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"Kiddo," her dad says, his sigh a heavy gust of air against the speaker, and that's all he has to say for her to know that he thinks it's a bad idea.

"But, Dad, I'm sure this is the best decision! Once Miku realizes that she can be a mother, everything else will fall into place," she insists, trying to convince him despite it being pointless.

She just… wants someone to reassure her.

"Hibiki… do you remember when I asked you to talk to your mom for me?"

Her throat constricts. A knife twists in her heart. There's only one instance Dad is referring to. That time, those emotions, that helplessness—she tries not to remember.

"Even you knew it was a bad idea, that it was wrong," her dad continues, laughing ruefully. "Involving an innocent kid in your problems with Miku isn't the solution, Hibiki. We both know it causes more pain than it's worth."

"This isn't the same." It's not. Miku isn't going to leave her. They're not demanding anything of Carol. That kind of pressure is exactly what she's trying to avoid.

Dad sighs again, but he says, "Okay. It's going to be okay, Hibiki."

The knot in her stomach unravels a little bit.

"Thanks, Dad," she smiles, and right on time because Miku exits the hospital at that moment. "I have to go." She waves to get Miku's attention.

"Alright. Take care of yourself, and send my love to Miku," her dad replies.

"'Kay. Love you."

Smiling faintly, Miku comes to a stop about a foot in front of her, her hands clasped behind her back and her head tilted slightly in curiosity.

"Well, this is a nice surprise," Miku says.

Once upon a time, Miku would have greeted her with a kiss. Has it been that long, already?

Caught up in her worries as she is, the soft, almost ticklish sensation on her cheek catches her by surprise, making her squeak.

Rolling her eyes, Miku pulls away; a soft smile lingers on her lips when she gently rebukes, "You're spacing out again." Then Miku's smile flickers. "The scratches are almost gone," Miku murmurs, fingers tracing the faint marks Ver left on her face. "But your shoulder…."

"I'm okay," she promises, leaning her cheek into Miku's touch. "It'll take a lot more than that to kill me."

Miku pulls away, and Hibiki curses internally at her lack of tact.

"Hand me the keys?" Miku asks, smiling faintly again, as if the last few seconds didn't happen.

"I can drive just fine with my left hand. I drove here, after all," she pouts but digs into her jacket pocket to give them to Miku.

Being the one in the passenger seat, being the one taken care of, being the one left behind—it doesn't sit well with her. It's like a sweater that's just a little bit too tight around the shoulders: bearable, but annoying, chafing.

Yet this is only a faint taste of what Miku felt on a daily basis back when they were still teenagers. Rationally—not that she's one for rational thinking—she knows Miku hadn't liked being stuck on the sidelines.

Knowing and knowing, however, are two different things.

And now that Miku's a surgeon… well, the only thing holding her back is Hibiki, even if she refuses to say it.

"We have to stop by the department store to get a few things for Carol," Miku says, breaking the melancholic silence.

"Clothes," she remembers and smacks her forehead for completely forgetting. "Of course."

Miku laughs—fond, exasperated, kind.

Small mercies, she supposes, that she can still bring a smile to Miku, that her sunshine peeks out behind grey skies.

"I've already set the guest room up for her," Miku continues, "so the only thing we need is clothes for her… and groceries." The last part is quiet, a bit rushed, a bit… guilty.

Keen reflexes aren't the only thing she has cultivated as part of the Second Division: she can confidently say that her ability to parse entire stories from a handful of details has greatly improved (mostly thanks to Tsubasa, a relentless instructor).

Guilt and groceries, for instance, means that Miku hasn't been eating as well as she should.

Miku hasn't had much of an appetite lately, she knows.

"Speaking of food!" She chuckles, letting her tone be sheepish, "Do you mind if we stop somewhere for a pre-dinner snack? I'm kinda hungry." It's not a lie; she is kind of hungry.

"You and your stomach," Miku laughs and shrugs in acquiescence.

It would make her feel guilty, tricking Miku into eating like this, but it's necessary. Sometimes these things are necessary.

"But you love me anyway," she teases before she can stop herself. There she goes, being tactless and forcing things onto Miku.

So it takes her by surprise when Miku murmurs, "Of course I do."

They sit in uneasy silence—afraid of each other, and isn't that heartbreakingly funny?—in the parking lot of the local park. It looks like she and Miku have had the same train of thought:

"We need to talk."

Miku startles, turns to stare at her with panic in her eyes; it's like a kick to the gut, that expression on Miku's face that Hibiki elicited.

"Okay." Miku nods, almost visibly tucks away her panic back into herself. Her hands clench the steering wheel, but Miku affirms, "We should, before Carol arrives tomorrow. We've put it off long enough."

People know Hibiki is brave. It's hard to be in her line of work without being brave. Miku, on the other hand, gets underestimated a lot. It makes Hibiki want to shout from the rooftops to tell the world how amazing really Miku is.

The next few minutes are something of a blur: they find a park bench, they make sure not to sit too close to each other, Miku reminds her to take her pain medication, and silence falls between them again.

She wonders if this is how her mom and dad felt—the fear of hurting the one you trust the most and the fear of being hurt by the person you trust and love the most. The very knowledge that it's come to this…

Maybe that's the real reason why she called her dad.

"I don't… know where to start," she admits, staring down at her open hands. She wants to take Miku's hand into her own, be close like they used to be, but… she's afraid.

Very afraid.

"I would say 'start from the beginning,' but the beginning—" Miku cuts herself off with a shake of her head.

They have different definitions of "the beginning," don't they?

But now isn't the time for hesitation. She reaches over the space between them, and takes one of Miku's cool hands into her own.

Kissing the knuckles of Miku's hand, she says, "Tell me everything. I'm listening."

a/n:

I'm thinking of glossing over the actual conversation, but I'm not sure yet. Thoughts?

Please review!