Sunday, May 27th 2007, Mother's Day
White cable and coffee
by Mashiro
Digimon Adventures fandom, one-shot, no spoilers
FAMILY: Natsuko x Yamato; pre-series
This short little thing is dedicated to my wonderful mother. Thank you for making a decent human out of me!
The last Sunday in May is Mother's Day in Sweden. Last year I wrote a Naruto fandom mother themed one-shots to celebrate the occasion and I thought I'd keep up the tradition. This year goes to Digimon and Natsuko x Yamato.
The big question... When will I write a Father's Day's one-shot? This year maybe? I'll probably have Almost Sucks finished by then and can do something fun with that. Will do some more thinking. Father's Day in Sweden is in November by the way.
And, yes! Finally! My first Digimon story. Sweet. I should do more. With a little more boys love. Hehe.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Digimon, I'm just a fan. This is a FAN FICTION.
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White cable and coffee
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The world hiding on the other side of the window was Tokyo in January. Grey sky, cars, square buildings; a few trees but with no leaves they only served to make the area more depressing.
Natsuko had her hands wrapped around white, warm porcelain. A thin veil of silver steam rose from the cup's dark liquid to drape her face in heat and the smell of coffee. Fifteen minutes had passed since she turned off the heater and the kitchen was starting to get cold again.
She could hear the clock ticking on the wall and the soft murmur of the rice cooker that stood on the counter; she could hear the cars and the other things that moved in the world outside. But what she heard most clearly was the gurgling from the child on the floor. And the weak thumping of cable against electric blanket, that came now and then.
Natsuko's friend Mariko had just told the story of how she stole juice from a woman's shopping cart in the supermarket. There had been no grape fruit juice left on the shelves and Mariko's craving had been so fierce that she hadn't been able to stop herself. It had ended with Mariko being chased through half the store before she managed to hide behind the fish counter. With the grape fruit juice.
Natsuko had heard the story before, but had still laughed with her friend when it was time to. Because it was polite and also because Mariko was a fairly good teller of stories. But the laughter had faded now. They were both just warming their hands with cups of coffee and waiting for the afternoon to become early evening.
"It really does look nice," Mariko said when the almost-silence became too heavy.
She was talking about Natsuko's hair. They had talked about it earlier, before the telling of the juice theft story. Before Mariko had tired of the depression and changed the subject.
"No," Natsuko said and held a lock of the fringe between her fingers. Studied the fine strands. "He cut off too much."
"You said you wanted something new, right?"
"Yes," Natsuko sighed and let go of the fringe. "I suppose I did."
She had asked the hairdresser to cut her hair shorter than he usually did. Had longed, hungered, thirsted for change. Something. Anything. It had been wonderful to hear the scissors work and see the blond hair fall. Finally, finally.
But the wonderful feeling was like water in cupped hands before she had even left the chair. Even though she had smiled and said that she was satisfied with the result. The hairdresser had laughed and said that it suited her. 'It does something to your eyes, Ishida-san,' he had said.
When Natsuko returned home and saw a stranger's face in the hallway mirror, she hadn't been able to walk away for a long time. She had lifted the fringe, walked closer to the glass, looked deep into the eyes; pressed her fingertips against her cheeks. No matter what she did though, despite lipstick and long eyelashes, the result was the same.
"I look like a boy," she said.
"Don't be silly!" Mariko laughed and waved a hand in the air. "You look beautiful."
Natsuko put her elbows on the table and leaned closer to the friend on the other side. Caught the woman's gaze and didn't let go.
"Do you think Yamato will grow up to look more like me or his father?"
Mariko pulled back; not much, but enough. Glanced at the floor before giving half a smile and shrugging.
"Probably you," she answered, as if it didn't mean anything. And maybe it didn't. "He's got your eyes."
Natsuko sank down on the table, as much as her cup of coffee would allow. Looked down on the tablecloth that hid the cheap kitchen table. She heard Mariko lift her cup and drink. She heard the clock and the rice cooker and Yamato.
"I think about leaving him sometimes," Natsuko said finally, without taking her eyes off the tablecloth. She meant her husband of course, not the child. Mariko understood.
"I think everyone thinks like that sometimes."
The kitchen stayed that way for a while. The clock ticking, Mariko drinking coffee, Yamato gurgling. The January cold crawled in through the walls and soon Natsuko would have to turn on the heater again. Not until the chair opposite hers scraped against the floor and Mariko's figure disappeared from the table did she raise her head.
Natsuko found her friend on her knees on the floor, in front of the electric blanket where Yamato was sitting. The child's blond hair looked like it had been through a storm and the blue eyes glittered. His mouth and hands were busy worshipping the white cable that had fallen off the toaster the week before. The gloomy world did not reach him.
"You will be just as gorgeous as your mother, sweetie," Mariko said and ruffled the wild hair, making it even messier. She looked over her shoulder and gave Natsuko a contagious smile; then the attention turned back to the son.
"Guuu," Mariko said in the child language. The blue eyes glittered even more and Yamato smiled; a trickle of drool finding its way from his mouth, down the cable.
"Guuuu," the woman said again and moved closer. This time the child giggled. A gurgled giggle that together with the look in his eyes seemed to say 'again, again!'
The third time was followed by a squeal of delight and the clear high-pitched laughter that only a child could produce. The cable fell from Yamato's mouth and grip. He slapped his hands hard against the blanket as he leaned closer to Mariko.
It brought tears to Natsuko's eyes. Happy and guilty tears of 'how am I able to wish for change in anything?' Warmth wandered all the way to her heart.
The world outside was January and cold, but April would always come eventually, right?