a/n: I tried to post this a few days ago, but for some reason, it wouldn't register that I added a new chapter? Wtf? It did the same thing for ch 20 of HoM. Strange.

I kind of wrote this in only a few hours, so it's a little choppy, but hey, I'm hoping it'll be alright. Thank you all for reading! (Also, fair warning: I try to stay away from using a lot of Japanese honorifics considering I don't know a lot about them, so hopefully, I used them right in this? Maybe? If I messed up, please let me know.)


setting: 1997, pre-Adventure


03 || Snap

"Yes. No, no. I understand. I'll be there as soon as I can. Thank you."

Natsuko sets the phone back in its cradle and has to suppress a sigh. Pinches the bridge of her nose. This day was going so well, too. She's been extremely motivated to get her work done. She's only been at work since eight, and so far, she's completed a few interviews, finished all of her notes, and is about one-hundred words away from reaching her assigned word count. She'd been planning to finish it within the hour so she can send to her editor for fact-checking, but it seems Takeru's school has other plans.

A fight. Her son, her Takeru, her baby boy, had started a fight.

She bites her lip before deciding to stand. Doesn't want to believe it. Starts to organize the notes that are spread haphazardly on her desk. Puts her pen back in its holder and looks up at her computer, which she had been typing on just moments before she was told she had a call.

"Is there something wrong, Takaishi-san?"

She swallows nervously as she looks up and meets her boss's mildly concerned, confused gaze. His eyebrows are raised. "Ah, yes. I—" She stops, unsure of what to say. "It's my son. He's in trouble at school, and they're sending him home—"

He nods slowly. "There isn't anyone who can go get him?"

"No, it's… it's just him and me," Natsuko answers stiffly. Quietly. He's aware she's divorced, she knows. She's been here long enough for it to slip out. But that doesn't make it any less hard for her to admit out loud—especially now that a few of her co-workers staring at the two of them in silent curiosity. "I know that it's barely noon, but—"

To her surprise, a gentle smile graces his features. "It's quite alright, Takaishi-san. I've been monitoring your work. You've done a lot." His eyes flicker to his watch before he looks back up at her. "Go ahead and do what you need to do. Just make sure you have that paperwork on my desk by this time tomorrow, ok?"

Relief floods through her and she smiles gratefully at him. Instinct tells her to reach out to shake his hand, but she soon remembers to bow and murmurs her thanks. Shuts her computer down. Reaches under her desk for her purse. Offers a quick, soft smile to the other journalists who are still staring at her in mild interest, and some of them promptly look away. One of them returns her gesture and waves, and Natsuko hurries out of the office without a second thought.

It only takes her a few minutes to get to her car. And once she starts it up, she leans back into the seat, rubbing her temples. Takes a few moments to allow herself to calm down.

But she can't. She can't get the idea wrapped around her head that Takeru took part in a fight—a physical fight, supposedly with punches and kicks—with one of his peers. Takeru is not a violent child. He's had his tantrums, sure (what six-year-old doesn't?), but never has he hit another kid, let alone play the instigator. There has to be something that the principal isn't telling her.

She sighs and switches into reverse so she can pull out of her parking spot and make her way to Takeru's school. She supposes she'll find out once she gets there.

Traffic isn't that bad, so it's only a fifteen-minute drive. It seems longer than that, though, because her stomach is clenching and unclenching with worry the entire time. Is Takeru injured? If so, how badly? When she pulls up to the elementary school her son is enrolled in, she has to draw in a deep breath so she doesn't explode.

If some other kid put their goddamn hands on my son… flits through her head as she opens her car door and slides out of the driver's seat. Traverses the schoolyard at a pace that's probably too fast to deem calm and collected.

The moment she enters the school's office, her heart throbs. Takeru's sitting in a chair opposite of the secretary's desk, head dropped low, staring moodily at the floor. It looks like they've given him an ice pack, but he doesn't seem interested in using it. Toys with its edges instead. She can't see his expression.

Her feet take her to him without hesitation and she whispers his name. Takeru doesn't seem to notice until she's placing a finger under his chin so that he's returning her gaze.

Neither of them speak as she studies him. His eyes are red-webbed and glossy with tears. There's a cut on his lip that is caked with dried blood and a bruise forming on his left cheek. A band-aid is wrapped around his index finger, just above his knuckle. Anger flares up in her chest.

Someone behind her clears their throat. She turns, keeping her movements slow just so she has enough time to swallow the curse that so desperately wants to crawl out of her throat. Blinks back tears of rage.

The first thing she notices is that there's another woman standing about six feet away, looking decidedly pissed. She's standing protectively in front of a brown-haired boy that's a little taller than Takeru. Natsuko assumes he is the woman's son. The third person she sees is the principal.

"I'm glad you could come on such short notice," she says with a stiff smile. Her words are far from welcoming. "Let's talk in my office, shall we?"

Natsuko nods, frowning, and doesn't hesitate to slip her hand into Takeru's. He slides out of the chair silently, still keeping his eyes on the floor as they walk into another room.

The conversation is brief. According to the information the principal received from their teacher, Takeru was the one to throw the first punch. Takeru doesn't deny or confirm this fact; just sits with his hands in his lap, picking at the ice pack again. Natsuko tries to coax him to press it against his cheek, but he never complies. It's warm enough by now that it doesn't offer much help, she realizes.

The other boy's—Hirokazu is his name—mother doesn't seem all that interested in talking. Natsuko herself stays quiet because if she speaks, it probably isn't going to be something nice. Every time she glances at Takeru's face, the rage in her chest builds.

It's decided that both boys are on a three-day suspension. Natsuko sees out of the corner of her eye that Takeru is shaking—a sign that he's close to tears. She extends a hand and squeezes one of his shoulders gently. He still doesn't look up at her.

"You can keep those ice packs for a few days, ok, kids?" the principal says, kindly this time. Except her smile still seems false; Natsuko can see it in her eyes. "Just remember to bring them back Monday."

Takeru nods silently and the other child mumbles a clipped "ok" under his breath. When they exit her office, Natsuko grabs Takeru's hand once again and they make their way outside. Starts to guide him toward her car.

"I'm sorry, Mom," she hears somewhere to her left. It's Hirokazu.

"Don't be," the woman says. "It wasn't your fault."

Beside Natsuko, Takeru releases a quiet sob. She stops in her tracks, unable to ignore her anger for another moment. She releases her son's hand and twirls around. "Excuse me?"

The woman looks baffled for a second. Then she frowns. "What?"

"Are you saying that this was solely my son's fault?"

The other boy's mother crosses her arms over her chest. "Their teacher even said your kid threw the first punch."

She hates the way she says it. Your kid. Like he's not even a child. Like he's a pest. Like he's somehow below her. She doesn't like that Takeru participated in a fight. But doesn't she see that both boys have marks on them? They're both just children—they're still learning to channel their emotions and it seems like no one bothered even explain to them that violence isn't the answer. Just jumped straight to the punishment. Hirokazu's mother doesn't need to teach them that one was right while the other was wrong.

She fixes a glare on her, clenching her fists. "I'm not blaming your son. Don't blame mine."

"You're kidding me, right? It probably wouldn't have happened if you taught him to control himself."

In retrospect, what Natsuko did was wrong. But she's too pissed to care. Just stares lividly as the other woman holds her now pinkened cheek, eyes popped wide with shock. Natsuko lowers her hand, seething, and she hisses, "Don't you ever talk about Takeru like that again."

She marches away without even giving her a chance to reply. Tugs on Takeru's wrist—not hard enough to hurt him but enough to get his attention—and continues her trek to her vehicle.

Takeru stops at the curb. He slips his hand out of hers. "Mama."

"What is it?"

"Are you mad?"

She turns to look at him, but his gaze is locked on the cement. "Not at you, honey."

"I didn't mean to hurt him," he whispers, sniffling.

"I know you didn't," Natsuko tells him, kneeling down so she can look at his face. She skims her thumbs carefully under his eyes to wipe away the tears that are gathered there. "Sit down with me, ok?"

He complies hesitantly. She slides an arm over his shoulder, pulling him close to her. Presses her lips to his temple. "Wanna tell me what happened?"

"She already told you what happened."

"Maybe I want to hear it from you," she murmurs softly.

He wipes his eyes with more aggression than Natsuko had and releases a hiccup. "H-he said mean things about you and Onii-chan."

Natsuko's eyes widen slightly. She feels her heart drop somewhere near her feet, and her chest suddenly feels tight. He fought over her and Yamato? "Then what happened?"

"I told him to take it back," Takeru continues shakily. "He said he wouldn't. He… he just kept saying things, Mama, bad things. And I—I dunno, I just got so mad… he shouldn't talk about you or Nii-chan like that!" He buries his head in her shoulder. "I—I pushed him, and I didn't think it was that hard, at first. But he hit his head on the table, and S-Suzuki-sensei saw it. K-Kazu just got up—he threw a b-book at me." A small hand reaches up to cup his bruised cheek, and he hiccups again. "A-and all the sudden, sensei was yelling at us… and then they called you. I'm so sorry, Mama. I'm so sorry."

She squeezes him tenderly. "No, no, no, don't be sorry, baby," she says quietly in his hair. "It's ok to be angry. It's part of being human." She pauses, soothing his hair back. Then: "Hey, Takeru."

"What?"

"Don't worry about what people say about me. Just walk away next time, ok?"

Her son swallows quiveringly. "That lady said mean things to me and you hit her."

Right. Natsuko expels a nervous laugh. "I'm not a good example."

"Onii-chan told me if anyone ever gives me trouble, just walk away, too," he mumbles and sniffs again. "I didn't do that. Do you think he'll be mad?"

"Of course not," Natsuko replies without hesitation. "He would be proud. And your father would be, too."

She hadn't meant to say the second part aloud. It kind of came out on instinct. But in her heart, she knows it's true. Hiroaki isn't particularly fond of violence, she knows. But when it comes to their sons, his viewpoint changes entirely. She can picture the first time Yamato came home with a bruise: Hiroaki swooped him up in a hug, laughing heartily. ("Our son's a fighter, Nat," he'd exclaimed when she tried to be the voice of reason.)

She pushes down the pain that accompanies the memory. Wonders briefly if he'll get to see Takeru before his cuts and bruises heal. She'll tell him about what happened, but it's a bit of a drive, and they've both been working a lot. It's getting harder and harder to schedule time for Yamato and Takeru to visit each other.

Of course, she isn't going to tell any of this to Takeru. Not now. But it doesn't look like she needs to.

"You really think so?" His starts to smile. "You think Daddy would be proud of me?"

"That you defended your brother? Yes."

He's on his feet instantly. "Oh, I can't wait to show him!"

"Oh, hold on. That's not what I meant," she says hurriedly, reaching out to grab his arm before he can run off. He laughs when she misses, and she echoes it without even thinking. "Hey, come back here. We gotta get you home so I can put some more ice on your face."

She lifts him up then (he's quite small for a six-year-old), steadies him, and places another kiss on his forehead, careful of his bruise. Finally makes her way to her car again, but this time, Takeru is giggling.

It doesn't matter that he's supposed to be in trouble. She'll worry about his suspension later. Hearing him laugh is enough to erase the anger she feels toward his school and Hirokazu's mother. It's enough to erase the hurt she feels seeing the marks on her baby's face.

She loves hearing Takeru laugh.