Disclaimer: I do not own Digimon.
This chapter is a little darker then the others, but hopefully it was handled in a considerate way.
Hida Iori hated that black suit.
As he slipped on the stiff jacket, he avoided looking into the mirror. The last ting he wanted to see was his reflection in that horrible outfit. It was completely irrational to be angry at a piece of clothing, but he still hated that black suit. The garment was usually hidden in the very back of his closet, next to a notoriously horrible miniature version. Black meant death and each time he had put on those suits death had hung in the air. It was an unmistakable feeling, like ice in your veins and a constant pressure threatening to collapse your lungs at any given moment.
As much as he detested himself for it, part of him wished that his loved ones had just fought a little longer or a little harder. But they had fought. They had fought with every fiber of their being to stay with their loved ones in this world. Every time he found himself doubting the strength and will to live on in his own heart, he thought about that fact. If the people who meant so much to him could face such obstacles and tribulations, he could make it through another day. He had to be strong for them. He had to carry on their memory.
Still, if he had one wish, it would be to have them back in his life. How long had it been since his parents' warm arms had wrapped around him and offered the love only they could give? It was hard to remember his father's voice now, but he could easily recall his mother's gentle tone. The last thing she had ever said to him was to keep living no matter what. That was the part he still had trouble understanding. How did people go through life when the affectionate greeting of their loved one was replaced with a cold tombstone or container of ashes?
One of his co-workers, whom he had a casual friendly relationship with, had taken it upon himself to point out that this new death was not the first Iori had been through. Of course, that didn't make it any easier in the boy's opinion. Breaking one bone didn't make you immune from the pain of a different bone break. The only thing it offered was the chance to possibly find some way to learn to cope with the pain and raging emotions of such an event. Losing his parents had been the hardest thing he ever thought he would face. In a tiny, bittersweet, way part of him could somewhat reconcile with the fact that it followed a natural pattern of life. Children were supposed to live past their parents and their children would do the same. He just never expected, or imagined, what it would be like to outlive one of his best friends.
There had always been twelve of them through each adventure. Sure, he had not been a member of the original Digidestined group, but the original group had bonded closely with each of the second-generation members. Iori felt perfectly comfortable calling each of them his best friend. How could he not, when they had accomplished so much together? He had twelve amazing friends who would jump to his aid the minute he called out to them. Well, he had twelve… now, it was just eleven.
No one had seen it coming, and some of their group still couldn't accept the reality of the situation. They couldn't begin to process the idea that one of their own was gone. He had seemed so happy and healthy the last time Iori had seen him. They had joked about taking the entire group and their families on a cruise around the world. Who would have dared to believe his friend would never get the chance to even see the ocean one more time? In the back of his heart, Iori wished he would have known that it was the last time he would see his friend. Honestly, he had no Earthly idea what he would have done with that knowledge, but he could have at least made sure to hug his friend one more time.
"Taichi?" Iori looked up from the choppy water when he heard the door open behind him.
The entire group had gathered at Mimi's ocean side home after the funeral. It was a bit of a drive from where they held the small, secluded ceremony, but it was out-of-the-way enough to allow them to grieve in privacy. Most of the group was inside trying to stomach a few pieces of food and making sure their children didn't destroy any of Mimi's valuable decorations. Iori had been glad to see the tiniest sprouts of smiles on his friend's faces when the kids said or did something silly. Even though they functioned as best they could, he could see the harsher truth in their eyes. They weren't ready to move on with life, and Iori wasn't completely sure he would ever be able to either.
"Hey…" The leader's voice was hollow and held a raspy quality accomplished only by the emotionally drained. He sat down next to Iori and hung his legs off the deck, as his eyes scanned the uneasy waters for something in the distance.
They sat in silence for a few minutes with only the distant cry of sea birds to break the hush. Iori found himself drawn to the other man's face when Taichi stifled a jagged breath and leaned his head on the wooden railing. The youthful man had always given off a young aura due to his wild hair, tan skin, and athletic build. It was hard to remember the glow his skin used to give off these days. Where there had once been brightness and joy, there was now paleness and blank stares. Although he deemed all the older kids as his dear friends, Iori was mature enough to realize the older group was having the hardest time with this death. It wasn't easy for anyone, but the loss of their friend hit even harder on others.
"You think he would have liked this?" Taichi noticed Iori's curious stare and tried to break the tension.
"I think he would have liked the fact that we were all together."
"Yeah." Taichi nodded his head slowly and looked back out at the water, "I just… it still doesn't seem real. I keep waiting to wake up and discover that this was some horrible practical joke. Or even some disastrous medical mishap. Like maybe he is lying in a bed somewhere with amnesia or something…."
It was painful to hear the last hopes of a sinking soul, "I know."
"It isn't fair." Taichi's broken voice shifted into a new rage filled one, "It is not fucking fair! He wasn't supposed to die before…"
"Before?" Iori treaded carefully, not wanting to push Taichi or upset him more.
"Not before me? Not before all of us? At least, not before his own father…" He shifted awkwardly and let out a long, heavy sigh of frustration. Once the air had fully escaped his lungs he turned back to face his friend, "This wasn't how it was supposed to go. The damn legend said there would be eight of us! There was always going to be the eight of us! What kind of fucked up legend tears people apart like that?!"
Taichi's sudden outburst and change in normal vocabulary caught Iori off guard. It wasn't the first time he had seen the boy break down and scream about the unfair quality of life. The night they received the notification phone call, Taichi had gone berserk. Between the tears and screams, he had managed to punch quite the set of holes in his living room wall. Even now, Iori could see the bandages covering Taichi's injured knuckles. All Iori could think about was the fact he hadn't known what to say that night, and he still didn't know what to tell Taichi.
When his father had passed away, Iori had been too young to understand the comments of friends and family members. All he really remembered was being hugged tightly by a line of people and told how brave he was. As an adult, he had gained a little more perspective on the power words held. After his mother had passed away, he began to detest the family members who tried to tell him, 'You need to be stronger now.' or 'You shouldn't dwell on this. You need to move onward.' Their comments had done nothing but add guilt to his pile. He had been deep in the stages of grief and already worrying if his emotional state would affect his wife and daughter poorly, without the extra comments from outside sources. The last thing he planned to do was tell Taichi some cover-all that would do nothing to help him and only leave Iori with a little less awkwardness.
"I don't know why it happened. Sometimes, horrible things happen and we never know why, Taichi."
The older brunet took a slow breath and tried to fight back the tears threatening to leak from the corners of his eyes.
"But that doesn't mean we will forget him or replace him. He will always be here with us."
"You know," Another slow breath filled Taichi's lungs as he wiped away the first stray tear, "Sometimes life is honestly fucked up."
Iori was growing used to Taichi's emotionally overloaded speaking pattern, so he didn't blink an eye at the statement. Instead, he reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out an old piece of paper. The paper had been kept in the pocket since his mother's passing and he hadn't been able to look over it since the funeral. But he figured, if his own words failed him, the paragraph on the paper might offer some help on the road to mourning. "Here."
Taichi took the piece of paper and let his eyes scan over the faded ink;
'Do not stand
at my grave and weep.
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds
that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight
on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awake in the
morning's hush
I am the soft uplifting rush
of quiet birds in circling flight.
I am the soft star that
shines at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry
I am not there.
I did not die.'
Well, I wanted to try writing something a little deeper or darker and this is what came out. I can't decide if I wrote Iori correctly or if he is very out of character in this story. The poem is by Mary Elizabeth Frye.