Something more

Haruhi stared at the prim and grim HR official, her mind not absorbing the information.

"Until you can resolve this satisfactorily, I am afraid, we must rescind our offer," the woman stated firmly.

The words refused to sink in. "How—how, can I resolve this? I'm certain this must be a mistake," Haruhi's lips stiffly formed the words, her mind reeling.

"That's not up to me to advise you on," the woman responded coldly and crisply. "Once you have, you may present the proper paperwork and you will be reinstated. That is, if the offer has not been extended to another candidate."

Haruhi's heart nearly stopped beating. "Is there a time limit?" she asked nervously.

"Not officially, no. But I recommend getting this resolved sooner rather than later," the woman said, closing her file signaling that the meeting was at an end. "Given the academic calendar we may not find another candidate right away. But we cannot hold any offers open indefinitely."

Haruhi slowly walked down the drab hallway through the HR department toward the elevator, the bustle and dull murmur of the workers barely registering. This has to be a mistake. She told herself. I'll go home and ask Dad and he'll show me the documents, and everything will be okay.

"Dad?" asked Haruhi when she entered the small apartment she'd been sharing with her father for the entire 24 years of her life, never once moving from the neighborhood, prefecture, city, country she called home.

"Hey, sweetie," Ranka looked up from his cup of tea. When he saw her face he frowned. "Everything good?"

"No, Dad. Everything is not good," said Haruhi sternly. "Do you have my birth certificate? The HR department wants to rescind my offer with the legal support center. For some reason, they say I am not a Japanese citizen."

Ranka froze.

"Do you have it?" asked Haruhi. "Please tell me—if not I have to start the process of getting a copy right away…"

"Dad?" she asked when he remained silent.

Ranka put down his cup of tea, taking a deep breath. "Haruhi …"

"What is it, Dad?" Haruhi was starting to get nervous—the panic that hit her in the HR office starting to rise again. "You do have it, right?"

"Umm, I don't think so," he finally said, hesitating.

"Shoot—well, I can just get a new one reissued, right? Hopefully that doesn't take too long."

"Ummm," Ranka stammered. "I—I don't know … you may need to go to—to Peru."

"What? Peru? What are you talking about? Why would I have to go to Peru to get a Japanese birth certificate?"

Ranka sat silent for minute. "Dad?"

"Haruhi, sit down … I think there are some things we may need to clear up …" He took a deep breath. "You see, your mother and I weren't married when you were born …"

Mori stood up and nodded as Haruhi entered his office. "Haruhi," he said. Even though now a lawyer, he was still a man of few words. "This is Watanabe, our expert in immigration and naturalization law—I asked him to join us once you called." Mori gestured to the man who had also stood up with him.

"Thank you so much, Mori and Watanabe-san," Haruhi greeted the two men. "I really appreciate your help with this. I just can't understand how my father kept this from me for so many years. But it can be fixed, right? I've lived in Japan my entire life!"

"Of course, it can be fixed," said Watanabe, a squirrely officious man who seemed eager to please and slightly in awe of the young Morinazuka. "Like you said, you've been here for many years—I assume you are in your early 20s?" Haruhi nodded. "Well, that should make the process go a bit faster…"

"What process?" asked Haruhi, a coil of worry starting to unfurl in her stomach.

"The naturalization process, of course," he said.

"What? Naturalization process? But I'm a citizen …" she stammered.

"Technically, no," said Mori, again, brevity itself.

"But of course I am!"

"Well, Ms. Fujioka, Mr. Morinazuka informed me of the details of your situation and I've done my own research … unfortunately, because your parents were not married when you were born you are not a citizen. Had they gotten married at some point afterwards you would be, but …"

"But they never got around to it – I know, that's what my dad told me," her voice barely concealing her fury. "But what country am I citizen of if not Japan?"

"It looks like—Peru," he said, looking at his files. "Your mother's family apparently emigrated to Peru many generations ago—there is a large Japanese population there, as I'm sure you are aware. Indeed, a former president of Peru is of Japanese heritage," he said getting a bit animated, "and it seems he actually is a relative of-"

"Fascinating," said Haruhi cutting him off impatiently. "Please, just the relevant facts."

"Yes, of course," he said, clearing his throat. "Unfortunately, Japan does not allow dual citizenship so your mother's ancestors gave up their Japanese citizenship. And it seems that even though she moved back here as a young girl her family never reverted back to Japanese citizenship. When you were born you were granted Peruvian citizenship as the daughter of a Peruvian citizen."

Haruhi's mind was reeling. I'm Peruvian? What the hell?

"This is insane," Haruhi muttered. Then a thought occurred to her. "How can the legal support office rescind my offer because of this? My mother worked as a public defender."

"I'm not sure how—I believe she must have received some sort of a work visa or perhaps the office didn't have as strict rules back then or weren't as thorough. I don't think they were a public institution at that point. And immigration laws have tightened considerably in recent years as has enforcement."

Just my luck, Haruhi thought. "So what do I need to do?" she asked trying to stay calm.

"Well, there are certain requirements to become a Japanese citizen as well as much paperwork and possibly interviews with employers and associates. You need to have lived in Japan for at least five years."

"Well, I've done that—I'm 24 years old and have lived here every one of those years."

"You also need proof of financial independence…"

"What does that mean?" Haruhi was pretty sure what it meant, and her stomach sank when the squirrelly man confirmed it.

"A job," he said.

"But I can't start my job until I have the citizenship documents," she was starting to get exasperated with the man. He knew her situation, after all. "In fact, the longer I wait the better the chance that they give it to someone else!"

"Oh," the man said. Suddenly what seemed like a straightforward process was becoming less so. "This could have been very simple if your parents had just petitioned the Ministry of Justice when you were a minor – citizenship would have been granted quite easily. You can try petitioning now but that process can be lengthy … almost as long as the naturalization process."

"How long are we talking here?"

"Oh—probably about a year—sometimes 18 months, from what I've seen."

"What!?" Haruhi was starting to panic. "What is the fastest way I can resolve this? Legal support will not hold the position indefinitely."

"You should probably apply for a work visa—that should only be a few months or so," he said. "But your employer must show a compelling need to hire you instead of a Japanese citizen. And it's with the legal support office? I'm going to be honest – that might be difficult for a government position." He suddenly cleared his throat uncomfortably. "May I ask you a personal question, Ms. Fujioka?"

"Ah—I guess?"

"Do you have any plans to get married? The fastest way to obtain a work visa is by marriage—typically it requires no further process other than a marriage license—an employer does not need to be involved at all. It does not allow for citizenship but can be a path. It offers spouses of Japanese citizens the ability to work quickly—they can sometimes only take a few weeks."

"No—I do not have any marriage plans…" Haruhi said dully. "Can I at least get the regular work visa process started as I sort out citizenship?"

"Of course," he said. "I'll get my staff on it right away." Gathering his files and wishing her farewell, he left and a heavy silence hung over the room—Haruhi in shock and Mori—well, just Mori.

"I can't believe I'm not Japanese—I'm technically a hafu." Haruhi whispered the pejorative incredulously. "It's just so—unnerving to find out so many shocking things about yourself all at once. It's so … disorienting," she sighed. "Well, at least I'm related to the former president of Peru," she said sarcastically.

"He's in jail for corruption."

"Great. Just gets better and better…" Haruhi scoffed.

"Tamaki," Mori said suddenly.

"What?" asked Haruhi, still caught up in her reverie.

"You should talk to him."

"Why?"

Mori just looked at her. "Oh … of course. Hafu, illegitimate – I get it."

Tamaki. She hadn't really spoken to him in quite some time. He had left for France right after he had graduated and returned a few years' later with his mother. She had seen him occasionally since then at their periodic host club get togethers. But she hadn't really talked, talked to him in ages. Not since before he graduated. And even then there had been a distance between them.

She never quite understood why that was. She'd often caught him staring at her over the years in the host club. It had given her a little warm jitteriness at first but then she had written it off to his insane obsession with all things "commoner." Though she was never quite certain.

Of course, he was ridiculous a lot of the time. He was also sweet and kind and helpful to a fault—and had an optimism that she found exasperating but endearing. An initial closeness between the two, however, had dissipated as time went on. She had originally felt that somehow she had held a special place in the charismatic president's heart—with all his daughter talk and fluttering attention. Even though she pretended that it annoyed her most of the time—which it often did—it had also touched her, that someone like him could be so caring toward someone like her. But at some point, he had pulled away. A wall had gone up. And it had made her sad.

She hadn't thought about it in years—why that had happened. She had tried not to let it bother her. Time and distance as well as years of dedication to her studies had pushed to the back of her mind any kind of sentiment she had over her former senpai. But now with the recent news creating a sudden odd commonality with the blonde, her mind acknowledged once again the distance that had grown between them—and the dejection that had come with it. Perhaps this would bring them closer again.

He was an exhausting person, for sure, but no one would ever be more loyal and supportive. She figured it would be nice to have a sympathetic ear from someone who had lived this experience. They were getting together that weekend at his house anyway—and her predicament was sure to be the main topic of conversation anyway given Haruhi's distress.

The group gathered in the garden over drinks in the late afternoon sun of an unseasonably warm spring day. The twins had just flown in from New York for a few weeks to work with their mother on a new menswear line she was launching and this would likely be the first of several get togethers to take advantage of their time home. In recent years as members pursued their individual careers and lives—both Mori and Honey were now married and Kyoya was training as heir to the Ootori empire—their meet-ups had become less and less frequent.

"So, you're Peruvian, Haruhi," asked Honey contemplatively. "I hear Machu Picchu is an amazing place."

"Don't be ridiculous…" deadpanned Haruhi. "I'm as Japanese as you are and so are my ancestors! The whole situation is just insane."

Haruhi's circumstances at this point had been combed over and looked at from every angle by those in the group. No one had any further advice or insights to give beyond Mori's colleague. Even Kyoya couldn't see a way around it.

"I have to be honest, Haruhi," said a somber Kyoya. "Immigration and citizenship issues are one area the Ootori group has never been able to manipulate. With globalization and the expansion of multinational companies, immigration has become quite political. I don't think you have much recourse except following the work visa application process." He pushed his glasses up. "Naturally, I would do anything to help you. If it was any other employer other than legal support I would definitely be able to pull some strings and get them to hold a position—but public agencies have extraordinarily strict governance."

Haruhi sighed. If Kyoya couldn't find a way around this mess she knew for sure there wasn't one.

"Of course, Kyoya-Senpai. I appreciate your insight. It's just going to take so long…" she fretted. "I'm afraid the position will be offered to someone else by the time the visa is granted—if it's granted." She recalled Mori's colleague's wariness about work visas for government positions. The legal support positions especially were highly coveted and only offered to recent top graduates.

"All that work …," she sighed gloomily. "Just to have the rug pulled out from under me… It's all I've ever wanted. To follow in my mom's footsteps."

A glum silence settled on the group. It was so unusual for these sons of privilege not to be able to remedy something—they all felt so useless. As they filed a little while later inside for dinner, Tamaki held back.

"Haruhi," he said hesitantly. Haruhi, who had been brooding moodily as she got up to follow the others, looked up surprised at Tamaki's hand on her arm.

"I know the job situation is devastating, of course… and I am so sorry. I wish there was something we could do," he paused. "But how are you doing otherwise? I know that learning all this sudden—ah—information about your family could be difficult."

She had forgotten her intention to speak with him and looked at him gratefully. Everyone had been so focused on her job that no one seemed to recognize that perhaps just as troubling was finding out her parents—her dad—had never been honest with her.

"It's not—ideal…" she hedged. "I still can't believe my dad …" she trailed off. But as she looked up into Tamaki's concerned face—his beautiful eyes reflecting how ready he would be to hear what she was really feeling—the dam finally broke. She had been trying so hard to keep it together in front of everyone, trying to come at this as a professional young woman, she hadn't allowed herself to vent her feelings—a stony silence all she would allow herself with her father.

"How could he do this to me?" she cried. "How could they both do this to me? My mom knew more than anyone—she knew that I wasn't a Japanese citizen. Why did she never take care of it? Why didn't they get married? She was supposed to be the responsible one!" The fury was flowing freely now, tears of anger starting to prick at her eyes. Tamaki moved to take her hands.

"I know he's never been the most responsible person—but if he had even once mentioned it to me—hinted at it! I don't care that I'm illegitimate—but this—this citizen stuff. I'm so screwed. And it could easily have been taken care of—just a few phone calls when I was a minor! How could he be such an idiot—and how could he never tell me about him and my mom—and Peru? Really? I don't know if I'll ever be able to forgive him, to talk to him again—how could he be so dense? He knows how much my career means to me, how much I wanted to be like my mom—but now I'm not even sure I know either of them …" It was all tumbling out in a jumbled mess, the tears of frustration and hurt streaming down her face.

And for the first time in years, Tamaki gently pulled her towards him and embraced her. She wrapped her arms around him and couldn't help burying her face in his chest and let the sobs take over. He held her tight, stroking her hair, making comforting noises.

"I know, I know …" said Tamaki. "When I first found out why my dad was never around, what his family had done—how I had to go to Japan to make things right—it was so hard," he whispered. "I just didn't understand why it was all such a big deal … why everyone couldn't just be honest."

It was so nice to have his arms around her—for someone to understand how difficult this was on so many levels. It was so like Tamaki to see, to understand. She couldn't even remember the last time he had hugged her like this, but she was grateful for his empathy.

When he rejoined the rest of the guys, the meal had already started. Haruhi had wearily said goodbye to the hosts, deciding to head home, exhausted by her unaccustomed outburst of emotion. She didn't have it in her to talk about any of it anymore.

As they were starting on the first course, Tamaki's father suddenly sauntered in. He sometimes dropped in unannounced to Tamaki's chagrin. Mostly to tease him about not having a girlfriend or ask why he was alone on a Friday or Saturday evening. Fun stuff.

"Ah—where is Ms. Fujioka?" he asked as he glanced around the table, after everyone greeted him.

"She actually went home—she's recently had some upsetting news…" Kauru offered.

"I know all about it," interrupted the chairman. "Good—without her being here it will be easier to discuss what I see as the perfect solution to her situation."

He paused and smiled broadly as they all looked up at him in anticipation.

"Well?" asked Kyoya, unable to let his innate deference to his elders keep him quiet in the face of such a dire problem.

"She must marry my son," Yuzuru said, plainly and firmly.

"What?" said six voices at once.

"It's simple, really," said Yuzuru. "A work visa for a spouse is nearly clockwork—my colleague Takahashi's son was able to get his wife's visa in under a month when they returned from America. She started a job within weeks of arriving."

The room just stared at him. "That is true…" said Kyoya slowly. "It didn't really occur to me as an option, though…"

"Is it legal?" asked Honey.

"Yes," said Mori. "Our immigration lawyer himself brought it up."

"But is it ethical?" asked Honey.

"Well, I look at it this way," Yuzuru began. "Haruhi is an asset that the government should not let get away, who they don't want to let get away, I'm sure—especially due to some technicality that isn't even her fault. But their hands are tied here—they can't hold a position open indefinitely especially for a non-citizen. This is just a way to paper over it, get her in the door without any bad optics, until she is naturalized properly…"

"I guess when you put it that way," said Kyoya. "I have no moral issue with it."

"Mori? What do you think?" asked Hikaru of the quiet giant, long considered the moral compass of the group.

"It is the letter of the law," he offered—typically not an argument he liked to make. But this was Haruhi…

All at once there was a hum of chatter as the group excitedly saw an option for their dear friend.

"Wait!" someone cried, causing everyone to abruptly shut up and turn. It was Tamaki, looking more than a little flustered. "Just … wait," he said again.

"What is it, son? Don't you want to help Haruhi out of her predicament?" asked the chairman raising an eyebrow.

"I—of course I do, but—marriage?"

"Well, it wouldn't be a real marriage, boss, of course," said Hikaru. "It's just until she gets her citizenship. Right, chairman?"

"Yes, that's correct," said the chairman carefully, looking contemplatively at his son who was slowly flushing a bright shade of pink. "Just until—then." There was a hint of dissemblance in his voice that made Tamaki nervous.

"How long would that be?" he asked. They all turned to Mori.

"Could be 18 months."

"18 months!" cried Tamaki.

"Could be shorter," Mori continued.

"And then they'd get divorced? Right, chairman?" asked Hikaru again.

"Yes—that's right," the chairman offered, once again not looking at all forthcoming to Tamaki. What was he hiding? "As I said, it's the perfect solution."

"But—why me?" asked Tamaki, the tremor in his voice becoming more pronounced.

"Well, the twins now reside in New York, so that wouldn't work," offered Kyoya. "And me … well, I think we all know what my family would say…"

"That leaves you, Tama-chan!" squealed Honey excitedly. "Just think how happy Haruhi will be when she hears!"

Tamaki still looked unconvinced. "C'mon, milord—she really needs this," chided Hikaru.

His father came up behind the young man and clamped his hands on his shoulders. "It's the least you can do for an old friend," said Yuzuru.

Tamaki looked at the expectant faces around the table. Suddenly his shoulders sagged and he looked down at his lap. "Okay," he said quietly. "I'll do it."

A/N: This story is complete fun, fun fluff. The scenario is highly unlikely as hard as I try to make it plausible (research on immigration and estate law notwithstanding). However, I love the idea of taking romance novel tropes and applying them to TamaHaru. So the obligatory "have to get married" theme must be explored (and I wanted to do it in a non-arranged marriage way, which has been done quite successfully by many other writers—mostly with Kyoya). Bear that in mind and try to just go with the fun and accept some of the more unlikely and OOC situations. Enjoy!