Title: Unyielding Courage

Chapter 6: Who Am I?

Authors Note: Okay, so, before you kill me…I can explain.

See, some very evil, sick bastard who I like to imagine has a pale complexion, bad acne and suffers internally from agonizing aches and possible some flesh eating disorder decided it would be funny to hack into my computer and plant hundreds of viruses into my hard drive so I lose every file I've ever created. If anyone has any leads on what nefarious monster could have committed this heinous and ungodly crime I am offering a momentary reward – especially if you can bring me their scalp.

Now that my wanted message is out, along with a very helpful and detailed description (their head probably does a 360 degree turn as well) I will get this chapter rolling!

Disclaimer: I do not own Fruits Basket or any of the characters. However, my dear little Mira Liore Nolan is mine and mine alone along with the lovely Liv Cyrene Nolan who are currently utilizing all their energies to hunting down the demon mentioned above.


Memory is a way of holding onto the things you love, the things you are, the things you never want to lose. – The Wonder Years

She tried not to focus on it – the emptiness, the void, the chasm, the blank in her mind. It was useless, wasted energy that always left her desperately clinging to some truth she could hold onto that nobody could take away, like her name. She knew she was Mira Sohma, she just didn't have a clue what that little detail completely entailed. She knew she was finally above the age of needing of guardian, but was too embarrassed to humble herself before Liv and request the answer to something that should be obvious. She had brown, curly hair that reached past her shoulder blades. She couldn't count on seeing the same burning chocolate doe eyes with the warm inner circle of a melted honey color. She had no past possessions to give her clues to what she had been, who she had been. Dreams in the night would thieve her of sleep, have her twisted in a cold sweat as Liv cursed at her from the other side of the room for talking again – she never retained the images of the dream when she woke up to reality. Reality, wasn't that a laugh? Her perception was so skewed…so incomplete. The blind dreams seemed more real, held more merit of truth than the awkward life she tumbled through with only a name to her face, with tedious components to make up the foundation of the question 'who am I'. She was right handed and curled her letters to form delicate calligraphy. She could add and subtract customers meals quicker in her head than the old, but reliable register. But she didn't know what her first memory was, the first movie she had seen, her favorite book, if she had ever been in love, the faces of her parents, if she believed in a God, if she believed in anything. All she had to cling to was an image in the mirror.

"Mira, focus!" Liv tossed a roll of paper towels straight at her head, and gave a quiet victory cheer when her target was met. She flashed her tawny eyes innocently over at Mira's scowling face as she went back to scrubbing the scuffed up checkered floor with a sudsy, soppy grey mop that resembled to Liv like an old fashioned wig.

"Would you give me some peace and quiet?" Mira snapped, agitated as she dunked the mop into the yellow mop bucket and splashed the soapy water across a dribble of ice cream from a sticky fingered, over eager child who had insisted on bubble gum when Mira had served him earlier, causing her to wonder what her favorite ice cream flavor was.

"Well, if you're going to go into one of your moods," Liv gave a slight huff, fixing her fingers through her shaggy multicolored locks, "You can lock up and I will leave you alone," she grinned cheerfully, the twelve hour shifts were brutal some days, although the ache of making her own money, her own living was well worth it. She could already feel the sensation of her bones sinking onto a comfortable mattress, cuddling into the thick blankets. The only thing missing was the familiar form of a taunt and muscular body, the smell of her Hatori on the pillow. God she missed him. She'd become so easily distracted when glancing out the window during a slow hour at work, spotting someone sauntering down the pave way and allowing her tender heart to play out in her mind if it was him, how he would come dashing in with their baby, her adorable little boy and they'd manage to escape the claws and curse of their family. The fantasy was forbidden, and that made it all the sweeter. She couldn't help but plan, imagine and hope that someday he would come like a white knight through that glass door. She had never wanted to be rescued, and the first two months working for Vivie hadn't been…nearly as painful as she had thought it would be. In fact, Vivie, while a bit over the top, over enthusiastic and as annoying as hell most days, respected secrets, never pried and was always there to yank her back before she did the unthinkable and strangled a customer who's only plight was that their meal wasn't popped out and ready to go before the cash register was done ringing up the total. If she allowed herself to be completely honest with herself, the past two months hadn't been bad, not bad at all compared to what she had been subjected to as an inmate of Mana's. At least this was freedom.

The unpainted scowl failed to lift as Mira waved her off, "Everyone is entitled to moods. Besides I'm sweeter than you are, even when I'm at my worst," which wasn't as farfetched as it sounded. Mira had already learned not to cross Liv when she was feeling foul. Not only did the woman have a mean shriek, but she was prone to stomping feet, childish name calling and tossing heavy objects half way across the room. All she asked for was to sulk in peace.

"I won't disagree; only add that I might be in a better mood if someone stopped chatting and having conversations with herself at two in the bloody morning."

"I'm the one suffering from fucking dementia Liv. Why don't you be a pal and fill me in on these two a.m. conversations, huh?" she snapped back, her jaw tight as she slammed the mop back into the bucket and began to wipe down the windows, the circular motion failing to sooth the rage churning in her gut.

She couldn't, she couldn't dare mention what these conversations sounded like. Liv could only rebuttal back with sarcastic comments, and hope to save Mira from the truth. It would be cruel to open that closet of skeletons, she was better off without knowing, without ever remembering in daylight on the name she agonized and whimpered out in the heavy darkness. How could she tell her only living family, her twin sister and friend that the reoccurring nightmare she became twisted up over was shooting her one true love? It was mercy that Hatori had erased her memory, and Liv wouldn't destroy the chance of inner peace that Mira had a chance of obtaining. Her fingers clenched on the clear spray bottle for a second as the bloody night flashed before her mind. A nightmare, one better left not remembered. "I'll…leave you alone then," she somberly quipped, sliding the bottle under the marble counter and making a quiet bee line for the private marked door up to their shared apartment.

Now that she had the sudden peace, there wasn't noise to distract her from what she heard in the night. While it was true that she awoke trembling and sweaty from the nightmares without a single visual, she remembered the noise, a deafening sound of a body hitting cement or wood, some hard texture and this male grunt of pain that clutched her heart and had lead dropping into her belly. And for just a second, she swore she could see violet eyes – but it flashed too quickly for her to be sure. All she knew of was the darkness and a coldness that was associated with it, the chill that settled deep into her bones long after the nightmare was over. From a distance she heard the twinkle of the bell hung on the front entrance doors that alarmed them of any customers. It broke her chain of concentration and she lost the violet eyes she had been focusing on. Suspiring in irritableness, she set the paper towels down. What part of 'closed' didn't they understand? It was already past eleven, she didn't have the energy to deal with this. "Look, we're closed. You'll have to try the McDonalds up the road," she snapped, spinning on the hell of her sneakers to gap at the customer – no intruder – standing before her, his face covered with the fuzzy dark material of a ski mask, his flinching fingers aimed at a hand gun in his waist pocket and the money sitting in the cash register.

He picked up the cold metal in his hands, raised it to her eye level and Mira felt a cold sweat break across her forehead, her eyes staring down the barrel while feeling her gut twist as her fingers tightened into a fist. She knew how that gun would feel in her fingers, how to pull that trigger, the sound the bullet would make when ramming into a human chest. Wasn't that…strange? Out of all the things she didn't know, couldn't remember, she knew how it would feel to not only hold a gun, but use it. "You want the money, just take it."

"Stand there and don't move; or I'll shoot," the gruff voice threatened lowly, keeping one hand on that trigger as he reached for the cash register.

Something possessed her; it was the only explanation for the stupidity that erupted in her mind as she grabbed the metal legs of one of the black dining chairs and flung it into his lower legs. She could hear the bullet crashing through the window, metal against glass as she slid down low and tackled him around the middle, their bodies smashing into the tile, the gun skidding across the glossy top. Pain broke out across her lower back where she was rammed into the back of a chair. Rage had her nostrils flaring, her honey brown eyes dilated as her fingers clenched tightly into a fist, her knuckles ramming into the side of his chin.

"Shit, you're going to pay for that, bitch," the pain exploded across his jaw. Some little floozy bartender was not going to stop him from cashing out tonight. She couldn't be more than a hundred and twenty pounds, he could handle her. His fingers gripped into her waist as he maneuvered her, trying to capture her between the hard ground and his tough body. Bitch wouldn't land a punch on him again. He didn't see the calculating glint in her eyes, barely caught his breath as her knee jammed up into his crotch. Breath sucked in and then released as she dug her elbow into his gut, and then smashed the heel of her palm into his nose, cracking it.

Where the hell had she learned to break a nose? Breathless Mira struggled up, her legs vibrating with adrenaline as she grabbed the edge of the counter. She could see out of the corner of his eye as he reached for the gun again, her fingers clenched onto the counter and she just…somersaulted over it, flipping her legs over her head and landing on the other side as if it was nothing. For a moment her head was swimming, her legs buckling under her as she slid against the shelves under the counter that held all the cleaning products, napkins and other odd ends used for the diner. She squeezed her eyes shut as she heard the labored, harsh breathing and counted to three. He was going to shoot her; she was resigned to that fact. He was going to shoot her…

She expected the loud pop of the gun, not the sound of metal clashing. Shakily rising on her feet, she glimpsed over the counter to see Liv tossing a metal napkin holder to the floor, the corner marred with blood as the man slid to the ground.

"Next time just knock them out. Jeez Mira, you look as pale as a ghost," she remained composed because someone had to with her sister shaking and her eyes staring back, dark and glossy with ripe fear. The sound of police sirens howled in the distance.

"Police will be here soon, come on. We'll have to give them the story."


Giving the details of the incident shouldn't have shaken her up as much as actually being attacked, but Mira couldn't stop her fingers from nervously twisting together, her heel slapping against the dirty tiled floor as her wide, alarming eyes stared into the benevolent face of a police officer, soothing her with the knowledge that the gunner would be in jail for a very long time. He wasn't her worries. What if they called the Sohmas? She kept nervously glancing towards the door, expecting Akito or Hatori to break in, shackle and drag her up while the police turned a blind eye.

"Miss, I know this has been a traumatizing event for you, here's a few numbers you can call for support or counseling."

She took the card, clutching it tightly before shoving it in her back jeans pocket as Liv agreed to identify the man officially. She felt her hand on her shoulder, her slender neck snapping to glance at an unusual soft, but comforting face.

"I'll be right back. Just wait here…okay?" without waiting for a response, as Mira looked about frozen to the seat, she accompanied the officer with feeling a small sense of smug satisfaction to put the bastard behind bars for good as she embellished the tales of violence, expanding on the bruises Mira had blotched across her creamy complexion.

As their voices crinkled into white noise, Mira locked her legs under the chair and tried to steady her breathing. In, and out. In, and out. When that didn't work, she focused on the posters of anti-crime in the room, against drugs and drinking. The posters didn't distract her mind away from the feel of the gun, a gun she hadn't touched or how she had known how to plow her fist into the bony structure of a man, how she knew to freaking summersault over a dining bar.

"Mira? Mira Nolan?"

She heard her name being called, while, her first name. Although the surname was familiar, and it had raced through her head before – it was just another mysterious part of the puzzle, a long ago memory shattered by the 'accident' that Hatori had briefly mentioned vague details about.

"You know me?" she swiveled in the chair to glance at the slightly brooding man.

"Of course I know you, Mira. Christ. Kanji, remember? How could you…" he paused, and glared his eyes at her, "the bastards. They made you forget, didn't they?" figures, it was just like the Sohma family to take the sparkle out of that young girls eyes. He could feel the rage pummel through his fists. They took everything, family, loved ones, memories…blood.

"Wait…do you…can you…tell me anything, anything about myself?" there was a note of desperation in her voice, her fingers clinging to the back of her chair as she implored him silently. Answers, she needed the answers. She needed to know why it always felt like she was drowning.

"Would it matter?" he softened his voice as he caught that desperate sorrow in her voice, poor thing. "What's the last thing you remember? I can try to fill you in…but not here…it's not safe here." He glanced up suspiciously, running a hand through his thick mocha locks.

She nodded without second guessing, shifting out of her chair and forcing her legs to lock and not shake, "I woke up in the Sohma's, and they held me prisoner until I escaped, because nobody stops me, nobody can contain me, tell me I'll be their prisoner," her voice shook with conviction as she briefly glanced behind her in guilt. Liv would be fine; she wasn't the worrying, maternal type. "Let's go, it's about time I learn a few things about my family."

The rage exploded bitterly on the last word, on family.