind. There was nothing I'd like better than to go back to being a stranger, but it was getting pointless.

"I won't be," I said, and even now, I can't tell you whether I meant it as a lie or not.

We went our separate ways. Jyou, back to the hospital to catch up on whatever duties he'd shirked in order to do my dirty work, and me, to the airport to catch a plane headed for Tanegashima. As Tai had said, the tickets were waiting for me, and I boarded without problem.

Luckily, the plane was big enough that phones had been installed near all the seats, and I used mine to call Yamato's cell.

"Hello?"

I grinned briefly; over the phone, Yamato still sounded like the typical rock star: husky, bored, and sleep deprived.

"Ishida? It's Ken Ichijouji."

"Oh," he sounded a little more interested. "What's up?"

I glanced at the elderly woman in the seat next to me and decided to be as circumspect with Yamato as I had been with Stingmon and Miyako.

"You know that thing we hoped wouldn't happen?"

"Ye...ah," Yamato said slowly, as if he didn't quite get what I meant.

"It happened."

There was a pause, and then, "Oh." His voice sounded like lead: cold, heavy, and grey.

"I'm on a plane as we speak. I should be at the airport in about twenty-seven minutes."

"D'you want me to come pick you up?"

"Don't bother, I can catch a cab. Are you still staying at the Cosmo?"

"Yeah. I'll talk to the guy at the desk. See if I can get a room ready for you."

The offer was unexpected but definitely not unwelcome.

"That would be great. Thank you."

"Don't mention it, Ichijouji. Seriously."

"Alright."

We said some formal goodbyes and hung up. I rubbed my eyes and sighed. I hadn't really slept in...approaching 24 hours now, so I tilted my chair back and napped through the rest of the flight.

It was about 7:30 when I arrived at the Tanegashima Airport and then nearly another half-hour before I got out of the taxi in front of the Cosmo Resort Tanegashima Iwasaki Hotel. It was a huge, L-shaped building built of cream-coloured brick and red roof tiles. Pretty touristy as hotels go, with two swimming pools, a private lake, and an 18-hole golf course. But Yamato and Sora were pretty well off, and I guess Yamato had been hoping to distract his kids from what had happened to their mom.

It seemed to be working. I had barely checked in when the two attacked me, grabbing my suitcase and promising that they could show me to my room, and then maybe they could show me the pool which was just awesome and how cool was it that I was here now? and dad and granddad and Uncle Takeru were waiting for me and not being any fun at all, but I'd fix that, wouldn't I?

I nearly froze solid when I heard Takeru's name, but I gave the kids a smile and said I'd do my best.

The extended Ishida family was occupying one the little suites over looking the lake. After the kids had installed me in my room, they lead me back to their own where Yamato, Takeru, and Mr. Ishida were waiting. It looked to be the most horrific social gathering I'd ever been shoved into, but Mr. Ishida simply nodded a greeting to me before ushering the kids off to watch a movie in another room. Leaving Takeru, Yamato, and I to deal with business.

Takeru. He's the only human I ever used that stupid whip on, and I suppose rightly, he was one of the last to forgive me. As Digidestined, we've all had brushes with evil (some, such as me, closer than others), but I've never met someone who hates it as strongly as Takeru. And, possibly because of the age he was when he first entered the Digital World, I've never met anyone who understand quite so keenly what exactly we were destined to do.

And what we had to give up to do it: a normal childhood, a sense of safety, the knowledge that the sun will always rise tomorrow. Because, for us, there has always been the danger that the sun won't rise if we fail.

I'll admit I've always aspired to be like Takeru, somewhat, whether he's suspected it or not.

"Ken, hey," he said, rising from his seat and coming over to give me an awkward sort of guy-hug.

"It's good to see you again, T.K." It felt good to finally say that and mean it.

"Yeah," Takeru stepped back and pushed his hair back off his forehead. "Wish it could've been under better circumstances. C'mon, sit down and fill us in. Matt's been impossible to deal with since you called."

From his chair, Yamato snorted and drummed his fingers against the neck of a beer bottle. "Can you blame me?"

"Of course not," Takeru replied while pushing me into the chair that their father had been using. "But that doesn't change the fact that you've been freaking us all out for the last half hour."

Yamato rolled his eyes bleakly and looked at me. He clearly wanted to ask me about Sora but some instinct, maybe to show up his brother or maybe to act the role model, made him change his mind.

"Want something to drink, Ken?"

I folded my hands in my lap and shook my head. Takeru had sat down in his seat and produced a notebook and pencil from the back pocket of his jeans.

"Are you going to write this down?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

Takeru blinked. "Would it bug you?"

"No."

"Then, yeah, I am."

Writers!

Yamato took a swig from his bottle and braced himself. "Alright, shoot."

So, I did. For Takeru's benefit, I started from the very first time Tai contacted me and ended with getting on the plane. Yamato looked bleaker and bleaker as I went on, until his face looked as haunted as Tai's had.

"Mother of fucking god," he murmured.

Takeru finished scribbling and looked up. "That's it?"

"So far, yes. Although, I'd like to ask you a few questions."

Yamato shrugged. "Like what?"

"Are you certain no one was in the house other than Sora that day?"

"I told you already, she did all her own work. All her assistants and crap worked at the office."

"What about anyone not-work related?"

I got a dark frown for that.

"Are you trying to insinuate something?" Yamato growled.

I looked heavenward. "No, Yamato. I'm just asking."

"There was no one else there. I'll fucking swear to it."

Takeru shook his head. "It's amazing that your kids aren't foul-mouthed brats, bro."

I'd been wanting to say it too, but Takeru could get away with where I would never be able to. Yamato flicked his middle finger up toward his brother, but he didn't dispute it.

"Sora's saving influence, I suppose," he admitted with a little sigh. "It'll only go downhill from here."

"Do you have a problem with rats?" I asked, dragging the conversation back to the matter at hand.

Yamato scrunched up his forehead. "What? No."

"Why?" asked Takeru.

"Strychnine in the soup. I just don't understand how it could've gotten there if there was no one there to put it in. I suppose suicide isn't an op--"

"Fuck no," Yamato spat.

Takeru tapped his pencil on the table and looked thoughtful. "Sora still hasn't--" he faltered, "hadn't learned to cook, had she? It was still cake mixes and instant ramen? Could she just be the first victim in some sort of mass poisoning? Y'know, contaminated ramen packaged at the plant and shipped out to all the grocery stores?"

It was an interesting theory, and definitely not something I would have thought of. Sometimes it pays of to have a more creatively minded person help brainstorm. But Yamato was shaking his head again.

"Not possible," he said. "Our ramen's a special blend, straight from the source. We've been getting the stuff free for years since we're Daisuke's best cust--" Yamato snapped up straight and slammed a fist down on the table. "That fucking little shit!"

Daisuke. My throat clenched hard, and I had to dig my nails into my thigh to keep from doing some pointless and stupid. Like jumping valiantly to Daisuke's rescue. Luckily, Takeru did it for me.

"Don't be stupid, Matt. Daisuke? Our Daisuke? Why would he want to poison Sora? Or you? Or the kids?"

"Ask him! He's the one who sold us poisoned ramen!" Yamato grabbed his beer bottle and drained it, wiping his mouth against he back of his hand afterward.

"Maybe it was an accident?" I offered, quietly. "If there's a rat problem at his kitchen..."

"Nope," Takeru dismissed this right away. "Daisuke maybe a complete idiot still, but he's not careless when it comes to his work."

"So," I said, "it was on purpose?"

Takeru struggled with this for a while, but then he sighed and shook his head. "It was either on purpose or it wasn't Daisuke. That's always how it's been with him, remember?"

Either on purpose or not at all. Yeah, I remembered.

"I guess that's what I look into next, then."

There was a soft click and the sound of a door sliding open.

"Matt," Mr. Ishida said, poking his head in, "the kids are getting pretty sleepy. You should come say goodnight before the fall asleep entirely."

Yamato nodded and pushed himself to his feet. "Thanks, dad. I'll be right in." Mr. Ishida nodded and disappeared again. "Look," Yamato said to Takeru and me. "I know you guys are friends with Daisuke," he looked at me and waved a hand in an irritated gesture, "or were friends with him or whatever, but from the sounds of it, he killed my wife."

I almost interrupted to point out that the evidence was pretty circumspect at the moment (and that Yamato's persistence that Daisuke was guilty was just making me suspect Yamato all over again), but he ignored me.

"Can I trust you to actually investigate him and not just bullshit some report of innocence?"

The idea of sticking Daisuke in jail made me feel ill, but then so did the idea that Daisuke could have caused Sora's death. I owed Yamato and Takeru and the kids and Tai and Sora. I owed them a real try at finding the reason behind her death, and I definitely owed them more effort than I'd been giving. It's sort of pathetic that it took me so long to figure that out.

I met Yamato's eyes. "Yes. You can count on me."

He stared back, but he didn't seem to doubt me. And he didn't say anything like "Yeah, whatever, Ichijouji" or "Well, you sure as fuck haven't been acting like it." In fact, he didn't say anything; Takeru did.

"Welcome back to the team, Ken."

I grinned a little, sheepishly, and Yamato snorted and looked at the ground.

"Took you long enough, idiot," he said, and it might have been a trick of the dying light, but it looked like he smiled.

"Sorry," I replied. And finally I was. For a lot of things.

We didn't say anything after that. Yamato left to tuck the kids in, and Takeru walked me back to my room. To be polite, I asked about his son which seemed to please him. Miyako had kept me up to date on the horrific custody battle Takeru had gone through, but he was happy to report that the arrangement he and his ex-wife had come to seemed to be working fine for everyone.

"Matt and Sora, you and Miyako," Takeru said with something like awe in his voice. "You guys really succeeded where the rest of us failed."

Which was meant to be a compliment, I'm sure, but it just reminded me of what a horrible person I was.

I said goodnight to Takeru and closed the door. Before crawling into bed, I had the sense to call Tai and arrange for plane tickets back to Tokyo. He didn't sound much better, but he said they'd be ready and waiting, again.

I didn't even bother to change out of my clothes, and I spent the rest of the night awake, trying not to think about seeing Daisuke the next morning.

At about seven am, there was a knock at my door. I dragged myself out of bed and stretch-yawned before answering it. Takeru's smiling face greeted me.

I hate morning people, I thought before noticing the black duffel bag slung over one shoulder.

"What's going on?"

Takeru laughed. "Morning to you too, Ken. You better hurry up and get ready. The plane leaves pretty soon." I blinked, and Takeru grinned back. "I'm coming with you," he explained, "now move."

I wasn't awake enough to argue, so I let him in and shut the door behind him.

"Didn't settle in much, did you?" he asked, gesturing to my unpacked suitcase.

"No. T.K., wha--"

"Look," he perched on the corner of my bed, "Yamato's got his kids to take care of otherwise he'd be rushing out to Tokyo in a heartbeat. I, on the other hand, don't get Yuki back for a week-and-a-half, so I figure I'll tag along and do what I can to help you out. I called Tai last night and had him book an extra plane ticket."

I rubbed my chin and felt the day old stubble growing there. "That's a nice offer, T.K., but I can manage on my own."

"She didn't mean nothing to you," Takeru non-sequitured suddenly. "I...don't think she could've meant nothing to anyone, even if she tried, but you're the only one trying to weather this thing alone."

I thought about Koushiro and Tai, and Mimi and Miyako. Takeru was right, and subconsciously, I'd probably intended it that way.

"So you're coming with me?"

Takeru nodded. "So I'm coming with you."

Did I argue? Hah. Have you ever tried arguing with Takeru? It never works. Instead, I turned to the bathroom.

"I need to shave. It'll just take a second."

"Good." Takeru looked smug.

So, I shaved and then Takeru and I dropped in to say goodbye to Yamato's kids who both seemed very upset to see Uncle Takeru and Uncle Ken leaving. Yamato drove us out to the airport and hung around to see us off.

"Say hi to Motimiya for me," he told Takeru when we were set to board.

"Oh, shut up, Matt," Takeru replied.

After flirting with the flight attendant for a while, Takeru spent most of the flight transferring the notes he'd made last night onto his laptop and then, when that was done, pumping me for more details. Was I sure about the concentration of strychnine? Had Tai actually said that when I'd suggested that maybe he'd killed Sora? Was that all Stingmon had found out about Hikari?

(Although I resented all the questions at the time, I should admit that Takeru's notes are the only reason I'm able to write this memoir now.)

Yes, I told him. Yes, and yes, and yes again, but then I remembered what Stingmon had said about asking the others about Hikari. What with the ramen evidence, it didn't seem as relevant anymore, but I asked Takeru anyway.

"Oh yeah," he looked a little surprised. "You wouldn't have heard about that. They had a big argument last year, but neither of them would talk about it afterward. Even to me," he grinned sideways, and I got the feeling that no one told Takeru anything anymore, for fear it would end up in a book. "Anyway," he went on, "they didn't really talk after that, and it was pretty hard to be around them when we all got together for Christmas and stuff. It was all, 'Oh, you look well, Ishida-san' and 'Why, Hikari, what a nice dress. Shame it's so ugly.'"

"I can't imagine them acting like that."

"Yeah," Takeru agreed. "It was pretty awful."

Narita Airport was pretty deserted when we arrived, and I actually had to check my watch to realize that it was Tuesday. Who travels on a Tuesday? Two worn-out Digidestined apparently, and pretty much nobody else. It made picking up our luggage easier, and we were all set to hop in one of the many taxi lined up outside when a squealing female voice reached our ears -- "TEEKAY!" -- and Takeru was swept up by the pink cyclone that is Mimi Tachikawa.

Mimi gushed, and Takeru squirmed; I looked past them both and saw Tai and Koushiro walking over. Considering the circumstances of this micro-reunion, they all seemed pretty happy, and for the first time in a while, I was too.

They're my family. I've got to stop forgetting that.

When Mimi finally let him go, Takeru shook hands with Tai and Koushiro.

"It's good to see you again," Tai said with a grin, clapping Takeru on the shoulder.

Koushiro smiled, more subdued than Tai. As always. "It's almost like the old days."

"Yeah," Tai breathed as Mimi pounced on Takeru and began to pester him about how Yamato was doing. Eventually, Tai poked me in the shoulder and waved to a navy car waiting down the block. "C'mon, we can reconnoitre someplace else."

The car was tiny, but we piled in anyway; Koushiro, Takeru, and Mimi crammed in the back and after a bit of a fight, I took the seat in the front next to Tai.

"So, was Matt any use?"

"Yeah," Mimi chimed in, giving Takeru time to breathe. "Are we any closer to finding out who did this?" In the rear-view mirror, I saw her scrunch up her nose. On anyone else, it would have looked like a comic mockery of disgust, but Mimi is nothing if not sincere and on her, it just looked natural.

But she asked a hard question. Was I any closer?

"As far as I'm concerned? No, I'm not any closer." Takeru cleared his throat significantly. "Yamato did make an accusation, but," and I caught Takeru's eye, "I'm not going to make any judgements until I follow up on it."

Tai raised an eyebrow, but his eyes stayed on the road. "Matt accused someone? It better not have been Kari 'cause I can tell you for a fact that that's complete shit."

"Oh," it was my turn to raise an eyebrow. "I heard that they had an argument. As far as motive goes, Hikari seems the most likely right now."

Tai shook his head. "Nope, she told me what they argued about, and trust me, it wasn't something she'd kill anyone over."

That got a few surprised murmurs from the people in the back. Apparently, they had all thought that the cause of Hikari and Sora's legendary fight was a complete secret to outsiders.

Tai wasn't about to cough up any detail, unfortunately. "I promised Kari I'd keep it private, ahkay? And it's not relevant at all, really." We turned onto the highway, and he tried to change the subject: "So who'd Matt name, anyway?"

Daisuke. The name was loud enough in my thoughts, but it faded to a whisper before it reached my mouth. It didn't matter, though, because Takeru answered immediately.

"Daisuke."

"Oh, poo!" Mimi sniffed. "That's just silly."

"I have to agree with Mimi on this one," Koushiro said in a voice that revealed just how surprised he was to agree with Mimi on anything. "Is there any evidence to back it up, or is Matt just naming someone to name someone?"

"There's some of evidence," I admitted slowly. "If you assume that there's no other way that ramen could get poisoned between Daisuke's shop and Sora's kitchen."

Tai winced. "Ouch, the ramen. I didn't even make that connection."

"Neither did we, right away," Takeru said, and Mimi sniffed dismissively for a second time.

Koushiro leaned forward over Mimi's right knee and rested an arm on the corner of Tai's headrest. "So, are you going to pay him a visit?" he asked me.

"I suppose. It's the best clue we have at the moment. I have to at least check it out, right?"

Tai hummed an agreement, looking, I thought, a little impressed. But then he grinned and soon, he started to laugh. "Oh, god! Can I come watch him kick your ass?"

Uh... "What?"

Koushiro half-smiled. "Daisuke was probably the most pissed about your disappearing act. He's definitely going to have some things to say to you."

"Oh, good," I said bleakly. Oh, shit, I thought irritably.

"Want me to drop you there?" Tai asked, still amused.

"Hunh. You just want to watch."

Tai grinned brightly, but even if all he wanted was to watch Daisuke chew me out, I almost wanted to get this over with now. I had the feeling I wouldn't be able to look Miyako in the eye until I did.

I twisted around in my seat so I could look at Takeru, and marvelled for a moment that I had already begun to think of him as a new partner.

"Would you mind?" I asked.

He shook his head. "Nope, whatever you want."

"I can take your bags with me," Mimi offered. "You'll be staying at Miyako's, right T.K.?"

"Uh, maybe? Ken?"

I smiled. "Miyako'll be happy to have you."

"Sure, then," Takeru scratched the back of his head and smiled too.

"Done and done," Tai declared, steering the little car into the exit lane and off towards the first stationary 'Noodles, Noodles, Come Get Your Noodles' restaurant, the personal pride and joy of Daisuke Motimiya.

I'd still be on friendly terms with the others when Daisuke first moved from a travelling ramen cart to an actual, restaurant made of brick and glass. It hadn't been much to start, just a hole-in-the-wall place built on the ruins of an old hat store which had bankrupted and then been bulldozed a year later. All the Digidestined had gathered there for a private opening night party, and Daisuke had been ecstatic. We drank and laughed about how stupid the name of the restaurant was.

"I'd like to see you do better," Daisuke had challenged.

"I don't see how he could do much worse," Miyako had jibbed and run a hand across my shoulder.

"How about Noodles-cubed?" I suggested, not serious at all, and we'd laughed some more at that. And then we'd drunk some more. At the end of the night, Miyako came home with me for the first time.

Over the last few years, however, Daisuke's business had boomed, and his flagship restaurant had been remodelled accordingly. Now it looked far classier than it had, like a nightclub straight off the Las Vegas strip, and as I stepped out of the car, I couldn't help but stare at the looping, twisted tubes of neon that proclaimed "Noodles³" to the world.

"Well," Tai said, leaning out of the car window, "go ahead in."

I looked at Takeru who shrugged helplessly. Up to me to make the first move, right. I took a deep breath and pushed open the glass doors.

Inside was just as suave as the outside had leant me to expect. Everything was in cool colours: greens and blues and metallic greys. Even the conic lights that hung over the tables were blue-tinted. A thick velvet curtain was hung across the back wall, concealing a stage that, during the evening hours, would host local music acts.

"Dai really fixed the place up, hunh?" Takeru asked as one of the black-clad waiters hurried toward us. I nodded dumbly.

The waiter reached us and fired off a wide smile. "Hi! Welcome to Noodles-Cubed! Table for two?"

Takeru was much better at handling cursory social interaction than I was, and I think he knew it because he fielded the question before I had a chance to fumble it.

"No thanks. Actually, we're friends of Daisuke Motimiya's and we were wondering if he was around..."

"Uh," the waiter looked a little uneasy, "that's not standard policy..."

Takeru smiled winningly. "If he's around, just tell him that Ken Ichijouji's here to see him."

The waiter still seemed dubious, but I could see him weighing the possible payoffs versus the possible downfalls. Payoffs won, as Takeru had known they would.

"Just a sec," the waiter mumbled and disappeared.

"Just tell him Ken Ichijouji's here?" I frowned at Takeru who just grinned.

"It'll get him out here faster than my name would, trust me."

"Or it'll just make him kick us out faster."

"Ohhh...I don't think so." Takeru raised his eyebrows, looking past me, and smirked.

My stomach sunk.

"ICHIJOUJI, YOU BASTARD!"