The bell jingled. A petite teenage employee jerked her head up from the pile of jeans she was folding to beam at the door. "Hi! Welcome to Old Navy! Can I get you anything?"

Kimiko had to grin, adjusting her sunglasses. "First day?"

The girl laughed. "Does it show?" She expertly snapped a pair of jeans into a neat box and dropped it with a fwap on the table. "But seriously, need anything?"

"Actually-" Kimiko rummaged in her purse and produced the gift card. "-my friend gave me this, but he didn't write the value on it. Can you check the balance real quick?"

"Sure thing!" The girl plucked the card from between Kimiko's fingers and bustled to the counter. Pushing a pile of hangers onto the floor, she swiped the card and punched a few numbers. "Let's see... you've got seventy-five dollars on there," she chirped, handing the card back.

Kimiko blinked at her through the sunglasses. "I'm sorry; what?"

"It's a seventy-five-dollar gift card," she repeated, smiling and tilting her head. "Birthday present, right?"

"Uh, no." Kimiko looked at the card again. "No, not at all."

The girl raised her eyebrows. "Someone special, then?"

"Ah-" Kimiko studied the card and pocketed it. "No. Nothing like that." Before the girl could say anything else, Kimiko gave her a half-smile. "Listen, I haven't been shopping in a while. Want to help me pick stuff out?"

The girl allowed the change of topic and nudged her head in the direction of the jeans. "I ought to finish the folding-"

"Oh, come on. Giving a customer special attention'll look good for you," Kimiko grinned, fiddling with the strap of her purse. "Please?"

The girl cocked her head. "What's your deal?"

Kimiko shrugged. "You remind me of a friend from back home. She had your smile. So..." She trailed her finger along the credit card scanner. "Will you help?"

The girl picked up the hangers and dumped them on the counter before offering her hand. "My name's Trina."

"Kimiko." They shook hands.

Beaming, Trina pointed towards the back of the store. "How about we start with shirts? We have some old graphic tees that are kinda pretty at ten dollars a pop or so back there. You can get a bunch."

"Lead the way," Kimiko grinned.

Hopping the counter, Trina cut through the woman's section to the clearance rack and flipped through the hangers, giving Kimiko a quick once-over for sizing. "Take a look at these." She held up a pair of small t-shirts, and Kimiko nodded her approval. Trina peeked through the hangers. "You wanna try them on?"

Kimiko's hand grazed her bruised collarbone, covered by a fashionable striped scarf. "No, that's okay." She cracked a grin. "I haven't grown since ninth grade."

Trina laughed and collected the shirts on one arm before grabbing a few more. "I know, right? My dad keeps swearing I'll shoot up any day now, and I'm like, 'Dad. I'm eighteen. I'm going to college in a month. It's not gonna happen.' " She shook her head. "Parents."

Kimiko felt her grin falter. "Yeah, no kidding."

Trina checked the count of the shirts. "Alright, that's forty... Hmm." She snapped her fingers, her eyes brightening. "Oh! Some flouncy halter-top things just went on sale. You want to grab one of those for something dressy?"

Kimiko relaxed, fingering her scarf. "Sure. And can we grab a hoodie, too?" She widened her eyes and lowered her brows in a mock-serious face. "For cold nights."

Trina mirrored the expression. "Obviously." Dropping the serious facade, she smiled again. "But that'll put you at seventy-five. Did you want any pants to wear with these?"

Biting her lip, Kimiko checked her own jeans. The gashes in the denim looked purposeful, as did the bleach spots, but she pulled at the fraying thread and swallowed. "You know what? Can you grab the shirt and the hoodie and meet me at the counter?" She held her hand up to her cheek as if phoning someone. "I'm gonna make a call."

Trina cocked her head but made no comment. "Sure."

Kimiko waited for her to round a display before pulling out a smartphone. She looked at her reflection in the screen for a moment, than sighed and dialed the number quickly. She pressed the phone to one ear and her finger to the other, listening to the ringing.

"Hai."

She exhaled. "Moshi moshi, Papa."

Silence on the other end of the line. "Kimiko?"

She fingered a shirt on the clearance rack, searching for words. "Hi," she managed.

He maintained a professional tone, but his voice cracked. "This call is very unexpected."

"I know." Her voice dropped. "I'm sorry."

He hesitated, cleared his throat. "Is there something you need?"

She clutched the shirt in her fist, and her eyes watered. She jerked away from the rack, wiping her tears. "It's nothing much," she promised softly. "I was hoping that you could pay for some pairs of pants, and I could send you the money when I'm on my feet again."

For a moment, he did not respond, but before she could apologize, he spoke. "When did you lose your footing?"

She breathed deeply. "I left Makoto."

He mused on that. "I see."

She blinked back tears. "Anyway, a friend gave me a gift card, but apparently seventy-five dollars doesn't go too far at Old Navy anymore. I-"

"A friend?"

"A friend of Clay's," she amended. She glanced around the store again, but no one was nearby to hear her conversation. "I need to replace a lot of my clothes, and his card just barely covers a bunch of shirts. But I need pants." She paused, waiting.

"I see," he repeated, and said nothing else.

She tried to out-wait him, but her voice broke. "Papa, please talk to me."

"Kimiko, after three years of silence, you are calling about pants."

His frankness made her laugh, and a sob escaped with it. "I know. Stupid, huh?" She wiped her cheek. "Typical, begging you for money for clothes, even after all this."

He waited for her to stop sniveling. "Yes," he murmured. "I am glad."

She blinked. "Glad?"

"You are still the daughter I remember." His voice was strong, certain. "For that, I am glad."

She choked back her tears, looking around the store, but she was still alone in the section.

"It is good to hear your voice, Kimiko," he told her, and she heard a tremble when he said her name.

"I've missed you so much, Papa," she sniffed.

"And I you. We have much to discuss-" He paused, then added, "But that can wait for another time. For now, use my credit card number to buy your pants - and maybe a kimono for your Papa, please."

She laughed again, rubbing at her eyes. "Only because it's the very least I owe you."

"Kimiko, just a few months ago, I had given up hope that you would call me. Today, you have given me everything I could possibly hope for." He thought about that. "But perhaps a visit to Japan is in order?"

She chuckled. "Maybe in a month or two." Turning to face the wall, she murmured, "Thanks again, Papa. For everything. I'll fix this. I promise."

"I know you will. I love you, my darling."

She cradled the phone with both hands. "I love you, too."


Trina looked up from her folding and beamed. "Hey! Finish your call?"

"Yep." Kimiko smiled, fixing her sunglasses on her nose. "Had to convince my dad to pay for the jeans. And some other stuff." She held up two ruffled skirts and clarified, "I'm a little low on money right now."

"I hear you." Trina held out a pile of pants. "These are low-rise skinnies. Should look good on you - you're already wearing a pair. I picked out a couple different shades." She thumbed toward the register, which was now clear of hangers. "I put your other stuff under the counter. Want me to ring you out?"

Kimiko took the jeans. "Trina, please tell me they pay you more than minimum wage here."

"Oh, definitely," Trina grinned, swinging her legs over the counter. "Old Navy gives me a whole extra twenty-five cents per hour." She swiped the tags over the scanner and tossed everything into a large bag, then reconsidered and separated them into two smaller bags. "Gift card?" Kimiko handed it to her, and she scanned it. "You don't want this thing, right?"

Kimiko cocked a brow in response.

"Yeah, nobody cares that they're refillable." Trina trashed the piece of plastic and asked, "Cash or credit?"

"Credit," Kimiko confirmed, reciting her father's card number.

"All right," Trina chirped. "You're good to go." She snapped the bag off the rack and slid it across the counter. "Enjoy your new wardrobe."

"Definitely." Kimiko paused, hand on the counter. "Trina?"

The girl looked up. "Mm?"

"You guys hiring here?"


The bell on the door jingled as Kimiko exited the store, tucking a copy of her application into her purse. Shoppers bustled by, the mall crowded for a Friday. She leaned on the front window of the Old Navy, her bags rustling, and peeked at her purchases. The ten-dollar clearance shirts, the halter top, and the sweatshirt, paid for by Raimundo's gift card, were in one bag; while the skirts and jeans, paid for with her father's credit, were in the other. Frowning, she considered the first bag. "Seventy-five dollars," she muttered, shaking her head before letting her eyes scan the mallway. They lit on a Hallmark a few slots down, and she pushed off the Old Navy storefront and headed down the hall.

Halfway to the Hallmark, she passed a small salon, and she took a moment to examine her hair in the reflective windows. A few limp strands grazed her face; the rest were messily collected into a butterfly clip to hide the damage. Sighing, she squeezed the clip with one hand, pushing the stray hairs back into its teeth.

"Thinking about a cut?"

She froze, shoulders tensing. Her head turned to the voice, eyes narrowed behind her sunglasses. "I might be," she answered.

Although she had elected to cover her bruises, Makoto seemed content to expose his injuries, his tank top and tight jeans barely hiding the worst of the discolorations. Two bandages decorated his cheek and forehead, but his hair obscured them, and her focus instead went to his eyes, dark and unmarred. He scoffed and shrugged a bruised shoulder, his other arm restricted by a sling. "Figures that I wouldn't get a straight answer from you."

She gritted her teeth, tightened her fingers around the handles of her bags, sighed. "Is there a particular reason you're talking to me right now?" Her good eye flickered toward the Hallmark, one slot away.

He tilted a brow. "Touchy as usual?"

"Just a little," she spat.

Shaking his head, he chided, "You ought to be a little more polite than this."

She gaped at him. "Polite? I should be polite?"

"It might compensate for the injury, yeah?" Makoto shifted his arm in the sling slightly. "The injury you inflicted, I might add." His eyes bored holes in hers. "The injury I should be getting paid for."

Kimiko glared through her sunglasses, her black eye twinging. "Cut your losses, Makoto. I did."

He snorted. "Yeah, a few bruises to three years of torture and a busted arm. We sure broke even."

"You know what? I don't have time for your shit," Kimiko snarled, brushing past him. He grabbed her arm, squeezing the bruise under her sleeve, and she cringed as he yanked her against his chest.

"That temper's going to be your downfall, Kimiko," he whispered, giving her arm another tug. Kimiko bared her teeth.

"Maybe. But that sling's going to be yours." Her fist slammed into his bad shoulder. With a howl, he loosened his grip. She wrenched her arm free and jabbed an elbow into his nose. He staggered back, cursing, his free hand touching his face and coming away red. She made for the Hallmark, but he lurched forward and threw her against the window of the salon, pinning her with an arm bar.

"Hey! Hey!" A heavyset security guard barreled into Makoto, thrusting himself between the fighters. With a growl, Makoto advanced on him. The guard shoved him back, brandishing a walky-talky. "Back off!"

Makoto halted, and the guard looked at Kimiko, whose glasses had been knocked askew, revealing the swollen eye. "What the hell is this?" he demanded.

"Just a misunderstanding, officer," Makoto attempted, his voice too guttural.

"I asked the lady," the guard snapped. He noticed the sling, and for a second time he took stock of the black eye. "You two do this to each other?"

They both stared at him, so he let out a resigned sigh and loosened his stance. "What're your names?" he grumbled.

"Makoto Okuda."

"Kimiko-"

"Tohomiko?" the guard asked, his brow furrowing as he studied her. "The one with Bailey's kid?"

Makoto smirked as Kimiko growled, "We're friends, yes."

The guard looked at the sling, then back to her. "I can see the resemblance."

She replaced her glasses. "Now that we've established whom I'm connected to, can I be returned to my shopping experience?" she droned, adjusting her shirt sleeves.

A moment of hesitation, then the guard nodded. "Sure, sure." She was backing away even as he added, "Just head home soon as you're done, alright?"

Makoto sneered. "The cowboy's getting you out of trouble again, huh?"

"Shut up," the security guard retorted, twisting around to glare at him just before Kimiko bolted for the Hallmark.


The front door shut behind Kimiko with a quiet click of the latch. "Raimundo? Clay?"

"In the kitchen," the latter called.

She followed Clay's voice down the hall to find him poring over a textbook at the table. "Hey. Have you seen Raimundo?"

Clay shook his head, concentrating on his reading. "He got called in to one of his daytime jobs. Should be back in a few. Whatcha need him for?"

Kimiko dumped her shopping bags on the table. "I got him a card." She pulled it from the bag and held it up.

Clay buried his nose in his book, but his eyebrows raised. "Don't tell me you're sweet on him now?"

She swatted his arm with the card. "Not in this lifetime. But..." She paused, smoothing the card with her thumbs. "He gave me a gift, so he at least deserves a thank-you note."

"Yep," Clay agreed, pressing a finger to a line of text.

Kimiko cocked a brow, hands on her hips, the card between her fingers. "You are oddly disinterested right now."

"I'm just busy with this studyin'," he answered.

"Uh-huh." The clock ticked. With a sigh, she leaned heavily over the table. "That security guard called you, didn't he?"

Clay looked up, holding his place with a finger. "Well, what did you expect, Kim?"

Her eyes narrowed. "I don't know; some respect for my privacy?"

He nudged his hat back with his thumb. "You're livin' with the lieutenant's son. You think I'm not gonna hear about your run-ins with the boys in blue?"

"It wasn't the 'boys in blue;' it was a mall security guard," she snapped, crossing her arms, the card tucking into her elbow.

"A mall security guard who broke up a fight between you and Makoto Okuda." He shut the textbook with a loud whap. "Now ain't that a kick in the pants?"

Kimiko glared at him. "Don't start this now, Clay-"

"Then when should I start, Kimiko?" he retorted, rising from his seat. "It's gettin' mighty hard to put off the conversation."

"There is no conversation-"

Clay jabbed a finger into the cover of his textbook. "Dang it, Kim, you should know better-"

"Know better than what?" she interrupted, slapping her hands to the table.

"-Hanging around with him-"

" 'Hanging around'?" she sputtered. "He cornered me-"

"In the middle of a mall?" Clay finished, eyes locked on her. "Kimiko, you must take me for one special kind of a fool."

She opened her mouth, faltered, and changed tactics. "Three years and you're exactly the same-"

Clay's voice lowered. "You're one to talk, miss-"

"Oh, get off your high horse, daddy's boy!" she snarled. "It's never done you any favors!"

"Really, Kim? We're gonna lowball insults at each other now?" His eyes refused to let her go. "Is that how we're gonna play this out?"

"Well, when you make it so easy-" she attempted, but he retook control of the conversation:

"I don't want to fight you, Kimiko-"

"Then don't!" she snapped. "Just stop!"

"Stop what?" he demanded, raising his voice for the first time as he rounded the kitchen table. "Stop carin' about what happens to you?"

"No-" she protested.

"Then what, Kim?" He loomed over her, inches from her face. "How exactly have I done you wrong?"

She tossed her hands in the air and turned for the hall. "I give up! You're worse than talking to a brick wall!"

He seized her wrist. "Don't you walk away-"

His grip was firm but gentle, minding her bruises, and in a fury she yanked her arm out of his hand, crushing the card. "Funny. Everyone seems to walk away from you, Clay," she spat.

His jaw tightened as she stormed down the hall. Raimundo was frozen at the front door, eyes wide, his key still in the lock, and she shot him a glare and pushed past to the landing before he skidded in front of her, blocking the stairs. "Whoa, girl, what just happened?" he asked, trying to read her face.

She shoved him out of the way. "Mind your own business, Raimundo." She put her foot on the first step, but his arm shot out, hand slamming against the wall of the stairwell.

"I live here. It is my business," he persisted.

"I said get lost!" Ducking his arm, she started up the stairs, then stopped and backpedaled to slap the crumpled Hallmark card to his chest. "Thanks for the gift card," she snapped, and she stomped to her room and slammed the door.


Kimiko shows her softer side around her father, so I let her cry for the first time during the phone call - but only a little, and only when she was certain no one would be around to see. I suppose the huge argument with Clay makes up for it. They fought often in the show, and I'm always surprised at how few fics bring out that vitriol.

The challenge was Toshiro. It's hard to stay faithful to a character that only appeared in one episode, but his characterization was strong: a doting, fun-loving father who is intelligent, generous, and a little awkward. It may seem that he forgives too easily here, but given his personality I couldn't imagine him being cold. Instead, I believe he realizes that Kimiko was hurt as deeply by their separation as he was.

If you can't imagine Kimiko cutting contact with her father, don't worry - I promise that it will be explained in due time, along with everything else. Until then, review with wild theories (or wild criticism, if you are so inclined)!

The next chapter will introduce Omi, so check back in a week-ish.

Let me know what you think, and as always, thanks for reading.