::squeals:: Thank you so much, everyone who reviewed! ^_^ I'm so glad that people are taking the time to read this story, I've worked so hard on it, and for sooo long. -_- I read and treasure every single review I get, and I'll store the flames to keep me warm in the long, cold winter months. ^_-

Moshi-moshi - the Japanese way of saying 'hello' on the phone.

Disclaimer: It's gonna be a shocker, I know, but I don't own Digimon. It's taken me a long time to be reconciled to this fact. I will be strong, though...I will survive! ^_-

Kirai ni Narenai ~I Can't Hate You~
Part Two
by Rb

Ichijouji Miyako -- formerly Inoue -- just wanted to collapse. The funeral process and turned out to be longer than she'd expected.

Miyako had never buried a relative. She'd never personally participated in a funeral. She'd always been the person baking foods and comforting the relatives. She'd never been on the other side.

Now that she did know how it felt to bury a loved one, she thought that she could have lived without it. She felt as though her heart had overloaded and was now on 'hold'. She was past pain and into a strange state where all that she wanted to do was sleep.

Sleep wasn't going to come yet, though. Her siblings and the other Chosen were all still in her apartment, and showed no sign of leaving. Everyone was crammed together, talking, making sounds that meant nothing.

Iori had come up to her and told her privately that if she needed anything -- even to go to the grocery store -- she was to ask him and his family for anything that she needed, anything at all. Since he lived in the same apartment building as her, she was sure that he wouldn't delay.

Hikari had added to this by actually moving into her apartment for the week of mourning, along with her son, Kakeru. Hikari was even taking off from work, using her sick leave, just so that she could be there for Miyako in that first week.

But she had so many pressing problems that not even her friends' support could help her. Most pressing was the problem of money. When she'd married Ken, she'd been happy to be a housewife...but it left her without vital skills or a sizeable chunk of money to rely on.

"What am I going to do?" she pleaded when she recognized the figures of Hikari, Mimi, and Sora nearby. "What's going to happen to my children and me?"

"Shh," said Sora, "we'll think of something."

"Ken's pension just isn't enough to support us!" Miyako wailed -- quietly, because she didn't want her children to hear.

"You can work as a teacher's aide in my school," said Hikari instantly.

"You can help me design clothing, you've got such a knack for style!" suggested Sora.

"I'll send you part of my check every month," Mimi declared, "Carl makes enough."

"I can't be indebted to you..." Miyako said through a fresh haze of tears. "I couldn't...I'm not trained..."

"Perhaps you could work for me," suggested a cool, masculine voice.

The four women looked up to see Izumi Koushirou casually leaning on a chair, his black eyes piercing yet gentle as they locked on Miyako.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't help but overhear your dilemnia, Miyako-san." Miyako felt his eyes settle on her, like twin laser beams. "I'm always looking for skilled workers, and if I remember correctly, you have a degree in computer science."

"That's right," said Miyako uneasily. "But it's pretty much obsolete now, with all the new technology, and I haven't been keeping up..."

He went on as if he hasn't heard her. "I need an assistant to help me go through my research, preferably one as intimately connected to the digital world as myself. Someone who understands the problems of the digital world, and the history." Miyako wished he would look away, but still he held her captive in his gaze. "I would be able to train you up the skill level required in only a few weeks, and I could pay you a reasonable salary." He named a figure, which made Hikari gasp.

"Koushirou-san, that's too much!" Miyako protested fuzzily.

"That's the same salary any young programmer would get as a starting salary," he shrugged. "So, do we have a deal?"

"I...I'll have to sleep on it," Miyako said. "Can I...can you girls help me get to bed?" Miyako felt so weak she didn't think she could move. Koushirou, his face a mask of concern, swiftly moved out of the way as Sora and Hikari supported her on her way to her room.

Once in her room, Sora prepared to pull back the covers on the big Western-style bed Miyako'd once shared with Ken. "No," Miyako protested feebly. "I...the futon."

Hikari realized instantly. "Miyako's been sleeping on the futon, not the bed," she informed Sora.

"I don't feel well..."

Hikari rummaged in the dresser drawers and found a t-shirt and old pair of shorts. Between Sora and herself, they managed to get Miyako undressed and redressed in the new clothing. It was Ken's clothing, his faint scent clinging to the outfit still, but Miyako was in no mood to protest.

Her second-to-last thought, before being enfolded in the soft arms of sleep, was why is Koushirou offering me such a job?

Her last thought was why do I care?

---

Izumi Koushirou looked after Miyako's retreating figure with concern. "I hope she'll be all right," he muttered to himself.

He wasn't sure why he'd offered her a job. He'd known that he needed to hire an assistant -- Iori's unintentional jibe about taking a day off still stung. He hadn't meant to offer Miyako the job, however...

That would bring us into too close contact, he thought. Daily. We'd have to work together...it would be too awkward.

But she'd looked so weak and pale, still in her black mourning clothing. He wanted to help her somehow...

He was interrupted from his thoughts by a pair of slender female arms wrapping themselves tightly around his chest.

"Ehh?!"

"Koushie-kun!" gushed a high-pitched female voice that he recognized as Tachikawa Mimi. "I'm so proud of you! You're no longer icky sludge-slime!"

"Mimi, you shouldn't hug people like that, it'll make your boyfriend of the month -- "

"Husband, and his name is Carl -- "

" -- jealous, and -- hey, since when have I been icky sludge-slime?"

Mimi had the grace to look a little embarrassed. "Well, at various times... it started back when you were dating Miyako."

"You weren't even in the country when I was dating Miyako!"

"Koushirou, Koushirou, Koushirou." Mimi shook her head in amusement. "You're so blind, aren't you? Haven't you realized by now that when you date a woman, you're actually dating five or six women?"

"Actually, Mimi, I never realized that at all. Please, explain?"

Mimi ticked off her points on her fingers. "Well, there's the girl you're dating, and then there's three or four of her closest friends, and she'll dissct every point of your psyche with them, and then there's the girl's mother, who has to give final approval...now, the actual number varies, depending on how many close friends the girl has and if she has sisters, but still, the point is...Koushirou? Are you listening?"

"How much...is dissected with her friends?" Koushirou asked with a slightly glazed look.

"In general or specific?"

"Miyako, in specific."

"Lots," Mimi grinned.

"..."

"Nothing that bad...although, Koushirou, I don't think it's healthy to call out the name of your computer during -- "

Koushirou's eyes crossed. "I never!"

Mimi winked. "Lighten up, Koushie-kun."

Koushirou gave her a very dry look.

"All right, then, don't. But still. That was a very sweet thing you offered, Koushirou. I'm proud of you."

"Mm," Koushirou said, still looking slightly shell-shocked.

She patted him on the shoulder. "There, there. It's a truth every guy must learn at some point or another."

---

A few days later, Yagami Hikari, Hida Iori, and Ichijouji Miyako sat around Miyako's kitchen table, drinking coffee. Osamu and Ari were not yet awake, while Mikomi had locked herself in her room. Himeko and Kakeru didn't have the same excuse from school that Miyako's children did.

Miyako mentioned Koushirou's job offer to Iori. Instantly, Iori's eyes hardened.

"Don't take it," he said.

"Why not?" Hikari asked, surprised. "It sounds perfectly reasonable to me..."

"You don't need a job yet," Iori told her, "you'll be fine -- I'll help."

"It would be nice just having something to do," Miyako fretted.

Iori wrinkled his nose. "I don't think it would be proper, getting a job so soon -- my mother didn't work for a year after my father's death."

"That was in the nineties. This is 2028," Hikari objected.

"Still. And I'd prefer you didn't work for Koushirou-san."

"Why not?" asked Hikari. Miyako also looked up, surprised.

Iori got a grim look on his face. "I can't forgive how Koushirou-san didn't show up for Ken-san when Ken-san was in the hospital."

"Iori," Hikari frowned, "Koushirou explained to us all that he was taking a day off. He wasn't near his computer at all. He couldn't answer your e-mails."

"But..." Iori bit his lip. "Koushirou-san's vid-phone, the one he used to answer my phone call, beeps whenever he receives an e-mail. I've been with him when it happened. He could have checked his e-mail if he wanted to. But he didn't."

"That's not his fault."

"I know, but...I just feel like he should have been able to sense that this time, he should have checked his e-mail."

A silence descended in the room.

"Anyway, I've got to go," Iori said. He gave Miyako a hug and shook Hikari's hand awkwardly before leaving.

"What do you think, Hikari?" Miyako asked the younger woman.

Hikari thought for a moment. "Well, I think Iori has to lighten up a bit. I also think that it might be a bit awkward for you to work with Koushirou."

"What do you mean?"

Hikari gave her friend a long look. "Miyako-chan," she said, using the childhood term of endearment, "I've listened to you complain for fifteen minutes straight elaborating on how he's a cold, idiotic, utterly stupid computer genius who wouldn't know the meaning of the word 'love' if it bit him on the -- "

"Hikari!"

" -- and who apparently has a computer disk drive stuck up his -- "

"Hikari!"

" -- and -- "

"Hikari, my children might be listening!" Miyako snapped.

Hikari laughed. "You've always been a very frank speaker, Miyako. I admire that about you."

"As long as you don't repeat my words in front of my children," Miyako replied demurely.

"I wouldn't dream of it." She cocked her head to one side. "But, Miyako -- you will have to make a decision about Koushirou's work."

"Do you think I should work for him?"

"Logically?" Hikari shrugged. "You need money. Koushirou's going to give you money. That works out. Koushirou needs to get away from work once in a while -- that's a given. You might be able to help with that. But..."

"Hikari, if you have a problem -- any problem at all -- you should definitely tell me. I'll regret not listening to you later. I always do."

Hikari sighed. On her pretty face was The Look, an expression peculiar to Hikari that Miyako privately thought did not belong on any mortal's face.

"I'm not sure," she confessed. "It seems like a good idea, but..." She shrugged helplessly. "I have doubts. Be honest, Miyako. It's up to you. You should answer him. Not me, not Iori...not anyone, really."

"I guess."

Hikari smiled. "How about you e-mail Koushirou, we wake up your children, and I treat you guys to a day out on the town?"

"Oh, would you? I'm so tired of being stuck in this apartment all day, and I know Mikomi is, too."

Hikari got up and gave Miyako a hug. "I knew you'd want a day out. Write the e-mail, and it's a sure thing."

"Okay!"

---

Izumi Koushirou was looking over piles of data when the computer beeped at him.

"I've got mail," he said, surprised. He opened his mailbox and retrieved the new message. "From Miyako?"

He swore after finishing it.

"Damn. I really hoped that she'd work with me, too."

He sighed, deleted the letter, and went back to work.

---

It's time for a history lesson. While both of the principle characters would insist this short is 'ancient history', with the amount of times both of them think of What Happened, it's really 'current events'.

When Izumi Koushirou was twenty-two and Inoue Miyako was twenty-one, they lived together in an apartment, and had done so since Miyako entered college. Koushirou was out of college already and beginning to start making a name for himself. Miyako was in her final year.

They had a steady relationship. They weren't entirely gushy-gushy, but they did care about each other.

Something had changed, though. Maybe Koushirou had gotten too wrapped up in his work. Maybe Miyako had gotten tired of knowing Koushirou cared, but never being told that he cared.

So a flaming row ensured, neither party admitting that they were wrong because both knew that they were right, that the other side was in the wrong. Miyako knew that Koushirou was really a heartless creep, and Koushirou knew that Miyako was being over-emotional and melodramatic. Because both were right and both were wrong, nothing ever got solved.

Koushirou, being Koushirou, buried himself in his work and didn't bother to look up as Miyako, being Miyako, drafted most of the other Chosen into a makeshift support group. Some, specifically Taichi, Yamato, Jyou, and Daisuke, refused to get involved, but most of the others enthusiasticly tried to cheer her up.

One of these 'others' was Ichijouji Ken, who was having some personal crises of his own. They renewed their friendship and grew closer, and closer...

...and then Ken proposed, and Miyako accepted, and they had a fairy-tale wedding (which Koushirou attended, with a suitably bright smile on his face, wishing them well), and they had three beautiful children, while Koushirou became rich and famous through his work and, although remaining a bachelor, adopted a wonderful little girl, and life moved on, as life does, slipping through the streams of time.

If one car driver hadn't been upset, and if Ken had been a little more careful, then the car accident wouldn't have happened, and Ken wouldn't have died, and this really would have remained history. But they didn't, so it's not.

Sometimes, history decides that if you don't pay attention to it soon, it's gonna bite you on the rear.

---

Hida Iori, with a sigh, unlocked the file titled 'Ichijouji Ken'.

About six months before, Ken had come to Iori and asked him to help write a will. Iori had agreed. Ken may have had a traumatic experience with death at an early age, but out of all of the Chosen, Iori had had the first experience with death.

Death held few secrets for Iori. The thought had often come to him that he was destined to be the layer-out of bodies, the one who sorted out the deceased's secrets and laid the last matters to rest. The thought gave him no pleasure at all.

It was true, however, that many people kept their wills with Iori because he was so trustworthy and solemn. Ken was no exception.

Along with the will itself were several items that Ken had sealed away. Iori hadn't looked at them. Iori had tremendous strength of will. Iori had never looked at anyone's private documents, alive or dead.

Iori started by looking through the will. It seemed to be in order...

Huh. Ken had divided his savings into portions, trust funds for his three children, for Miyako...for Daisuke?...for...what was that?

"Any future children of Inoue Miyako's."

Was that an insinuation that Miyako should be remarried?

Then there were photographs, mostly taken by Hikari. His children, his family. His brother. There were pictures of all of the other Chosen, at various ages ranging from teen to adult, with one exception: there were no pictures of Daisuke in there, not in a group, not by himself. Iori's brow furrowed. He had never remembered the two of them being anything less than the best of friends. Ken had left money for Daisuke as well: was that out of loyalty to a best friend, a peace offering to an enemy, or something else?

Hmm. Not his business.

Some things were still left. A sheaf of papers had "burn these" written in Ken's elegant script across the top. Iori glanced through them and realized, with a chill, that they were the computer codes he had used to design the dark rings and the evil spirals. He placed the papers in a folder and put them aside.

Finally, there were three large, padded, sealed envelopes. At this point, Iori wasn't surprised at all to see that one had 'Motomiya Daisuke' written on it. The second was addressed to Koushirou. Iori blinked in surprise.

The third was addressed to -- himself. Huh.

Using a letter opener, he carefully slit open the envelope. A single sheet of paper fell out.

Iori picked it up and began to read.

A few minutes later, he reread it.

Then he read over it again.

He'd been brought up to respect the dead and to be considerate of everyone's feelings. He was the type of person who wouldn't even insult politicians, in fear that he would hurt their feelings. He thought that gossip pages were for those with too much time on their hands, and chastised his wife and daughter if they would ever talk idly of others in front of him.

He hated thinking badly of others. He'd learned, over time, that misconceptions cut both ways, that it was better to learn about people rather than judge them unjustly.

Hida Iori, like Koushirou before him, was the type of person who was constantly looking for the sense and logic to the universe. The only real difference between Koushirou and Iori, in fact, was that while Koushirou would stop at nothing in his pursuit of the truth, Iori often let his respect for others get in the way.

This was the reason why Iori was married in his early twenties and had a daughter long before Koushirou even thought about trying to get over Miyako, much less succeed.

In this case...

"Ken-san, what do you expect me to do with this information?" Iori asked the empty space in front of him. Stupid, really. He'd never believed in ghosts, not even when it could have helped him.

There was no answer. Iori sighed. He hadn't really had expected there to be an answer, anyway.

---

Hida Iori knocked on the door to Miyako's apartment. Mikomi opened the door.

"Hello, Mikomi," he said, smiling. "How are you?"

"Fine," she said. "Mom's inside, talking to Aunt Hikari." She stood aside and let Iori pass.

Iori walked into the kitchen. Miyako looked up happily. "Hey, Iori!"

"Miyako-san. Hikari-san," Iori said, inclining his head. He'd always found that formality helped when confronted with difficult situations. The familiarity in the words soothed him. "Miyako-san, you're going to work for Koushirou-san, correct?"

"Well, actually -- " Miyako started, but Iori gave her no time to complete her sentence.

"When you next see him, please give him this." Iori handed her the padded envelope.

Miyako's eyes narrowed as she recognized Ken's elegant script. "Ken sent Koushirou a letter?"

"It was meant to be read only after Koushirou's death, by Koushirou's eyes only. Since you'll no doubt see Koushirou before I do, please give it to him."

"Did Ken leave any other letters?" Miyako asked archly.

"He...sent one to Daisuke," Iori said finally, unwilling to lie to his oldest friend, unwilling to tell her about Ken's letter to himself. Miyako would no doubt press him, and Iori didn't want to be pressed. Didn't want to tell her the contents. Didn't want to have to admit Ken's secrets.

Miyako's eyebrow twitched. "Is that all you're going to tell me, Iori?"

"Yes," Iori said. Finally! A full-truth!

"Iori," Hikari said, her forehead wrinkling, "what did Ken leave behind?"

Iori bit his lip. "A lot of photographs," he said finally. "I left it in my office tonight, I haven't finished going through everything. I'll give it to you, Miyako-san, when I can."

"All right," said Miyako, although unconvinced. After some more conversation, Iori excused himself and went to his own apartment.

His wife Reika was talking to Himeko, his daughter. Silently, he gave Himeko a hug and kissed Reika.

"Is something the matter, Papa?" Himeko asked.

He gave his family a small, wan smile. "I just wanted you both to know how much I love you."

---

The next day, Ichijouji Miyako knocked fiercely on the door to the Izumi household. A much older woman opened the door.

"What do you want?" asked the woman kindly.

"I need to talk to Koushirou-san," she said.

"All right...he's in his room. Go straight, up the stairs, fifth door on the left."

Miyako nodded 'thank you' and followed the woman's -- normally, she would have recognized her as Koushirou's mother, but Miyako was far too upset to notice -- instructions. Man, Koushirou has a huge house, she thought.

She knocked on the door. "Come in," called a distracted male voice, so she did.

Koushirou was sitting on his bed, skimming through a sheaf of papers.

"Koushirou-san," she said frostily.

Koushirou jerked upright and stared at the woman. "Miyako-san? What are you doing?" Automatic good manners took over, and he jumped up and indicated a chair. "Please, sit down."

"I prefer to stand." She opened her purse and pulled out an envelope. "This was my husband's gift to you."

"What?" said Koushirou, wrinkling his forehead as he stood up and took the envelope. It was a heavy, padded envelope with 'Izumi Koushirou' written elegantly on the front.

Koushirou slit open the envelope and let the contents slither out onto his bed. A rather cheap, empty picture frame with no picture inside, just the glass covering a cardboard backing. A letter, addressed to Koushirou. A small diskette.

Koushirou picked up the letter and read it with no change in expression. "Did your husband...Ken-san...have any other envelopes like this?"

"There was one for Daisuke."

"Was there any envelope for you?"

She stiffened. "Ken told me everything he thought I needed to know."

"All right."

Miyako moved a step closer. "What's in the letter, Koushirou-san?"

"Nothing addressed to you."

"Tell me what's in the letter, Koushirou-san."

"I thought Ken told you everything you needed to know," Koushirou replied coolly.

If Koushirou's tone had been cool, Miyako's was ice. "Ken told me everything he thought I needed to know. I want to see what he didn't think I should know."

They were physically close now, closer than they'd ever been since that fight the night that what they'd had had been destroyed.

Koushirou raised his hand -- Miyako flinched on instinct, thinking for one horrible instant that he'd lost his temper -- and touched one hand to a chain she hadn't noticed he'd been wearing. On the end was a single key.

He took off the chain and, picking up the envelope's contents, unlocked a door in his room, opened it, and walked through. After a moment's hesitation, Miyako followed.

Koushirou was busy logging into the computer. After a few minutes, he inserted the file that Ken had left him and typed furiously for a while.

"Thought so," he said in a satisfied manner, flicked off the monitor, and turned around.

"What is it?" Miyako asked.

"It's Ken's memoirs."

"I want to see them," Miyako said instantly.

"Ah, but see, there's a problem." He wagged a finger. Miyako swore that she could see a smirk growing on his face. "The memoirs are code-locked. Only someone with a password can get inside. And right now, the only two people who know the password are myself...and Ken."

"Is it on the paper?"

"No. It was in my head."

"Oh. So, let me see them."

Koushirou shook his head. "It's a little more complicated than that. See, Ken's letter made it clear that it was my duty to not let you read his memoirs until the mourning year is up."

"What?" snapped Miyako. "He was my husband! I have a right to -- "

" -- to do what, Miyako-san? Disrespect the dead's wishes?" asked Koushirou silkily. Miyako froze. "Now, as I see it, you have one choice."

"What is it?" Miyako asked, knowing she was falling into Koushirou's trap but unable to stop herself.

A lupine smile. "Stay in my good graces for the next year."

"What?!"

"I'm choosing to interpret that as an exclamation of delight. I'll see you in my office at nine o'clock Monday morning for your first day at work, Miyako-kun."

"You -- !" Miyako crossed her arms over her chest. "I'd rather not know what was in Ken's memoirs than have to work for you."

"I don't think so, Miyako-kun," Koushirou whispered. With a surprisingly swift movement, he reached out with one hand and touched the area right under her collarbone with his fingertips. It was a surprisingly gentle gesture, bordering on the edges of...

No. It's friendship. It's got to be friendship. He's trying to restart our friendship, and this is the only way he knows how.

"Your heart thrives on curiosity," Koushirou continued in the same soft tone, trying hard not to concentrate on how he could feel her heartbeat racing, on how his own heartbeat felt even faster. "Just like my own. You will work for me, because you do need the money, you do need something to do...but most of all, because you have a burning, shall I say, desire, to know what's in those memoirs. And you will work."

What am I doing? Her husband's not even been buried for a few days...

Slightly embarrased, Koushirou let her go.

"How do I know you'll let me see what's in them?" Miyako asked, trembling inside but refusing to let Koushirou see the power he held over her.

"The only thing you can trust...is my honor. And my word. And I have never, ever, ever lied to you." The irony in his words was not lost on her. "See you at work, Miyako-kun."

In a huff, Miyako left.

Koushirou sank down on the floor and gripped handfuls of his red hair in his hands fiercely, as if he wanted to rip them out.

---

Over the weekend Koushirou was in a state of panic. He thought he managed to hide it well, but he only managed to convince his mother he was going insane. His worry showed itself in a variety of ways -- the way he kept tapping his foot and drumming his fingers, how his eyes darted around, and that he kept seeming to wait for something. Not even Tentomon's arrival on Sunday, with the promise of new and vital information, could make him focus.

Koushirou wondered if Miyako would even go to work on Monday. He'd practically blackmailed her...if their situations were reversed, would he work for her?

He squashed down his visceral reaction. It wasn't helping.

The phone rang Sunday evening. Koushirou practically killed himself getting it set up. "Moshi moshi?" he asked.

The screen cleared to reveal Miyako's pensive face. "Koushirou-san?"

"Miyako-kun?" He couldn't help himself, the -kun suffix slipped right out. Her eyes flared with a momentary anger, then burned themselves out.

"It's about me working for you. I'm don't think I can."

Koushirou's heart sunk. "Is something wrong?"

"Well...the problem is, I have no one to watch my children while I work."

"Couldn't Mikomi watch her siblings? She seems responsible enough."

Miyako snorted. "Mikomi has to go to school all day. Osamu's class lets out at noon, and there's no way she could bring Ari to her classes."

Koushirou's lips pursed in thought. "Well...my mother watches Tori and Touma most days after their classes let out. They play with Hitomi. Why couldn't you bring Ari over in the mornings, I'll drive you to work, when Osamu gets out of class he'll go to my house with Hitomi and the others, and when you end work you'll come back to my house and pick up your children? Mikomi could stay with Iori's family, or go straight home."

Miyako blinked. "That's a very...elaborate plan."

"Or, you could keep Ari with you at work, but I'm not sure how distracting he would be. Whenever I bring Hitomi to work, I can't concentrate at all on what I'm doing, I keep watching her."

"You, not be able to concentrate?" Miyako couldn't hold back a smirk.

Koushirou frowned. "I'm not a total workaholic, Miyako-kun." This time, the -kun was deliberately intended.

"Really," Miyako said, rolling her eyes.

Koushirou bit back a brilliant retort along the lines of 'shut up.'

"I'd prefer to keep Ari with me. Could I also bring Hawkmon? Hawkmon's so good with the kids!"

Koushirou kept his eyes from crossing at the thought of Hawkmon as a baby-sitter. "Sure. Tentomon works with me. We can always use another pair of hands -- or wings, whatever."

Miyako hesitated. "Are you sure your mother won't mind me leaving Osamu with her?"

"Nah. She loves kids. She always wanted a house full of them."

"Oh." Another pause. "Koushirou-san...why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?"

"Being so nice to me. Giving me this job. Offering to give me rides to work and letting me leave my children with you -- what are you doing this for? What's your interest in me?"

Koushirou was at a loss. It wouldn't sound right, he knew, to say "so that you'll smile again," or "because I care about what happens to you," although they were the truth and valid reasons. It ran deeper than those reasons, or any of the other hundreds of reasons he could give her. To tell her, though, would destroy him entirely. Especially if she screamed at him. Or even worse, laughed at him. The unpredictability of her emotions -- especially so soon after her husband's death -- fascinated and frightened Koushirou. He would not tell her.

Not yet, anyway.

"Because you're my friend," he said finally. "And because Ken died in a car accident. My biological parents died in a car accident. I guess I know exactly how it feels. I guess I want to help support you, because...I can. I know that my help can't replace Ken. But I want to try."

Miyako smiled. "Thank you, Koushirou." After a second, she belatedly corrected herself and added the -san.

"No problem," he said, not using her name, not wanting to remind her of their delicate relationship. They both hung up.

Koushirou smiled.

---

At dinner on Sunday night, the remaining members of the Ichijouji family sat together. Hikari had gone back to her own apartment earlier that day, Kakeru in tow, and Iori was eating with his own family for what felt like the first time all week.

It wasn't anything special, a warmed-up meatloaf and a salad, and the very emptiness of the meal -- the first family meal without Ken -- made it bittersweet.

It was at this meal that Miyako announced that she was going to work tomorrow morning. "Mikomi, stay with Himeko and her family after school, and Osamu, you can go over Hitomi's house until I pick you up."

"Okay," said Osamu. "Hitomi-chan's fun."

Mikomi wasn't so easily pacified. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to be training to work with computers," Miyako answered.

"Where are you working?" Mikomi pressed.

"I'm not sure of the title of the company, but my boss is Izumi Koushirou."

"You're working with Izumi Koushirou?" Mikomi snapped.

Miyako nodded. "He happens to be an old friend of mine."

"An old boyfriend," muttered Mikomi.

"Mikomi!"

"Sorry, Mother."

"He offered me a job, and I'm grateful for it," Miyako said.

Mikomi visibly changed tactics. "Do I have to go to Himeko's after school?"

"I'd be happier if you did."

"Why can't I stay home alone?"

"I don't want you to."

"What if Himeko goes to cram school? I don't want to go there."

"You should, you know," Miyako said absently. "Your math grades could use some work. Pass the salad."

Mikomi passed the salad and thought. She thought about her father, about her mother, about the look in Koushirou's eyes when he spoke about Miyako. Her mind, so sluggish when adding and subtracting fractions or listing the chief exports of Brazil, was extremely quick at calculating the nuances of emotions.

Mikomi knew exactly what Koushirou was feeling. And she didn't like it one bit.

---

Koushirou had an easier time at his own house. He simply told his mother that the after-school play group would increase by one and told Hitomi that Ichijouji Osamu was going to come home with her after school for "a while."

Hitomi didn't mind, because the word that always came to mind when she thought of Osamu-chan was "gentle." And Mrs. Izumi didn't mind, although her eyes widened a mite when she heard whom her son had just hired.

All children think that their parents are idiots. Parents know this, and cultivate this myth carefully. After all, how else are kids supposed to develop any confidence in themselves?

Although Izumi Koushirou was a brighter chap than most, he still underestimated the power of his mother's observation. Izumi Satoe never let on how much she knew about her son's life. After all, it would only discourage him.

---