Warning: talk of emotional, sexual, and physical abuse; sex; and rape.
TEN
As head of the Kazanari family, she has many responsibilities: oversee their financial interests, advance the Kazanari agenda within the government, monitor the movements of other prominent families and upstarts, manage the needs of individual family members and the needs of the family as a whole, and improve the Kazanari name.
"Nothing supersedes our name. Everything we do must be for our name. You may dally with Genjuurou's little project for now, but remember—these are mere distractions.
"Nothing matters more than our name."
Fudou had learned from his mistakes with his sons. He confined Tsubasa's childhood to the estate, taught her the strict adherence to tradition that he had been taught by his own father, but as she grew he also allowed Tsubasa a sense of choice. It was blackmail. He allowed her to sing, to perform, to serve in her uncle's regiment with the knowledge that she was neglecting her responsibility to the family for her own selfish interests. He was certain that she would return to take up the mantel; her sense of duty would not allow her to run away.
"He would probably think of this as 'following the letter of the law while undermining its spirit' and then proceed to reeducate me on exactly what my duty entails," she muses to herself as she presses the intercom to ring Chris's apartment. "He would call this a distraction, something temporary with which to entertain myself while our enemies encroach on our power."
Fudou had held their name as sacrosanct, and so had she, but their definitions had differed. He meant reputation and power whenever he said name, whereas she meant family. She had wanted to do right by those under her responsibility—to care to the best of her ability those who had placed their lives in her hands. From the moment she realized her father was not the man she had called 'Father,' it had been clear to her that power and reputation could never matter more than a family.
She sighs and pulls out her phone to check her messages. Chris still has not read, much less replied, to her text letting Chris know that she's downstairs. Her calls ring and ring and go to voicemail. She presses the buzzer to Chris's apartment again. Sleeping in is fine, but she worries for Chris. Besides, the fruit she brought should be eaten or stored in a refrigerator soon.
Kanade had liked to point out, on those long nights before their shows when Tsubasa would be too anxious to sleep: "What good is being the boss if you aren't even happy and everyone hates you?"
If Tsubasa were to visit Finé, she would pose that question, the only question she has left. But, even this last question will go unanswered because she has no other reason for contacting Finé. The questions she would have asked of Dr. Sakurai no longer matter, she has little need for catharsis from Finé, and Fudou has faded enough that she no longer cares to know his reasons for his cruelty.
"Whozzit?" Chris's sleep-slurred voice finally answers.
"Tsubasa Kazanari. I heard from a pair of turtle doves that you have today free."
Chris groans, then says, "Can't you climb the fence?"
"Breaking and entering is against the law." She rolls her eyes. "I brought breakfast."
"…Mmmmnot worth it…"
"Then I suppose I shall share these homemade muffins with the twin terrors. I am sure they will appreciate Maria's baking." She smirks at her expert two-part blow; it is not long before Chris responds.
"…Don't move." The intercom goes silent.
From there, she waits only a handful of minutes for Chris in all her sleep-ruffled glory to shuffle into view across the apartment complex's gates. The lethargy in Chris's hand as she enters the gate code, however, hints at something more than drowsiness—or is Tsubasa reading too much into it?
"Good morning, Chris," she decides to say. Simple, courteous, no pressure.
"Mornin'," Chris grumbles, eyes squinting at her, then slowly shifting to squint at the picnic basket in Tsubasa's hand. "…It could be a good one, I guess. C'mon." The pivot of her heel is perhaps less impressive with bunny slippers, a fluffy pink robe, and a headful of outrageous bed hair.
In the elevator, thankfully empty, she is careful to press an arm against Chris's shoulder. Chris makes no motion to acknowledge the gesture, nor does she put space between them; it seems Chris has slipped into dozing.
Fudou had derided this; Finé had weaponized this. And more.
The elevator chimes. She nudges Chris, who grumbles a little but moves forward quickly.
"Pardon the intrusion."
"You can…," Chris squints again at the picnic basket, "er, just, wait in the living room. I'll be back."
While she waits for Chris, she unpacks the picnic basket on Chris's coffee table. Elfnein, upon hearing Tsubasa's plans, had insisted on a picnic as the perfect way to open discussion.
"Papa… Papa used to take me and Carol on picnics whenever we were really, really mad." Elfnein had paused, kicking her feet against the sofa, fidgeting with the pages of her book. "Whenever Carol was really, really mad. We helped him make sandwiches, fruit salad, and… and Papa bought pastries or cupcakes for dessert." Elfnein's head and shoulders had sunk significantly at that point.
Maria had swept Elfnein into a sideways embrace. Tsubasa had remained rigid by window, where she had been pacing.
After a few, trembling minutes, Elfnein had continued, "And me and Carol would collect flowers to put in Papa's favorite cup. We had fun. Carol'd forget she was mad, and I'd forget I was scared…
"I miss that."
Elfnein had fallen into contemplative silence, sinking further into Maria's arms, perhaps thinking of the concurrent tension between her and her sister. Meanwhile, Tsubasa had found her anger giving way to the root of the problem—hurt and a lack of understanding why the hurt had occurred. From the mouth of babes, indeed.
"Then, Elfnein, would you help me?"
Elfnein had brightened and the suggestions had come easily, though tinged with a nostalgia strange (painful) to see in a child. Elfnein talked about fields of flowers, picnic blankets, ants and bees, and why sandwiches were the best choice for a picnic.
The estate has plenty of fields, settings fitting for storybook picnicking, but inviting Chris to the estate would have… would have been an imbalance of power. Even an informal invitation would not have been enough to override the tone set by having Chris come to her. Chris would have been too aware of Tsubasa's agitated, betrayed anger to meet her with anything other than mirrored hostility.
Connotation, again.
She smooths away stray wrinkles on the blanket, adjusts the placement of containers and the little succulent terrarium, straightens the pile of napkins. Her anger burns in her throat. She breathes deeply to try to temper it. She needs to be calm, for Chris, until she has ascertained for herself Chris's mental state.
Her anger will have a place and a time.
"What's all this?"
When she meets Chris's tired gaze, she finds it easy to escape the anger. "A picnic," she says.
"An indoors one, apparently." Chris rolls her eyes but kneels on the other side of the coffee table to better inspect the spread before her. "I bet it was Kirika's idea." Chris picks up the thermos on her side.
"Elfnein, actually." She takes a sip out of her own thermos. Grape juice, white grapes.
"Hmm, should've guessed it from the western touch…. Juice boxes would've been better."
"I will keep that in mind."
Chris samples a sandwich (a peanut butter-and-jelly one), hums, and finishes it quickly. She grabs another sandwich from the same container while her eyes linger on the glass container of brownies. Her aggressively nonchalant slouch acknowledges the tension between them.
Tsubasa chooses an omelet; she chews slowly, watching Chris devour an intimidating number of sandwiches in the time it takes Tsubasa to finish her single omelet.
Chris's appetite is as impressive and messy as ever, despite Chris's divided attention.
She considers starting the conversation once Chris has eaten her fill of sandwiches and started on the fruit salad, but Chris holds the reins now, so she waits.
Instead, she nudges the stack of napkins closer to Chris, who rolls her eyes but in-between sandwiches she takes one to wipe crumbs off her face.
The fruit salad meets a similar fate, as do a couple of omelets, and then—
"—Would you be here if Kirika and Shirabe hadn't asked?"
Unfair question or not, it is nonetheless valid. "Yes," she says. She holds Chris's gaze. "I do not shirk my duty to our family."
"Even though you think I betrayed you?" Chris returns her level stare.
"…I still care." She wrangles the urge to retort, 'You did betray me.' "I could not, would not leave you alone without knowing checking on you, first."
Chris crumples a napkin in her hands, muttering, "Thank you."
She waits. "How are you?" she asks when it becomes clear that Chris needs encouragement.
"Peachy." Chris begins tearing the napkin into small pieces.
Slowly, she reaches across the endless expanse of the coffee table to touch her fingers to Chris's wrist, which ceases its movements. "Chris. You do not need to lie. Not to me."
Rolling her shoulders in a shrug, Chris shifts away from Tsubasa's touch and resumes tearing the napkin.
"I care, Chris. That is why I am here." She keeps her hand stretched, palm upwards.
Agitation bleeds into Chris's motions. Finally, Chris blurts, "She asked if I'm happy." Chris scowls, shoves the mess to the side. "What kind of—who—that—does she—what right—why would she ask that? Why? Why now? Who does she think she is?" Chris curls her fingers around the edge of the table, fingertips white under the pressure. "Why?"
"What do you think?" she asks in her softest, most careful voice.
Chris grips her hand in a bruising grip. "She hurt me. I won't ever forget that."
"Finé has not asked you to forget—nor forgive." She squeezes Chris's hand.
"Forgive her?" Chris laughs, partly a wheeze and partly a sob. She breathes for a long minute before continuing, "She hurt me. Strapped me to the table, told me only pain can connect us, seared her way across my body, and then, then, then she left me."
The bones of her hand ache as her knuckles compress, but the ache pales in comparison to ache in the chambers of her heart, which itself cannot compare to the pain Chris endures.
"Just because I wasn't useful anymore. Useful. She was just so full of shit."
Chris trembles.
"I can't believe I loved her."
The tears, when Chris allows them, fall silently but messily. Chris's entire body shudders.
What can she say to Chris? Which words will breach the chasm? How can she assuage hurt, anger, humiliation, the need for comfort and affirmation in mere words?
(Fudou sired an heir using his son's wife.)
(Was it consensual?)
(Or was it—)
(—rape?)
The wound is an old one, presumably healed, but Finé's return has seared fresh agony into it.
But she has something other than words: human touch, learnt by Kanade's hand, refined by Maria's hand, and encouraged by everyone in between.
Pulling her hand from Chris's grip takes very little effort; Chris slumps deeper into her silent sobs. Tsubasa stands—from her new perspective, Chris could easily be just another nameless, faceless petitioner (such as: her mother) at Fudou's feet—and pulls Chris into a sideways embrace, pressing Chris's face into the crook of her neck.
Chris ceases to breathe for a long moment.
"This is real," is what Tsubasa says without knowing why or whence the words come.
Chris sinks deeper.
Later, she will be witness to Chris's full account of her life under Finé. Even later, she will address the perceived betrayal.
For now, she holds Chris in her arms. She offers what little consolation there can be had when the wound has been sustained years from the present.
a/n:
Heavier chapter, but someone reminded me that this is important to Chris' character. Although this is not the story to delve into Chris, I wanted to acknowledge her. There was also some potential misunderstandings regarding Finé's stance on touch last chapter, so I modified the fourth-to-last paragraph; I recommend taking a quick look for continuity's sake.
As always, I welcome any comments, concerns, questions.