The black car, tasteful but discreet, makes its way around the other drivers, though its occupant is hidden behind the darkened windows. It's in the nice part of town, and the houses are of quite a size, just as elegant as the car that now weaves through the traffic and stops at a door. It's late, dark in winter, but the stars shine brightly and the streetlights provide a neon orange glow that wraps itself around the rooftops as a pair of smart black boots step confidently onto the pavement, leather, expensive and screaming of wealth. He unlocks the door, and there's a flash of a woman with red hair until it closes a moment later.
The hallway's decorated elaborately, a chandelier casting light on the black tile below, with expensive looking paintings lining the cream coloured walls that radiate an aura of utter elegance – and affluence. Yet hints of life bleed through in the paperbacks littered on the floor, on the white coat hung on the staircase, in the boxing gloves lying haphazard by the door.
"Lieutenant," the woman pauses, smiling. "I was waiting for you; busy day?" He smiles wryly, pecking her on the check affectionately, stroking her hair with a ring of intimacy, forgetting everything but her mahogany eyes for a single, blissful moment.
"Quite." He looks at her with tired eyes, but with no less tenderness. "And you?"
"Positively exhausted, but as I say, I wanted you. How stubborn of me." The woman's tone is full of undisguised happiness though her words are critical, a smile in her eyes that only he has learnt to recognise after all the years of acquaintance.
"I wonder where you got that trait from, hmm, Mitsuru?" he's teasing, and she mock-slaps him before turning to the stairs. He touches her cheek, quieter now, and their responsibilities, everything seems to fade but the other. "We should head to bed, it's late." Mitsuru nods drowsily, already clad in a white dressing gown. He notices a small stain of wine; realises that perhaps she's been worried, and it unsettles him.
"Akihiko…" Mitsuru suddenly looks pale and weary in the dim light, shadows cast on her face. She takes a few unsteady steps towards him, her slippers squeaking on the floor. She looks aged, fragile, and it seems that for once, unknowingly, she's let her façade slip. She reaches out for him with somewhat spindly fingers – were they like that before? – but her hand drops before he can take them. "I was wondering tonight about something."
"And what was that?" He tries to keep his voice light, but she sees that his eyes are tinged with concern and smiles humourlessly.
"I think we've both thought it over the past ten years; how could we not? After what happened, all that action, and then… nothing. We'd fulfilled our purpose." Mitsuru's expression is slowly growing into one of anger and her body tenses in suppressed fury. "He died, and we lived." She whispers bitterly. "Why? What use are we now, unable to use our powers? Why are we still here?" A muted sob escapes her and Akihiko can't help himself; he goes to her, rocking gently as she cries for the lost, for Minato, for her father, for Shinji, trapped in eternal sleep.
"We still have a purpose," he says quietly but fiercely. "We always have a purpose, no matter who or when or where. I can think of so many things you've done, things you've accomplished since then, and any number of things you could go on to do. Your father's soul is living on in you, Mitsuru. He sacrificed himself for you. So you could live," his voice rises and he doesn't even attempt to disguise the anger bleeding through. "And you doubt your worth? A man died for you, Mitsuru! So you could go on. And I…" he trails off, trying to regain some composure. "I would, too." Akihiko nearly cringes at the cliché but he can't help himself: it is true. Mitsuru detaches herself from his grip and regards him with a mascara-streaked face, tears leaving smudged paths in their wake. Wrapping her arms around herself in what seems like an attempt to hold herself together, she stands, silent.
"Mama?" They both jump out of their skin and Mitsuru hastily wipes her sodden cheeks. "Is Papa home? Can he read me a story?" A dark haired head is half-visible at the top of the stairs, smiling mischievously.
"You should be asleep-" She protests half-heartedly – little does the young girl know it, she's diffused the horrid atmosphere that was advancing upon the pair of them.
"But I want to see Papa!" Akihiko smiles at their daughter's naïveté but his voice is stern.
"It's ten o'clock and you should be in bed." He reprimands. "I'll read you a story tomorrow night, Saiko-chan,"
"Papa!" she whines. "Just one?" Glancing at Mitsuru, his eyes are questioning. She smiles wanly and mouths 'yes'. He sighs and heads up the stairs to indulge their child. Sai positively beams as he sits on her bed and reaches for the book which she holds out to him. The Giving Tree. He holds back a reflexive grin, pulling the tasteful pale blue covers over her. She snuggles down and watches him with eager eyes as he opens the book and begins to read. Mitsuru, unbeknownst to Akihiko, is glancing in on the scene, positively rapt as she feels wet on her cheeks again – but this time it is from happiness as her husband's words lull their girl to sleep. Sai has her father's dark hair, with her mahogany eyes and Akihiko's smile, parts of them all. Saiko means talented; and though they disguise their pride, it is there in abundance. Sai is already the most precocious in her class, already gets assigned extra work, already has raised the expectations of others. Mitsuru feels grateful that they have such a child, but can't help but wonder whether she, too, will have the power they have now lost, and whether she will ever need to use it.
She finds herself remembering Nyx, standing side by side with Akihiko and Takeba and Minato and fighting for the future; their futures, and the futures of all the people in the world. Minato's sacrifice to keep the darkness- the darkness that almost swallowed them all – at bay. And Mitsuru realises that there will always be people – like them, or maybe not – to ward off evil, just as long as there's faith. Strangely, as the final words of Akihiko's story bleed into her mind, she compares herself to the tree – even though she's given away significant things, she will always find something to give, will always find a purpose.
Reality swims into focus and she sees Akihiko flicking off the light, leaving Sai's nightlight to guard against total dark. He strokes her hair, a sign of his affection, and smiles, his expression illuminated by the dim lamp. Mitsuru positively glows as she watches him, and her at the door startles him slightly, but he gives no sign of his shock to see her looking so content. He doesn't try to understand his wife's mood swings; in fact, he's just glad that she's not in such an angsty mood anymore. He takes her hand and puts it in his, both tired, but both smiling.
And so Mitsuru and Akihiko were happy.
A/N: A very impulsive one-shot. I've literally just finished P3P, and couldn't help myself. I find myself wondering if this could be turned into a series of Mitsuru/Akihiko one-shots. I've always imagined them together with a little girl for some unknown reason and want to write more of their family life... maybe my next project? As always, reviews and constructive criticism are very welcome and a belated Happy New Year to everyone.
Disclaimer: I own neither P3 or The Giving Tree - only Saiko is my own creation. Trust me, if I owned P3, there would be a hell of a lot more Akimitsu going on.