She would be naked, Ban thought sourly, with an ugly glare at his gape-mouthed partner. Of course she would be naked.

For her part, she was an Eve before the fall, wholly unconcerned with her disrobed state. Her dark hair, neatly braided, trailed behind her into the blackness of the bunker, and Ban couldn't even enjoy the full frontal nudity the bound hair permitted him to view, because she didn't seem the least bit embarrassed. There was nothing demure or coy in her manner, and certainly nothing that bespoke shame. She was simply unclothed.

Her utter calm rubbed him wrong, and he released her hand to shed his shirt, suddenly anxious to cover her nakedness.

An sudden, unexpected humor flashed into her golden eyes. "Did I make you uncomfortable? I apologize. That's hardly the way to repay one's rescuer."

His tongue twisted uselessly behind his teeth, and he handed her the shirt without a word.

Tiny, deft fingers worked the buttons into their buttonholes, and when she had finished, the end result left Ban feeling just as flustered as before.

The shirt was long on Ban, but she was several inches shy of five feet tall. The shirttails brushed her ankles and the sleeves fell just below her wrists. It ought to have been very cute, or very sexy, and it was neither, because she was neither. And that also rubbed him wrong, because she was beautiful, and every beautiful woman he had ever known was either cute or sexy.

"She's like the Statue of Liberty," Ginji marveled, apparently completely unaware that she could hear him.

A quizzical furrow appeared between her perfect black brows. "I beg your pardon?"

"He means the Venus de Milo," Ban found himself saying, and cursed himself for knowing exactly what his partner meant in referencing the archaic work of art.

"Ah." A pleased smile turned up her apricot lips. "Well, isn't that nice. Thank you, Ginji-san."

Ginji grinned. "You know my name."

She nodded, still smiling faintly. "Recently I've had the strangest dreams. I suppose I am glad they were not the imaginings of a deranged mind."

"You suppose?" Ban snorted. He'd retreated from her uncomfortable… whatever it was… to lean against the wall opposite her.

"I witnessed a great deal of tragedy in my dreams," she replied candidly, unaffected by his rudeness. "If all I saw truly happened, then I wish some of those events had been no more than nightmares."

"You were dreaming about my life, I suppose. Just as I was dreaming about yours." That really made him uneasy. No one – no one, not Ginji, not Himiko, not Paul – no one knew Ban's full story. He wanted it that way. His past was a heavy thing, and though he probably wouldn't have admitted it, it bothered him that anyone but himself might be weighed down with it.

"I was." The smile slipped away from her mouth. "Oh…" She'd caught sight of the uniformed skeletons.

Ban cursed himself again. He ought to have moved the damn things – he should have thought of it. He could have – ought to have – spared her the gruesome sight. Especially considering that, more than likely, the dead soldiers had been acquaintances of hers.

She stepped down from the bunker, moving with an easy fluidity that wasn't exactly grace, but more an economy of motion. Her braid trailed behind her, heavy and thick on the floor.

She murmured something in a guttural tongue Ban did not understand, and went to stand amidst the soldiers, a lonely ghost among the empty shells of old friends.

"They knew about me," she said quietly, after a moment's pause, "because I shielded one of them with my body during an especially violent shelling of the hospital where I tended wounded soldiers. He was saved, and each of the witnesses swore to keep my secret. But the truth will out, as they say, it always does; I was discovered."

"Did one of them betray you?" Ginji asked, stricken.

She smiled, but sadness lingered on her lips. "I'm sure he didn't mean to. And if he did, it would seem that he was punished more than amply." Her eyes fell closed, and Ban watched her cold-hardened nipples rise and fall in a silent, strangely labored breath. He knew that feeling, the weight of grief pressing in so closely that it felt as though you couldn't breathe.

"We should go," he said, after debating whether or not to interrupt her silent mourning. There was a melancholic beauty to it, and it entranced him. And that further set him on edge. She captured his imagination, robbing him of conscious thought just as her memory had robbed him of his dreams. He suddenly had a million things he wanted to ask her about – the most beautiful things she had ever seen, the most disgusting food she had ever eaten, the most peculiar custom she had ever participated in, the most interesting person she had ever met…

"He's right," Ginji agreed apologetically, touching Merit lightly on the shoulder. "The shrine is probably already crawling with tourists, and I don't think we necessarily want the priests here to know that we were exploring one of their sacred buildings."

She opened her eyes, but the shine of tears he had expected was not there. "As you wish. Is there…" she paused, considering, "is there someone I can report this to? Is there anything that can be done, so long after the fact?"

"The men who did this are probably long dead. It's 2008, Merit. December, if you want to know."

"I was hoping to be surprised as to the season," she replied abstractedly, but without a trace of rebuke in her tone, "but never mind that. These men ought to be returned to their families, at the very least."

Had he ruined something special for her, he wondered, stricken, his mind rambling again. Was it important, after a half century of imprisonment, to be caught off-guard by rain, or snow, or wind?

Ban shook himself out of his thoughts, and forced himself to answer. "Yes... the uniforms have names on them, so it shouldn't be too hard to locate the families of soldiers who were reported MIA."

She smiled then, and every muscle in Ban's body froze. The warmth of the gratitude in her eyes rivaled Ginji's sunniest grin, but Ginji's exuberance had been replaced by a profound intelligence, and something else, something akin to wisdom, but so far surpassing wisdom that he couldn't name it, let alone recognize it. He felt as though he had just made an offering to some ancient, distant god, and had been unexpectedly rewarded with a glimpse of the god's face. The feeling unsettled him more than ever, and he forced his eyes away from the long-haired woman.

"That's something we've never gotten back before, Ban-chan." Ginji stretched out a hesitant hand to one of the skeletons, but thought better of it. "I know those families will be happy to have their granddad's or uncle's remains back."

Ginji's familiar spirit brought Ban back to earth, and he had to repress a smile. Having decided that the old bones were part of a mission, Ginji wouldn't rest until he'd completed the job, no matter how the skeletons frightened him.

Merit turned her immortal smile on Ginji, who seemed rather less affected than Ban. "Thank you, Ginji-san."

A sudden surge of jealousy slammed into Ban's gut, and he swallowed hard, trying to figure out where exactly the feeling had come from.

Ah. She hadn't used his name yet, only Ginji's. Twice. Although why that would make him jealous, Ban had no idea. She was absinthian, and in the confusion she roused in him, the usual rules that governed his thoughts and emotions no longer seemed to apply.

She was watching him, and he jerked himself to attention. "Midou Ban-sama," she said then, "I am ready whenever you are."

Ginji led them back down the tunnel, glowing, chatting up Merit, who only smiled sweetly in return, drinking up the chatter like so much wine. In her eyes, there was a mild regret, as though she were savoring something she knew would not last for very long. Ban dragged along behind them, seething.

It was supposed to get easier. No more creepy dreams, no more haunted ugly memories from someone else's life. No more thinking he was going crazy.

And now he was certain he was losing it. No one but Ginji had ever disturbed his sense of control so badly. And that was different, that was a… a circumstantial loss of control – his unpredictable partner got them into all sorts of scrapes, and it was invigorating, because alone, he would have had everything planned out from the beginning, and what fun would that be? With Ginji, he got to think on his feet, which he enjoyed – alone, there was never any need to do so.

This was like being in the power of another, in service to a greater being, an unwilling devotee to a peculiar faith. And she, like any god, was completely indifferent to his wonderment. He suddenly understood the concept of fanaticism far more intimately than he had ever cared to, the helplessness of total enthrallment with something greater than oneself.

Because she was, wasn't she? She was more, much more, than anyone he had ever met. The experiences of hundreds of lives, the knowledge of unnumbered cultures – the sheer wisdom she must have stored within her small, perfectly shaped head, behind her golden eyes – the weight of her presence was terrifying.

Why hadn't he expected that? He should have. He should have known how different she would be.

Was it because he'd seen her life from her perspective – could it be that she did not understand how unique she was? How completely inhumane she was?

"And there's planes… were there planes in World War Two? Have you seen planes before, Merit-san?" Ginji, the dolt, felt nothing of Ban's awe.

Humor tugged her lips further upward, but the faint sadness in her eyes had not faded. "A few, Ginji-san."

"But not computers, right? You'll love computers, anything you could possibly want to know you can find out in seconds."

"Geez, Ginji, you're going to run out of things to tell her about before we get to the end of the tunnel," Ban complained, still trying to shake his senses free of the hold she had unwittingly placed upon them.

"I doubt it," she answered, turning her head back to him. "It seems the world has changed a very great deal in sixty-five years." Her eyes fixed on him briefly, then followed the thick ropey cord of her braid back into the shadows. Neither he nor Ginji had thought to cut it. Not that either of them had anything to cut it with.

"People are still people. Usually even stupider in large groups than they are alone. There's still hunger and disease and greed and selfishness, so, no, it hasn't changed all that much." He almost spat the words, and shuddered at the violence that had risen in him. The power she held over him frightened him, and his usual response to fear was anger. This was an awful lot of anger.

His outburst didn't shake her at all, and he found himself flushing in the darkness, as though he'd smarted off to an especially mild-mannered teacher.

"Ban-chan," Ginji chided, eyes dark with disapproval.

"You're awfully young to be so certain of yourself." Merit looked away. "I suppose it's understandable, but even so, it seems a very regrettable waste of your potential."

"Just what do you mean, lady?" he demanded. Actually, anger was good, he decided. Taking offense at her words made her somehow more approachable, more human.

"It means," she replied evenly, "that cynicism is the refuge of an injured soul. If the world is unchangeable, there is a sound justification for not attempting to change it for the better, and therefore no reason to risk further injury. It is an old man's apology for his inaction in his youth, or perhaps for his mistakes. You cannot have seen enough to know for certain that the world cannot be improved. Your pessimism is, at best, premature, and at worst, a wrongful interpretation of the way of things."

He opened his mouth to spit back some smart remark or other, but couldn't find the words. She spoke with such simple certainty that he knew no protest he might have made could have changed her mind. Unable to reply, he lowered a fierce glower on her, to which she responded with a rueful, suddenly very human smile.

She bowed apologetically. "Forgive me, Midou Ban-sama. Truth is not always what is needed, after all, and we are all of us entitled to our delusions. Life is difficult enough to navigate without someone like me punching holes in the philosophy that keeps you afloat."

"Merit-san's awesome." Ginji grinned. "I've been thinking the same thing, I just didn't ever know how to say it. You think Ban-chan's too smart to be so cynical, too, don't you?"

Ban turned his glower on his partner, who cringed and dodged behind Merit. Merit laughed, and Ban's anger dissipated in the chiming, ringing sound, in the very brief pleasure that lit the woman's golden eyes.

"I knew someone like you, once upon a time, Ginji-kun," she said, smiling down at the Get Backer who cowered at her feet. "She also divined more than she was able to express in words. But her actions always supported her beliefs, as unutterable as they were. Like her, you are a rare find, and Midou Ban-sama is a fortunate man to have stumbled upon someone like you. I consider myself blessed, to have encountered such a spirit twice in my life."

Dammit, he couldn't find fault with that. If it was awkward, it was equally true, and he didn't have the energy to pretend that it wasn't. He was lucky to have Ginji, and she was lucky he had Ginji, too, because without him, Ban probably never would have ended up here, in this dusty dark hole with its secrets and its skeletons, and its buried treasure.

Buried treasure? Ban pulled a face. He was thinking in metaphors, and that was never a good sign. He needed sleep – real sleep – badly.

He opened his mouth to tell his partner and the woman who was driving him mad to get a move on, but before he could speak, he felt an ominous rumbling beneath his feet.

"Ban-chan! The tunnel!" Ginji reached to grab his hand and Merit's, then broke into a sprint. There was a flash of bewilderment in Merit's eyes, but she kept pace with him and did not relinquish his hand.

The thunderous clamor of the tunnel as it collapsed behind them grew louder, and Ban knew without looking that the rotted wooden braces were snapping under the increased weight of their loads like dominoes, one after the other. He picked up his pace and motioned to Ginji to do the same. He would snatch Merit up and carry her; even burdened with her weight he would be faster than –

There was no need, because she sped up to match paces with them again, racing like a gazelle –

Hey, she was matching their paces… was she moving slower than she was able, to stay with them?

They were flying, but the domino effect was faster, the braces were snapping at their heels –

Ginji's laces were coming loose, and he knew it, because he gripped tighter –

Neither he nor Merit had released Ginji's hands. It surprised him that he didn't want to.

That was stupid, she ought to run faster if she could, but she really didn't have to because it wouldn't hurt her even if the tunnel did collapse, but she would be stuck again for God knew how long, but if she knew that, why wasn't she running faster?

Really? A gazelle? God, he needed sleep.

Ban's brain was in overdrive, racing down several trains of thought at once. He saw and noticed everything, from Ginji's shoelaces that threatened to untie themselves, to the intoxicating bounce of Merit's small round breasts beneath his shirt, the smell of dirt and dust and the damp, wet scent of rotting wood, and everything his mind gathered up pointed to one undeniable conclusion.

It was going to be close. If they made it at all.

The collapsing tunnel was nearly caught up with them. A brace buckled just as they passed; Merit jumped ahead of them and turned suddenly, so quickly Ban could scarcely process the event that had forced the action. A thick, splintered stake of wood flew at them, propelled by the weight of the falling dirt and stone.

The jagged wood landed ineffectually at Merit's immortal flesh, and it took Ban only a moment to realize that if she hadn't moved, the broken brace would have thrust cleanly into Ginji's right side. As it was, a long gray silver of wood had lanced his upper arm.

He would have liked to have thanked her, had there been time enough, but the next brace on the other side, on his side, was faltering. In a fraction of a second, the wood would splinter, landing him in the same predicament as his partner.

She saw it. Quick as lightning, she released Ginji's hand and darted around behind him, racing to Ban's side, prepared to take the brunt of the exploding, fracturing wood.

For Ban, time stopped.

Almost idly, he wondered how many times before she had stepped in, taken the beating meant for someone else.

Had anyone done the same for her? Had anyone ever looked past the unyielding, diamond-hard skin, and seen the woman beneath?

In that moment, he knew, with a conviction he could not describe, that the woman behind him was no goddess. She desired, needed, all of the things any human being deserved, simply by virtue of being a human being.

She wanted friendship, needed to be loved. To be useful. To have dreams and to work toward them. To feel disappointment and the exhilaration of overcoming defeat. Those and those other thousands of intangible things he had lost, until he and Ginji had formed the partnership that had become so central to his very existence.

In their early days, someone – Yakuza, probably – had been shooting at them. Not a big deal. Ban dodged gunfire like children dodged balls. But Ginji hadn't known that. He'd dragged Ban out of the line of fire, taking a bullet through the meaty part of his shoulder and chest, just above the shoulder blade, just beneath the collarbone.

That feeling had been indescribable, but something Ban had been missing, something he had been desperately searching for, without even realizing it, something precious had materialized in Ginji's ignorant heroism.

He was valued. Deeply, sincerely, profoundly valued. Worth risking a life for – and not any life, but Ginji's, which was priceless. And that meant, to someone, he was also priceless.

Mentally, he apologized to his partner, wishing him all of the best that life had to offer, and wondered just when he'd gotten so soft. That was Ginji's fault, turning him into this philosophical bag of mush. And Ban was overwhelmingly grateful for it.

The mouth of the tunnel was just ahead. He snatched Ginji's hand and flung him forward. Ginji skidded safely into the basement.

She was nearly around him, between him and the fracturing brace. He turned on her, wrapped his arms around her narrow shoulders, before she could circle him.

The brace shattered; the upper half of the broken brace flew toward him, an image he felt as a rushing wind. His back was exposed to the exploding wood.

Merit was cradled protectively in his arms.

Ginji screamed. Merit flinched; her tiny form tightened against him at the sound, knowing instinctively that Ginji's suffering had only begun. And that was all Ban remembered.