never had


Satsuki holds her mug close but does not drink a bit more, intent on watching the steam rise.

Ryuko's tea has never been particularly… pleasant, but there's always a kind of strength to the brew that Satsuki normally appreciates.

She does now, too. Just… in small doses.

"I suppose I am simply not ready," she confesses, finally. It's the briefest, easiest, most concise way she can think of summing everything up.

But Ryuko puts her own mug down on the table with a heavy clunk (and without a coaster), crossing her arms, giving Satsuki a look that's halfway between a smile and a frown.

"Nah, you're just leaving your poor wife all alone and bugging your very busy little sister," she says, shaking her head. "Satsuki, what you really are is exhausted. Have you looked in the mirror lately?"

"Not particularly." Satsuki figures it's at least truthful.

But Ryuko is looking even more done with this whole situation. She sighs a long, drawn-out sigh. "Jesus, you don't need to be such a smartass all the time, do ya?" she asks.

Satsuki doesn't answer that.

Ryuko leans back on the heels of her feet, her arms still crossed. "Look. I'm just saying that you don't need any little talks or tea, Sis. You could use less awake right now. What you need is some sleep. None of this."

"I need advice," Satsuki insists.

"And what makes ya think I know what to tell you? Mako's more than capable of pep talks." Ryuko manages a smile, a real one. "C'mon. It's her schtick."

"I know," Satsuki says. "But there are only so many times that one person can say "Hallelujah," wouldn't you think?"

Ryuko comes forward, just a bit, eyes wide. "That bad, huh?"

Satsuki doesn't answer.

Ryuko sighs again, uncrossing her arms, holding up her mug of tea delicately, in two hands. "Okay, but I still don't get why you think I know how to help you. Like, I'm the last person you should think of here."

"Because you work with kids," Satsuki says easily.

"Yeah, but I ain't no mom," Ryuko says. She sips her tea, unmoved by its intense bitterness. "I just work with the little buggers for a few hours, take off my apron, and come home. It's a lot different."

"I would think a full-time job is a little more than "just a few hours,"" Satsuki argues.

"Still ain't the same thing, Sis." Ryuko places her mug back down on the table. "Ain't no mom," she repeats. "Ain't got no plans for that, not now…"

Satsuki manages a smile of her own, at that. "Oh?" she asks. "Are the two of you thinking of children, Ryuko?" She twists her mug in her hands a bit, frowning now. "Actually, where is—"

"Ah ah ah, Satsuki, this talk is about you, not me," Ryuko cuts in. Satsuki can tell that Ryuko's fighting to sound composed, but she can't miss the red blush that's come over her sister's cheeks.

"And," Ryuko goes on, rather quickly, "you just wanted to talk to me, didn't ya? I figured this was something you wanted just between us."

Satsuki sips her own tea. It's as bitter as ever. She tries not to flinch. "Well, to tell the truth, Ryuko," she says, bringing her mug down once more, "the two of you are so—"

"Ah ah ah, don't want to hear it!" Ryuko breaks in.

"But how is—"

"Don't. Wanna. Hear. It!" Ryuko repeats. "Doesn't matter right now. What matters right now are your problems, remember?"

Right, Satsuki thinks, feeling the joy of the moment deflate as her stress comes right back (and with a vengeance). Her problems.

She looks deep into the dark, swirling mass of tea. Normally, Satsuki finds Ryuko's home and this bitter tea comforting, in an odd sort of way. She loves how mishmashed everything is; she loves the incomprehensible, clashing color choices in all of Ryuko's décor, and loves how the dishes all seem plucked out of about a dozen different sets. The strangely-strong tea only serves to wake her up even more to the illogical incomprehensibility of the place.

Now, though, there is little comfort to be found in the home's oddities and quirks. All it does is remind Satsuki of how much she wants some sensibility.

She needs it, right about now.

"You still shouldn't be talkin' to me about any of this," Ryuko says. She looks a bit flustered, embarrassed, even, as though anything she could offer would only make things worse. "But, I guess, you really just gotta ask yourself: why do you want this kid?"

Ryuko finishes her tea and slams the empty mug down on the worn-out table. "And don't you dare say it's just 'cause Mako wants this. That ain't fair to you or the kid." She smiles a little. "And I would think you'd know better than to pull any shit like that. Mako wants a lot of things. Especially food. You'd both die if you gave in to all her whims."

Satsuki smiles a little herself, sort of. "It's Mako who gives in to my whims, Ryuko," she says. "She's too understanding…"

Too good. Satsuki still feels like the luckiest woman alive, to be able to call such a beautiful, incomprehensible person her wife.

Ryuko looks at Satsuki seriously, her hands clutching the empty mug on the table. "Yeah, Satsuki, Mako is understanding, but…" She pauses. "That don't mean it doesn't hurt. She wants to see you happy."

"I know," Satsuki says. "And I do want this, Ryuko. I might even want it more than Mako does."

Ryuko tries—and fails—to hide her surprise.

"Is it that odd?" Satsuki asks.

Ryuko flushes. "I just… never took you as the, well, uh, loves children type, you know?"

"I never took you that way either, and look where you are now," Satsuki says. "You could be the best mother—"

"This ain't about me!" Ryuko insists. She seems just a smidgen redder than she did a moment before.

Satsuki focuses her gaze on her tea once more. "Right. Of course," she says.

The steam from her hot tea is long gone now—anything left in her mug has probably long gone cold, too. Her hands no longer feel so warm anymore.

But it's comfort enough. "That's exactly why I want this, though," she says. "I don't want any child… to have to go through what I did."

Understanding fills Ryuko's eyes. "You want to be the mom you never had," she says.

"Yes. That's why I had to come to you." Nobody else could understand like Ryuko.

Ryuko leans back once more, pulling her hands away from her emptied mug. "Ah," she says. "Okay. Okay."

She shuts her eyes, drawing in a deep, long breath before looking at Satsuki very intently. "Sis, I can't say I have what it takes to be a good mom, but…" Ryuko looks down, to the tiny, undrinkable remnants of tea left in her mug. "But I hear a lot of stuff. Young moms, new moms—they all feel like they ain't ready. And nobody is probably ever ready for this brand-new life to just come waltzing into their lives…"

She smiles a bit, as though laughing at an inside joke. "But all these people are just… they're all just full of this idea that they can't handle it. They think they'd be no good at that whole mom thing. You know."

Satsuki knows.

"But the thing is, Sis… when people love, they make themselves do stuff that they didn't think they could." Ryuko grins. "It's pretty freaking amazing, what you can do when you love."

She looks up now, still smiling, focusing fully on Satsuki. "I ain't saying you're guaranteed to be a great mom or nothin'," Ryuko says. "But the fact that you're sittin' here with me, right now, well, that's a pretty damn good start."

Satsuki stares, touched, awed—it's rare to see Ryuko so unabashedly emotional and intimate, and she still smiles Satsuki's way, full of the kind of determination that Satsuki has always admired.

But then Ryuko rises to her feet, stretching her arms out wide, as though she had said nothing important all afternoon. "But you have a mom and her name is Sukuyo Mankanshoku and you should go talk to her, not me," she says.

Satsuki's grip slips a bit on her own mug. "A mother-in-law is not quite the same, Ryuko," she argues. "Mrs. Mankanshoku might be your mother, but—"

"Don't wanna hear it!" Ryuko says. She takes the mug right from Satsuki's hands, slapping it down on the table with a loud, wet clunk, ignoring all of Satsuki's insistences that she ought to finish it as she grabs Satsuki by the arm to get her up to her feet.

"Sukuyo Mankanshoku adores you and thinks of you as her daughter and you'd better get outta this dump and go talk to your mom right now!" Ryuko says. "After you have a nap!"

Ryuko promptly leads Satsuki right to the door, putting her hands on her hips in mock-annoyance, only to smile genuinely before seeing Satsuki off.

"I think you'll be a good mom, Sis," she says. "Both you and Mako."

Satsuki nods her head, looking to the warm, spring day visible from the windows on Ryuko's door. The cherry blossoms are right in bloom, littering the porch with pink and drenching the grass with petals.

"I hope so," Satsuki says.

Ryuko rolls her eyes. "Have you been listenin' to anything I've been saying? You really think you're not cut out for this?"

"Well, I—"

"Satsuki, you act like my mom all the time," Ryuko says.

And Satsuki smiles. She laughs. She laughs hard, full of her nonsensical little sister's words and this nonsensical spring day.

"Now, Ryuko, it isn't my fault you still act like you need one," she says.