-san - Mr./Ms., a respectful term for someone of a higher rank.
-sensei - term used for doctor/teacher.
-chan - term of endearment for young children/girls up until
about high school age.
Itadekimasu - lit. 'I am about to partake' - said before eating a
meal.
Part One
by Rb
"Having fun, Izumi-san?" smiled Professor Takenouchi.
"Hai, Takenouchi-sensei," he answered solemnly.
"The new data you gave me is very intriguing. Just a few
more tests and I should be able to figure out -- "
"Uh-uh," said Professor Takenouchi, wagging a finger in
Koushirou's direction, a twinkle in his eye. "It's time to
leave."
"But, Takenouchi-sensei!"
"You shouldn't have to work eighty hours a week. You do have
a family, you know."
Koushirou laughed nervously. "But -- "
"No buts. Turn off the computer."
"Fine," Koushirou sighed, half-upset at the
interruption to his work. Just a little bit longer, and...the
Professor was right, he had his daughter to come home to. He
shouldn't stay so late.
He turned off the holographic display and blinked for a moment,
readjusting his eyes.
"It's nice to see you're still so enthusiastic about your
work, even after all these years," Professor Takenouchi
smiled. "But, Izumi-san, isn't there anything you do outside
of work?"
"Um...well..." Koushirou sweatdropped.
"You're such a workaholic, Izumi-san. That's not always a
good thing." There was no benign twinkle in his eye now.
"Take it from me. Relax a little. Take some time off."
"Time...off?" Koushirou squeaked.
"Time off. That's the technical term for 'time spent away
from work.'"
Koushirou's face went blank. "Um. Fine."
"Izumi-san, do you even remember what the inside of your
home looks like?"
"Yes," Koushirou replied stiffly, gathering what shreds
of dignity that remained.
"Care to paint a mental picture?"
"No."
"Izumi-san, take the rest of the week off. Spend time with
your daughter -- what's her name again?"
"Hitomi." Despite himself, Koushirou felt his mouth and
eyes soften at the thought of his daughter. "But, it's such
a critical time -- "
"Then it'll be a critical time when you get back. It's not
like you're in need of the money! Come on, Izumi-san!"
"Fine, fine..."
Koushirou let himself get pushed out the door.
---
Koushirou unlocked the door to his house and stepped in.
"Daddy!" Hitomi cried, and rushed into his arms.
He picked her up and hugged her, because she was a five-year-old
girl and at the perfect size for hugging. Then he tickled her,
and she giggled madly.
"Daddy, how are you?" she asked when he let her go.
"I'm fine, honey. How was school today?"
"It was fun!" Hitomi said importantly. "Tori-chan
and I played with the blocks, and then Osamu-chan joined in.
School's fun!"
"I hope you're still saying that in five years," he
said ruefully. Tori was Sora and Yamato's daughter, and Osamu was
Miyako's and Ken's older son. All of the Japanese Chosen sent
their children to the same prestigious private school, because it
was the first school to allow Digimon to enter. Koushirou picked
up his daughter again and hugged her.
"Eh, Daddy?"
"Nothing." He put Hitomi down again. "So, when's
dinner?"
"I just finished eating," Hitomi informed him.
Koushirou sweatdropped. "Oh."
"There's more dinner, if you want," said a new voice.
Koushirou looked up to see his mother smiling at the scene in
front of her. He'd urged his mother to move in shortly after his
father had died nearly a year ago, officially to help with
Hitomi, who had gone through three governesses already, privately
because he wanted to keep his mother close to him in the time she
had left.
"Mmm, I do," he said, licking his lips,
"especially if you made it." He smiled down at his
daughter. "Hitomi, honey, why don't you run off and play
with Motimon for a while. When I'm finished eating, I'll find you
and read you both a story."
"Okay!" Hitomi smiled and kissed her father on the nose
before running down the hall at a breathless pace. Koushirou
watched anxiously as she disappeared into another room, and
listened for her giggles before entering the kitchen where, true
to his mother's word, some dinner awaited him.
"She looks just like you," his mother said as they sat
down. "Even though she was..."
"Adopted," Koushirou finished. "Yes, odd, huh?
Especially because she has a Motimon...well, that's why I picked
her. Tentomon approved."
"I'd imagine he would. Where is Tentomon, anyway?"
"He's off gathering information for the latest project in
the digital world." Koushirou drank some water.
"Mmm."
"Mother, are you all right?"
"Yes, it's just..." A patient smile creased her face
into patterns of wrinkles, wrinkles that seemed to multiply every
day. "I never imagined that I'd have such a wonderful
grandchild."
Koushirou knew that his mother had always longed for children and
grandchildren, had been bitterly upset when her first baby boy
had died in complications following his birth, that she herself
had been unable to get pregnant again after adopting him. That
he, Koushirou, was a disappointment to his mother in that he'd
never even looked at a girl after his first and last girlfriend.
His mother'd always wanted to be surrounded by children...
Well, he'd done his best. Hitomi was in danger of being spoiled
rotten -- but he'd love her anyway.
After all, it wasn't his fault that the only girl he'd ever loved
had married someone else. Or maybe it was. Maybe if he'd been
more outgoing, less reticent, more eager...maybe he wouldn't have
lost her before he'd even started.
Maybe.
---
"Hitomi just fell asleep," Koushirou reported to his
mother some time later that night. "I watched."
"There's always something magical about watching your child
sleep," his mother replied with a misty look in her eyes.
Koushirou agreed with a smile. "Hitomi doesn't have school
tomorrow. I thought we might so something -- go to the park,
perhaps."
"Don't you have work?" his mother inquired innocently.
"I...have an injunction to take a break. Well, I'm off to
bed myself," he yawned.
"Sweet dreams, dear," said his mother, obviously also
about to fall asleep
Koushirou trudged to his room. It was large and very neat,
looking as if it was barely lived-in at all.
Koushirou was neat by habit and by nature. Whenever he worked on
his computer, all of his files were neatly labeled -- never was
there any confusion over what file was what. His bed was always
neatly made in the morning. No clothing was ever left on the
floor.
He undressed, putting his old clothing in the hamper and putting
on a fresh t-shirt and boxers for sleeping in. After quickly
checking his e-mail -- old habits died hard -- he got underneath
the covers and fluffed up the pillow underneath his head. He
closed his eyes but did not sleep.
The time before sleeping was a time that he treasured. It was a
time that he was able to think without interruptions from anyone.
It was a time where his thoughts would drift freely, and not even
he could decipher their trail.
Right now, he thought about loneliness. He'd adopted Hitomi
because he was very lonely. He'd been almost forty, wildly
successful, made regular donations to charities, never married...
He'd felt as though he was lacking in some way, so he adopted
Hitomi, and never regretted it. Although Hitomi hadn't been old
enough to remember times before Koushirou had adopted her, he'd
never hidden the truth from her. He remembered his own traumatic
experience with finding out he was adopted vividly. He wanted to
avoid the same experience with Hitomi.
Yet...
There was still something missing, something important. While he
loved Hitomi with all of his heart, it wasn't enough.
He wanted to love someone, not as a father, not as a son, not as
a friend, but as a person loves his partner. The depth of his
desire frightened him, because Koushirou had never been one for
emotions. He'd always looked for reasons, not feelings. He was
rational.
Is there any bigger enemy to rationality than love? Is there
anything that's more of a challenge? He doubted it. Love was some
sort of...of force that he never understood, and while he was
building the wall bigger and bigger with which to hold it back,
it kept threatening to burst forth and flood him.
His problem? He was in love with the wrong person.
She was married, of course, had been for over fifteen years. And
it was his own fault; if he'd told her how he'd felt, if he'd
bothered to explain to her how much she really meant, if he'd
been able to express how he felt, then she wouldn't have left him
after their final flaming row, then she wouldn't have stopped
answering his e-mails and phone calls, she wouldn't have married
Ichijouji Ken...
Koushirou finally realized what love meant to him. He finally was
able to understand love, understand its power and passion and all
the things that truly make up a relationship. He understood
it...but only as a third-party observer, because there was no one
to help him experience love first-hand, touch it, believe in it
with all of his heart.
Izumi Koushirou finally realized the true power of love at the
wedding reception of Inoue Miyako, the girl he'd crushed on and
finally loved since he was thirteen, and Ichijouji Ken. Koushirou
had been on good terms with Ken before the wedding, but hadn't
been able to look him -- either of them -- in the eye for several
years afterwards. Even now, it was difficult to be around them,
although he was able to be civil.
It was hard to hate them. They were so mushily in love, just
recently celebrating the birth of their third child. He'd been
invited to the christening, and had held Hitomi's hand tightly,
as if it was a talisman, until she'd squirmed away. He didn't
hate them. He really didn't. He envied their good fortune. He
envied them to such an extent that it surprised himself.
If...but, no, there would never be a chance for him and
(Ichijouji) Miyako, no matter how much he wished for it.
Nevertheless, he'd vowed to teach Hitomi about the value of love,
somehow. He didn't want her to repeat his sad mistakes.
Koushirou finally fell into a restless sleep, and dreamed. His
dreams were almost happy. His life was almost happy. He had
plenty to be happy about -- but he never had anything to make him
truly happy.
---
The next day Koushirou rose later than he was accustomed to,
luxuriating in the extra hours of sleep. He took a long hot
shower and dressed in casual clothing before sauntering
downstairs.
His mother was cooking breakfast, and the delicious smells wafted
their way up Koushirou's nose, making his stomach growl and his
mouth water. Hitomi was sitting at the table already. She gave
Koushirou a hug and kiss and then sat back down. Motimon burbed
something indistinct to Hitomi, who smiled back at her partner.
Koushirou wondered at the bond between the digimon and his
daughter. True, all of the original Chosen had strong bonds with
their digimon, but they'd been fighting together, had to live
together, had to survive with each other.
Hitomi had never been in a fight, and Motimon had never shown any
sign of wanting to evolve into an older level. Yet Hitomi and
Motimon were linked at a very fundamental level. Even their moods
were linked.
All the digimon were linked, really. Their attitudes and opinions
almost always closely resembled their human partner's, a perfect
completion.
Digimon might just be programs, Koushirou thought fondly, but
they were alive. He knew, more than anyone, how Digimon were put
together, how they were created -- he'd been studying them longer
than any other human, for most of his life.
And yet, we're just programs, when it comes down to it. Our
programs are in our DNA, their programs in a computer, that's all
the difference. They're still alive, just like us.
Watching his daughter laugh with her digimon, Koushirou made a
mental note to call Tentomon back from wherever he was
researching soon. He missed his friend.
"Hitomi, where do you want to go today?" he asked her.
"I'm free all day."
Hitomi considered. "Where d'you wanna go?"
"I was asking you, Hitomi."
"I don't care." Hitomi smiled beatifically. "I
just wanna be with Daddy."
His heart melted.
"Umm...but Motimon can come, too, right?" Hitomi added
cautiously.
He laughed. "Of course. Do you want to go to the park,
Hitomi?"
"Sure!" Hitomi chirped. "I can show you where Sora
brings Tori-chan and Touma-chan and me!"
"Sora?" Koushirou asked, his brow furrowing.
"Don't you mean 'Mrs. Ishida'?"
Hitomi blinked. "Sora says to call her Sora. She doesn't
want to be called Mrs. Ishida. She says it makes her feel old.
Anyway, she's Ms. Takenouchi now."
Koushirou wondered how he'd feel if a five-year-old were to
address him by 'Koushirou'. A bit on edge, he supposed. Fairly
weirded out. He didn't think he'd like it.
But then again, Koushirou was extraordinarily polite, always had
been.
"Huh," was all he said.
His mother came in just then, holding three steaming plates.
"Breakfast, anyone?"
"Yes! Yes! FOOD!" yelped Hitomi and Motimon at the same
time. "Itadekimasu! Let's eat!"
Koushirou watched his daughter and her digimon inhale the food,
and starting eating at a rather more sedate pace.
He'd take her to the park, and maybe on a walk, and just relax.
With his family.
"Mother, do you want to come with us?"
"Of course!"
"Good."
They were his family, after all. His mother, his
daughter...neither directly related to him, perhaps, none of them
sharing the same genes, but they were a family nonetheless. A
family of the heart -- that was what was important, anyway.
---
Koushirou didn't check his mail that day. Normally, it was one of
the first things he'd do in the morning and the last thing he'd
do at night. But he really wanted to relax.
Maybe, if he had checked his mail, his whole future would have
changed. But he didn't.
---
"Iori, what's wrong? Are you all right?"
"Where have you been, Koushirou-san?" Iori snapped.
Koushirou was considerably taken aback by the anger in the
normally level-headed younger man's voice. "I'm in the park
with my daughter. I took a day off."
"You? A day off?" Iori sounded surprised, which
irritated Koushirou. "Anyway, have you been checking your
e-mail at all?"
"No," said Koushirou, annoyed. "Why should
I?"
He could see Iori trying to phrase the next sentence kindly, and
his stomach turned cold. Something was very, very wrong.
"Koushirou-san...Ken-san was in a car accident."
Koushirou swallowed. "Ichijouji Ken?"
"Yes," Iori affirmed solemnly.
"How bad was it?"
"His funeral is in two days."
Koushirou's jaw dropped. "Ken-san's dead?"
"Hai," repeated Iori. Koushirou, looking closely, could
see how depressed Iori looked, and knew instantly that his friend
was holding back tears. "Wormmon died, too. The second that
Ken-san's heart stopped, he just...dissolved into nothingness,
like he'd lost the will to live." Iori gulped and went on.
"I sent you e-mails, but you never responded."
"I'm...sorry. When did they die?"
"An hour ago."
An hour ago, Koushirou had been pushing Hitomi on the swings and
thinking that there is no greater joy in life than this.
"I..."
"Just be at the funeral, Koushirou-san." Iori said,
sounding very tired and very old. "Miyako-san's very
upset," he warned. "Not at you, but...she's talking
with my wife at the moment, and Sora-san and Hikari-san."
Even though Iori had been married for ten years, he still
couldn't control a faint blush of pride at "my wife."
Lucky, thought Koushirou.
"I'm sorry, Iori. Pass on my condolence to Miyako-san."
"I will. See you soon." Iori turned off his end, and
after a brief, stunned moment, Koushirou removed the headset and
turned off the vid phone.
Ken-san dead? It didn't make sense...
Putting a facade to mask his true feelings, he walked back to his
family and suggested they go home. His mother looked at him
worriedly, but Hitomi skipped and laughed and talked for the rest
of the way home.
As soon as they got home, Koushirou went directly into his
private study. It was the only room that was truly private,
attached only to his bedroom. Originally (when he'd purchased the
house), the bedroom was the private room. Koushirou has rightly
reckoned that with a young child in the house, his sleeping space
would be invaded frequently, but his workspace should not.
He kept the only key on a chain around his neck.
His study, like the rest of his rooms, was incredibly neat - but
bare. The cabinets all had locks on them, but were all unlocked
and empty. Perhaps the most important thing in the room was the
computer. It was a hacker's dream come true, one of the most
powerful computers in all of Japan -- and, probably, the world.
Koushirou used it to check his e-mail. Iori had sent him
tons of e-mail. The first one was a very general, very condensed
e-mail written to most of the Chosen Children and various friends
of Miyako's and Ken's, stating the facts but no speculation --
Iori had a degree in Journalism, which showed. Iori had sent
hourly updates of Ken's condition (declining rapidly) and
frequent letters to Koushirou, desperately asking where he was.
"You were requested," Iori wrote coldly in one
e-mail, sent fairly late in the day. "Where are you? What's
holding you up?"
Then there was another, final, briefly worded message:
"Ichijouji Ken and Wormmon. Time of death -- 4:18 PM."
At that point, Iori must have given up and called him.
The light from the computer played over Koushirou's still
features for quite some time.
---
Inoue Miyako never thought she would ever have to sleep alone
again after marrying Ichijouji Ken.
Well, there were times, when Ken was on business trips or working
late shifts, that she did sleep alone. But even then, it wasn't
really sleeping alone -- it was simply a lapse in the time that
he spent beside her.
Miyako always wanted to be protected. As long as there was a
presence with her -- and Ken certainly had a presence -- she felt
safe. Ken was tall, much taller than her, and strong, and
muscled, and very, very, protective.
Even after all these years, she was still amazed that Ken had
picked her to be his bride. Although she'd had a crush on him in
her early teens, she'd quickly dropped her feelings for him in
favor of any number of first loves and boyfriends. Then there had
been that relationship with Koushirou...she turned the memory
aside.
Miyako and Ken had bounced together, almost by accident -- Miyako
had wanted someone to talk to, and Ken was in one of his (what
Miyako privately called) flamboyant attitudes. They'd
renewed their friendship and became close.
Miyako liked being friends with Ken because she felt like she
didn't have to impress him. She was 99 percent positively sure
that he was 'involved' with Daisuke -- which was a relaxing idea,
after she'd become resigned to it. Here was a guy that she didn't
have to impress. Here was a guy that she didn't have to flirt
with. Here was a guy that she could be friends and not worry is
he interpreting this the right way? Am I sending the wrong
signals?
So it was the biggest surprise to Miyako that Ken had proposed to
her. And of course, she accepted...maybe Hikari and Hawkmon were
right, maybe she didn't have to be someone else, maybe a
guy could love her for who she was...
Despite her doubts, despite her private misgivings, she had been
happy, happy, happy. Finally, a man who would protect her and
cherish her and help her through out everything...a man who would
always support her.
The night after he died was the hardest night she'd ever spent.
Alone in the bed they'd always shared, with his scent
fast-becoming nothing but a memory, she wept for what had been
and what could never be.
---
Now, let's take a break from the current drama and look at some
of the children of the digidestined. They aren't carbon copies of
their parents, and they're all a lot smarter than their parents
think.
Ichijouji Mikomi is twelve, going on thirteen.
When her mother was twelve years old, she'd been saving the
digital world. When her father was twelve, he'd been the
heartless Digimon Kaizer.
Mikomi is a perfectly balanced mix of her mother and father. She
has her father's dark blue hair and her mother's light brown
eyes. She is rapidly approaching her father's height, and she
wears a pair of glasses like her mother's. Mikomi has the
awkwardness that's rather common among pre-teenaged girls. She's
smart but feels dumb, pretty but not pretty enough, tired of
being underestimated but unable to see how she can stop.
Mikomi has her mother's passion and enthusiasm combined with her
father's cynicism. Neither will let the other fully control her
life, which makes Mikomi into one of those souls that is
eternally conflicted.
Ichijouji Mikomi is twelve, going on thirteen. That really says
it all.
Ichijouji Osamu, her younger brother, is nearly five. He looks
almost exactly like Ken did at that age (except for the purple
hair), and acts like Ken did.
His parents are aware of this, and try their hardest to encourage
Osamu's gentle tendacies. Osamu is the true test on whether what
you become is inheirited or enviromental.
Osamu is one of those people best described as 'simple'. It's not
that he's stupid, but it's already clear that he is the type of
person that will step over cracks until he's fourteen as not to
break his mother's back -- and, when he does, will always say a
private prayer of health for Mommy.
As of yet, it's unclear which way he'll go. Would a gentle person
ever survive? Would a cruel person survive too well?
Ichijouji Ari is the baby, barely six months old. In Japanese,
Ari means 'ant'. In Hebrew, Ari means 'lion'. He could be either.
He could be neither. He had blue hair and violet eyes and always
looks unhappy -- probably because he is.
Izumi Hitomi is a cheerful munchkin of five years. She's like
light, always happy, very loving and affectionate, doted on by
her grandmother and father. She was adopted, but she's too secure
to let that shake her -- yet, anyway. It would be a crime to harm
her in any way.
Takenouchi Tori, at five, looks like a boy, acts like a boy, and
wishes she was a boy, so that she could live with her father and
little brother. Ishida Touma is her younger brother by two years,
too young to remember a time when their parents weren't
seperated. If Sora and Yamato don't get their acts together soon,
their children are going to be as screwed up as they were.
Hida Himeko is Iori's daughter. Himeko means 'princess', which is
exactly what she is -- the spoiled, petted princess. Utterly
brilliant, at ten she's already in the sixth grade. She's also
talented in music, acting, kendo, and at making everyone else
really annoyed at her perfection. Oddly enough, she's also
completely oblivious to how she sets everyone's teeth on edge.
Daichi Motomiya, one of the two American children of the twelve
original Chosen, was named so as a joke. Daisuke had gotten so
sick of being called 'Daichi', as if he were no more than a
Taichi clone, that he dubbed his son by that name. Apparently,
Daichi's mother had disagreed, and later ran off. Daisuke had
never been too affected by that, and his son has inheirited much
of his father's happy-go-lucky attitude and charm. Oddly enough,
to most of the world he was 'Dai', a nickname he was rather
pleased with.
Daichi is closest to Shawn, Mimi's young son who was also
American, and Shuten, Jyou's son and Shawn's elder half-brother.
Shawn was rather sullen around most of the other children and
rarely spoke, probably because he didn't speak Japanese very
well. Shuten, older, bossier, and nerdier, translated much of
what went on for his younger brother.
Yagami Kakeru is Hikari's son. Twelve years old, he's very quiet
when not around his best friend Takaishi Mori, Takeru's son, who
is cheerful enough to bring the more reserved Kakeru out of his
shell. Kakeru's younger cousin is six-year-old Yagami Yuuki,
Taichi's son.
Even this isn't a good enough look at the children. But for now,
it will suffice.
---
Koushirou hated funerals.
He hated, hated, hated funerals.
Even he, who was normally oblivious to strong emotions, could
pick up on the aura of sadness that dominated the room. Around
him were dozens of men in dark suits and kimonos, women in dark
blue and greys, looking oddly mismatched.
He held Hitomi's hand. Hitomi was wearing a navy blue dress with
yellow flowers embroidered. It wasn't very appropriate, but she
didn't have any black. He let his eyes wander as the priest spoke
in a nasal tone. He saw all of the other Chosen and their digimon
-- even Daisuke and Mimi.
Yamato and Sora were standing closer together than they normally
would, each holding their childrens' hands. Taichi was talking to
Takeru in a low voice, their faces solemn. Jyou and Iori had
their faces set as they watched, not a tear dropping.
Hikari was patting Daisuke on the shoulder. Daisuke, whose eyes
were red-rimmed, who looked as though he might loose it at any
moment. Mimi had tear tracks down her face as she attempted to
comfort Miyako.
Miyako was the center of attention today (well, she and the
casket which held Ken's body), but for once she wasn't trying to
revel in it. Clutching little Ari to her chest, she wore a
practical black dress and had a black hat with a veil obscuring
her features. The hat was so much like the one his mother had
worn at his father's funeral that for a brief, giddy second he
wondered whether it was one and the same, whether there was some
secret society between all those widows...
Her daughter Mikomi stood beside her. She obviously couldn't find
a black dress; hers was a deep purple, and oddly pretty. On her
other side was Osamu, in a suit so new the creases were still
evident.
The priest stopped chanting and nodded, the time for people who
wanted to make speeches to come up and talk. Much to Koushirou's
surprise, Iori walked up the the front of the crowded funeral
room as if he was a puppet, with stiff, jerky steps and started
to speak.
"For a long time, Ichijouji Ken-san and I were...enemies. We
despised each other. I couldn't understand him, and I suppose he
couldn't understand me." Iori took a breath and went on.
"Ken-san taught me a lot. He taught me to not judge someone
by their first impression. He taught me to redefine my standards
of 'good' and 'evil'...and that even people who appear to be
villains can change."
Iori swallowed. "For that, Ken-san...I thank you." He
jerked his chin up and fixed his eyes to the ceiling. "I'll
help protect Miyako-san and her children now that you're not able
to. Thank you, everyone." He stepped down and rejoined his
daughter and wife.
Daisuke was next. His voice was ragged, his face tear-stricken,
but he still managed to smile. "Ken, I...Ken's been my best
friend for years. He probably knows -- knew -- knows me better
than I know myself. I'll..." His smile was painful to watch.
"You've always been there for me, Ken. I just wish...I wish
I could have stopped you from falling this last time."
It was at this point that Ichijouji Mikomi stalked out, and at
this point that Izumi Koushirou, dropping Hitomi's hand, followed
her. Hitomi looked at her father's retreating back, shrugged,
clutched Motimon tighter, and waited for her father to come back.
---
He found her pacing down the hall, making noises that could have
been sobs; however, when she turned to face him, her eyes were
dry.
"What?" she demanded.
Koushirou found out that he'd frozen solid. Her stance, her
voice, even the indignant flash in her bespectacled eyes was so
much like Miyako that it stopped him in his tracks.
He'd never paid much attention to Miyako when he'd first met her;
she'd been an underclassmen, just another girl in the Computer
Club whose work was all right at best and whose voice had a way
of piercing through his innermost analyzations. He'd been
surprised when she became a Chosen, but accepted that the Fates
worked in mysterious ways and welcomed her to the team.
After they'd worked together for a while, he found that he was
inexplicably drawn to the girl. Maybe it was because Miyako was
so emotional, as opposed to his own cool rationality. Maybe it
was her strange, magnetic warmth that just emanated from her --
after spending just a little time in her presence, you couldn't
help but be drawn out.
Maybe it was just love, pure and simple. But computer geniuses
didn't just fall in love, it would be like not testing your HTML
coding before uploading it onto a website.
"What, mister?" snapped Mikomi, and Koushirou felt his
mind unfreeze. Miyako had never addressed him by 'mister' -- it
had always been 'Izumi-sempai' in their elementary school days, a
warmer 'Koushirou' while they had been dating, and now a distant
'Koushirou-san.'
"I wanted to know if you were all right," Koushirou
explained lamely. "You ran out so quickly, I wondered if
something was the matter."
Mikomi rolled her eyes -- eyes that, he could see, were a light
brown (like Miyako's) with a hard gleam to them (like Ken's.)
"No, nothing's the matter," she threw back at him,
"except my father dying, duh. What do you think is wrong
with me?!"
"I'm sorry," Koushirou said instantly. "Is there
anything I can do to help?"
"Help?" she echoed. "Help? Tell that to the guy
who..." Mikomi swiftly removed her glasses with one hand and
covered her eyes with the other. Koushirou felt helpless as she
suffered through her misery in short, jolting sobs.
He patted her on the shoulder awkwardly. She took her hand away
from her eyes -- Koushirou noticed the wetness on her hand -- and
glared at him.
"Why are they making this into a public spectacle?" she
demanded. "Some emotions should be kept inside!"
Yet another difference from Miyako, Koushirou thought.
Miyako never thought anything should be kept inside. Miyako
always wanted everything out in the open.
Miyako never realized when anything should be hidden, even for
her own good.
"It's how some people mourn," Koushirou said, not
removing his hand. "Some people need to have their emotions
out in the open. It's how they exist. It's how they mourn."
"It's too public," declared Mikomi, "it makes me
sick."
"That's your prerogative."
She peered at him oddly. "Did my mother send you?"
"No!" Koushirou lifted his hands in a placating
gesture. "I came because you looked sad, and I wanted to
know if I could be of service to you in some way. I'm not really
one for strong emotions, but I can listen."
Mikomi glanced up and down at him, with a look so much like
Miyako's that it took his breath away. "You're Izumi
Koushirou, right?"
"Yes."
"My mother used to date you." Her voice was clinical,
probing.
"That was a long time ago," he responded.
"Yes." She blinked. "You want me to talk?"
"Yes."
"Okay." She took in a breath, and spoke in a
high-pitched chatter about what she felt, her sincerity dripping
from every phrase. Koushirou's ears took in her voice and made
sense of her words. At the end, tears were running down her face.
"Ken-san meant a lot to you, didn't he?" Koushirou
asked gently. Mikomi nodded. "You were close?" Another
nod. "You have the advantage over me, then," Koushirou
said. "My parents died when I was a baby, I never knew
them."
"How horrible!" said Mikomi. "But surely, you
heard stories..."
"I didn't know I was adopted until I was older. My finding
out was...pretty traumatic."
"I can imagine."
"I want to avoid that with my own daughter," he added.
"Oh? Was she adopted?"
"Yes."
"But aren't you married?"
He smiled. "No. Confirmed bachelor for life, I'm
afraid."
"Oh."
"But...you have the advantage of me, as I said before. You
know what your father would want of you. You know what he
believes, what he feels, how he feels."
"So..I could dedicate my life to him, and be the best I can
for his honor."
"That's a decision you'll have to make for yourself,"
he said.
Mikomi mulled over her passionate words. They had appeal, but...
"But...then where is room for being myself?"
"There's the problem with dedicating yourself to being
someone for someone -- anyone else. You lose yourself on the way,
and anything you wanted to be."
"Then how am I supposed to do anything for my father?"
Mikomi cried out. "I can't mourn like they
did..."
"Well, when Ken needed to mourn," Koushirou said, his
black eyes gazing off into the distance, "he was able to
confess."
Mikomi blinked. "In his digimon?"
"No, to someone even closer to his heart."
"Who?"
Koushirou shook his head. "That's not important. What is
important, Mikomi, is: do you have any friends that you can tell
your heart to?"
Mikomi bit her lip. "I...I don't know."
"I'd advise you get some." An enigmatic smile flitted
across Koushirou's face. "They're closer to you than you
think. Now, we should go in, your mother will be worried."
He offered out his arm, and, puzzled, Mikomi took it.
"Hey...Izumi-san?" she asked right before they entered.
"Yes?"
"How come...how come you never got married?" Mikomi
asked timidly. "I mean, you aren't ugly, and you are pretty
rich, so...why?"
He smiled down at her. "I never got over your mother,"
he joked. It sounded like a joke, his tone was light enough, his
mouth was smiling. Nevertheless, Mikomi saw the flash of pain in
his onyx eyes and knew instantly that he was not kidding, that he
still was not over her mother, that he still loved her.
How? wondered Mikomi. More to the point, why?
And that question occupied her for the rest of the funeral...and
a good deal while longer.
---
