AN: I had this idea and it just wouldn't go away. So, I finally decided to write it down. For some reason, I expected it to be fluffier. I hope you enjoy it, anyhow.
Warnings: This gets a little sad. Mentions death and whatnot.
Pairing: Mai and Lin
Disclaimer: I do not own Ghost Hunt. Enjoy! _
Stories She'd Tell
( Alternatively Titled: May Feel Like God Went North)
"You know, I used to hate Valentine's day,"
These were the first words out of Mai's mouth as she set down Lin's tea. Beside the tea, she had placed a pink bag. Lin knew from previous years that inside the bag were a handful of delicious, handmade chocolates.
It had been her tradition to hand them out to everyone who worked with SPR. Every Valentine's Day, without fail. Ever since the first February she worked there.
So, undoubtedly, Lin had a hard time believing that Mai had ever harbored ill feeling toward the holiday. Or any holiday, really. No matter how insignificant, she always welcomed a reason to celebrate.
Lin was ready to write if off as a random outburst she was accustomed to every now and then. His fingers didn't let up on the keyboard; his throat made a guttural noise of polite curiosity. Originally, he believed that it was no more significant than the time she claimed she once detested the smell of fried chicken.
But still, she lingered, perching herself upon his desk in a way only she was allowed. He spared her a glance and prepared to lend merely a listening ear as he continued with his work. That was his plan, anyway.
Until he saw that faraway gaze in her beautiful, brown eyes. Her face was rid of it's usual cheery smile. But it wasn't completely full of dread, either. No, her expression was simply contemplative.
He was expecting a tale. He'd been expecting it since she spoke. He originally thought it was going to be some fluffy memory about a silly fight with a classmate - or something equally trifle. But that look said differently.
He'd seen that look a few times. It was a look that spoke of a story on the tip of her tongue. Stories that painted visions of her childhood, of her life prior to SPR.
As chatty and eager to communicate as she was, there were some things she didn't bring up often. He couldn't count how many tales she'd brought to him (and anyone who'd listen) about something funny her classmates or their colleagues did. Or even the time an underclassman had confessed their love to her.
It was amusing to watch her recount that situation. Her flustered bewilderment hadn't faded as quickly as she would've liked. (And her guilt over turning him down hadn't faded as quickly as he would've liked.)
But those tales were all things of the present. They were things that would've come out regardless. By merely being in her presense, Lin would immediately know if something had occurred. And more often than not, she told him what it almost as expediently.
But stories were different. They were harder to come by. Usually, they were inspired by some information she'd been forced to divulge during a case. Or occasionally, they were completely random - like this instance.
Lin never understood why she entrusted him with these stories. He mused it was due his mostly silent manner, unlike the manner of most the SPR irregulars. He also wasn't quick to tease her, like Naru or Yasuhara.
Whatever the reason, he found himself learning more about his tiny co-worker than he had ever thought he might. He now knew that she had spent most of her youth in the country side. She had painted many a picture of her softball games and the grassy fields she used to roam. She could recall every nook of the house she shared with her parents. Every cranny of the old, creeky schoolhouse within she'd spent her entire primary career.
And he enjoyed it, surprisingly enough. He looked forward to whatever tid bit of information she'd deem shareable. It occasionally irked him, how little he knew about her, despite the amount of time they'd spent together over the years.
There was so much she'd been through and in such a short lifespan. She hid it well. With her smiles and her vibrancy and her overall giving nature. But every now and then, he'd catch a glimpse of the darkness. The part of her she'd never let anyone see.
He grew to respect her. This young woman who had been on her own for far too long. Her independence was forced upon her at too young of an age, but she wore it well.
Usually, anyways. There were a few times when the team wanted to throttle her. She was the quickest to see the dangers on cases. And the quickest to throw herself towards them without calling for backup first.
But she was getting better as the years went. She was learning to depend on others a bit more. Lin couldn't imagine how hard of a task that must be for someone who only had themselves to trust for so long.
Naturally, it elated him to know that he was among the group she put her trust in. Perhaps that was why he looked forward to these little chats. It was a sign of her faith in him.
He wasn't about to jeopardize that for menial paperwork. The case report could wait another hour or two. The clacking of the keyboard came to a halt. His chair swivled so that his body faced her. His attention was solely hers.
"Actually, I don't think it was Valentine's Day I hated, but the whole month of February in general," she continued. "For two whole years, I couldn't stand it. Seems kind of silly now.
But you see, I was thirteen years old when the seeds of hatred started blossoming in my heart. I remember it clearly.
I was sitting in the front row of Momoichi-sensei's class. She was reciting some maths formula that I couldn't recall then, much less now.
I remember feeling uneasy. I told myself not to worry, because I'd had this feeling for months now. I tried to write it off as hormones.
But it was particularly bad that day. My stomach was in knots. It seemed like every nerve in my body was a live wire, sending jolts of electricity all the way from my brain to my toes. I was sweating like mad considering the wintery weather. And I've told you before how terrible the heating and cooling systems were in that place. So, it wasn't that.
But no, something was very, very wrong. It wasn't until Hotori-sensei rushed into the room that I knew what.
Mom had collapsed at work.
She'd overworked herself, I tried to tell myself. It wasn't easy providing for a growing girl. For being the sole caretaker keeping your little family afloat.
But it wasn't. Her body hadn't collapsed due to over exertion. It collapsed because it could no longer fight against the cancer that had been coursing through it.
She had it for who knows how long. She admitted to feeling ill for several months. But we didn't have the time or resources, so she tried to ignore it. Hoped it would get better with time.
The doctors did their best. They tried everything they could to get rid of it, but her body just wouldn't cooperate.
First, it wouldn't respond to the treatment. Then, it refused to wake up after a surgery. And the cancer would not let up. Despite the treatments, and the surgeries, and her comatose state. It just kept growing and growing.
The only thing keeping her alive at this point were the machines. And the doctors sheer will to revive her.
They had this drug that they wanted to try. I don't recall what they called it. But they were almost certain it would work. The thing was, however, that they needed approval from the patient or at least the patient's family.
I think that was the first night I went home. It was cold, devoid of all it's old warmth and merriment. As it always would be from then on."
There was a pause in the story as Lin handed her a tissue. The young woman gave him a tear stained smile in return. He tried not to show how it clawed at his heart.
"The whole time I kept thinking I could hear her. That she was rustling through her closet or walking through the hallway. I knew she wasn't. It was impossible. But if I closed my eyes, I could see her dancing in the kitchen, humming one of dad's songs.
But then, reality came crashing in. And I was faced with a decision. A decision that could actually be life or death - or possibly just death or prolonged death.
Naturally, as a thirteen year old might properly do, I sought the council of my elders. I called my grandmother.
Now, I'm sure you recall that I once said I didn't have any living relatives. Because I know you remember things like that and I can see the shock in your eyes. Let me just say that this is only technically true.
You see, my mom was born in China. To Chinese parents. In a Chinese community in Hong Kong. You know, I kind of like this look on you."
The look she was referring to must've been the slack jaw and eyes popping out. Because there'd been no way to hide it. But if it caused another giggle to break through those tears, he didn't want it hidden.
"Yeah, so I had actually only seen Mom's family once. A couple years after Dad passed, when I was about seven, Mom thought it would be good to get in touch with them. Dad had no family that we knew of. And Mom didn't want us to have to always rely on strangers."
There was a scoff here, Lin noted. Her tone and what little information he had told him that this wasn't going to be a warm and fuzzy reunion story.
"So, to China we went. I was ecstatic. I'd finally get to see the place Mom had told me all about. Mom had been happy, too. She couldn't wait to be home again.
But that high was short lived.
We had gone straight to my mom's old house. We didn't stop to eat. We didn't drop our stuff off at a hotel. We just went right to the point of the trip.
I remember thinking this was odd. When Dad was alive and we went on long trips with him, we always went to the hotel first. That way, we weren't dragging our luggage around everywhere.
But, alas, we and all our extra baggage landed in front of my grandparents' door. We knocked. And we waited.
Then, an older gentleman (he seemed ancient to me, but he was probably only in his late 40's, early 50's) opened the door. For the briefest of moments I saw the love of a father as his prodigal daughter returns home. And then, his eyes fell upon me.
He yelled something along the lines of 'Why would you bring that bastard's spawn to our home?'
Which brought the attention of Mom's brother. He came firing curses at 'that Japanese musician'. Said curses were directed at me once he realized that the original victim was nowhere to be found.
Then, my grandmother came out to see what all the ruckus was about. I was hoping, rather than expecting, that she would be the voice of reason in all this madness. That she would be filled with all the maternal gentleness that I believed all grandmothers possessed.
I envisioned a jovial lady with desserts and fun games. Someone who let me stay up late and snuck me cookies before dinner. This is what I always felt a grandmother was like.
But the woman before me was nothing like that. Her eyes swept over the chaos. She quickly scruscrutinized the situation. And then, her gaze fell on me.
She took one look at the chubby, little seven year old me. And she smiled. 'Are you wondering why you're being so mistreated, little girl?'
Of course, I nodded. Of course, I was hurt. Of course, I wanted someone to have the decency to explain why they were taking all this out on a mere child!
But she sneered at me. This weak, pitiful creature who had the misfortune of falling into her radar. 'You're very existence was cursed the day your mother conceived you and ran off with your bastard father.'
That was the answer I received. That was what they all thought of me. A mistake. A curse. A dark blot on the family tree.
Needless to say, we didn't stay there. We found solace at a friend's house for a few months. Until Mom had worked up enough money to take us back to Japan, her new home.
The rest of the trip was nice, though. The family we stayed with didn't hold any grudge against me for my mixed blood. They even understood Mom's reasons for returning to my birth country. And, for those few months, I got to see what an actual grandmother was like. I ate so many cookies.
But that still couldn't take back what my biological grandmother had said. It couldn't take away the feeling that somehow this was all my fault. That my mother could've been happy and living with her family still, if it weren't for me.
Of course, once it eventually came out, Mom scolding me for even thinking such things. She told me that I was the best thing that ever happened to her. She said she wouldn't change a thing.
And I know, you're wondering why I would call this evil grandmother if she was such a . . . witch. Why, for such an important decision?
In a way, I had a bit too much of my mom's hope in me. She always hoped they'd change, that they'd open their minds. And I wanted to believe that too. For my mother's sake, at the very least.
And I thought they deserved to know. You know, their only daughter was dying. I would want to know.
So, I called them. Surprisingly enough, my grandmother didn't hang up as soon as she answered. She listened as I briefly explained what was going on. And I asked her what I should do."
Mai clenched the forgotten tissue in her hand. Her eyes hardened in a way that Lin had only had the misfortune of seeing once. And thank the heavens it wasn't directed at him.
"You know what she told me? She told me that as far as she and her family were concerned, her daughter died years ago."
Her jaw relaxed as fresh tears slid down her cheeks. Her fingers fiddled with the tissue. Her eyes followed it without seeing it.
"I had to go back to that hospital. I had to see a shrunken shell of my mother just lying there. I had to make a decision of whether she died or had the tiniest chance of survival.
I didnt want her to be in anymore pain. I didn't want her family to hurt her anymore. I just wanted her to have some peace.
I declined the drug. I made the call to take her off the ventilator. I did that. At thirteen years old."
She was sobbing now. Lin stretched out his hand. He was intending to give her a comforting pat on the shoulder. But he changed his mind.
Instead, he pulled her to his chest. A sharp intake of breath temporarily broke through her crying. She wasn't the only one pulling out suprises.
"Her last breath was taken at four in the afternoon on February 13th," Mai choked out into his chest. The fabric of his shirt was clenched in her tiny fists.
He sat her up on his leg. His hand rubbed circles on her back. It surprised them both at how comfortable their position was.
"What changed?" Lin's voice sounded strange to him. It seemed wrong after listening to Mai's for so long.
But Mai didn't mind it. She smiled at him. Her watery eyes sparkled at the change. The shadows of the past were once again pushed back into the dark part of her mind.
"Working with you guys, I guess," she shrugged, her shoulders knocking into his. "Being surrounded by all these wonderful people made me remember what's important in life.
That life is about enjoying the time you have with the people you have. My mother had taught me this from a young age. But I lost sight of it."
Lin felt the words bubbling up before he had the chance to stop them. "You'll always have me."
The words, despite their truth, held a certain weight. They were a promise. A promise that Lin would do anything to keep. It was also a promise he wasn't sure he had the right to make.
But Mai giggled, much to his relief. "You know I'm going to hold you to that."