Author's note: This is getting harder and harder to write, lol. Not because I don't have the muse so much as it kind of hurts emotionally to struggle on with this story. It struck me last week that I've severed ties with all the original muses for this piece, my "brother" and the friend that I had the conversation with and who reignited my love for the Digimon fandom. So I take a deep breath and plunge onward with the story I swore to finish. Hopefully I'll be able to summon the same strength to finish my other two multi-chapts for the Digimon fandom, but no promises there. One task at a time, eh? But that's why this has taken me a bit of time, combined with school work (which I reeeeally should be doing right now). Sorrrrrry!
I had a chart with who called who what during the series, but with the crashing of my laptop (again T_T) a couple weeks ago, I lost the bookmark and don't feel like looking for it. So they're going to be sporadic, and maybe or maybe not accurate, depending on what my mind wants to do while I'm writing. Unless someone wants to find that chart for me and send it to me in a PM, then I'll make an effort to be more canon and proper during the following chapters.
Sorry for any typos (how often do I say that?), but this laptop can't support a more complex word processor than WordPad without freezing and shutting down. I'm getting a new laptop within the next week or so, but until then this will have to do.
It was a difficult task, what with Daisuke making things twenty hundred times more complicated than he needed to while instigating Miyako into a temper tantrum the entire time, but just in time for Iori's curfew they managed to make something that resembled rice balls, seaweed salad, and a few other foods that they had deemed edible after Iori and Ken had acted as the food testers. When asked why they couldn't try, Iori had calmly told Miyako and Daisuke that they would eat toxic waste if they were hungry, and therefore weren't reliable test subjects. It hadn't gone over very well, but thankfully Iori had to be getting home shortly after that, only pausing on his way out to remind Miyako to refrigerate the food until Sora could drive over, or someone. He never had asked how the food was getting to Taichi-sempai and Hikari-chan, but Miyako just gave him a grin and a thumbs up.
"All taken care of, Iori. G'night!"
"Iori, is that you," his mother called as he slipped his shoes off in the front hall. He jumped at the sound of her voice, although he had been doing nothing wrong. The main hall was dark, and so he had presumed his mother and grandfather had gone to bed early. Her voice had scared him, something she seemed oblivious to when he walked into the kitchen to find her sipping tea. A store catalogue was open in front of her; she liked to look at the pictures, although they couldn't afford to splurge on the attractive contents inside.
"Yeah. Where's Grandpa," he asked curiously, looking around as though the elderly man would come hobbling around the corner. His mother put her mug down on a coaster on the table top.
"He went to bed early. He's still recovering from that cold he had a couple weeks ago." Her words were serene, but there was a pinch of worry in her eyes that made Iori frown ever so slightly. There was too much wrong lately. It was difficult to keep track of. But before he could say anything, his mother smiled again and picked up her mug for another draught. He could smell green tea from where he stood across the table from her. "He's in good shape, the doctor said. A little sleep, and he'll be good as new."
Who the words were meant to reassure, Iori couldn't tell you. But he didn't ask either; he only nodded to show that he agreed, or understood... however she wanted to interpret his silence.
"Are you hungry," she asked, looking about to get up. Iori shook his head, as in he didn't need anything.
"We ate at Miyako's," he told her, and it was true. It was also true that he simply had no appetite; he hadn't since he got the call from Miyako that something had happened to Hikari.
Sometimes he wondered if adults could read minds, or something. Or maybe it was a family trait that he'd inherit when he became an adult, because his mother and grandfather always seemed to say something that correlated perfectly to what he was thinking. The idea never occurred to him that his emotions and thoughts were simply that clear on his face. His mother was smiling in that sympathetic knowing way that mothers had. It was that smile that Hikari-chan wouldn't see anymore...
Somehow, that was what made it more real to him. He didn't really understand it. He'd gotten the phone call, they'd gone to Miyako's where they had badgered Daisuke for any information he might have gotten since Ken had first called Miyako, and they had been sobered by the understanding that something very bad had happened to someone, to two someones, who were very close friends of theirs. Iori had even lost a father, as a little boy. It shouldn't have taken so long to set in that like him, Hikari would never see her father again. But unlike Iori, Hikari and Taichi didn't have a mother to look towards now. That was gone, all gone.
"Iori, do you want me to make you a cup of tea?" She didn't mention Hikari; Iori had learned tact from his mother, even if many of his mannerisms he was often told resembled his father. She didn't mention Taichi, either. She didn't ask exactly what had happened, or if there was any new information. If he had anything to tell her, she expected that he would. It was the unspoken understanding here. But Iori found it difficult to sit in the quiet kitchen with the weight of his realization sitting in the pit of his stomach.
"No, thank you." He shook his head, and tried to smile a small smile that he wasn't sure was very successful. It was a brave effort though, one that earned him another understanding, all-too-knowing smile from his mother. He felt guilty, being able to stand here with her at all while he knew Taichi was likely pacing the hospital room. He could imagine it; he might not have had the opportunity to speak to Taichi as much as some of the other Japanese Chosen, but he knew him well enough to know how worried he would be over Hikari. Iori hated feeling that, once again, there was nothing more he could do to help than wait. "I'm tired," he excused himself lamely. "I think I'm going to study for a little while, and go to bed."
"Don't stay up too late then. Studying is only useful if you have enough sleep to remember what you learned," she reminded him. Her eyes lingered on him for another long, critical moment before returning to her shopping catalogue. "Be quiet in the hall, alright? I don't want to wake Father up. He was a bit grumpy today, wasn't he?"
Iori smiled despite himself, which he had no doubt was his mother's intention. His grandfather, usually a very quirky and upstanding model of what a Japanese man ought to be, had been in sour spirits due to the tail end of his cold and what he considered to be a startling realization that there was no more prune juice, and then apparently his sandal strap had broken... Bad omens, he had insisted when Iori and his mother had made the mistake of exchanging amused smiles when they thought the old man wasn't looking. Iori loved his grandfather, idolized him nearly as much as he did his deceased father, but there were some things that Iori wasn't as willing to put stock on... like prune juice, for instance.
"Right. Goodnight."
Iori's slippered feet padded their way to his room, a hand on the wall to guide him so that he wouldn't have to turn the hall light on in case it woke up his grandfather. It took Iori next to no time at all; he had lived in this apartment for as long as he could remember, after all. He had ever nook and cranny memorized from a very young age, and was fairly confident that had his eyes been closed and his hands stuffed in his pockets, he'd still be able to find his way to his room from any given point in the house. He didn't really want to test that theory, however. There were some very nice family heirlooms and vases in the halls that his mother wouldn't thank him for accidentally knocking into and breaking.
Once he was inside his room, Iori let out a loud sigh. It was a relief of sorts, to be in his room. He didn't mind being called a loner; he wouldn't get offended by it. Sometimes it was true. There was nothing wrong with wanting to be alone once in a while. It was hard to think and figure out how you felt when you were always surrounded by people who were trying to make themselves happy and appear upbeat and cheerful even when the world was crashing down around them, be it literally or figuratively. The Chosen had never been the sort to let their emotions carry them below the surface, which was one of their good qualities Iori supposed. But sometimes, that charisma and that friendly cheerfulness was like a drug that lulled the truth of his feelings to sleep so that they hit him with stronger force once he was alone again. He needed to get a metaphorical hand around his thoughts, he needed to understand what he was thinking, he needed to figure out how to come to terms with waiting.
He never thought he would actually understand how Daisuke felt, but he certainly could sympathize with his friend's antsy enthusiasm earlier. It hadn't been indecency; it had been Daisuke's way of saying he was really worried, of not knowing how to appear confident other than trying to be the gung-ho leader of obnoxious quirks that he was used to being. It was harder to roll his eyes at Daisuke when Iori was beginning to actually understand him. Iori wasn't sure how he felt about that.
Iori flipped the light switch on in his room. He hated lying, hated false agendas and saying you were doing something and then not doing it or having no intention of trying to do it. So, he had every intention of digging up a text book and at least trying to reread one of the recent chapters that he hadn't really absorbed yet. Not the most effective method of studying maybe, but it was distracting enough. But first, he fished through his desk drawer for his cell phone. He never used it, something that drove Miyako insane. But it was a card phone, one of those pay-as-you-go kind of plans where you bought a card at the corner store for a hundred minutes or something. He didn't refill it often, and he was pretty certain he was at the end of this card now... after a few months. He didn't use the phone much, which accounted for why it was in the back of his desk drawer with his D-3, D-terminal, a camera Hikari had bought him one year for his birthday, and an assortment of other electronics. Most of them were from Miyako, who tried in vain to bring Iori up to the twenty first century in technology. He liked to point out that at least he owned a computer, which was on the desk and currently asleep.
He decided to text Jyou. It might not get a reply right away, if at all, and it might be completely ineffectual, but Iori just wanted to know if maybe there was new information. He hated being at the end of the chain, the distant connection that everyone thought of at the end of the day. Maybe that wasn't true, maybe he was just tired and stressed and annoyed that this time at least, he was the last Chosen to know that something so serious had occurred. But he shoved those thoughts aside. Those weren't the kind of thoughts he had hoped to confront tonight. Or were they?
Jyou, it's Iori. He wasn't sure if Jyou actually still had this number programmed, it had been so long since Iori had used it to contact anyone besides his mother when he remembered to take it. Is there anything new? He would understand that, right? Pretty straight and to the point. Iori hit send and let himself fall onto his bed, the phone falling to his side. It would have clattered if not for the mattress; as it was, it bounced gently twice before settling into the thick green comforter. There was no ring to suggest he had a reply.
Without the sound of buttons being pressed in a texting frenzy Iori wanted and was unaccustomed to, the room fell silent. Silence was alright with Iori, usually. When silence didn't mean that too many thoughts could run around in circles like the Digimon when they had too many sweets for the day, it was a great thing that he thought was underestimated in modern society. But tonight, he was beginning to wish he had a television in his room, or at least a radio. He grimaced; Miyako would be so thrilled to hear him admit that. Perhaps it was a bit selfish, but he made a mental note to keep that to himself. He didn't really fancy the idea of a headache, or her miraculously coming up with a television or something out of thin air. He said thin air because he didn't really want to know if she spent her own money on it or what have you.
It was miraculously easy to fall into a pattern of reading silently to himself and then reciting English vocabulary to himself for his test the following Monday at school. It seemed really weird, that to two people their world could cave in around them, but life for everyone else still went on its regular day to day routine, unshaken by something as mundane and far away as a car accident. That thought put a hitch in his study program, as he faltered turning the page. The phone beeped just then, eerily in time with his less than cheerful thoughts, and he shoved the book out of his lap so that he could reach his phone.
Nothing yet, sorry Iori. I'll text when something happens.
Somehow, that was a disappointing message, and Iori dropped the phone into his lap with a sigh as he slumped against his pillows. Well, he told himself, that was a good thing. That meant that nothing had gotten worse, and Hikari was... well, you know, as alright as she was when Daisuke first got the news at least. That should have been a happy message, except that Iori couldn't help but worry about Taichi. The waiting couldn't only be killing those not at the hospital; each minute must feel like agony to Taichi, not knowing if his sister was entirely alright. Not entirely. Would there ever be an entirely? Iori wasn't sure; after all, he had his mom still. It wasn't the same. Similar, but not.
Even Iori, responsible and nose-to-the-grinding-stone Iori, couldn't get himself to study again once his mind wandered as completely as it had. He figured he'd call it a night, maybe. Get some sleep. Maybe there'd be news in the morning. Hopefully. He couldn't imagine there being a next day, and a next day, and a next week, without so much as a speck of change in the monitors. Something had to give, right? One way or another, the tables had to turn.
He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and got to his feet, blinking as he stood too quickly and the room swam before falling into focus again. He was alright, he was alright. He just stood up too fast, and that happened sometimes. Plus, he was tired. Really tired. He'd just go to the bathroom down the hall, and that'd be that. Sorting through his thoughts could wait until another night; that was something that always inevitably came.
He tiptoed back down the hall, for the bathroom was only a couple doors down from the kitchen and he didn't want his mother to fret. But when he got to the bathroom door, he peered through the open kitchen door to see his mother snoring softly over the catalogue. Her hand was still firmly gripping the half-full mug. Why hadn't she just gone to bed when she was tired.
"Mom," Iori said softly, nudging her shoulder. He could have left her there, he supposed, but that couldn't be a comfortable position to wake up in. It was like falling asleep during class or something, and if those forty five minutes of snoozing could be uncomfortable, he didn't want to imagine sleeping the entire night like that. He nudged her again. "Mom, why don't you go to bed?"
She stirred, lifting her head sleepily to focus her eyes on him. He never noticed that his mother looked kind of, well... old. Older, anyway. Not old like Grandpa, but older. There were dark circles under her eyes, and faint wrinkles where Iori didn't remember there being wrinkles before. A band of gray was tucked beneath dark brown hair. It took him by surprise, but he wasn't sure if she noticed what he was staring at. She rubbed at her eyes with her free hand and sat back in the chair with a yawn.
"I wanted to stay up in case you needed anything," she said simply, quite unembarrassed by it. Iori was embarrassed though; mostly, he just felt bad she felt like she had to stay awake for him. It made him feel like he was seven years old again, and it was a good feeling. Maybe that was the embarrassing part, liking that he could run to his mother and give her a hug when frankly, life just kind of sucked. It wasn't something that he did, or that he could recall doing very often, but the point was that he could if he so chose to. If he wanted, she was there, half asleep with her tea and shopping catalogue, and she would put them down in a heart beat if he asked her to.
"I'm fine, Mom," he insisted, and he was. He wasn't the one with the problems, not really. His friends' lives seemed a lot more dramatic and difficult than his was. He wasn't going to complain. "You should get some sleep."
"Are you sure?" She frowned, looking unconvinced, but Iori nodded and she sighed. "Alright, I'm going, I'm going." She smiled at him, still looking rather sleepy. "I'll just wash my mug, and be on my way. Put this in the trash for me," she asked, pointing a finger towards the catalogue as she got to her feet. Iori did, as he listened to the sound of water running. It sounded subdued, like even the water was getting sleepy as the night progressed.
His mother was still rinsing the mug underneath the running water when Iori came up behind her and gave her a quick, strong hug. He wasn't a frequent hugger, something she very well knew. She froze at the contact, before turning her head to look at him.
"What's that for," looking confused, amused, and pleased all at once. She didn't return the hug; her hands were still wet and holding the mug, but he was okay with that.
"I love you." And then he let go, and it was back to business as usual, and she looked torn between frowning questioningly and smiling with pleasure. Boys always seem to get to an age where they think hugging was uncool, or unnecessary. That he had hugged her without her insisting or taking the initiative was a strange and uncommon occurrence, one that she didn't seem sure if she should ask questions or just roll with it. Understanding seemed to slowly seep into her expression, pushing the confusion away and weighing down the corners of her lips. Iori didn't want to see that. He turned away. "Goodnight." And he went, and brushed his teeth, and tucked himself into bed, but it was a long time before he fell asleep. He couldn't get the gleam of silver in the pale kitchen light out of his mind's eye.