Nothing really objectionable in this one, except convenient plot devices :)
It had worked.
Twice, even, and better the second time than the first.
He was ready to try.. to try to make a flat-out miracle.
But he didn't want to do it, because he couldn't bear the thought, the possibility, of failure. And he didn't want to touch the relic he kept, to desecrate it, if it might be for nothing...
Oikawa took a calming breath, staring at the small chest. He felt weak, unsteady, as he forced himself to reach out and open it.
A blown-up photograph of Hiroki smiled out at him, hiding the rest of the box's contents from view. He let himself fall into it for a few long, contemplative minutes. The picture still looked new, and he missed the world it reflected, missed it so much that his life here and now felt unreal, like he had simply ceased to exist years ago and someone else was living in the space where he used to be...
He moved the thick print out of the way and carefully, painfully, lifted out a neatly folded police uniform, mottled blue and black. It was stiff with long-dried blood, and he was careful, so very careful, trying not to think about it. It was only blood, just blood, he needed it to do what he planned. He didn't have to remember how this uniform had felt when it had been clean and warm, when Hiroki had worn it so proudly that Yukio just had to hug him. And he certainly didn't have to remember it wet and cold and staining his hands bright red.
He was glad he couldn't see the hole unless he really looked for it, even though he knew where it was.
He put the uniform down suddenly and sat back, his head in his hands, and sobbed. Who was he kidding? He couldn't keep himself from reliving it, and it never seemed to hurt him any less. Better to get it out, and then, maybe...
Oikawa rocked a little, feeling the hot tears roll down his pale face, and submerged himself in his memories, in his misery.
Eventually he surfaced, his breath coming more easily, his emotions exhausted for the moment. He scrubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand, his face impassive, ready to get on with it.
He picked up the uniform again and studied it, trying to decide the best way to get a good sample from it. The blood was old, but not too old, and he'd kept it well, so the DNA shouldn't be in too bad a shape. He was sure he would be able to piece together a complete sequence from it. Even if he couldn't it should be enough. Really, he only needed a little.
A little of himself, a little of Hiroki, a little of the Digital World.
"Unviable," the little line of blinking text beneath the image of the egg read. He brought up the next one. "Unviable."
Restless, he clicked through them. No... no... no... damn it, they couldn't all be bad... He'd worked up a couple hundred Digital zygotes- more then half of them had been viable last time, when he'd made Arukenimon. But none of these were.
Then his heart leapt.
"Time remaining: 15 days, 7 hrs."
It was the only one. He deleted the rest of the eggs and brought up the profile on this one. He frowned, reading it. It might be alive, but it certainly wasn't doing well. He would give it all the help he could, but it looked like mostly, he'd just have to wait and see. He wished there was some way he could decelerate it, since the process of forcing it up to Ultimate on hatching would be very hard on it. Well.. he could stop the acceleration a little early, at least, and hatch it as a Champion. But to do any more than that, he'd have to start over, and he didn't want to give up on this one. It looked like it was an utter fluke that it had worked at all. Hiroki's DNA just didn't seem to agree with the process as well as his own had... but he had no idea why.
Fifteen days later, Oikawa took the day off from work. He couldn't eat, he hadn't slept. He just sat in his darkened den and watched his precious egg. It was almost time.
Almost... almost... almost...
The timer ran down to zero and Oikawa stared at the computer, chewing hard on one of his knuckles, oblivious to the bruises he was leaving. It was time!
And then it was past time...
A minute.
Five minutes...
Nothing was happening, nothing at all. Still he stared. It couldn't have died! He brought up the profile, and something was happening.. it was still processing... Yes, something was wrong, but it would still hatch- it had to hatch...
He stared at it.
The little egg on the screen twitched, exploded into life, into blinding light. The monitor flared and disgorged a man-sized blur of energy. It flashed to the floor and lay there, taking shape, incandescence fading to white, and then further, darker. White wings colored to shimmering black, blue robes faded to deep purple, and in moments a Dark Angemon lay curled and weak on Oikawa's floor.
Tears of joy streamed down his face. He'd done it! He really had done it- brought something of Hiroki back into the world... Something that could be his... His heart hammered hard in his chest, relief and transcendent happiness almost overwhelming him.
He knelt down at the Dark Angemon's side and stroked its huge, soft wings, enthralled. Gently, reverently, he coaxed the heavy metal helmet from his creation's head. It looked up at him with Hiroki's unforgettable eyes, only black like his own, in a young face framed by long, night-black hair, and his heart just broke. He knew he would never see anything more beautiful, not if he lived till the end of the world.
New, innocent, blank, it reached out for him, and he let the tears run down his face as he reached out in return and held it tight.
It trembled in his arms and cried out weakly, and disintegrated.
Oikawa froze, paralyzed- the bottom had dropped out from under his heart and it was falling, a headlong vertigo rush into nothing at all.
It took three tries before his scream got out, a wordless scream as raw as the first time...
No!
He'd looked into Hiroki's eyes, and already they were gone again!? It wasn't fair!
His pain resolved into pure rage for a moment, and he scrambled to his computer, snatching up the monitor in both hands and belting it at the opposite wall. The tower spun around as the monitor cord yanked out of its plug housing. The monitor shattered against the wall, punching it in, with a terrific implosive bang, sizzling, and the tower toppled and crashed to the floor.
He stared down at it, but even as he realized how much work he'd probably destroyed, he couldn't bring himself to give a damn. What good was it? What the HELL good was anything?
"What the hell is all this?" Arukenimon demanded from the doorway.
"I TOLD YOU I'M NOT TO BE DISTURBED," he thundered, crossing the short distance to the door, shoving her out and slamming the door before she could even react.
He heard her shrieking apoplectic outrage, and a softer voice cooling her down, leading her off. Minutes later, the door slid cautiously open once more.
"Go away, Mummymon," he commanded tiredly, but the Digimon did not obey.
"It... died, didn't it?" Mummymon asked at length. Oikawa clenched his jaw and looked away, and he knew he was right. "I felt something arrive... Just like when you brought Arukenimon..."
"Go away," he pleaded.
"I'm so sorry," the huge Digimon said, his voice carrying more compassion than any human's. He was remembering his first moments here, his earliest memories, really. Oikawa had been so happy- the happiest he'd ever seen him, come to think of it. He often wished he could make the Boss that happy again, but no matter how hard he tried, he never did. He managed to please often enough, and he was always proud when he did, but he could tell it never went very deep. And he had never found a way to break through to Oikawa when the Human got depressed. He could only wait it out. But this was as bad as he'd ever seen him; he could practically feel the waves of pain coming off him. He had to do something.
"Boss," he said softly, and hugged him.
Oikawa went stiff and snarled, trying to push him away. "Don't TOUCH ME," he screamed, struggling, but Mummymon wouldn't let go. "Don't touch me! Don't!" He was crying, again, and he frenzied, attacking the Digimon with all his strength, but he was woefully outclassed. At last he gave up, exhausted, slumped in defeat.
Mummymon held him a little closer, feeling him shake with the effort of forcing down sobs. "Nobody ever touches you," he said quietly. "Aren't you lonely?"
The Human lost his battle, and let himself cry openly. He was just too tired.
"Don't forget I'm here for you, Boss... Maybe I'm not Real but I am here."
COMPOSITION NO. 3