A/N: I don't know where this idea came from, but one day I suddenly heard the last sentence in my head (sounds creepy, I know) and was inspired to write this short story. This fic is partly anime-based and partly manga-based, since Shigure's character here is much darker than in the anime, almost like the one in the manga, but not quite. Although I prefer the anime version, this had to be written this way. Grammatical corrections and critique are always welcome! That's about it... I have nothing more to say.

Disclaimer: I don't own Fruits Basket, but I sure wish I did.

In Between

by eishi © 2007

I'm not exactly sure when I stopped seeing her as just a plain housekeeper.

It must've happened during the first few months when she had moved into my house. Somehow her smiles and happiness replaced the tattooed word 'housekeeper' from my mind, and gradually she became just a typical girl. Just a typical air-headed girl that was living with us – and the only one to trust the family secret. I really didn't mind when it was decided that she could keep her memories. It didn't matter to me at all.

I remember one event, though, when I forgot that she was an outsider. I think it was after the first New Year she spent with us, when there was still snow in the ground and nights were dark. I had been discussing my newest manuscript with my editor at the company's building, and it was very late when I finally arrived home. I was surprised to note that the lights were still on in the kitchen; other than that the whole house was dark and silent. I remember thinking something about her forgetting the lights on again, but when I entered the house, she was there. She was waiting at the dinner table, two cups of tea in front of her. She looked very tired, and I realised that she had been waiting the whole evening.

I asked her about that – she just said that it felt unfair to go sleep before I was home, because she had baked a pie and wanted me to eat my share of it. When I commented that perhaps using a note would've been wiser, she shook her head furiously.

"There is no heart in a note," she said sternly, and for the first time, I thought that I understood her. There was no heart in a piece of paper. I sat down and ate my share, and for my astonishment, she seemed to be very happy even if she was tired. For those silent five minutes we shared the kitchen I felt that she really was a part of a family I had never had. Perhaps it was just because of the pie – which was excellent – that I was able to forget that she didn't belong to us.

After that I gradually started to really like her. One day I just noticed at the breakfast table that her high-pitched giggling didn't make my ears ache, but instead I was enjoying seeing her that way. The other day I realised that I wasn't pretending when I told my younger cousins to stop fighting for the sake of her nerves. I really wanted them to stop so that she wouldn't feel so bad anymore.

She became very precious to me, like a child's favourite toy that one doesn't want to use too much to keep it safe. I kept her safe and did what I could for her. I treasured the moments when she smiled at me and those little glances she shot at me when she was confused. It stopped being funny that she would always look up to me and come to me when she needed advice – instead, it became an important habit. Before I had even noticed, she had occupied my whole heart in a way that I thought to be impossible.

Time passed. My cousins grew a lot bolder and braver, and I was happy for them. She grew with them. And then, suddenly, they were slipping away from me. They didn't need me to stand on their own feet. They didn't need me to back them up every time they did something wrong. I was hurt and extremely proud at the same time – again a feeling that I thought to be impossible for someone like me.

And then they left. One day I noticed that the house was empty, that there were no more the bickering and giggling and punches on the floor. They were with me for four whole years, and I had never really paid attention to them. They just were there. It was a fact I could rely on, just like the sun will always rise and she would always smile. When it was taken away from me, I finally understood the sentence she had once said to me: "There is no heart in a note."

When I saw her on the street couple of days later, I thought my chest would explode because of the pain. Nothing felt worse than knowing that she didn't need me. That she was happy on her own. That I could do nothing more to her. I waved her goodbyes and left.

She was with me for four years. Then she left. Somewhere in between, I fell in love with her.