Disclaimer: Mai HiME and its characters are the property of Sunrise and others Powers that Be. That would not include me.
We Never Said Goodbye
"Natsuki."
It was a gasp, part question, part breathless exhalation, and so naggingly familiar that Natsuki immediately turned around—and stared in shock.
"Shizuru?"
She said the name almost unconsciously, barely registering the woman before her—but it couldn't have been anyone else. That face—those dark, quick eyes; those smiling amused lips; framed by that long, flowing hair—though matured and defined by the years, could only belong to one person: Fujino Shizuru.
"It is you, Natsuki," Shizuru said and her musical accents flooded Natsuki's memories. Years fell away and she was in high school again, leaning against a desk, a wall, a windowsill, a tree, trying so desperately not to blush as this voice teased and prodded, gentle but, to Natsuki, always laughing.
But there was no laughter in that voice now, only a sense of wonderment. And warmth.
"How are you?" Shizuru continued in that voice that was both familiar and not, her eyes taking all of Natsuki in. "What are you doing in Tokyo?"
"I," Natsuki began but nothing followed. Her tongue felt heavy and clumsy in her mouth.
Shizuru's expression softened and the gentleness of her gaze took Natsuki aback. "May I join you?"
Natsuki's eyes darted to the empty chair at the edge of her vision, her half-empty coffee cup, and back to Shizuru, watching and waiting patiently.
"Sure."
Shizuru walked around the table and doffed her trench coat, revealing a smart black skirt suit underneath. She slipped into the empty chair and smoothed the lapels of her jacket and then the collar of her crisp dark blue shirt. Noting Natsuki's appraisal, Shizuru smiled and said, "I'm a lawyer now. Corporate law." At these last words, her eyes and smile turned a little cynical, as if she were enjoying a private joke.
"That sounds like something you'd be good at," Natsuki replied with her own smile, trying not to feel underdressed in her jeans and turtleneck.
Shizuru laughed. It was a little self-deprecating. "I enjoy it. In a few years I might even surprise the firm and make partner." She crossed her legs, folded her hands and rested them in her lap. Her eyes were never still. They drifted across Natsuki's face, the small appointment book on the table, and even lit up at the leather biking jacket slung on the back of Natsuki's chair. "What about you, Natsuki? How are you doing?"
To Natsuki's surprise, the question, coming from Shizuru, was a little disappointing.
"I'm a private investigator," she said and was gratified to see Shizuru's surprise and amusement. Then Shizuru's eyes drifted away from hers and her smile faded, leaving behind an expression both wistful and a little sad.
"You must be a very good investigator," Shizuru said and they both fell silent. Then Shizuru lifted her eyes again and asked, "Do you work here in Tokyo?"
"Sometimes, if an investigation brings me here, but I mainly work and live in Yokohama."
Shizuru glanced at the appointment book. "Oh, so you're here working then?"
"No," Natsuki said slowly, avoiding Shizuru's eyes. Absently, she traced circles along her coffee cup's rim. "Actually, I'm… visiting a friend."
The murmur of outside conversations and the music playing softly over the speakers in the café filled the space between them. Neither was quite looking at the other.
Then Shizuru laughed.
Natsuki looked up, startled. She'd never heard Shizuru laugh like this, not giggling, but laughing, laughing so hard that she was almost silent from breathlessness, shaking from head to foot. With one hand Shizuru covered her eyes, then her mouth, all the while shaking her head.
"I'm sorry," she gasped in between fits of laughter, "I'm sorry but…" She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, wiping at her eyes. Natsuki shifted in her seat and glanced around at the other occupied tables. No one seemed to notice them.
When Shizuru had regained her composure, she fixed Natsuki with eyes that were still laughing but sober underneath.
"Natsuki," she said softly, "I know it's been almost ten years since we've seen each other but don't you think it's silly how formal we're being?"
At first, Natsuki could only stare at Shizuru. Then she started snickering. Then sputtering. Then she was laughing and Shizuru was grinning and all the tension—so much tension—flowed out of her.
Then they talked.
They talked and the years, these almost ten years of silence, swept them up in a current of names and faces and experiences that they had never shared together. There were stories and jokes, more laughter and almost tears, moments of teasing, disbelief and sympathy—and in the middle of updating Shizuru about Mai, it occurred to Natsuki: They'd never talked like this before.
Not even during their years of friendship.
Openness, Natsuki thought, had not come easily to them. And it saddened her.
During a lull, Shizuru said, "I missed you."
"I missed you, too," Natsuki said quietly and she had, she realized, had missed the sound of Shizuru's voice, had missed her easy manner and confidence, these things that had faded into the background of Natsuki's thoughts, never forgotten but distanced.
"Sometimes I used to wonder…" Shizuru trailed off. Then she simply smiled but more, Natsuki sensed, to herself than for her.
Natsuki felt it then, the weight of the things that had happened between them. The things they hadn't said. The things that had kept them from being open.
She glanced at Shizuru's hands, now resting folded on the table since Shizuru had leaned forward eagerly to tell her a horror story about law school. Shizuru followed her gaze then raised cool and assessing eyes, her expression calm, nearly blank.
For a moment, Natsuki felt trapped and young again, seventeen and caught by the whimsical moods of her friend. Then Shizuru's smile turned impish and she said, "I'm married. Though sometimes I forget to wear my ring."
Natsuki blinked. "Oh." She groped for words then licked her lips. "Congratulations. How long have you been together now?"
Shizuru's eyes were dancing in that teasing way that filled Natsuki with a vague sense of dread and anticipation, even after all these years. She felt a blush creep across her cheeks even before Shizuru said, "I'm not supposed to say. She always scolds me when I tell people we're married—even though I think she secretly likes it."
"You're married to a woman?" Natsuki asked before her brain caught up with her mouth and she pressed her lips tightly together, fighting off a deeper blush.
Shizuru laughed but her eyes were gentle. "Not literally, no, but we've been together for… almost three years."
"Oh," Natsuki said again.
"Does it surprise you?" Shizuru asked softly.
Natsuki cupped her empty coffee cup between her hands and ran a thumb along the rim.
"A little," she admitted and then felt a twist in her gut when she saw a tendril of sadness in Shizuru's eyes.
"For a long time—or maybe it just felt like a long time—I wasn't sure what to do," Shizuru said suddenly. Her voice was soft, earnest, as Natsuki had never heard it, not even that night years and years ago when Shizuru had revealed that she was also a HiME. "You—" Shizuru stopped, shook her head. "I did think about getting married. It seemed like the logical thing to do after graduating. I just… didn't." Her gaze turned distant, inward. "Making that decision was easier than I thought it would be, Natsuki. Easier, but not easy."
And then she refocused on Natsuki and her eyes asked, "Do you understand?" but Natsuki could only wonder what had happened all these years, what had happened to them, why they stopped talking to each other, why they never called, wrote, sent an e-mail or a text message. But she couldn't ask because she knew that she would have to answer that question, too, and she couldn't—or maybe she wouldn't.
Shizuru inhaled deeply and exhaled into a wide smile, playful but somber too, and her eyes filled with depths of emotion and experiences foreign to Natsuki. "But I'm not complaining. A lot of things happened but now I'm…" Shizuru's expression turned puzzled and a little bewildered. She finished her sentence slowly, as if choosing her thoughts carefully. "… content."
"I'm happy for you," Natsuki said and was shocked at the passion in her voice, at the flood of relief, lightness, and, yes, happiness that filled her. For the first time during this meeting, she felt like she could breathe and when she met Shizuru's eyes, they were both smiling—in this moment they understood each other.
Then Natsuki's cell phone rang.
They both jumped and then laughed at themselves as Natsuki dug her cell phone out of her jacket pocket. She checked the caller ID and then the time.
"Oh man, I'm really sorry, Shizuru, but I have to go," she said and Shizuru, checking her watch, exclaimed that she should be heading home, too. They gathered their things in a flurry of muttered apologies, only to stand awkwardly when they were both ready to go.
A long time ago, Natsuki might have flippantly said goodbye and Shizuru might have told her not to play too hard.
A long time ago, Shizuru might have flung her arms around Natsuki and half-jokingly begged her not to go.
A long time ago, the last time they had actually seen each other, Shizuru had hugged her almost gingerly, almost with fear, and Natsuki, feeling the distance between them, had not dared to bridge that gap. Then Shizuru had boarded the train, glancing back once at Natsuki, who had raised one wavering hand. A few months later, Natsuki had stopped calling Shizuru. Shizuru never called her back.
And ten years later, today, they stood looking at each other uncertainly. Muttered polite phrases. And began to drift apart as if by some silent accord.
Then Shizuru called out, "Natsuki!" and Natsuki stopped and turned around. Shizuru stood staring at her intensely, hesitation in her face, hands balled into fists—so odd, Natsuki thought—and then took one faltering step towards her. Then another and another until she had decisively closed the distance between them. But she didn't look Natsuki in the eye.
For the first time, Shizuru looked young to Natsuki.
"There's something I have to tell you," Shizuru said in a voice that was almost a whisper, "something I've wanted to tell you all these years."
Natsuki waited, barely breathing.
"I know I've said this before but back then I…" She inhaled sharply and then raised her eyes. It almost scared Natsuki, what she saw in them, the pain, the urgency, the gravity, and so many other emotions that Natsuki couldn't place.
"I'm sorry," she breathed. "I'm sorry if I hurt you. I'm sorry that I couldn't tell you how I felt. I'm sorry if I made you feel—"
And then Natsuki hugged Shizuru, pulled her close, wrapped her arms tightly around her. Shizuru quieted and stiffened at her touch, then relaxed and hugged Natsuki back, clinging fiercely and almost desperately. And they stood there like that, trapped in that embrace, hugging each other with the force of all the hushed years, of every unsaid word, of every unexpressed emotion.
And Natsuki, years removed from the horror of their share destiny, from the uneasy aftermath, felt it all bubbling up within her: the confusion, the uneasiness, the silence. The regret.
"I'm sorry, too," Natsuki whispered in Shizuru's ear. "I'm sorry, too."
"Thank you," Shizuru sighed and it filled the emptiness those unknowing years had left in Natsuki's heart.
When they pulled apart they were both a little teary-eyed. They laughed at the sight of each other and the moment was light again—no, lighter, lighter than it had ever been before.
"Call me sometime," Natsuki said just before they parted. "My number's still the same."
Shizuru looked thoughtful then mischievous. "I'll invite you to the real wedding."
Natsuki didn't even blink. "You should introduce us first. I'd like to meet her. And thank her."
Shizuru raised one eyebrow. "Ara, maybe you can introduce me to your boyfriend then."
"What?" Natsuki asked even as her cheeks began to burn. They stared at each other and then Natsuki asked, "How did you know?"
"I didn't," Shizuru said with a smile, "but you're hard not to notice, Natsuki, and we're not young anymore."
There was no bitterness in her voice, no resentment in her eyes, though maybe something a little sad in her smile.
"Well," Natsuki said, tugging on a strand of hair, "if you promise to go easy on him, it's a deal." She felt her smile fading and then added, "Take care, Shizuru."
Surprising her, Shizuru reached up and cupped her cheek, her eyes searching hers, scrutinizing every detail of her face, as if memorizing them. Then she smiled, as if she were happy at what she saw there.
"You too, Natsuki."
They hugged again and separated slowly. Natsuki watched Shizuru walk away. When Shizuru glanced back, Natsuki waved. Shizuru smiled. An easy smile. A light smile.
When Shizuru was out of sight, Natsuki's phone rang again. She answered it this time.
"Hey," a relieved voice greeted her. "I was beginning to think you were going to stand me up."
"Sorry," Natsuki said, beginning to walk slowly towards where she had parked her motorcycle. "I lost track of the time. I ran into… an old, good friend."
And she smiled up at the sky where a lone bird spiraled up higher and higher.
Yes, an old, good friend.
Notes: In my literature classes, we often talk about how authors and literature are in conversation with each other and I think, with the advent of fanfiction, nowhere else can a "conversation" be more evident. We authors work in the same fandom and one idea inevitably inspires another idea. Admittedly, I don't read much fanfiction, but I do browse and skim and the ShizNat fandom began to give me the impression that in every fanfic in which Shizuru and Natsuki end up estranged from each other for a few years, Shizuru spends the years horribly torturing herself over Natsuki and never moves past her. Natsuki, too, clings to their past—sometimes even more fiercely than Shizuru—and sometimes they even end up together and get a happy ending. This is a little response to my feeling that such a trend exists, whether it really does or not. (Yes, I live in my own world). I thought it would be nice if Shizuru and Natsuki were given the opportunity to grow and mature as if they really were people. They're so young in the anime and their story presents such endless possibilities. Please don't lynch me for this one. I didn't even show this to the betas because I think they might have hurt me too.
As a side note, this has nothing to do with the Drabbles as far as I know at this moment. I had also wanted to add a second part to this fanfic, a little bit at the end from Shizuru's perspective in which she has a conversation with her girlfriend of three years. But I felt like this fic was starting to drag out (agreements?). (Actually, to be completely honest, I feel like I didn't present this fic in the writing like I wanted to—but that's just artistic frustration.) And I probably would have gotten lynched for Mary Sue-ism.
Thank you for reading and humoring me.
-greywing
5.27.06