Um, hi. waves I'm Kudilu.
I personally don't think I'm much of a writer, but some folks disagree . . . whatever. To each his own, I guess.
This story is more than a little old – at least 5 years old. I still have yet to see as much of the series as I would like to – one day I will sit down and watch the DVDs finally. At the time I wrote this, I believe, I had only seen through "My Fiancé, the Cat" in season 4, in addition to the OAVs and movies. In fact, as of now, that's still all I've seen. Sad . . .
Anyway, there is a second version of this that is actually a songfic, and was written first – there's very little difference between the two. Feel free to let me know which you prefer. (I recommend reading this one first.)
Talking, as usual, is in "Quotes".
Thoughts are in italics. (a strong push behind a word also in italics – but thought italics act like talking)
Gone but not Forgotten
By Kudilu
A man walks down the street, looking vaguely distracted from his surroundings. He hops up onto a fence as he turns the corner and continues walking, avoiding various bars and ropes in his path with an absent-minded nonchalance that speaks of early and extensive training in the martial arts. He walks, paying no attention to anyone or anything he passes. An old woman watches him pass and shakes her head, feeling very sorry for all the young man has gone through in his short life.
The man continues walking, not knowing or caring where he is. A single strand of melody floats by on the breeze. He stops dead in his tracks, frozen, listening to the all-to-familiar opening melody. The words, also to familiar despite not being in his language, began.
A single tear trickles slowly down the man's stone-cold face as her remembered his wife's – his late wife's – original reaction to this song. She had always loved it, and he had never understood why. He had constantly questioned how an unfeminine girl like her could ever understand the concept of romance, much less react so strongly to a song, for crying out loud. Her reaction to every other dig in her femininity somehow never applied to this one.
The blonde girl still didn't understand how he could still let himself be affected by this. She just didn't get that he had actually loved that unfeminine tomboy, not just married her because he was told too. Then again, the blonde girl didn't know the whole story; she didn't have the background. She had never met his wife. He had met the blonde girl on set a few years ago, long after the 'insane period' after his wife died ended. He still wasn't sure how they had ended up together. The entire six months between when she had walked up to him on set and introduced herself and when she had moved in with him was a barely-recalled blur.
Though it was true that his father had arranged his engagement to his wife with his wife's father, and they had an innumerable amount of obstacles in their path, they had still managed to fall in love. He still hadn't figured out how. No sane girl would love a guy with multiple other fiancées, never mind the fact that he didn't really care about any of them. No sane girl would tie herself to a guy who refused to admit any feeling – good or bad – towards her. No sane girl . . . but then, no one had ever accused his wife of being sane.
He didn't know how he got through the first year after she died. He had come here because of her, and without her, there was nothing to hold him. It was so long ago . . . two kids just out of high school, trying to make it in America, in Hollywood no less. She at least had a reason for coming; she had an acting scholarship. He had just trailed after her; after all it didn't matter where he was. He could set up a dojo anywhere, but this was the only place for her. So he followed her. Abandoning his family, her family, their friends . . . it has been the hardest thing he'd ever done, but for her it was worth it. Not a word was said, he just inserted himself into her plans. To his astonishment, she hadn't commented . . . or objected. Everyone else, however . . . he didn't ever want to go through that again. Leaving had been . . . painful.
He had never been able to tell her how he felt. That was the most painful of all.
It had been so long since he had though about her . . . at least a week. Nobody ever mentioned her anymore. She had been so good . . . much better than he was, really, but no one cared about that anymore. Hollywood life as all the same: it's got to be here-and-now or it doesn't matter. Oh, they still wanted him; they couldn't do without their #1 martial rescue actor. Only now, it was the blonde girl he was saving, the blonde girl fighting back to back with him, the blonde girl he . . . loved. On-screen. And it didn't feel right.
The worst part was that it was all his fault.
Oh, they had always fought, teasingly. It may not have looked that way to other people, but they never fought about anything serious . . . and yet it was one of the small squabbles that killed her.
He didn't follow her. Once, he didn't follow her, and she never came back alive. Just another statistic, another body lying in the street.
And it was all his fault.
The man, now weeping openly, stares up at the rapidly darkening sky. Why? he asked silently. Why her? Why then? He swallowed. Why not me? Couldn't you have waited, at least until I could tell her . . . tell her that . . . he couldn't finish the thought. Yet to his surprise, he was answered.
Why must you blame yourself?
He whipped around, looking for the source of the voice . . . a voice he knew as well as his own. "Wh . . . what?"
Why must you blame yourself? The voice sounded amused. It's as much my fault as yours, more so, actually. I'm the one who didn't watch where I was going. I know better than to be in that part of town after dark. I'm just lucky that it was quick.
"But . . ," he protested, "I still should have been there. I always follow you."
No matter how many times I told you not to? questioned the voice. It's just my luck that the one time you actually listen to me, you shouldn't have. My fault, not yours. I got sloppy, always counting on you.
"Oh." He swallowed. "Why are you here? Talking to me, I mean." He closed his eyes and wiped away a tear. "You never did before."
Because you asked me to. You never asked me for anything I had the power to do before.
"Then . . . then you know about . . ."
Yes, I know about your blonde girl. She's good for you. You need her. And she loves you.
"But . . . but you . . ."
Darling, I'm dead. You're not. Why should I be mad at you for letting someone else into your life?
"I . . . I dunno. I just thought . . ."
No, you didn't think. Just like normal.
He grinned wryly. "You couldn't go just once without insulting me, could you?"
Nope. Not a chance. Though if you'll remember, I did. Once.
He coughed. "Well, uh, yeah. I guess."
The voice sighed. Oh, honey, I wish you could see your daughter. She's beautiful.
"My . . . my daughter? But we never had any children . . ."
He could feel her smile. I was pregnant when I died, darling. Only just barely, but I was. About three months.
"You were?" His shock was clearly evident on his face. "But why didn't you tell me?"
I was about to when we got into that argument.
"Oh."
I so wish you could see her! She's exactly what you would have wanted her to be. If it wasn't for the damm rules . . .
"Rules?"
Yeah. You can't see her because you hadn't met her before she died. If I had told you . . .
All was silent for a moment, then she spoke again. I hate to say it, but I must go. We only get a limited amount of time to talk to you still-living folks.
"Wait!" The man held out a hand, pleadingly. "Can . . . can I see you again? Just once?"
She sighed. I don't see how it could hurt, the voice said, reluctantly.
As he watched, a small, white nimbus of light appeared in front of him. It grew, slowly, gathering energy from the earth around him. Then, when it had reached the size of his head, it burst into a glowing, transparent, winged version of his wife. She had lost all the worry lines that had appeared during the last few months of her life, when work had been hard to find. She looked . . . happy. Fulfilled. She smiled at him and tilted her head, setting her hair bouncing. So . . . you like?
He stared at her, marveling again at how beautiful she was . . . had always been. "Yeah. I like."
I'm glad. Then she frowned. I'm sorry, but I must go.
"Will I ever see you again?"
I don't know. Her form began to dissolve. Maybe. I hope so.
"I . . . I . . . I love you."
A soft breeze blew around him and brushed across his cheek, like a kiss. I love you too.