Echoes I Mirrors The rain came down in hard, heavy droves, spreading puddles along the uneven ground, slicking long black hair to his face, plastering his clothing to his body. Rain mingled with tears, washing his face clean, but not his heart, and his shoulders drooped under the weight of countless hours of agonized grief; of lonely contemplation of what life might be like, now that the two links that held him to the Ningenkai and employment with the Reikai were gone. He had no idea where he was going, exactly; he was just walking, as if trying to leave behind what had happened in the past two weeks, as if trying to convince himself that, when he returned, everything would be fixed; his brother would smile and tease him about his wet hair, and the little meijin would be sitting in a dark corner, arms crossed, gracing the world with his customary scowl. Thunder boomed, and he looked up into the gray sky, blinking away the rain that fell into his face, brushing it out of his eyes along with the tears. For a single, eternal instant, he saw his brother’s face, with his laughing green eyes and wild red hair; he saw meijin’s face light up in the subtle way it always did, in Kurama’s presence; he saw himself, happy, with the new friends they had given him. And then the image was gone, and he was alone again, in this dark, lonely world. His steps were random, taking him in any way they pleased, shuffling through muddy puddles, which left pale streaks of dirt on his boots. He paid no heed, wrapping his arms around his slender frame in the only admission of the chill which seeped into his bones, painfully cold, but nothing compared to the burning in his heart. He could’ve walked like this forever, he thought dully; he could easily fade away into the mists, just like his meijin and brother had, and become another dark ghost to haunt rainy days. There was always the option of returning to Yomatsu, to his relatively peaceful life as the Watchman of the borders, but he found himself surprisingly indifferent about the idea - while he would always consider that place his first home, he had become accustomed to the ways and quirks of the Ningenkai, allowing his brother’s enthusiasm and love for this world of humans to captivate and draw him in, as well. He had friends here, good friends; allies both on and off the battlefield; he couldn’t just leave them behind and try to pretend it had never happened. It was a betrayal to the memory of his brother and master; it was a betrayal to himself, in a way - he had never given up on this sort of thing before. He would not start now. That small thought held little comfort as he continued to walk, heedless of where he was going, or the fact that the rain was starting to let up, his black gaze distant and focused on the past. When his feet refused to take him any further, he looked up, surprised, seeing the tall, featureless stone building that housed Kurama’s apartment, the same home that his brother generously shared with himself and Hiei. Dully, he pushed the doors open, ignoring the looks from the young couple descending the stairs as he pushed past them, heading into the still apartment. Heedless of the trails of water and mud his boots left on the polished floor, he stumbled towards the smaller of the two bedrooms, collapsing onto the soft mattress without bothering to shrug off his wet clothing, closing his eyes and trying to relax. It was hard to sleep without the familiar noise, he realized; he had first found the constant noises coming from the bedroom next door annoying; now that they were gone, he found himself missing the reassurance of their presence. Except for the eternal ticking of the clock, there was no sound to accompany his breathing and heartbeat. He lay there, in a pillow of cold, wet sheets and clothing, staring aimlessly at the ceiling above; he was totally alone, and totally lost. He closed his eyes, sucking in a deep breath through his nose, but to no avail - his mind’s eye was still haunted, full of pictures from that awful time - he saw Kurama’s body jerk under the blow of the mace, the green eyes widening before they went dim; heard Hiei’s furious cry; felt the same sinking sensation in his stomach and heart as he realized that, once the other youkai had cleared away, his brother was nowhere to be seen. Once more, his eyes snapped open and he growled to himself, frustrated. His mind seemed bent on driving him insane, keeping him awake and restless with those scenes, those memories ... he pulled himself to his feet in slow, dragging motions, landing on his hands and knees on the floor, and crawling part of the way. Exhaustion made his vision swim, making the room sway and drop sickeningly before his eyes as he stopped, his arms buckling under his meager weight. Too much. His body finally gave out, arms sliding away from under him, the hard surface of the floor rushing up to meet him in a dizzying punch that left him out cold. He was walking down a large alleyway, full of corruption and sadness, alone and weaponless, aside from the comforting weight he hefted in his right hand. Large, smelly gray rats scuttled nervously among their cardboard palaces, various bugs crawling into the light, only to scurry away when his light footsteps came dangerously close to them. He saw the dead, the dying, the sick, curled up in different positions along the tall, unyielding gray stone of the walls, and saw their withered, blistered hands reaching desperately out for him, trying to catch his ankles, trying to make him stop. He speeded up his pace, trying to get away. “Sad, isn’t it?” a familiar, mocking voice rang throughout his mind. “And this is what you chain yourself to; this is what you’ll become one day. Is that really what you want?” He whirled, a snarl on his lips, eyes scanning the darkness until they alighted upon the slender figure that sat, perched atop a stack of boxes. With a single, graceful flick of his wrist, he sent the green coils of his whip snaking outwards, snapping uneasily, as if reflecting it’s wielder's mood. The figure stood in one swift, easy movement, sending his cloak billowing around his slim frame like a pair of black wings. Resisting the urge to scream his hatred, he tensed, crouched and waiting. With a sudden leap, the familiar stranger was standing a few feet away from him, and he instinctively backed up, hunching his shoulders, feeling the red tinges of anger tug at his awareness. The dim lights caught glittering violet eyes, the spider-like mask which hid the lower half of his face. His lips twisted, curled, formed one word, spitting it out with such venom and disgust, his gaze bitter as he glared at the pale face before him. “Karasu.” The taller youkai bowed low, and he had the distinct impression that, under the cover of his mask, the bastard was smiling. “Of course. Who better to guide you through this test?” “Test?” he repeated, eyes narrowing at the offhand tone the other used; his hand tightened on the Whip, knuckles whitening as the tip twitched and flipped quietly, like a writhing snake. Nothing in Karasu’s stance suggested he was waiting or looking for a fight, but he would not be fooled - he knew it was irrational, but he would never be able to believe anything but the worst from his enemy; when Karasu disappeared from sight, only to reappear directly in front of him, he let out a startled yelp, lashing out with his fist, which Karasu easily caught, holding his wrist in a grip of ice. A cool, sour breath drifted over his cheek as the violet-eyed youkai leaned closer, his voice a low drone in the wind. “In order to be free, you will have to face your greatest fears. You’ve always believed that it was me - but you’re wrong, my lovely one. You never would believe it, but I am not what you fear the most.” Karasu laughed, the sound grating his nerves like salt in a wound. “My lovely redhead, what you feel for me is nothing, nothing at all, compared to what you truly fear.” Cold hands released his wrist, sliding up his arm to grasp his elbow, as the taller youkai ushered him along. He fought, violently, but he was powerless against the cool, unyielding grasp, as it dragged him down the dirty alley, until they came to a single, plain door. With a swift, sharp motion, Karasu kicked at it, watching impassively as it slid open, revealing a patch of inky darkness that lead into the unknown. The hands released him, and he hovered, uncertain, not knowing whether he should try to escape, fight his captor and flee, or whether he should enter, and face this test ... his decision was made for him as hands planted themselves in the small of his back and shoved. As he fell, he heard Karasu’s mocking laughter, before that and everything faded into stillness. For a long time, he seemed to float downwards, unable to see anything, not even the hands that flailed wildly, trying to stop his descent. He landed with a hard thump on hard, icy ground, and winced slightly as the gash over his ribs complained with a sharp jolt of pain. Wearily, he got to his feet and stumbled onwards, in what seemed to be the best direction; he had no idea where the hell he was, so any direction was a good one, he supposed. The longer he walked, the more tired he became. He was ready to give up, to lie down and go to sleep, when the scream tore into his hearing, jerking his head up and bringing a lump to his throat. ’Kaasan! But what was she doing here? Who the hell cared? Move! He ran towards the sound, pulling the rose from his hair, snapping his arm outwards ... ... but nothing happened. Confused and horrified, he stopped, his heart wincing as his ’Kaasan’s screams rang higher, echoing shrilly in the frigid air. “Shuuichi! Help me!” she wailed, and he closed his eyes, feeling tears leak through tightly closed lids as he tried one last time. Still nothing happened - nothing good, at least. Just like at the Ankoku Bujuutsukai, the rose in his hand snapped, the full blossom breaking away from the stem to settle on the snow-dusted ground. He gaped in surprise, then jerked up again when he heard Shiori’s dying cry. So what if he couldn’t use the Whip? ’Kaasan was in trouble! He launched himself onward, ignoring the small beat of unease in the back of his mind. Was this what Karasu meant by facing his worst fear? He tore into the field, and froze in shock. Shiori was hanging, suspended, from the ground, her body wrapped in thousands of writhing green-black vines. But what horrified him the most was the sight of himself - or, at least, the youko half of himself - standing across the clearing, watching the scene. The golden eyes were alight with satisfaction, and a cruel, cold smile touched his pale face. For a moment, he couldn’t say anything, the words caught in his throat, and then he rallied himself, tearing towards the tall, imposing silver figure. “MATTE!” he cried, throwing his foot into the air for a high kick, only to have it blocked by Youko Kurama’s hand. The golden eyes studied him in a decisive way, and he knew he saw the spark of recognition in those eyes, those familiar eyes, his heart sinking when an evil smile spread across the face. Shiori stirred, her head turning to the side. When she saw him, she began to struggle again. “Shuuichi! Help me!” she ordered, though fear and worry wracked her voice. He could see her wild eyes, darting back and forth between them, confused, afraid. Youko Kurama placed a finger to his lips, gesturing for the human woman to hush, but she refused, only struggling harder. The pale face hardened, and as he watched, horrified, Kurama raised his free hand and gestured sharply. One vine twined around Shiori’s neck and constricted with a sharp, hard motion. There was a sickening crack, a jarring crunch, and her body lay limp and still. His eyes widened at the scene; he could hear Youko Kurama’s laughter - his laughter - echoing above the trees, ringing louder and harsher as the fox-demon released his foot, sending him toppling to the ground. He curled there, weeping silently, feeling his tears leave their icy trails down his cheeks; there was a hollow place in his heart, in his mind, and he just hurt. Above him, he heard the whisper of another’s presence, and a familiar ki. He raised a tearstained face to see Hiei, standing above him, seeming much taller now, imposing, intimidating. He whispered his lover’s name, hoping to see that small spark of recognition, of love, that the word always got him ... but there was nothing. Hiei stared at him like he was some kind of pathetic creature, something not worth his time ... ... the same cold gaze he gave any sniveling human. The thought made his heart shrivel, and he watched with veiled anger as the Youko appeared behind Hiei, his tall, silvery frame glistening in the pale light, taking Hiei’s arm and leading him away. The golden eyes tossed him a mocking, triumphantly smug look, one that plainly warned him to stay away from his beloved; that disobeying any of the silent commands would cost his life. Then they were gone, and he was left, sobbing, cold, aching in the darkness as it swirled in, with groping, thin fingers, reaching out for him, and he all but fell into their icy embrace, allowing the cold to numb him and whirl away the pain ... “Yo-mawari-san? Yo-mawari-san?” he heard the girl’s voice call his name, concerned; a cool hand pressed a damp cloth into his brow as he tried to open one eye, the lid feeling impossibly heavy. He relaxed his body for an instant, then snapped both eyes open, staring directly into Yukina’s small, worried face. At the sight of his blank, black gaze, she brightened, removing the rag from his forehead and cocking her head to one side. “Are you all right?” He groaned something in reply, trying to sit up, only to have her surprisingly strong little hands push him back down onto the bed. “Where am I? What the hell happened?” he asked her, allowing his eyes to drift to half-shut, watching as she set the wet cloth into a small ceramic bowl and turned to look at him again. He was in his own room, in the little apartment, and behind Yukina, he could feel the presence of Kuwabara’s reiki. “I tried calling you, earlier,” she told him gently, tucking the blankets up around his chin. “When we got no answer, we came over. Kazuma-san found the door unlocked, so he let us in, and we found you collapsed on the floor. Why didn’t you *tell* me you were having trouble sleeping?” she made the last into a scolding tone, poking his chest with one finger. “I could have helped you sleep, and you wouldn’t have had to do a crazy stunt like that. What if you collapsed outside? They’d take you to the hospital, and then they’d find out you’re not entirely human. That was dangerous, and very stupid.” Her gentle tone of voice, as well as the teasing smile on her pretty face, took away the sting of her words, even as she pressed the cloth back onto his face. “Actually, I think I was heading to your house, when I passed out,” he confessed, closing his eyes to prevent the water from trickling into them. “I don’t remember much - it’s all pretty fuzzy ...” She snorted, the sound alien and strange, coming from someone so decievingly delicate-looking. “That’s no surprise. You’ve been out for almost two days now! And you were soaking wet to boot - a fever was starting. Good thing I caught it in time.” She grinned at him, then removed the cloth, keeping her hand over his eyes. “Shh. You’re still exhausted; you need more sleep. We can talk later,” she instructed, her voice soothing and quiet, speaking in a monologue that he quickly lost track of. After a few minutes, his even breathing told her he was deeply asleep and she leaned back with a sigh. Large, strong hands, so much bigger than her own, closed on her slender shoulders, rubbing slightly, and she acknowledged him with a soft, trilling purr as her fiancé rubbed the tense ache from the upper half of her body. “Arigatou gozimasu, Kazuma-chan,” she told him quietly, tilting her face back a little, closing her eyes. “I appreciate it.” His voice was equally quiet, in a question that she didn’t quite want to hear. “Are you going to tell him about the nightmare he was having? The one where Kurama was taken again, and then killed?” Yukina sighed, opening her eyes to stare into his face. “I should; I know I should,” she replied, dropping her gaze to watch her hands twist nervously in the other’s grasp. “But I just don’t know how. It’s been so long since he’s been resting like this - and anyway, it doesn’t seem to be a new dream. It’s been keeping him awake ever since Kurama-san was taken, those weeks ago. He doesn’t need to know that it was starting all over again ...” she trailed off, turning to watch Yo-mawari sleep. He was so much like his brother, in looks and action; and now, asleep like this, he was a vulnerable, open child. Maternal instincts flared in her heart; just like the time with her brother, she wanted to rock this one to sleep, hold him and make sure the demons of his nightmares could never hurt him again. And she would have her beloved Kazuma-chan to help her; she, at least, was not alone in this world. She just wished she could say the same for Yo-mawari - and now, her brother, as well ... Consciousness. A gray landscape that abruptly resolved itself into the dank, blackened walls of a tiny room. Silver moonlight streamed through a tiny window, so far up the wall that he could barely see the tiny square. Crawling over to the small illuminated patch, he rubbed at his face, trying to wipe away the feeling of dried tears and the sick feeling of being about to vomit. His hands came up to lightly touch the bandage that wound itself around his head, gently probing the area of the wound, wincing involuntarily as the expected pain arched through him, even with the lightest touch. That dream had been hellish for him; if he closed his eyes, he could feel Karasu’s hands on his face, could see Shiori’s death and Hiei’s abandonment with cruel precision. The dream had shown him, in an odd mixture of scenes, just what terrified him most, and he was not too happy with the results. It was much easier when he saw Karasu as his reoccurring nightmare, when the things that haunted him the most was the breathless fear as he waited for the bombs to close in, and the feeling of tremendous pain, as it tore through his body, almost like a bomb had gone off in his heart, ripping him to shreds. Kurama shuddered lightly, as if the moonlight had turned to snow, and he was back in that plain, freezing and wounded, watching his beloved leave him behind with his human mother’s dead body. He murmured something unintelligible to the empty cell, bringing his legs in close to his chest, hugging his knees in a defensive gesture. The more he thought of his recent ordeal, the more it made sense to him. Yes, he had always worried of how Shiori would react to knowing of his youko side; and the idea that one day, in the future, Hiei would leave him ... he shuddered, the movements almost violent this time, trying to banish the thought. He who had always left the lover first in his past relationships was now clinging desperately to a seemingly heartless Koorime, clinging with a pathetic desperation that he would have scoffed at, in the past. The sight of watching his lover walk away from him, cold and straight-backed, without even a second backwards glance, had very nearly torn him apart. He rested his cheek on one knee, staring blankly into space, one hand absently coming up to twirl a thin lock of bright red around his fingers. The two large wounds he had sustained ached dully, as if he were feeling them from a distance, pulsing in time with his heartbeat. He almost didn’t hear the sound of approaching footsteps, but when he did, he quickly scooted out of the moonlit patch, pressing himself against the slime-covered wall, narrowing his eyes, turning in the direction the sound came from. They were slow and rhythmic, reminding him of a human heartbeat as they tapped closer ... step, step, step, step ... There was a jingling sound, then something rattled noisily, as his cell was suddenly flooded with painfully bright lights. He cried out sharply, throwing his hands over his eyes in a protective movement, turning his face away from the harsh brightness. He could hear voices talking, murmuring amongst themselves, saying things he couldn’t quite catch, with his head buried between his arms, trying to get as far away from the light as he could. There was the sound of shuffling papers, completely out of place, and the metallic clink of what he assumed to be keys - and then, contemplative silence, punctuated only by footsteps approaching. A clawed hand landed on his shoulder and he jumped, startled, as a voice spoke in his ear, the tone dryly amused. “Come, now, boy; surely you can’t be hurt by something so little as the light?” The hand tugged, the grip becoming painful as it forced him to look up, into the light, blinking owlishly, staring directly into a hideously grinning face. If he hadn’t been expecting something horrible, he would have screamed. But though no sounds escaped, his stomach still rolled, disgust making him nauseous. The creature was leaning extremely close to him, bony hands clutching at his shoulders, body pressed against his, as if reveling in the feel of warm human flesh. He wrinkled his nose in distaste, trying not to stare directly into the bulging, bloodshot eyes. It was the face of a skeleton that nodded at him, sharp teeth revealed in a mouth without lips, curving upwards in the forced grin of a skull. Graying flesh hung in tatters from the rough surface of the bones, soft and warm to the touch, a small chunk tearing off to land, with a wet splat, on his bare foot. He jerked at the touch, shaking his foot and sending that piece flying, pressing back harder against the wall, watching as the skeleton-youkai’s dark red tongue appeared, lapping at the curved fangs, leaving the faint sheen of moisture on the yellowed surface. “Pretty boy, pretty, pretty boy,” it sing-songed to him in a voice better suited to that of a small human child, “do you know now where you wander? The sky is gray, the clouds have hidden, and all our playmates have vanished.” For a moment, it looked almost sad, before continuing in that same insanely cheerful tone. “But don’t you worry, the sun will return, the gray skies vanish and the little ones shall come home.” It cackled and poked a finger at his chest. “But you’re such a pretty boy, it would be a shame to say you’ve come and left without leaving your presence known. Pretty little ningen boy, do you know what you have gotten yourself into?” He blinked, confused by the mindless spiel, almost relieved when a woman’s voice, low and deep, almost masculine in sound, called out in a sharp tone, speaking words in a language he didn’t understand. The creature winced and shrank away from him, cringing like it had been beaten, limping to the side of a dark-haired woman who eyed him dispassionately, her tall form still surrounded in golden firelight. He stared back, noting the elfish point to her ears, and the dark, leathery wings that sprouted gracefully from her back - she was of the same race that his dead brother-friend-partner, Kuronue. A loose black silk shirt was draped over the upper half of her willowy frame, and a white sash around her waist slung outward, a sharp contrast to the darkness of her pants. She watched him with narrowed eyes, a startling blue color in her white face, one narrow hand reaching out to press down on the skeleton’s head. “Who - where - who the hell are you? What the hell is going on?” Kurama whispered, still not uncurling from his position. His voice sounded raw, hoarse, painful to his own ears, but he paid no heed, fixing his wide green stare on the woman’s face, meeting her blue eyes, trying his best not to look at the gibbering, insanely happy creature at her side. “Why - what happened?” The woman sighed, snapping her fingers. The creature whined, like a whipped dog, then slipped past her, disappearing from sight. She tilted her head to one side, the long dark locks which framed her face spilling to the left, neatly caught in a loose set of five different braids, creating an odd affect. “Kuraihana desu,” she told him calmly. “I’m a healer, which is something you needed, and badly, especially after the hoardes brought you here. You were beat up and bleeding something fierce.” She crossed the room in a few swift steps, pressing her hand to the wound on his head, wrapped so neatly in its mass of bandages, causing him a small wince of pain, feeling even the slight pressure with a teeth-grinding acuteness. Nodding in satisfaction, Kuraihana began to undo the cloth that wove around his head, allowing him to see the bloodstained cloth as it drifted into view. Producing a fresh roll from the voluminous sleeves of her black tunic, she began to rewrap his head, carefully and gently, just like Yukina might. When finished, she tugged at the soiled, tattered cloth of his shirt. “Take this off. I need to see your ribs.” She met his flushed face with a deadpan expression. “Come on, boy. This is your last chance to get some healing done before the hoardes return for you. I’ve seen what they do to some of their playmates - believe me, it’s not pretty.” Her blue eyes held his gaze for a long instant, allowing him to see the truth of what she said. He sighed, and began to tug the white shirt from his belt, pulling it over his head and eyeing the bandages that bound across his slashed ribs with respect - they were tight enough to staunch the blood flow, but not so tight that he would choke, or bruise. Kuraihana knew her stuff, he decided, even as the youkai leaned in, pressing light fingers along the side of the bandage, her touch purely professional as she applied a salve to the scars, the liquid burning and cold at the same time as she rubbed it into the welts. When she was done, he pulled his shirt back on, watching her silently as she gathered up her supplies and stood. “Where are you going now? Do you know what will happen to me?” he asked her as she started to leave, watching as she paused in the doorway, a shadow in the middle of all that painful light. When she turned to look back at him, he thought he could see an immense sadness - perhaps even pity - in her startlingly blue eyes. “Pretty boy, pretty boy,” she sang sadly to him, in the same tune of her skeleton dorei, though her voice and tone held a world of difference. “There will come a day when you curse that lovely face and form of yours.” Without another word, she vanished, closing the door and taking the light with her. Kurama stared after her in confusion and surprise, a dark sense of foreboding eating at his heart. He closed his eyes and hugged himself tighter, imagining the faces of those he loved, of those he cared for, wishing that he could be close to them, that they would find him and take him away from this awful place ... he wanted to go home ... A single silver tear escaped tightly closed lids, sliding down his cheek to land with an empty splash on the ground, near the piece of the gray dorei’s flesh. He was shuddering, both in cold and fear and sadness, praying this would be some bad dream, a dream from which he would soon awaken from ... He was walking in a hallway of mirrors. Everywhere he turned, he saw a thousand copies of his face looking back, the green eyes wide and surprised. The bandage was gone, and when he ran his fingers through his red hair, there was no pain, no blood, nothing. He was perfectly fine, just lost in this world of reflective glass. He was reminded of the scene earlier, with Karasu in that grimy alleyway and tensed himself, ready for another appearance by the violet-eyed youkai. He didn’t have long to wait. “I knew you’d come back to me, my love,” the hated voice purred from somewhere nearby. He whirled, and found Karasu standing in a small half-circle of mirrors, which reflected him; a thousand pairs of violet eyes staring hungrily at him. Nervously, he backed up, feeling his back collide with the smooth, unyielding surface of glass. The taller youkai began to glide towards him, movements slow and smooth, the thousands of mirrors that surrounded them reflecting his every movements, like the fractured eyes of an insect. He finally stopped, standing directly before Kurama, narrow eyes glittering down at him like darkened amethysts. “Go away,” Kurama whispered in a broken voice, pressing tighter against the mirrored wall, feeling his bare feet slipping on the slick ground, giving away. He was sliding, starting to slip down the wall, staring feebly up into an intense, dizzying gaze. The glitter and play of lights in the slim orbs was almost hypnotic, and he found himself entranced ... ... until a clenched white fist connected with the glass above his head, sending it cascading down upon him, like a shower of crystalline tears. The shards sliced his face and neck and arms, ripping thousands of minor cuts into his flesh, and still he was frozen, paralyzed by fear and something else - that thrice-damned Karasu had put some kind of holding spell on him, locking him in place. There was no way to react, to move, to hit back, even as the masked man smiled, a gesture that couldn’t be seen, but was undeniably felt; a cool hand trailed across his cheek, bringing with it a sharp, stinging pain, burning a trail of blood across his face as the sharp class sliced his skin. “Pretty, pretty boy,” Karasu breathed, lowering his face so that they were eye-to-eye, “you don’t know what your lovely face does to so many people.” Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Kurama began to scream, even as the glass easily cut through the bindings of his clothing, leaving his body bare to Karasu’s devouring gaze, helpless to fight back, to stop the advances, even as his enemy’s hands closed in on exposed flesh. Kurama closed his eyes against the vision, and focused on something else - on a pair of sad, bright red eyes that burned into his heart, his soul, quietly understanding. Love and anger and despair and ... forgiveness? .. . glittered in those ruby depths, as Hiei turned and silently walked away. Kurama let out a cry that was his lover’s name, reaching desperately out for him, but it was too late. He was gone, and the darkness swallowed him, taking him to a place where not even his subconscious could reach him.