Hello everyone! Here's the third chapter for the story!

Had this sitting for a while now - I just wanted to make sure this could be as good as possible for me, and also because this nails one of the most important scenes for this little fic - how Kenshi meets his son. I'm really counting on you guys telling me how this was, especially with regards to proper characterisation.

For the next chapter, I'm thinking about introducing Scorpion and/or Sonya in as well. Nothing decided for sure, but you'll all find out soon enough :)

My round of thank yous, of course:

BrutusSilentium - Thank you! I hope you enjoy this update too! :)

banksaran1 - Thank you for reviewing as well as guiding me on the appropriate word to use! And I love all those characters too - I hope to incorporate some of them in this story - hope you like this! :)

iceangelmkx - Thanks a lot! :) And I completely reciprocate all your feelings - not getting a Kenshi chap in the storymode truly did rob us of some much needed character-development for him.. I hope I can do justice to it once I write it out (we should probably take this convo to our PMs since I can write a thousand words specifically for this! =D) but nevertheless thanks a lot for your review :)

Additional thanks to NamelessFanGirl, himmelblu, RoseScytheElysium, Scytherageroses and CloudySmile for following/favouriting this! Please feel free to let me know that you think of this in reviews as well guys! :)

Before beginning, just to let you know - Dara = Suchin's mother = Kun-Yaai (word for grandmother in Thai - thanks again, banksaran1!)

Disclaimer: I own nothing and no one - but I am taking certain liberties with some of the characters portrayed. So yeah :)

The Takahashi Family Saga

Of Love and Loss

III

Dara was no stranger to bad days - the kind that rendered her time awake more akin to a day of toil on a battlefield. But never had she expected her entire world to turn in on itself in one fell swoop. All initiated by an untimely knock on the door, in the middle of a stormy night.

She did not know what precisely possessed her to let the swordsman in. It could have been the harsh weather outside, the torrential showers soaking Kenshi wet to the bone – it could have been his sombre expression; the fact that he had silently stood for a good full two minutes as Dara stared him down, before following her in without a word nor greeting once she finally let him in.

But Dara suspected it was intrigue. The last she remembered of the swordsman was seeing him on television years ago, the fateful eve of Shinnok's defeat as he attacked Earthrealm. The headlines had repeatedly confirmed his role in leading the counterattack that eventually subdued the threat, alongside Major Blade and the Johnny Cage – as part of the Special Forces. In the consequent press conference, the actor had basked up the attention, while Kenshi had stood beside him, arms crossed, expression unreadable, as always.

Her daughter, Suchin, had been elated – for Kenshi's success validated his departure her eyes. Dara, on the other hand, had remained quiet; viewing the footage with a sense of finality. Takahashi's inner circle, line of work, and his consequent success had only removed him far from the possibility of ever returning to a simple, normal life with Suchin and their son. Dara's daughter was chasing a mirage, and she knew it was too late to save her from the disappointment that lay ahead.

Then what exactly transpired his return on this evil night?

"You have quite the backbone to dare showing your face around here again, Takahashi Kenshi," she began, every syllable dripping with venom, her tone as cold as ice. She cradled a cup of water in her hands, the one the swordsman had waved off as he came to stand in her living room.

As a strict disciplinarian, Dara had most definitely not taken her daughter's infidelity with Takahashi lightly. He had driven a wedge in between the mother and her daughter, unbeknownst of its own permanency once Suchin discovered her pregnancy with the rogue swordsman's child. Dara, then, realised that she had been defeated by the swordsman – that she'd waged war against her own blood in a conflict that had already been trumped by the unrestrained passion of a first, foolish romance. As fate would have it, her heart did soften for her grandson after he was born. But not for his father, no – Suchin's mother held the wayward swordsman personally responsible for her daughter's plight and disgrace. He would receive no redemption, no sympathy from her.

"Dara-" Kenshi began hoarsely, before pausing, short. His heart was torn, his mind all over the place. He knew he should exercise patience at her uncivil tone, give a sensible reply before he broke the news to her. In his mind, he tried to formulate words, but his thoughts practically vanished before he could grab hold of them, or weave them into coherent sentences. Never the one to forge lofty words or wax poetic without cause, Kenshi simply could not find the will to explain anything, let alone tell an old woman about the death of her only child, the love of his life. Kenshi's wretched heart twisted in his chest, but he forcibly clamped down on the emotion. He knew his anguish will follow him like a ghost until he breathed his last, but it had to wait for now, for just these few moments; he had already failed Suchin, he would not fail their son.

"Nine years – no visits, no calls," Dara continued her tirade, unperturbed. "Do you even remember the promises you made to my daughter? You never looked back, never looked to see how Suchin fared! Never realised you sired her child!"

Kenshi steeled himself, gritted his jaw, and raised head directly in the direction of the older woman's glare. It was a familiar tactic for the swordsman – one that now occurred almost naturally to him. Seeing a sightless, blindfolded man regard one as intensely as when holding one's eyes, particularly irked his opponents – as Kenshi was well aware. It was a gaze that was eerily piercing, one that his adversaries rarely ever forgot. Dara was no exception; as goosebumps rose to the fore on her wrinkled, sun-spotted arms, she realised she had forgotten how the mysterious swordsman could make others feel in his presence.

However, what Dara did not understand was that this was not an attempt to intimidate her, but merely an artifice – a show of false bravado as he tried to instill in himself a sense of calm, amidst a roaring, raging storm of emotions that continuously shrouded his thinking.

"Why have you come back now, Takahashi?" the older woman shot angrily. "What is the meaning of all this?!"

"The times are dire, indeed, Dara," began the swordsman, warily. Beneath his blindfold, he had his eyes shut tightly, his forehead creased as he fought to maintain composure. "I'm aware we have our differences, but I'm afraid you have no choice but to abide me, for now."

The older woman fumed, but surprisingly said nothing. Kenshi thought it best to be out with the news before Suchin's mother wasted more time berating him.

"Suchin, is dead. And- my son's life is in grave danger."

A period of silence ensued, falling and crashing in deafening waves onto the swordsman's ears – his own voice alienating him; the very words he spoke sounding like some vile, fantastical delusion that had no place in reality.

'It is real. For the love of god, get a hold of yourself – you have a son to protect!' the swordsman tried to beat some sense into himself.

He heard the crash of a ceramic hitting the floor – the cup of water he surmised – as the older woman let out a shaky cry, breaking the silence that was becoming too painful to sustain itself. The swordsman took a step forward, but felt the surge of anger and despair emanating from the woman. He had no need to read her mind, Kenshi knew he could not bear to witness the agony of a mother, as her mind was ripped apart in a single, maddening moment - he had his own burdens to bear anyway. In his vague spiritual vision, he could see her silhouette, holding up an arm, warding him off. Kenshi bowed his head, and reluctantly complied at first.

"Suchin! This can't be – No. Suchin? God, no, noo …" Dara whispered, whimpering as she covered her face with trembling hands, falling in a heap onto a rickety, old armchair – sending forth a combination of creaks which disturbed the swordsman's hearing. Kenshi ignored her earlier warning and crouched beside her form as she was seated on her armchair.

"Dara, calm yourself, please," murmured Kenshi, wishing he could be more eloquent than that.

"You scoundrel!" Dara hissed bitterly. "You swore you'd protect her! You're lying – I don't believe it! You have to be lying!" Dara screamed, pushing the swordsman away, too grief-stricken to register any of his utterances. Kenshi steadied himself on his haunches, but did not leave her side; inhaling sharply, even impatiently as he took in her words.

A moment later, something within the swordsman snapped. He could not discern whether he lost his veneer of composure, his patience or altogether his sense of prudence and all manner of rationality. Uncharacteristically – as Kenshi would never harm a woman if he could help it - he grabbed Dara by the shoulders and shook her hard, until she looked his way.

"Suchin was all that dear to me in this godforsaken world, Dara," he growled, masking the same poignant sentiments mirrored in the older woman; it took him all of his will-power, decades' worth of patience to muster the strength to merely connect one discordant word to another, and continue this conversation. "I would have gladly killed myself before uttering these words..."

The woman only wept in response – a remorseful, silent cry manifesting itself from a pain that simply ran too deep for words. The silence in between, the muted sobs and smothered sighs of the bereaved mother, all agitated Kenshi – as he felt himself toeing an invisible line, where his sense of duty collided with a crippling yearning to join the woman in her grief over the death of the mutually beloved.

The warrior denied himself the opportunity. Too much was at stake for now – he had a lifetime ahead of him to mourn his loss. Kenshi decided to continue speaking, realising very well that while his words may as well be falling on deaf ears, he still needed to voice them out, for his own sanity.

"A radical cult-criminal organisation, by the name of Red Dragon, are the perpetrators. Suchin sent our child to you, to ensure his safety," Kenshi spoke lowly enough for the older woman to hear, but not for the boy, whom he had heard crouch and put an ear to the closed door beyond the living room. Although alerted to his son's presence, Kenshi hid it well. "We can't have the boy know of this right now-"

"But-why? She was just a factory worker—" Dara broke her silence as her eyes glazed over and a stream of tears stretched their way across her cheeks.

"It's all dark, murky business, Dara. A ploy to get to me, and the Special Forces. The people involved are extremely dangerous – which is why I need you to listen to me very carefully, for your grandson's sake. Please," Kenshi continued, clasping the older woman's hand to convey his urgency.

Dara looked up at the blind swordsman's hand, then at Kenshi himself. Nearly a decade ago, he had had walked into their lives as a dauntless young man – a tad too sure of himself, too witty for his own good. Handicapped, but disarmingly handsome - his skill, strength, mysterious ways and his importance to the SF had struck respect into the hearts of all the villagers. While Dara had some regard for the perilous nature of his work, she had little sympathy for his suspect person.

Yet here he was – the damned man, now on his knees, matured further by years of isolation, his expression a façade of bravery he visibly laboured to maintain; grieving in his own convoluted, silent way.

It was one thing to demonise him for ruining her daughter's life in his absence, but quite another to outright accuse him of never reciprocating any of her feelings. Nevertheless, she was far from comfortable, and most definitely not in the right frame of mind to let the swordsman know of her thawing heart, just yet.

It hardly mattered a bit now - to her, all was lost.

Dara drew in a long breath, compelling her confused mind to think of her grandson, only her grandson now, if only for the next few minutes, at least. "You did not just come here to tell me this, Kenshi…"

The swordsman morosely nodded. "I've come to collect my son, Dara," Kenshi answered, steadily.

"I think not!" the protective grandmother cried, indignantly. "He barely knows you, I can't lose Takeda too!"

"Dara, the situation is critical; I won't have him, or you become the target of any further attacks," the swordsman replied, tone matter-of-fact, as he craned his neck up to face Dara once more "It is imperative that he remain in my care from here onward."

It crushed her to admit the fact that he was absolutely right. In her late fifties, Dara was barely adept at maintaining her household, let alone fighting any cult-worshippers; neither had she the means to ensure her grandson's protection should anything happen to her. Kenshi was strong, agile, and despite his stubbornness and handicap, intelligent – with the additional support of the right people within the SF ranks. He was undoubtedly more capable than herself - she would have to comply by the telepath's demands. He had defeated her once more.

Dara's bottom lip quivered, but she nodded in reply, as Kenshi let go of her hands, and stood up.

"I have some papers, here – new ID, documentation – there are two SF agents outside the house presently. After I leave, they will accompany you to Bangkok-"

"I'm not going anywhere, Takahashi Kenshi!"

"—It's for your own safety, Dara. Please!" Kenshi responded, exasperated. "There is no time to argue, you have to trust me on this."

Trust. Kenshi felt distinctly uncomfortable as he voiced the words himself. Who was he to trust anything to anyone? In a blink of an eye, the woman in front of him lost all meaning to her existence, and now he was asking her to trust him as he took away the last semblance of family she had ever left.

'All be damned – he's my family too.' The thought of leaving his son in the midst of all this sparked a fury in him that he had never experienced before. It would have shocked him, had he not sought refuge in the numbness that was threatening to consume him.

Dara did not argue any further. She simply wiped her tears, sighed deeply and went to fetch her grandson.

"He doesn't need to know, yet," Kenshi called out to the woman. He stood facing away from her, clutching the back of the armchair where Dara was seated only moments ago, the other arm folded at the back of his waist.

"Takeda is young, but not stupid, Kenshi. You should be honest with him," returned Dara, quietly.

"I know what should be done!" the swordsman snarled, fiercely - as another flash of futile anger ravaged through his being.

Dara could not muster the strength to rebuke him. All the fight had disappeared from her, as if the entire world had came crashing down on her shoulders. She suddenly felt exhausted – too tired to even think of all that had unfolded. It seemed so much easier to merely follow in with the motions and let the creeping numbness eat away at her soul.

She did not have to go too far. As Kenshi had suspected, the young boy was attempting to eavesdrop on their conversation from behind the closed door, unbeknownst to Dara. She found the boy scrambling to stand up as she opened the door.

"Child, come here," beckoned the grandmother softly to the boy.

Takeda entered the room slowly, glancing warily at the back side of the stranger as he stood beside Kun-Yaai's armchair. He knew he had no place there, he should have been asleep long ago, but he had missed his grandmother's warmth beside him as he slept; and had thus wandered downstairs to see what kept her.

The man was tall, rendered even more so by his perfectly upright posture - armoured, bearing a katana, whilst sporting a red bandanna. Normally, his grandmother would scold young Takeda for not greeting the older man promptly - or for being out of bed in the dead of night, but not now. To the young boy, Dara looked paler, her eyes teary and her grip on Takeda's shoulder a tad stronger than usual.

The older man, as if on cue, whipped about to face the boy. He wore a white sash, with a roaring red dragon on it, which contrasted with his dark armour. Takeda surmised him to be a warrior of some clan; he could even be the ones who battle the evil oni of Outworld, just like in his mother's stories!

But the most astounding feature of the swordsman was the position of his bandanna – as it covered his eyes.

A blindfold?!

Takeda's eyes widened, his cerulean irises glistening under the moonlight, as his heart skipped a beat.

'Is he – could he be…' even in his mind, Takeda could not bring himself to even say the words to himself. Klahan's snide bullying, his mother's words, this blindfolded stranger – Takeda was thoroughly perplexed, unsure of how to process everything. He could not believe it – how could it be, how could his father appear out of the blue, after all these years. Where was he when his mother laboured night and day to support her family? What has happened? What was going on? Merely thinking about it all gave him a headache.

"Are you… Are you blind?" Takeda blurted out before he could stop himself, biting down on his lip. Takeda would have slapped himself, if his grandmother did not beat him to it. He blushed deeply, yet found himself too dumbfounded to muster an apology.

He was now absolutely sure his grandmother would scold him harshly in front of the stranger for asking such a brazen question - it remained his only fear. For peculiarly enough, as daunting as the swordsman appeared, he did not frighten Takeda the slightest - it almost seemed as if one of the images of warriors that the boy had conjured in his fantasies, had perhaps come to life.

But the swordsman was no conjuration. He walked over to the boy in a few long strides, his footfall echoing in the silent room. Kenshi then crouched until he came to his level, and held the boy's shoulders lightly, affectionately. The act puzzled Takeda even further - he fought the urge to shrug off the man's advances, instead he found himself oddly vulnerable; as if exposed in some unfathomable way to the silent, blindfolded stranger.

The man's gloved hands slowly moved up to Takeda's face, as Kenshi turned his own sideways, knitting his brows in concentration. With feather-light movements, the swordsman traced the curve of the boy's cheek, the bridge of the nose as it connected to the brow-bone, and the chin – before he placed a large hand over Takeda's chest, right over a heart thundering within the confines of a delicate rib-cage.

'My boy…my son… where do I even begin?' Kenshi felt tears pricking his eyes from underneath the blindfold, his mouth parted to utter something - anything - but to no avail.

Takeda gasped lightly, not from the intimacy of the touch, but because it was all the confirmation he needed to ensure the identity of the man before her. 'He's your father, he will recognise you – he'll feel it in here, and that's how he'll know.' His mother's voice rang in his ears – and he instantly recognised the tenderness of the touch as rooted in paternal sentiments. Takeda looked up from the gloved hand, and took in the profile of its owner before him – only to have him immediately turn his face and stare – or so Takeda thought – directly into Takeda's face, his lips upturned into a faint, lopsided smile.

The entire scene could not have lasted more than a minute, but for both Takeda and Kenshi, an entire eternity had unfolded in those small moments.

Takeda continued searching the swordsman's face for answers, or any acknowledgement that he heard his previous question or not. 'He's … It can't be… Mother only mentioned his blindness… No, no - he's definitely angry at me, I must have offended him! Why did I ask such a stupid question, anyway? What else do I say to him now?' Takeda mentally berated himself, before jumping out of his skin when the man before him finally spoke.

"No - I'm not angry… my son."

Too cheesy? Too OOC? The only reason I delayed posting this was because of these fears, and I would really appreciate you guys telling me if this was too off-character for Kenshi. I have taken certain liberties with Dara and Takeda, but if you feel a mother learning of the death of her daughter and a son seeing his father for the first time were too uncharacteristic was too unnatural, then please do let me know as well - I want this fic to be realistic so would love your feedback on especially this. Thanks for reading! :)