DISCLAIMER: I do not own GOTH, its characters, plot or art.

NOTE: written on the fly a few months back, basically something I could see Itsuki doing/thinking. I suppose this is somewhat AU, where Itsuki has an older sister in addition of Sakura, but I tried very hard to keep Itsuki in character. As always reviews are my lifeblood, my Ambrosia, starve me not- of this I beseech.


A sibling may be the keeper of one's identity, the only person with the keys to one's unfettered, more fundamental self. ~Marian Sandmaier

Mother used to use knives in the kitchen. Nothing special, merely the simple meals she prepared for the family. At my young age I didn't find anything particularly interesting about them.

But then one day, a man invaded the apartment.

I watched, I doubt I was yet eight, I watched in fascination as he assaulted my sister in the kitchen. We were alone that day, and she had been preparing lunch.

I remember with such clarity my sister, between gasps and cries of terror, gripping the chef's knife and stabbing the man. Once. Twice. Three times before he collapsed. I remember her wide eyes, feral and unthinking as she followed him down, stabbing again, and again. And then, hands and face and feet stained with the intruders blood, she stood.

Her back was to me, her hair falling around her face from her ponytail, right hand still holding the weapon. I remember how it glistened in the light.

She said nothing. Still as if frozen in time. The neighbor- always too nosy- walked in, hearing the sounds and had called the police. It was then that they investigated, when all was over and they had the security of the two officers.

I remember their exclamations of surprise and horror. But so much more picturesque was when onee-chan dropped the beautiful toy and- raising blood adorned hands to clasp at her face- began screaming in such a lovely fashion.

I had been mesmerized by the whole affair- I barely remembered what followed, too busy going over the scene in my so young mind.

When sister returned home it was to a new apartment. But I doubt she noticed. She was no longer the bright flower that she'd be before- now she was delicate, somber. I believe she hated me. For not doing anything to help her I suppose- but then, I had been only a child time.

Slowly she began to improve, she used to sit in high places watching the horizon, or reading. Mother used to worry she'd fall but she would relent every time sister would smile saying 'I'll be careful.'

One day she was watching the sunset- I was ten at the time. I followed her to the roof, curious to see her standing at the edge.

She didn't look away from the paint in the sky when she whispered 'would you watch as well? If I was to fall?'

I had no answer.

She laughed, but there was no humor and the sound was thusly hollow. "I'm sure you would, but I don't-"

I never heard those last words- now I almost wish I had waited to hear them before I gently pushed her forward.

I wonder even now at the surprise on her face, as she twisted back to watch me as she fell (sister had been a gymnast once upon a time) It was a long fall, no doubt she was able to see my curious gaze- my grin - as she dropped.

I remember the screams when she hit the tree, and fumbled to the grassy ground below.

I remember some looking up- so I copied my TV shows; widening my eyes and stretching out an arm as if I still thought I could catch her. I screamed and then had to curl behind the short wall- face into my knees and wrapping my arms around my legs- to stifle my laughter.

The first time I was allowed to visit her at the hospital she had already stabilized. She was nearly catatonic, sitting in her wheel chair, unmoving, barely seeing.

I remember how nervous my parents were- to them I had been witness to my sister's sudden suicide attempt. They were unsure how I would react.

Quietly I walked forward to her. Then, looking up, gave her a soft smile and hugged her best I could.

I made sure that by the time sister was allowed to come home, I was nothing less than an adoring younger brother worried about his sister.

Once, I could not have been much older than 13, I remember watching TV. Mother and Father having left me at home, trusting me to watch Sister. I remember her sitting propped up on the couch next to me, seeing through the box of wires, glass and electricity.

Then I heard it- the slightest of sounds. Turning my head, I watched as her lips moved, and sound trying to follow.

"Itsuki," she mouthed. I was curious and so walked over and knelt before her.

"Pushed me" she whispered. 'You pushed me.' her eyes flickering wildly, around the room, to my hands resting on her knees.

I remember catching her eyes and smiling.

I remember the sounds she made- stifled by the pressure of my hands around her neck.

How she struggled weakly against my embrace- it's a memory I hold dear in my heart.

Now days, sister doesn't speak much. She doesn't do much really. She is nearly like a ghost, needing help to be fed or to bathe, even to reach the toilet at times.

I love to brush her long hair, and whisper the goings on of my day. I tell her about the latest case, about Morino, about him. She doesn't go outside much so I provide as much detail as I can.

Morino believes I care only for the blood, the 'guts' of a murder as she would call it.

But the silent tears drifting down onee-chan's face as I brush her hair, sunlight lazy through the window lighting her up- are so pretty. They glisten like the knife from so long ago- like my own precious tools.

I tell her that often- complimenting her, reminding her. Enjoying it as her face noiselessly glitters, like a fairy from story books.

I do love my onee-chan.