People, I get the feeling you don't love me very much...;_;

Eh-heh-heh...I'm being melodramatic, I know, but..this fic has taken up so much of my life, and is the longest thing I've ever written...it's honestly a novel...^^;;...I really, really, really appreciate all forms of feedback, and I'd be extraordinarily happy if you reviewed this part and told me what you think. It's honestly not as cliched as it might have seemed in the first few parts...^^;;

Disclaimer: Digimon's not mine, but the music's pretty darn cool -- and I have about 250 illegal Digimon mp3s. Anyone want to trade? ^_^

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

Ichijouji Miyako couldn't remember her last time that she worked.

She'd worked in her family's store throughout her youth, but that was different -- that was a chore, and if she didn't work she wouldn't get an allowance. During college, she'd often been a waitress when in need of some extra cash...

...but this, this was very different.

Miyako chose her clothing carefully. She wanted to look mature, and adult, and very, very, professional. She put on her brand-new, smart-looking suit, which was very chic -- Sora had really outdone herself. She studied herself in the mirror, and applied makeup with a practiced hand. How should she wear her hair?

"You look like you're primping for a date," muttered Mikomi, dressed but with her hair rumpled and her glasses in one hand.

"Mikomi! Get ready for school!" Miyako snapped, aghast at her daughter's ill-timed comment.

Mikomi held up a hairbrush in answer, and started brushing out her own fine blue hair. "You didn't make breakfast this morning," she accused.

"I'm sorry," Miyako said. "I'm running a little late. Couldn't you make breakfast?"

Mikomi's answer was a wide-eyed stare.

"I guess I have to teach you how to cook," Miyako sighed.

"Do you really have to work?" Mikomi asked plaintively.

"Mikomi, we've discussed this. Yes, I do."

Mikomi started to brush her hair even more fiercely, as if attacking it. The dark blue strands clouded her face.

"Mikomi..."

"I'm hungry. I'll get some fruit. Himeko'll be here soon." Mikomi left, calling out her younger brother's name.

Miyako bit her lip nervously, stared into the mirror for a bit longer, and pulled her hair back into a sleek ponytail. Then she pulled it out and started brushing her hair again.

She really should be making breakfast.

She really should be ready to go.

Instead, she started idly braiding some strands of her purple hair.

It's funny how the mind occupies itself when you really don't want to think about something. You start thinking about something -- anything. Hairstyles. Shoes. Clothing.

Not about the job. Not about the job. Never about the job. Never about Koushirou.

Really.

---

Ichijouji Mikomi was actually glad when the doorbell rang. As she expected, Hida Himeko was on the other side.

Mikomi often thought it really wasn't fair for one girl to be so cute. Himeko's dark hair fell perfectly straight to her shoulders, held back by her favorite headband. Her huge emerald eyes were complimented by the pastel green and blue dress she wore, and the pale yellow skin of her Upamon that she held in her hands just added to the effect. She was neat and accesorized and absolutely, teeth-gnashingly perfect.

Mikomi was wearing blue jeans and a t-shirt her father had gotten her on a business trip, white with 'I [heart] NYC' written in blocky English letters. Her blue hair fell in her face, practically covering her bespectacled eyes. She felt very underdressed.

"Ah! Mikomi-chan!" Himeko squealed when she saw her. "Good morning!"

"Good morning, Himeko-chan," Mikomi responded politely. "Osamu's almost ready...one second." She turned inwards. "OSAMU!" she yelled. "COME HERE!"

Himeko delicately winced.

Osamu appeared. "Hi, Oneesama, Himeko-san," he said gravely. "I was eating a banana."

"We've gotta go to school now. Let's go," said Mikomi, helping him put on his shoes and adjusting his backpack. "Poromon! Minomon! C'mon!"

The green worm-like digimon bounced into Osamu's arms just as Mikomi's pink feathered digimon fluttered around her shoulder.

"Bye-bye, Mama!" called Osamu as they entered the hall and started on their way to school.

---

Ichijouji Miyako was in a panic. She looked through lists, shoveled through papers, and ran through mental data.

How could I have forgotten to ask him? she cursed herself. Miyako, you *idiot!*

"Hawkmon!" she yelled.

"Yes, Miyako-san?" responded the bird digimon's voice. She couldn't see him.

"Where are you?" she called back.

"In Ari's room," he shouted. "I was about to find you, Miyako-san. It's an emergency!"

The thought of her baby in trouble was too much to bear. Miyako jumped up and ran to Ari's room. Technically, it was also Osamu's room, and her other son's things littered half of the space.

"What's wrong, Hawkmon?" Closer, she could hear Ari's amazingly loud screams, and wondered that she hadn't heard them farther away. I must have been preoccupied, she decided.

"Your baby...stinks!" Hawkmon said, holding one wing in front of his beak.

Miyako laughed. "He does not...oh, you're right." Miyako winced and checked Ari's diaper. She wasn't really surprised to see that it was entirely full. "Urk." Quickly, she changed Ari's diaper and dumped the used one in the trash.

"Eeeyurgh," sniffed Hawkmon.

Miyako glanced amusedly at her digimon partner. "You'd think after watching me raise three kids that you'd be used to something like diapers by now."

Hawkmon glared back.

"Kidding!" Miyako laughed. "Anyway, uh, Hawkmon...can you get me the phone?"

Hawkmon nodded and left the room. While Miyako smoothed Ari's hair, Hawkmon located the portable vid-phone and handed it to Miyako.

"Thanks," she said, and dialed up Koushirou.

"Moshi moshi?" Koushirou responded, activating his vid-plate.

"Ah...hi, Koushirou-san, this is Miyako." Miyako activated her own vid-plate, so that Koushirou could see her chagrined expression. "I was wondering...well...you never did give me directions on how to get to work."

Koushirou stared blankly at the phone for a moment, then laughed. "You're right. I didn't. I'm sorry, Miyako-kun." He thought for a moment. "I'm about to drive Hitomi to school. How about I pick you up on the way back and drive you to work?"

Miyako considered. It seemed reasonable...and this way, she wouldn't have to go on the subway in rush hour. "All right."

"See you in a few minutes, Miyako-kun."

Miyako gritted her teeth as she turned off the phone. "I really hate how he calls me that."

Hawkmon blinked. "Would you rather he called you Ichijouji-kun?"

"Hawkmon..."

"Or Miyako-chan..."

"Hawkmon!"

"Or Miyako-sama...would you prefer that?"

Miyako blinked. "Hawkmon, you know that I love you dearly, and that you're my best friend in the entire world and all...but please, please, please shut up and let me finish getting ready."

"Yes'm."

---

Ichijouji Osamu tended to notice things that no one else saw.

He noticed how in the cracks between the sidewalks, there was almost always a little smudge of green fuzz and tiny, yet perfect flowers sprung forth there. How the veins on a leaf matched the blue veins on the back of his hand. How, when his eyes were tired and unfocused, he'd see little lines that shimmered back and forth, and little dots, red green blue, that no one else could ever seem to see.

He could only talk about these things to Minomon, who understood them without explanation. He could explain these things to Hitomi-chan, explain for hours until his voice was raspy and tired, and even though Hitomi-chan didn't -- couldn't understand, she would listen and try, which was good enough.

He could never explain these things to Tori-kun. Tori-kun was brash and loud, her blue eyes mean. He didn't really like her, but she was Hitomi-chan's friend, so he had to like her.

Most of the time.

His hearing faded in and out. He could control that. He couldn't control the noises outside, but he could control his receptiveness. He could hear the high-pitched voice of his older sister, the softer voice of that other girl, and the childlike voice of Minomon muttering in his ear. He heard sounds, he heard a lot of sounds. It was up to him to consciously interpret the sounds he kept hearing into actual words.

It was like listening to the English music that his older sister insisted on blaring. Some of the syllables were familiar, but he couldn't even think of putting them into actual words that really meant anything.

He didn't want to, because he knew that Oneesama and the other girl...his mind supplied a name...Himeko-san...would be arguing, and he didn't want to hear it. Himeko always wanted to talk, talk, talk and had even tried attempting talking to him, Osamu, but he simply deconstructed her words into syllables and from syllables to sounds until all she said was meaningless, like it always was. But he sighed, and adjusted himself so that the syllables made up words that really meant something again.

"Osamu-chan," whispered Minomon, "are you all right?"

"Ah, yeah," he whispered back.

"The moron speaks," Mikomi said from above him. Osamu didn't mind. Oneesama often called him rude words. It was her way of showing affection, Mama had said once, and Osamu agreed.

"Don't call your brother that," Himeko admonished. "It's rude." Osamu felt a rush of impatience for the dark-haired girl, unconsciously mirroring his sister's feelings. She didn't understand.

"He's my brother, I'll call him whatever I want," Mikomi shot back.

Himeko sniffed and readjusted her digimon, a pale yellow sleepy Upamon, in her arms. "By the way, Mikomi-chan, did I tell you?"

"What is it, Himeko-chan?" Mikomi said tiredly.

"You know that concert I'm going to be in two weeks, the one where I'm singing and playing the piano?"

"No, I thought it was the one where you were going to be dancing in that big fancy ballet..."

"Silly! That's next month! Anyway, the principal announced the news about my concert in front of the entire school! Isn't that totally cool?"

"Thrilling."

"Oh, look! There's Mori-kun and Kakeru-kun!"

"Who would have guessed it, they're walking to school..." Mikomi muttered as Hitomi waved an arm.

"Mori-kuuun! Kakeru-kuuun! Walk with us!"

The two boys obligingly changed directions. Osamu happened to like Yagami Kakeru, who was kind and quiet. Sometimes, Osamu thought that Kakeru might understand the world the way Osamu did. Takaishi Mori was one of those that Osamu mentally classified as 'loud'. However, Kakeru seemed to see something good in him. Osamu kept a look out to see if it would ever appear.

Himeko started talking enthusiastically to Mori about a soccer game she'd been to. "You looked totally cool!"

"I know," replied Mori, smirking. Himeko laughed. Kakeru shook his head, smiling. Mikomi didn't smile. She dropped back behind the others. Kakeru matched her pace. Osamu saw this, and slowed down as well. Mikomi didn't notice, because Osamu was in invisible mode. He'd chosen so.

"Hey, are you all right, Mikomi-chan?" Kakeru asked. Kakeru was a close friend of his sister's, Osamu knew. His smile always brightened her heart.

Mikomi smiled wanly. "I guess I'm just a little stressed, Kakeru-kun."

Kakeru carefully put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed it gently. "Don't worry, Mikomi-chan. It'll be all right, I'm sure."

"Right. Thank you," she said formally.

The school building approached. Himeko and Mori were the first up the steps, laughing and greeting other friends. Mikomi and Kakeru approached more slowly, Kakeru having removed his hand. Osamu tagged along behind them.

Their first stop was the Digimon Day-Care center, where all digimon stayed during the day. No teachers allowed digimon in their classrooms, saying that the digimon were too distracting. The digimon were well-treated, most of them opting to sleep while their partners were in classes. Kakeru and Mori split off afterwards, Kakeru telling Mikomi he'd see her in class.

"Daichi-kun says that in America, he's allowed to bring Chibimon to classes," Mikomi muttered as she handed over Poromon.

"But Chibimon has to stay in his bag, like our parents' digimon used to," Himeko reminded her. "Can I walk Osamu-kun to kindergarden? He's so cute!"

Osamu sent Mikomi a horrified look.

"Er, no, I want to," Mikomi covered for her little brother quickly. "Ah, Himeko-chan, I'll meet you at our classroom, okay?"

"O...kay." She waved goodbye to Osamu, then skipped off.

Mikomi escorted Osamu to the kindergarden classroom. Yagami Hikari, his teacher, smiled at Mikomi and exchanged pleasantries with Mikomi before bending down to Osamu's level. Osamu liked Hikari very much. Like her son Kakeru, she was kind.

"Hello, Osamu-kun. Are you glad to be back?"

"Y-yes," Osamu nodded.

"Hitomi-chan'll be here any moment. Want to wait with me?"

Osamu nodded firmly.

True to her word, Hitomi, with her father in tow, bounded up.

"Hello, Hitomi-chan!" Hikari greeted, before turning to Koushirou. "So, today's Miyako's first day of work, huh?"

Osamu waved at Hitomi, feeling shy. He hadn't seen his friend in a whole week!

"Mm, yes." Koushirou looked at his watch. "Actually, I have to pick up Miyako right now."

Hitomi giggled and waved back at Osamu. Osamu felt warm.

A knowing smile appeared on Hikari's face. "Good luck, you," she said as Koushirou turned around.

Koushirou jerked back and looked at Hikari in surprise. "Don't you mean to wish Miyako-kun good luck?" he said, his tone formal.

Hikari shook her head and smiled.

Hitomi reached out and grsped Osamu's hand. "C'mon! Let's play with the blocks!"

Osamu gratefully followed.

---

Ichijouji Miyako was ready for work. She was prepared. She was in control. She was also about to kick Koushirou-SAN's stupid HEAD open if he took any LONGER getting to her apartment building!

Hawkmon blinked his pale blue eyes at her. "Miyako-san, calm down."

Miyako smiled at her partner. "I'm just a little anxious, Hawkmon." She wasn't sure if she caught some rude words being sputtered in the coughing fit that attacked her partner.

Smiling, she shifted her sleeping baby's weight in her arms as she waited in front of her apartment. Ari slept peacefully. Leafmon was balanced in the sling around Hawkmon's neck. Hawkmon also carried a large portable carrier loaded with tons of baby-toys and necessities (diapers, bottles, pacifiers, food...)

A large black car pulled up in front of the apartment and parked. The driver opened the door and walked out. Miyako easily recognized Koushirou's red hair.

"Miyako-kun?"

"Here," Miyako answered.

His face broke into a genuine smile when he saw her. "Ah, there you are." He gestured towards his car. "Get in!"

Miyako started walking. Hawkmon called out piteously, "Miyako-san..."

"What is it, Hawkmon?"

"I can't move..."

Miyako stopped herself from tripping and falling face-forward on the pavement just in time.

"Here, let me," said Koushirou. He easily lifted up the baby things and brought it to the car. "I'll put it in the back. Tentomon's already there."

"And quite happy where he is, thank you very much," came Tentomon's voice.

"Relax, old friend," Koushirou grinned as he stuffed the baby supplies in the door, then showed Hawkmon where to sit. "Miyako-kun, you get the passenger seat."

Once settled in the car, she noticed him looking at her -- whether appreciative or puzzled, she couldn't tell.

"Hey, Koushirou-san...like my outfit?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Koushirou blushed guiltily as he realized he was staring. Appreciative, decided Miyako, grinning, not sure whether to be upset or amused. Or both.

"It's...nice." The blush faded instantly, and now his stare was analytical. Too bad.

"Sora designed it."

"Sora's very skilled."

Miyako was surprised at his words -- an outright compliment, very rare from Koushirou, and the lack of the formality -- is he that close to Sora?

"It's not...usual, though, to be dressed so nicely, in my office." He spread his arms, revealing his white button-down short-sleeved shirt, his neat black pants -- nothing fancy, nothing special. "Do you think of this as a special occasion?"

It was Miyako's turn to be embarrassed. "Ah, I'll wear scrubs tomorrow."

"I'm sure you'll look stunning," Koushirou said dryly, his face turned away from her as he inserted the key into the ignition. "As always."

Miyako's face wrinkled into a picture of honest surprise. Did he mean that? What did it matter to her? It wasn't her fault. She was just trying to be friendly.

It wouldn't be good to work with someone that still hated her for something that was eighteen years in the past, for something that was so utterly insignificant, she didn't know why she could still remember the precise time of year it had happened --

-- fall, shading to winter, the leaves on the trees almost entirely gone, the cold wind ripping into her vandalized heart --

-- well, maybe it was important, she wouldn't have married Ken otherwise.

Ken, who was dead.

Miyako shivered, a slight movement barely noticeable. Koushirou frowned and turned down the air conditioning.

She had gotten this job so that she would work. She was going to work. She was going to work.

Damnit.

---

How come she looked so beautiful? How could she look so beautiful? What right did she have to have such a hold over his heart, even after all these years?

Koushirou silently but profoundly cursed off his altruistic (masochistic?) streak.

Get your priorities straight...

He was here not to mourn a lost love, not to wallow in self-pity, and most certainly not to court a newly-made widow. He was here to work with his new assistant.

Got that clear?

Aye aye.

Still...

Damnit.


---

After a mostly silent drive, both humans being absorbed with their own thoughts and neither digimon feeling talkative, Koushirou's car pulled up in front of a huge building.

Miyako's eyes nearly popped out of her skull. "This is where you work?"

"Yes," answered Koushirou nonchantantly.

Miyako stared at him.

Koushirou sweatdropped. "Miyako-kun, why such a weird look?"

Miyako managed to get her voice under control as she answered, "I knew you were RICH, I just didn't know HOW rich."

Koushirou parked -- in a VIP space, Miyako noted absently. "It's not a big deal...I had some close friends that needed me to help them set up a new business. They're smart. They managed to keep it profitable. I just supplied programs and techological designs, and for some reason people bought them. Nothing special."

"You're so modest," groaned Miyako.

"Really! I wasn't that interested in most of what I was doing until the last few years, when I found my true calling. Money and power has never been that important to me," he shrugged. "What I wanted to do -- what was important to my heart -- was to research the Digital world."

They both got out of the car. Koushirou opened the door and helped out Tentomon, then swiftly picked up the baby supplied Hawkmon had so recently been overburdened with.

"Thank you," Hawkmon said instantly.

"Not a problem," Koushirou said. He turned back to Miyako, who was adjusting Ari's position in her arms. "I remembered that Sora's father Professor Takenouchi and Jyou's brother Kido Shuu had been researching the Digital world for quite some time in our youth. Although both had gone different ways quite some time ago, I managed to get them both to continue working with me. Along with Tentomon, we make a pretty solid team. Takenouchi-sensei researches myths, Shuu-san is really good at correlating events in the Digital world to events in our world -- you should hear some of the theories he has, they're wild -- Tentomon's simply the best at gathering information -- "

Tentomon took a bow. Miyako stiffled a giggle.

" -- and I take their information, feed it through the computer, and spin theories for everyone to look at. Among other things," Koushirou said a bit stiffly.

"Mm." The four of them -- six, counting the fast-asleep Ari and Leafmon, who was uneasily balancing on Hawkmon's head -- headed indoors. There were a few guards at the front of the building, but a nod from Koushirou made them all relax.

Koushirou entered an elevator, waited for everyone else to enter it, and then pushed a button. The elevator immediately started zooming up.

"So," Miyako said finally, "what am I bringing to the team?"

Koushirou's eyes steadied on her. Miyako felt like a deer frozen in a headlght's glare. "Well, your ideas and opinions, which differ greatly from my own -- in fact, you have the most unique viewpoint of anyone that I know." From him, it was a great compliment. "You're very original, and you'll be bound to make us look at things very differently. You'll also be taking a load off my shoulders in analyzing data, and you'll be certain to not let me work 80 hours a week."

"But...why me?"

The elevator stopped, but Koushirou kept the door closed without lifing his gaze from Miyako. Their eyes were locked.

"Because you're you," Koushirou said finally. "Because you needed a job. Because I needed someone like you, whom I could trust -- and I've always trusted you completely."

The faintest of blushes appeared on Miyako's cheeks. "But..."

"But nothing." Koushirou's tone grew faster and harsher as he went on. "You're a Chosen, just like me. You understand, in a way that Takenouchi-sensei and Shuu-san could never understand, the pressures and difficulties of being a Chosen, of the Digital world. You know it instinctively, without even thinking about it. You would never, ever sacrifice any life, and would do everything in your power to stop harm coming to the digital world. "

"Kou -- " Miyako started, but Koushirou cut her off with a wave of his hand, obviously inflamed about his subject matter.

"Did you know that right now there are no less than a hundred radical groups plotting on how to destroy the Digital world? They're jealous and afraid of digimon of all kinds, and want to cut off the Digital world -- forever. That's what I want to solve. I want to save the Digital world again, even though I'm too old for active fighting. I want to protect it so well that none of these groups will ever succeed in their evil plans -- and they are evil, you know, just as much as any of the evil digimon we both fought. Just because they're humans doesn't mean we aren't in a battle. And I want...I want to fight this one my own way. With your help, we could win. That is...that's my heart's secret wish, my passion." He took in a deep breath and smiled sheepishly. "That's why I need you to help me."

Miyako's amber eyes were wide. "Koushirou..." she whispered. Abashed, she corrected herself, adding the proper suffix.

His smile grew a shade more stretched. "Tell you what, Miyako. I know you're not comfortable with calling me -san, and I'm not thrilled with calling you -kun. While we're in the office, it'd be best to address me politely, but when we're outside of the office...well, we're friends, right? Address me as you'd call a friend. I stopped using suffixes for most of my Chosen friends long ago."

"Yes," said Miyako. "Koushirou."

"Miyako."

He released his hold on the button holding the elevator shut, and they all trooped out. Hawkmon and Tentomon watched their respective partners with wariness. They both knew that something had gone on that wasn't usual, but neither could name what had happened.

---

Miyako threw herself whole-heartedly into her work almost instantly.

It was good for her to get away from the apartment she had shared with Ken for hours at a time, forcing her away from the memories and the sadness.

It was good for her to get out and into the world, expanding her horizons. She hadn't realized how chained she'd been -- how she'd chained herself -- until she'd become free.

It was good for her to be earning money. She didn't want to have to depend on the charity of her friends, no matter how generous they were. She wanted to do her own work, fair and square.

It was good for her to have such fascinating work, which really was fascinating. Every day, she'd learned something knew. Every day, the new data served to completely boggle her mind and make her think in completely new ways she'd never dreamed of before. Even from day one, when she was just going over the procedures and learning how to work with the very advanced equipment she'd been provided with, she realized that this was what made her heart sing. This was her passion.

It was...it was good for her to get over the almost paralyzing fear that had controlled her for years whenever she saw Koushirou. Now that she was over that -- she was over all of the hard feelings -- she could concentrate on how friendly and nice he really was, and how considerate, and especially how brilliant he was, like her childhood sempai.

The one she'd...

...no...

...fallen...

Stop it!


Part of her was still attached to him. Part of her still hated him. She knew about both parts and ignored them in her best imitating-Izumi fashion.

There were differences between the Koushirou she knew now and the childhood Koushirou, and even from the Koushirou she'd dated throughout college. This Koushirou was just as focused but a bit more laid-back and flexible, able to adapt to different strategies. More open. She suspected it was fatherhood which had thrust these changes on him, but she couldn't be certain.

He solicited her opinion quite often. It almost embarrassed her, how much he trusted in her ideas. She hoped her thoughts weren't as stupid as they seemed to her. He never acted like they were.

Miyako rode with him to his house every day to pick up Osamu. She saw how gentle he was towards his daughter, how respectful he was towards his mother, how nicely he treated herself and her children, never being anything less than genuinely warm and courteous.

Unbidden, a thought crossed her mind -- he's kind.

Miyako shook her head and tried to clear her head, but the thought never really went away.

---

Mimi Tachikawa-Lyon's apartment was, like Mimi herself, perfectly coordinated and elegant. The walls matched the floors, the floors matched the furniture, and the effect was like stepping into a magazine.

Mimi was also a gracious host. When Daisuke and Daichi Motomiya appeared at her doorstep -- unannounced, but still appreciated -- Mimi barely blinked before ushering them both in.

"Carl's out on a business meeting," she said immediately as she prepared some tea. "He won't be back for a while. Shawn's in his room. Dai," she said, smiling at the younger boy as she used his American nickname, "why don't you join him?"

"Okay," chirped Daichi, and walked off. Since Daisuke and Mimi were the only original Chosen to be living in America, they'd become good friends over the years. The Motomiya men were a common sight at Mimi's apartment -- or, at least, had been until recently.

"So, Daisuke," Mimi said, reverting to her childhood Japanese as she poured the tea, "what brings you here? I haven't seen you since...since Ken's funeral a few months back, in fact, and you really didn't stay for very long."

A look of uncharacteristic bitterness crossed Daisuke's face. "I'm sorry, but if Ichijouji Ken had meant half as much to you as he did to me, you'd see why it's been hard for me to really relate to the outside world."

Mimi took a sip of her tea. "Mm." Using her teacup as a cover, she studied Daisuke's face. His face was in the grooves of sorrow. She made an instant decision. "We all loved Ken very much."

Daisuke, who was in mid-sip, choked and turned red.

"I suppose it was harder for the younger Chosen, who knew him best," Mimi said, seeming to study her teacup. "Especially you and Miyako."

Daisuke made a valiant attempt to speak, but ended up only sputtering.

"It's funny, what everyone thought...that Miyako was in love with Koushirou...that you and Ken were so close -- "

Daisuke gave her a dark look. "I thought so too."

Mimi continued on her litany. " -- that Takeru and Hikari would eventually get married, that Sora and Yamato would stay together for eternity..."

Daisuke cut in with tones that could have cut cheese. "That you and Jyou would stay together."

Mimi sighed in response to his barb. "How come the only marriages that seemed to really last were the ones made by the only two Chosen smart enough to marry out? Taichi's marriage is still strong, same with Iori, and they both married non-Chosen women."

"I disagree," Daisuke said unexpectedly. "Takeru married a non-Chosen, and his wife died after only a few years. That wasn't happily ever after. My wife ran off, and she was a non-Chosen -- but she left Daichi with me, and she wasn't that great, anyway."

"I always wondered about her," Mimi said. "I always thought you could do better."

"Right. Koushirou and Hikari never married, although they both have children -- Koushirou adopted, and Hikari..." He trailed off and got back on firmer ground. "Mimi, you've had two non-Chosen husbands. Neither have been exactly stellar material."

Mimi made a face. "I'm determined to make this marriage last."

"Carl's an idiot. Make it last with someone worth your time."

Mimi's eyes suddenly got sparkly. "Ahh~h, you're such a charmer, Daisuke-sama! Please save a spot in your heart for me, Daisuke-sama!"

"Cut it out," Daisuke frowned.

"I know. I'm not your type."

"What?"

"Daisuke," Mimi said, staring him straight in the eye, her pretense of innocence dropped. "Why did you come to my home without V-mon?"

"I didn't want V-mon to know about this. I knew Dai'd be occupied elsewhere, but V-mon would have insisted to stay. I don't want him to know."

"What's 'this?'" Mimi asked.

Daisuke sighed, and pulled out a large, padded envelope. He handed it silently to Mimi.

"That's...that's your name, in Ken's handwriting," Mimi said, puzzled.

"I know." Daisuke's tone was suddenly drained, as if he was too exhausted to move or even emote, an old, tired man. "I know."

Mimi turned the envelope over, noting its weight. "May I?"

"You might as well." Again, the 'dead' tone.

Mimi slit it open skillfully.

Pictures poured out.

Not just any pictures -- pictures of Daisuke. Hundreds of pictures of Daisuke. Daisuke smiling, Daisuke laughing, Daisuke acting up, Daisuke fighting with Takeru, Daisuke with an arm slung casually around Ken's shoulders, Daisuke from the time he was twelve to a time in his early twenties. There were so many, no two the same.

Mimi looked up in surprise and met Daisuke's eyes.

"Hikari was the official picture-taker of our group, but Ken could -- and often did -- take his own pictures," Daisuke supplied in an ironic undertone.

"There are...so many."

"I'm a ham. I always volunteered to pose for Ken's camera. I didn't realize...or maybe I did, but I didn't care."

"Oh." It wasn't enough, and Mimi knew it. "Why?"

Without even seeming to look, Daisuke swept his hand through the pictures and picked out a sheet of personal stationary, neatly folded. Rare, for 2028. Nearly everything was on computers.

Daisuke handed it to Mimi. Mimi read the words. She blinked, and let them sink in.

They were common words, words said again and again and again, with different depths of emotion each time. When written down in flawless handwriting like Ichijouji Ken's, they took on forms of precious gems, of diamonds, etching themselves in the heart.

Mimi didn't need to read them out loud. But she did anyway. Unconsciously, she adopted Ken's soft tones as she read them out loud.

"Daisuke. I love you. Ken."

The words hung in the air, balancing in the echoes of time.

Daisuke gave no physical reaction at first. Slowly, as if he was stuck in syrup, he reached in his pocket and pulled out a cigarette and lighter.

"Don't smoke," Mimi said, breaking the spell.

He blinked at her, uncomprehending. "There are ashtrays here."

"Carl smokes. I wish he wouldn't."

"I wish a lot of things. I might as well have an early death on that list."

"No," Mimi whispered. "Ken wouldn't want that."

"How the hell am I supposed to know what Ken wanted?" Daisuke asked softly. "He's such a screwed-up person. He wished for his brother to die. He tried to take over an entire world -- and would probably have succeeded, if not for some dumb luck and miscalculation. He fell in love with his best friend, but was too cowardly to accept that part of him. When his other friend was distressed, he proposed -- leaving everyone around them in turmoil and destroying three romances in the process. Only after his death was he able to confess. What a coward. What a pathetic person."

Mimi's eyes were wide. "Daisuke, you don't mean this. You can't."

Daisuke looked at her, eyes half-lidded -- with amusement? With pity? "Mimi, I have to stay angry at Ken. I have to be mad. If not...I'll start crying, because I love him, and now he's really gone forever."

Mimi was speechless, but only for a moment. Her maternal instincts took over. She walked to where Daisuke was sitting and folded her arms around him, mingling her tears with his and comforting him in the only way she knew how.

---

Koushirou had the feeling that he was living on borrowed time.

Every hour, every minute, every second he was with Miyako, his heart soared. He smiled because he knew he would see her. His world was better because she was there.

He loved her.

More to the point, he was in love with her. Totally, completely, absolutely.

He loved being in love with her -- his new perception, his heightened senses, the feeling that he was drowning and it wasn't that bad, not at all.

There was only one problem, and just thinking of this problem was a splash of cold water on his face.

She didn't love him back.

She couldn't love him back. She was in mourning and probably still in love with Ken, her heart too fragile to even think of having him touch it. She only thought of him as a friend, and even that was iffy. He'd had his chance with her already, and soundly blown it.

Koushirou wanted to go back in time and slap his younger self for screwing things up so blindly.

"Are you stupid?" he'd shout. "How can you not appreciate what you have? Wait until you go without her for ten, almost twenty years, starved for love and knowing that you were the one that caused your own misery? You'll see how your work is no comfort then, no matter how much effort you put into it."

He couldn't, though. Too bad. He had a lot to say.

He should appreciate his friendship with Miyako, and be happy that she still allowed him, ignorant buffoon that he was, to be near her. Allowed him the pleasure of working with her for the time that he had left with her, before her mourning year was up and she started looking outwards again, for a father to her children, for a husband.

He'd keep her for as long as he could. He'd keep his hold on her, damnit, and he wouldn't let go. He wouldn't let go.

He loved her. He was allowed to be stupid. It came in the description.

He needed a cold shower.

---