Lost

Summary: At the end of the day, Taichi's just trying to get home.

I'm not above the struggle
And I'm not above the rain
And I know I deserve some lovin'
And I know that the clouds can't stay

("LOST" by femdot)

Iori, he finds waiting just before baggage control. The younger man's round face and neatly cropped hair is a welcome sight; the wrinkled frown he attempts to mask, an omen of things to come. His greeting clinches it: "They lost your suitcase."

Taichi comes to a tired stop. "Of course, they did."

"I've put in a claim with the gate attendant," Iori's saying now, iPad screen brightly lit, "and I've arranged for the company car to come back once they've located luggage," he pauses, with more drama than Taichi finds comforting, "though it may be some hours."

He pulls at the stiff white collar of his button up shirt, its fabric more than a little pungent. "At least we're in the same boat," he starts to joke, until he sees the modestly sized gray roller wheel just behind Iori. "We were on the same flights!" Taichi protests, dismayed.

Iori looks on guiltily. "The attendant thinks it just never made it on the first one. Or maybe the second. Or...the third."

Taichi closes his mouth. "Fine. Forget it, I'll just get my keys from Hikari and get home."

Iori looks even more guilty. "About that. Hikari phoned while you were still in immigration. She's been delayed, said she'll meet you at Yamato's. Unless you want to call—?"

"No," he interrupts, quick, "not like this. She's still at work anyway," he adds when Iori glances at him curiously for the remark.

He relents, choosing not to press further. "Okay. I've got a ride arranged for you, in either case. I'm going to see what the attendant can do about the missing bags, but you should go ahead. Willis might get a ticket if he has to wait any longer."

"Oh, Christ. Him?"

His guilt is interminable. "Sorry."

"I hope you know I'm going to bill your firm for this pick-up."

Taichi shushes him, the man's loud tenor striking at an already pounding headache. He pulls the passenger door to the beat-down sea-blue coupe closed with more force than the ancient vehicle likely deserved, but his headache isn't letting him be his best self today —a day, in fact, that has now gone on for a consistent forty-three hours, counting all the layovers, connecting flights, and more arguments with gate attendants he'd dealt with since departing from home yesterday —or was it today? This morning? Last week? What time was it?

"What time is it?" he asks, squinting, and Willis whistles lowly, waving in front of his nose.

"Time for a shower, mate, good God. Don't you get lounge access with all your fancy dealings?"

"Don't make my job sound like a black market back alley."

"You're the one who smells the part, not me."

Taichi's pulling off his jacket, takes a sniff, and immediately puts it back on. "Christ, you're right." He looks up into the rearview mirror, where his friend's dark blue eyes are passing judgment severe enough to silence even Daisuke. "I can't go home like this."

"I wouldn't," admits Willis. He shifts the car into gear, both hands on the wheel. "Jou's?"

"Jou's."

"Okay," and Jou emerges from the bathroom, carrying a small cardboard box out with him, "now you can use it."

Taichi dips easily towards him, bobbing just high enough over his elbow to catch a glimpse of the numerous gels and bottles and creams that he'd piled into the box. Scowling, Jou shoves him back, nose wrinkled, and marches away to the bedroom. Taichi calls after him, "Are you sure you don't want to take the curtain and mats out with you, too?"

"You're not swiping my stuff again."

"What could I possibly take, Jou? I come to you empty-handed: lost my phone in Will's car, too! Cut me some slack."

Jou refuses, "You've got pockets in those pants—which I want back, laundered this time."

"Is this about the last time I crashed here? I told you, the allegedly missing hair gel wasn't me, it was Daisuke—,"

"And who let Daisuke into my flat?"

"Takeru!"

"And who let Takeru in—,"

"Oh, this is just bullshit. You would give any of your friends your lungs if we coughed hard enough."

"Yes, I would," says Jou, unashamed, returning to the hallway with his precious products now cleverly stashed from thieving eyes, "but I still know better than to let any of my friends use my apartment without me around." He throws Taichi a towel, a faded gray one with bits of lint lodged so deep in the threads they'd never come fully out. "And I want that towel back, too."

"Sure thing, Mr. Scrooge," he says, swinging the towel around over his head.

A dark brow raises in surprise. Could it be? "Huh, your first literary-based insult, well done."

"Literature?" Taichi's head pops back around the door, curious to know if this lapse in reason is his sleep-deprived delirium or the first time the good doctor has ever slipped up. "I'm calling you that mean little rich duck from those old cartoons. What are you on about?"

Jou puts his hand over Taichi's face, shoving him backwards into the bathroom and pulling the door closed between them. "Somewhere between the fifth and eighth circle of hell, I imagine."

"Why do you smell like Jou?" greets Miyako immediately, frowning when he climbs into the front seat of her car.

"Why do you know what Jou smells like?"

"Let's just ride in silence," suggests Meiko, quickly intervening before the throbbing vein in Miyako's forehead can lash out on Taichi's exhausted face.

"I love silence," pipes up Catherine, who pulls herself up where she sits behind Taichi and throws her arms around his shoulders. "Welcome home, captain. You're in big trouble."

He grabs her hands, tugging them up to his mouth to kiss the back of her wrist affectionately before releasing her. "What for?"

She ruffles his damp hair and sits back again. "All that travel and no souvenirs? Especially after we changed our girls night out plans to chauffer you around town?"

"It's one ride," he corrects, waving a hand dismissively, "for which I am eternally grateful," he adds to pacify a still thin-lipped Miyako, and then clarifies, "plus I lost my luggage, my phone, my keys—everything's gone, ladies. So no one's getting souvenirs."

"Not even Mimi?"

His silence is painful for all of them. Well, most of them, anyway.

Catherine pats him on the shoulder, while Meiko winces with sympathy and Miyako smirks smugly to herself, the silver lining of his impending doom making the teasing worthwhile. She sighs, honest, "Well, it was nice knowing you."

Ken picks up a tin of freshly ground spiced tea leaves, but Michael shakes his head. "Too much like what you'd find around here," he points out.

"Okay, then, what about these?" Daisuke lifts up a bright green box advertising chocolate covered insects.

Michael stares back blankly. "How did you ever date Hikari as long as you did and still think she'd like that?"

The younger man shrugs, reviewing the contents of the box with vague interest. "Dunno. 'Kari sure liked a lot of the surprises I gave her—,"

"Finish that sentence," says Taichi, turning the corner of the foodstuffs aisle to meet them, "I dare you."

Daisuke clutches the box to his chest, either as protection or as a totem of some kind. "You don't even need to give her anything, anyway. She only cares that you're all right—,"

"Can't go home empty-handed," he reminds the trio, joining them in front of the imported delicacies shelves. "And the girls said this place should have some of the same stuff."

"You could always simply explain about the luggage being lost," suggests Ken. "I know your family would understand."

"Family, sure. Even work colleagues and most friends," and Taichi taps the shopping basket he carries, filled with assorted imported goodies. "But Mimi?"

Ken squints in muted agreement, hiding his shudder at even the thought of slighting her, while Michael considers the particular challenge her tastes pose, and then picks up another of the green boxes. He hands it to a doubtful Taichi, whose stomach growls at the awful timing, realizing only then how long it had been since he'd eaten anything that wasn't flash-heated in a microwave. "Trust me, she'll love it."

"Yeah, honestly, that woman will put anything in her mou—,"

"Daisuke."

"Jesus, I meant food! She's an adventurous eater, that's what I—no, Ken, Michael, help, don't let him—no! Help!"

"Thanks, Takeru," he breathes a sigh of relief, accepting the gift bag with radiating gratitude. "I owe you one."

"We'll add it to the ever-growing list," says the blond. "Just don't let Willis see it. He gifted that tea set to Koushiro four summers ago, and Kou gave it to Sora last Christmas, and she gave it to me as a housewarming present a couple months back."

"So, we're just sending this 'round to each other, ad infinitum, hoping he doesn't find out?"

"Basically, yeah. It's what friends do."

"Shitty friends."

"Oh, the worst." He grins, bright blue eyes warm and teasing. "It's good to have you back. Everything's so much more boring without you in town."

Taichi appreciates the sentiment, and the respite that usually ushers through all his senses whenever he's around his young friend. "Should be here a while this time, too. Hopefully just in time for my luggage to be found and returned."

"Oh, yeah, you said you needed to borrow another shirt?"

Taichi shrugs, looking down at the T-shirt Jou'd loudly begrudgingly loaned him that he was now considering adding to the Willis-gift-circle rotation, purely for pettiness. "It's just a bit tight on me, I think."

"No problem." Grateful, Taichi pulls off the borrowed shirt and Takeru comes back with a sweatshirt, something he's not quite sure isn't Yamato's, or maybe Ken's. No, definitely Ken's. And yet—he smells it, then leans over to Taichi and gives him big sniff. "Oh, shit, I think this is actually Jou's."

"He's going to kill us."

"Then he shouldn't smell so damn good all the time."

"How does everyone know what he smells like?"

"Are you kidding? That tall, dark, and handsome drink of well-rounded, educated water?"

Taichi grabs the sweatshirt, roughly tugging it on. "The Twilight Zone. I got off that airplane and stepped right into the Twilight Zone."

"Get in loser, we're going home." At her voice, Taichi opens his reddened eyes and stands up from the bench where he'd been sitting, splayed across at the near edge of sleep. Struggling across the pavement, he fumbles for the door, while Sora eyes his wobbliness with concern. "You're not making it very fun to tease you in this state," she tells him.

"Feed me," he moans, sliding back against the carseat after depositing his gift bags into the back.

"Yamato's already started on it."

"Oh, Christ, no, none of that healthy shit—I need carbs. Deep fried carbs rolled in fat and drenched in sauce."

"Ah, so we're not trying to live to the next trip around the sun? Seen enough of the world already?"

"Seen too much," he lobbies back, sparring her line for line. He siddles up against the passenger door, closing his eyes to the rhythm of the car cruising onto the expressway. "Those presents are for you, by the way. Only one of them. But not the one you gave to Takeru, unless you want it back, I don't know. Take your pick."

"How you spoil me."

"My favorite girl," he promises in a bleary voice, suppressing a yawn.

She glances at him again. "Are you sure you don't just want me to take you straight home?"

"Haven't got my keys," he mutters back. "Hikari's got my spare set. She said she was going to bring them by Yama's, but turns out she won't be able to for at least a couple more hours."

"Or we could also just break in."

He laughs, rubbing his tired eyes. "God, you really are my favorite."

"One order of expedited heart failure," announces Yamato, sliding a full plate of spiced and rubbed baked potatoes with a handsomely seared cut of red meat, sauteed and oiled garlicky greens, and thick pats of freshly churned herbed butter, "made to order."

"Ishida, you have the hands of a culinary angel," marvels Taichi, glancing over the platter with a watering mouth. He looks up to meet Yamato's disapproving grunt with as meaningful a gaze he can muster in his tiredness, "But I can't possibly eat this."

"Taichi—,"

"I'm sorry! I've just gotten past the point of hunger! Like, literally looking at this is making me nauseous." He protests, shoving the plate back and out of sight, "I think I just need to sleep."

Yamato snaps angrily, "And you couldn't have brought that up before I started on all this? It took me over an hour and a half!"

"You just looked so cute working so hard for me over the stovetop—,"

"Get out."

Taichi leaps out of the chair, reaching for the gift bag Sora'd carried in when she'd dropped him off. "Come on, peace offering? I'm not in the right frame of mind! I'm like fourteen hours off, haven't slept properly in two days, haven't thought straight in even longer, and am completely adrift waiting to get back into my own house. Pity me."

"You've got pity covered for miles," says Yamato, surly, but accepting the wrapped box Taichi hands him anyway. He pulls back the tidy edge of the paper, peeks underneath, and sighs. "Is this the tea set I gave Willis for his birthday five years ago?"

He blinks, dewy brown eyes batting innocently. "...Is it?"

"Get the fuck out."

"Home at last!" Hikari's cheer carries his consciousness forward by sheer will, and he trails slowly behind her into the apartment. She hangs his spare keys on the key holder by the door, ushering him inside to the living room as one might an especially loved elderly pet. "Park yourself on the couch for a bit. I'll get you some water for your aspirin."

"I'm pretty sure it's expired," he warns her, muttering nearly straight into his chest with his head hanging down over his shoulder as he sags onto the sofa.

"Oh, I'm sure yo—no, never mind, you're right, it's expired." His sister twists her mouth, thinking. "Will you be all right if I run down to the convenience store and pick up a new packet?"

"Honestly, I'm fine, 'Kar," he promises, yawning again. "I just need to sleep."

"Let me get some blankets—,"

"Really, Hikari, it's okay. I couldn't tell you where they are even if I knew. There's still too much packed up."

She glances into the hallways, roaming casually through the adjoining rooms, the kitchen and the entrance way, and making her way back to where he's now lying across the couch, legs kicked up onto the cushions and arm swung back over above his head, stretching out. She turns her head, smiling, "You've been here how long, and still living in boxes?"

"We're busy people."

"Mm-hm."

He opens one eye, peering at her. "What's that mean?"

"Could it be," suggests Hikari with an eternally persistent sense of grace and discretion, "that home's still quite new to you? That this home is?"

Taichi lowers his arms, lip curling in an incredulous smirk. "You think I'm avoiding my own home?"

She crosses her arms, shrugging. "I think this is the biggest step you've ever made in a relationship, and you're not sure how to handle all the change that might follow."

He makes a face, scrunching up the bottom of his mouth and narrowing his eyes darkly. She laughs at the silly sight of it, giggling, "What's that for?"

"You turning out so smart. Stop growing up."

She steps forward to kiss his cheek. "You first."

Moments later, or maybe hours, or maybe seconds, he's awake again, her voice lifting him from his dreams of her.

"There you are!" She's shouting, pitched and rushed, a pulsating frenzy of energy he's used to matching on his best days, and some of his better nights.

She bursts, "Do you have any idea how hard you are to track down? First, Iori told me you'd gone on ahead from the airport, so I tried calling you, only it was Willis who answered, and he said you'd left your phone behind after he'd left you with Jou. Then Jou told me you'd gone off with the girls, except Meiko said you'd left them to go shopping with Daisuke?"

He shuts his eyes at this point, smiling, and she barrels on, never one to entertain commentary or interruption.

"But of course he never answers, so I had to get Ken on the phone, who told me you'd went to Takeru's, and Takeru said that Sora'd picked you up like three hours ago, except Sora said you were only in her car for twenty minutes so you should have still been at Yamato's. But when I called Yamato, he went on this dumb thing about potatoes and I just never have time for him when he gets like that, but luckily right then Hikari finally called me back and said she'd just dropped you off, and so here we are—a full six hours after your flight landed!" She gives a heaving sigh at this point, finally running out of steam.

Her tone shifts, "So, tell me, Yagami, is this a precedent we're setting up? How long should I expect you to take coming home from now on?"

He turns his arm over, so it opens outstretched across the couch where he still lays. "Mimi, I've been trying to come home to you for ten years."

She just laughs, well beyond flattery as plainly sentimental as that. Doesn't he know who she is? He waits for her to take his hand, but instead his fingers curl up alone. She bends over him, her lips touched to his forehead. "Dial it back, Odysseus."

"Uh-uh," he refuses, and pulls her around and under him, squished up into the pillows as far as they can go, her squealing giggles lost into his chest. "I mean it. And I'm sorry. I'm never going to take this long to get to you, ever again."

She stretches up, chin resting in the dip of his neck. "Well. You had quite the trip, sounds like."

He kisses her, "You've no idea."

She laughs again, pressing her nose to his cheek, eyes shut tight. She pauses. "Why do you smell like Jou?"

Taichi swears, "Goddamnit—!"