Welcome to the beginning of the end, everyone. ^_^ These next two parts are where everything starts working together. I also start including the digimon a little more -- I really find it hard to write from the digimons' perspectives most of the time, because most of them are really, really flat characters. Face it; Toei thinks that just because a character spends half of its time saying "__Insert name here!__ evolves!" means that it's just a simplified version of a three-year-old. However, I do start having the digimon play a slightly larger role than Toei lets them get.
This fic isn't really doing as well as I'd hoped...reader-wise or review-wise...-_-;; I thought you people wanted to be writers! Must I bribe you all to get people to write a review? What's with this? Please, start reviewing or I'll get wrapped up in a snit and only write really depressing metaphysical original fics about how we're all going to die!
...oh, dear, I'm just encouraging you all.
Anyway, I don't own Digimon or any of its trademarks. I'm also shamelessly borrowing usage of the English language from Merriam-Websters. (You people are so nice, letting everyone speak in English, without saying we're infringing on your copyrights...::sparkle::)
Kirai ni Narenai ~
I Can't Hate You
Part Six
by Rb
Once upon a time...
There was a man, and a woman. And they lived together in
happiness.
And then there was a problem. The man was very quiet, while the
woman was emotional to the max. While normally this worked out to
the best in a balance, there was a time when it cracked.
The two went off their seperate paths, and lived seperate lives
from then on, until a chain of events was set off and the two
were thrown together again.
Two roads diverge in a wood all the time. That's the nature of
roads in woods. What no one ever speaks about is how often those
roads come back and become one.
---
Miyako placed her hand on the door that led to Koushirou's room
and yanked it open.
It was dim inside, the only light coming from a window; the harsh
artificial light of a streetlamp. As her eyes adjusted, she saw a
figure of a man lying prone on the bed.
Miyako watched Koushirou's unmoving body for a long time.
He looks, one part of her mind noted wryly, like a
fairy-tale princess, waiting for the kiss of True Love to wake
him up.
In silence, she walked over to his bed and bent over him, her
long violet hair falling on either side of her face. Now she
could see the faint marks on his face that were from tears.
With great precision, she bent closer to him, her hair falling in
front of her face...
...and rammed a fist in his gut.
"Eeyurgh," said Koushirou wisely as his eyes flew open.
"Itaaaai! Ow! Mi-Miyako!"
"Sorry," Miyako said unrepentantly. "But you have
a lot of explaining to do."
"Ex...plain...ing?"
"Yes." She sat down on the edge of the bed very primly,
her legs crossed. Koushirou also sat up and clambered down to the
edge of the bed next to her, leaving about a foot or so of space
between them. She didn't look at him, nor he at her. He didn't
offer to turn on the lights. Some things are better left in
darkness.
"So," he said.
"So," she replied. "Were you being serious when
you said you loved me?"
Koushirou winced. "Why must you always go for the
zinger?"
"Because."
"Oh. Well."
There was a long silence.
"Koushirou?"
"Yes. I was."
"You were what?" Miyako pressed.
"I was...I was being serious when I said I loved you."
It was Miyako's turn to be silent.
"I do love you, you know. I have for years. I just couldn't
say it," said Koushirou, uncomfortable with the current
quiet. "I mean, you're just so...so enthusiastic, and
outgoing, and emotional, and you're everything I'm not, yet you
click so well with me, like a key to my lock. But I couldn't say
it, because...because I was afraid, because it was too soon,
because I thought -- "
Miyako turned to him and kissed him briefly, deeply, on the lips.
" -- well, never mind," Koushirou finished.
"You idiot," said Miyako affectionately -- at least, he
trusted it was affectionately -- and kissed him again. This time
he took advantage of her closeness to wrap both arms around her
and bring her even closer. Her slender body still felt very much
the same as it had nearly twenty years ago, warm and responsive
in his grip.
Fire raced up and down his body, spreading wherever Miyako's
hands touched him. Even though his clothes, he could feel her
delicate fingers racing around his neck, getting snagged on the
chain he wore...
...the chain that held the key to his office, and to the computer
within...
...his world hiccuped to a stop. What if this is all a setup?
What if all she wants is to see Ken's memoirs? What if this is
all a game, and she's just faking this?
Koushirou backed away from the woman. His fingers groped around
his neck and undid the chain, clenching the key in his hand.
"What's wrong, Koushirou?" asked Miyako, surprised.
He glared at her, opened his fist, and displayed the key.
"This is what you want. Not me."
"What?!" Miyako snapped, startled
"This key unlocks the door to my office. The computer's on.
Ken's memoirs are open already."
"But -- " Miyako's mind caught up to what was actually
happening. "But -- wait, what about the passwords? You never
told me -- "
Koushirou refused to meet her eyes. "There are no
precautions. That was all a smokescreen. I...Ken never said
anything about you not being allowed to read them. I wanted...I
wanted to protect you, I suppose. It doesn't really matter
anymore." He dropped the key onto the bed, stood up, and
stalked out of the room.
Miyako sat, shocked. Her eyes went from the key on the bed to the
door. What to do? Satisfy her burning curiosity about Ken, or
find Koushirou?
Wracked in indecision, she tried to assimilate what had just
happened, but failed. What should I do?...
...what would Koushirou do?
She stared at the key for some time more.
And made her choice.
---
About five seconds after Koushirou stormed out of the room, he
realized that he'd just quite neatly locked himself out of his
own room.
"Crap," he muttered, running a hand through his
slightly rumpled red hair.
Well. This house was too big as it was, and there were about half
a dozen unoccupied bedrooms. He could sleep in one of them for
tonight.
He had a pounding headache starting already. Shouldn't the
hangover symptoms wait until AFTER I've had a chance to sleep?
What he felt like doing right then was playing the piano.
Koushirou used the piano like how others might have used
exercise, or writing, or singing karaoke -- to get rid of the
feelings that really had no place in his life.
The only problem was that the piano was in the dining room.
Stragglers from his (utterly miserable) party might still be
hanging around. His mother might still be there.
Oh, well. He'd risk it. Besides, everyone should have gotten the
idea that the party was over, especially since he'd been absent
for...he checked his watch...an hour!
Time really can fly when you're having fun. He
squashed the sarcastic voice inside his head. Surely everyone
would have gone by now. Surely they would have realized it was
over. Surely...
...of course, Hida Iori was standing in the dining room, with a
very unamused look on his handsome face.
Koushirou tried smiling, but found that smiles -- or any other
expression -- felt extremely fake. "Hello, Iori."
"Koushirou-san." Iori inclined his head. "What did
you think you were doing tonight?"
"Having a dinner party?" Koushirou hazarded. From the
look of disapproval on Iori's face, he knew it was the wrong
answer.
Iori sighed. He looked the older man straight in the eyes and
spoke to him as if Koushirou was no older than Hitomi.
"Having a dinner party is one thing. Storming out of the
dinner party, and secluding yourself with a woman you have, in
the past, had feelings for, in an undisclosed room -- "
"You make it sound like I had her in handcuffs, or chained
to the dungeon wall," Koushirou snapped, nettled. "It
was only my bedroom."
Iori's face turned even grimmer, and Koushirou realized that he
wasn't helping the situation much. "I think I have a right
to know what you're doing with my best friend," Iori
returned. "Especially because she's recently widowed. I hope
you haven't been taking advantage of her or anything."
"It's not like we had sex, Iori!" Koushirou
shouted.
Iori looked scandalized. "What did you do,
then?"
Koushirou sobered. "We...talked."
"And?"
"And...and kissed."
Iori tensed. Koushirou remembered that Iori was quite a few
inches taller and about three times as strong as the rather
scrawny and short computer expert. If Iori wanted to, he could
break every bone in Koushirou's body without breaking a sweat.
And Iori probably did want to. Iori was incredibly loyal and
protective towards his friends, including Miyako. Especially
Miyako.
Koushirou was, understandably, not eager for this to happen.
"Can I explain?"
Iori pursed his lips. His green eyes were studying Koushirou like
an entomologist would study an interesting species of bug.
"Go ahead."
Koushirou tried to summarize his thoughts and emotions into
something that Iori would understand. Iori, too, carried the
burden of knowledge. Iori also liked to have things make sense.
Iori would like...
Suddenly, Koushirou had a revelation. Sometimes, things don't
have to make sense. Sometimes, things are unorderly. Sometimes,
things just are, and don't have to be explained. Like the wind
and the waves. Love.
Music.
Koushirou strode over to the piano and started playing, his eyes
unfocused. Although Iori didn't know it, it was the same piece
that Koushirou'd played earlier for Miyako and the others. There
was only one difference, though -- he went on, past the place
he'd stopped with the others. The chords grew faster, louder,
crashing into each other, tumbling over one another, yet somehow
not clashing. Finally, when the music had reached the climax,
Koushirou lifted his fingers from the keys, waited a beat, and
then slammed them down randomly, creating a terrible noise.
After the last notes had faded away, Koushirou locked eyes with
Iori. "That's your explanation."
"That was...beautiful, until the very end," Iori said.
"But...who wrote it? I've never heard it before."
"I did."
"What's it called?"
"It's my life," Koushirou answered simply.
---
When Miyako left Koushirou's room, her face was a pale, scared
white. She looked around the hallways desperately, searching for
Koushirou. She didn't want to see him, yet she needed to talk to
him. Scream at him. Cry on his shoulder. All of the above.
He lied to me. He lied...they both lied to
me...for all these years, too. Was all of his kindness these past
months been through pity? All of his affection been a lie?
"Miyako-san?"
The polite voice nearly made Miyako scream. Miyako turned around
and saw, to her dismay, the figure of Izumi Satoe. Koushirou's
mother.
"If you don't want to be seen by Koushirou and Iori-san, I'd
suggest going out the back way," Satoe advised, smiling
obliquely. "I've already called a cab to take you home. It
should be here soon. Reika-san and Hikari-san already took home
your children."
The older woman's kindness was enough to break Miyako's thin
control, and she burst into tears. "Thank you," Miyako
whispered brokenly. "Thank you." Miyako awkwardly
removed her glasses and wiped her eyes.
Satoe studied Miyako's face. Without her glasses, Miyako looked
much younger, like the girl who her son had dated nearly twenty
years ago. At one time, Satoe had hoped that Miyako would be the
mother of her, Satoe's, grandchildren. Then Miyako had broken her
son's heart, and Satoe had hated Miyako -- hated her because
she'd hurt her child, and a mother's love is always, always,
fiercely protective.
And now, what to do? Satoe had called a cab because she knew
Miyako would need one -- she certainly wouldn't be staying the
entire night as Satoe'd half-hoped, not with Koushirou storming
out like that. Satoe didn't have a mean bone in her body, but to
someone who'd crushed her son like that...
Satoe thought about the night that her baby boy had died. It was
from a rare disease that she'd never heard of before. She'd been
in shock for weeks, and had vowed never to forget the name of the
disease which had robbed her of her baby.
That was forty years ago. Now she couldn't remember the name of
the disease, the name of the doctor she'd spoken to...or even the
name she'd given her child. Time heals wounds, slowly, sadly. The
wound of her child dying. The wound of her child's pain.
Satoe searched in herself for anger or resentment towards the
crying woman in front of her, but found only compassion and
empathy.
Satoe opened her arms and embraced Miyako in a warm, maternal
hug. Miyako accepted her comfort. For a brief, private moment
they were linked in the most intimate way possible -- not through
sweat or blood, but through tears.
They broke apart, and Miyako replaced her glasses on her face,
murmuring a quiet "thank you." She felt like she should
say something to the older woman, but knew if she started
talking, she'd start talking too much. She's start talking about
everything that her mind had not quite assimilated yet.
"The cab will be here soon," Satoe said after a moment.
"I'll show you the back way."
Quietly, Miyako followed her.
The cab ride home was uneventful, the driver perfectly content to
drive in silence. Miyako thought about visiting Iori and Reika,
so that they'd be aware that she was okay, but was suddenly too
tired to even think about talking to them.
The apartment's lights were on, and Hawkmon was waiting for her
when she came in the door. Miyako opened her mouth to speak, but
Hawkmon held up a feathery finger -- or his equivalent, anyway.
"The children are all safe at Iori-san's apartment. I don't
want you to talk to me right now," Hawkmon said, his blue
eyes gentle as he looked at his partner. "I know you've been
through a lot, and I know you feel very overwhelmed right now,
but I'm really not the right person to talk to right now. Go to
sleep, Miyako-san. In the morning, we'll talk."
"...thank you, Hawkmon."
She went to her room, undressed, and pulled on pajamas. She fell
asleep, with the events of the day and the words of Ken's memoirs
marching around in her head.
"By doing this, I'm going to be living a lie...I'm used
to it by now..."
"But I can't not do this, I have to...my happiness
doesn't matter..."
"I'll marry Miyako...even if she's not the one I
love..."
"The one I love..."
"The one I love..."
"I love..."
Mercifully, a deeper sleep claimed her at that point, and her
thoughts -- and tears -- ceased.
---
Ow.
Kido Jyou's entire world at the moment could be summed up with
that exclamation. Actually, his whole world could be several
rather more vulgar epiphets, but 'Ow' was pretty accurate, as far
as Jyou was concerned.
His entire world was, currently, a pulsing pain that spread from
the top of his head to the tips of his toenails. Even his
earlobes throbbed.
"I think he's waking up. Having fun, Jyou?" said a very
high-pitched, cheerful, and above all LOUD voice. Jyou opened his
eyes -- and, groaning, closed them. No sudden movements for a
while, Jyou. Not unless you really want to puke all over the bed.
"Hush, Gomamon," said a second person, this one quieter
and recognizeably male. "Jyou's suffering from a hangover.
He needs people to be quiet and not disturb him."
"Hangover? Jyou? This is a cause for a celebration! He's
finally a real man!" Jyou felt something warm nudge his arm.
It shot waves of pain through his entire body. "Jyou! JYOU!
You okay in there?"
Jyou had a very rude comment to reply to that, but luckily (or
unluckily) he'd apparently lost control of his speech centers,
and it came out as "mrgplx."
"JYOU!" shouted Gomamon happily. "He's awake! This
is so great!" Gomamon started bouncing up and down on the
bed. Jyou could feel the bile rising in his throat.
He was so sure Gomamon was doing this on purpose.
"Gomamon," came the second voice. Jyou recognized
Takeru's amused tones. "Maybe you should stay back a
little..."
"C'mon! Celebrate!" Gomamon chanted, continuing to
bounce. "Jyou's a man! Now all we have to do is find some
whores and go screw them!"
Luckily, Takeru had some foresight, and when Jyou actually did
throw up, Takeru had a small trash can waiting to hold it all.
Gomamon shot him a look of distaste. "You know, Jyou, if you
can't handle the booze, you probably can't handle the whores.
This new manly you is still pretty much a wimp."
"Shut up," Jyou moaned. "Not -- "
"Any second now, he's going to say 'not in front of the
children,'" Gomamon informed Takeru. "Well, guess what,
JYOU? Shuten's not hee~eere, he's with Hikari, and Takeru's not a
child any more! So! I! Get! To! Say! What! Ever! I! Want!"
Jyou felt as though his head was wrapped in a fog. He ignored his
digimon, who was currently doing some sort of boogie on the space
next to him. "Takeru, what are you doing here?"
"Well, in the state you were in, you couldn't get home by
yourself, even with Gomamon's help. The little guy was pretty far
gone, himself."
"Hey, at least I can hold my liquor!" Gomamon squealed
indignantly.
Takeru continued as if there hadn't been an interruption.
"So I helped you get home, while Hikari-chan organized an
impromptu sleepover for the older boys."
Jyou thought back to last night. It was hard forming thoughts,
almost an actual physical effort. Had he really had that
much to drink? And had he really...oh, my...
"What happened to Miyako?" Jyou asked thickly.
Takeru's tone was grim. "She...stayed later than I did. I
don't know when she left."
"Bet she didn't leave at all!" Gomamon announced
happily. "Bet they're still in his room going at it like
rabbits!"
Takeru and Jyou turned identical shades of green.
"Thank you for that unnecessarily vivid image,
Gomamon," Jyou managed to say.
"Who's thanking him?" said an unsettled Takeru.
"Do you think that's what happened, though?" asked
Jyou, in a quieter tone.
Takeru shrugged and ran a head through his blond hair. "Who
knows? Probably not. Hikari-chan couldn't get through to Miyako
all night, though. Something must have happened."
"This is all my fault," Jyou said. The weight of the
hangover was increased by the familiar weight of his guilt.
"I was such an idiot."
"Mm," said Takeru -- not disagreeing, Jyou noticed
wryly. "Why were you so...direct?"
Jyou wondered if he could erase the events of last night through
willpower alone. Apparently not. He sighed. "I...this is so
stupid, but...I was jealous."
Gomamon stopped bouncing.
"Jealous?" Takeru questioned.
"I...I...you know, if Koushirou'd had his way, he would have
had Miyako completely devoted to him by the end of the mourning
year, and they would have been married after a year or so, some
reasonable time, and everything would have worked out all right
for them, and you know it. And they would have been happy. But
for every happy person, there are two people who are desperately
unhappy. And I've...always been the person who suffers as a
result of other people's happiness, and..."
"And?" Takeru repeated, probing gently into Jyou's
deepest wounds.
"And...Koushirou was needling me, not really on purpose,
about how I mope because Mimi's no longer with me. And I...that
hurts, more than he knows. Because I do miss her, and I
do wish that she and I were still married. But..."
"But?"
"I don't like how he gets a second chance, while I never
will." Jyou sighed again. "I keep thinking, what if,
what if..."
Gomamon nudged his head under Jyou's heavy hand. "You can't
build on 'what ifs', Jyou," he said softly. "You have
to build on happier tomorrows."
"I know," Jyou said. "But sometimes, I doubt if
any tomorrows will be worth being happy in."
---
Hawkmon watched carefully as Miyako slept. He loved her, after
all, and there is very little more rewarding than being able to
watch someone you love sleep.
Sometimes Hawkmon had to wonder at the responses he got when he
said he loved Miyako. People seemed to find it strange or weird
that he had such strong feelings for his partner -- even some
digimon didn't understand the bond that was between the two of
them.
Something that Miyako had said one day when she was a teen had
stuck in Hawkmon's heart:
"If you have love for someone, why hold it selfishly in
your own heart, where no one but yourself can feel it?"
she'd said passionately. "It's better to let everyone know,
especially that special person you like best in the world! It's
not like it can hurt you in anyway, and to that special person,
it'll make all the world of a difference!"
Of course, she'd gone off and confessed her latest crush to the
boy-of-the-week the next day, and she'd been horribly crushed and
ranted for three hours about how stupid the male gender was --
"'cept for you, Hawkmon, and Iori, and Takeru-kun and
Ken-kun, and sometimes Daisuke -- but only sometimes!" --
but the principle itself was sound.
Hawkmon had considered Miyako's statement, found it to be true,
and had thusly confessed his love for the special person he liked
best in the world -- Miyako. Miyako had smiled and said "I
love you, too."
To her credit, Miyako had been right. Knowing Hawkmon really,
truly, loved her had bolstered her self-confidence. Miyako vowed
to only give her love to those who were capable of matching
Hawkmon's love for her. It didn't exactly cut down on the number
of crushes Miyako had, but it did crank up the quality a
notch or two. And all of Miyako's serious boyfriends had their
own digimon partners, understood the relationship between Miyako
and Hawkmon, and did their best to love Miyako with the same
simple devotion Hawkmon did.
It was just the people who didn't understand the words "ai
shiteru," I love you, which really caused the problem.
The words 'ai shiteru' were always overused by people
who didn't realize what it meant. Saying you love someone doesn't
mean that you want their body or that you want someone else for
your own sake. It means that you want someone else to be.
Hawkmon had been created for the purpose of protecting Miyako and
saving the digital world. He hadn't really had a choice in either
-- it was his destiny. The latter...he'd never really questioned
his duty. But the moment he first protected Miyako -- not because
he had to, but because he wanted to -- in that split-second, he
had loved her. And he would continue to love her, forever.
Miyako stirred. Hawkmon was at her side in a second.
"...uh...uh...Hawkmon?" Miyako sleepily muttered.
"Head...hurts."
"Here's some painkillers," Hawkmon said instantly.
"Than'you," Miyako mumbled, swallowing them. Hawkmon
watched her face intently.
After a few minutes, Miyako screamed, "I can't believe that
-- OW!"
"I guess your memory of last night is coming back,"
Hawkmon said sympathetically. "It's about time you woke up.
I was getting worried."
"What time is it?"
"Almost eleven."
"I've gotta call Hikari! And Sora!"
"They've already called. They're going to be busy this
afternoon." Miyako's face fell. "But! I didn't call
Mimi-san yet." Miyako's face instantly brightened. For
you, Miyako, I would move the world, just so that your smile
would always be there...
"Time difference...uhh...oh, to hell with that, Mimi won't
care if I wake her up, as long as it's mee...Hawkmon! Where's the
vidphone?"
"On your bedstand..."
"...oh." Miyako snatched it up and dialed.
---
Mimi was awake, but preparing for sleep. Her face was encased in
the green facial mask that Palmon had recommended, so she didn't
turn on her viewing screen. "Hello, Tachikawa residence, who
is it?"
"Mimi?"
"...Miyako!?" She covered up the mouthpiece and
whispered (as capable as Mimi was of whispering), "it's
MIYAKO!"
"Yes, Mimi, I guessed," Palmon smiled.
Mimi turned her attention back to the phone.
"I'm so glad I could reach you, Mimi. I really have to talk
to you. As soon as possible."
Mimi touched a finger to her facial mask. It would be hard in a
few minutes, and then her complexion would be youthfully smooth
and -- what was Palmon's wording? -- looking like a flower just
after a rainfall! Add in time for makeup and hair, and...
"I can be ready for viewing in half an hour." Behind
her, Palmon facevaulted. "Shawn's with his dad, and
Carl's...well, I'm free of any obligations, let me tell you!
Where do you want to meet?"
"The digital world." Miyako thought for a moment.
"I know! Meet me at the gate cloest to Digitamamon's
restaurant!"
"Okay!"
"See ya!"
---
The digital world was even more beautiful, Palmon thought, than
in the days when Mimi and the others had had to fight to save it.
The vegetation was lusher, the water crystal-clear, the whole
land filled with an aura of peace. The butterflies rushing to and
fro on the madcap breeze only added to the effect.
Mimi hadn't done too badly, Palmon judged. She was only
fifteen minutes late. The pair of them strolled to meet Miyako
and Hawkmon under the bright digital world sun. Palmon could feel
her flower petals freshening. It's close to noon. Japan
time, right? She liked the digital world sunshine and peace
much better than the harsh neon lights and smog of New York City.
Maybe I can tell Mimi how much I dislike being cramped in that
apartment, and when we're not filming for our TV show, we can
travel the digital world, like we did when we were kids. Or maybe
we can visit the rainforest again -- that was sooo much
fun! And we could visit all of our friends in Japan, we barely
ever get to see them anymore, 'cept for Daisuke...
Palmon was off in her daydream and didn't notice that the others
were already entering the restaurant until Mimi embarrassedly
yanked her inside.
"What do you want?" Hawkmon asked the others, hovering
over the order pad attached to the table.
"Hmm. I'll take a black tea," Miyako decided.
"Fat-free hot chocolate for me," Mimi said cheerfully.
"Too late for anything else."
"Sparkling water," Palmon said a bit sheepishly. She
didn't like the taste of anything else, it seemed so unnatural
and...icky.
Hawkmon punched in the order, adding another tea for himself. In
a few moments, the order appeared through a small door in the
table. Digitamamon had gone through a lot of improvements over
the years, and -- far from being the struggling, mean-tempered
restaurant manager Yamato and Jyou had run into all those years
ago -- was now one of the richest digimon in the entire world.
Even though the Chosen didn't get to eat for free, they did get a
three percent discount on their meals, as penance for the times
that the Chosen had saved him from being controlled from evil
spires and his restaurant from destruction.
"So," Mimi said, after a sip from the delicious cocoa.
"What happened, Miyako?"
Miyako stirred her tea, collecting her thoughts. "It started
with...with Koushirou's job offer, I guess."
"You accepted it, didn't you?" Mimi asked, perplexed at
this interest in 'ancient history'.
"I didn't...not at first. I was going to refuse...I did
refuse. But...Ken had left Koushirou a package, and he...hadn't
left me one." Intent on her tea, Miyako didn't see the
slight widening of Mimi's eyes, or the guilty knowledge that had
crept onto her face. "Koushirou's package was Ken's memoirs.
Koushirou said...he said Ken had requested that I wait a year
before looking at it, and the only way I would be able to see it
after that year was to work for him."
"He blackmailed you?" Mimi gasped, surprised.
"It felt like that...but at the same time, I didn't
feel...anything. I mean, I didn't feel anything bad." Miyako
looked up and met Mimi's eyes. "He was genuinely sincere
about giving me the job...he didn't want it for any bad reasons,
just to help me. He wanted to help me, and...I didn't see it
before." The younger woman looked very close to tears.
Hawkmon placed a comforting wing around Miyako's shoulders.
Palmon finished a gulp of her water and watched Miyako intently.
"So...what happened? It sounded like you liked your job a
great deal."
"I did! He really respected me, and made me feel like I was
important. And he was kind, and he cared about my children...he
gave me advice about how to treat Mikomi when I had problems
dealing with her, and he never minded when Ari cried, and he was
able to give very accurate diagnoses...I don't know if that's the
right word...about how Osamu acted, and he let the kids stay with
him while I was working, and he was just such a great
help..."
"He sounds practically perfect," Mimi said with a
slight trace of bitterness in her tone. She twisted her hands,
and Miyako noticed for the first time the absence of a wedding
ring on her fingers. "What was the problem?"
"Last night, he threw a 'quiet' dinner party for me, so that
I wouldn't be alone on the six-months' anniversary of Ken's
death, even though I didn't request one. He invited all of the
other Chosen. And..at first he was alone with Sora, and then Sora
was joking with me, but she wasn't being funny, you know? And
there was too much wine being served, and...and...Jyou..."
Mimi jerked slightly. "...he...he accused Koushirou of
loving me."
Mimi's jaw dropped. Palmon looked similarly dumbstruck.
"Did..does he?" Mimi asked after an eternity of
silence. Hawkmon turned to Miyako, waiting for the answer.
Miyako turned pink and looked at her black tea as if it held all
the answers in the universe. "Yes."
Palmon couldn't help it -- she squealed. "And what do you
feel, Miyako?"
Hawkmon's gaze grew all the more intense as he stared at his
partner.
"I..I feel like..." Miyako stammered. She stirred her
black tea again, as if receiving strength from it. "I feel
like...like I could look at him for an eternity and never get
bored. Like he could look at me forever and I'd never feel
embarrassed. In fact, I...I want him to. I want him to look at me
and only me, in some desperate way. I want him to have me in my
thoughts. I want...I want..." She could not finish her
thought out loud. I want him to hold me in his arms and never
let go...
Gentle fingers wiped away tears Miyako hadn't realized she was
crying. Mimi smiled kindly at the younger woman. "What do
you feel about him?"
"I...I love him." An instant wave of guilt washed over
her -- so fast do you forget the one you were wedded to for
years! -- and an instant flare of anger matched it -- I
was never the one he wanted, I'm justified.
"That's not it, though," Miyako choked out.
"Miyako-san?" Hawkmon asked concernedly.
"We...in his bedroom, we...I followed him when he stalked
out, and I followed him to his bedroom." Hawkmon looked
scandalized. "We didn't...we just...we kissed, but...it
would have been more, but...I...my fingers brushed the chain of
the key, and he must have thought -- "
"The key to what?" Mimi queried.
"The key to his office. The key to the computer which Ken's
memoirs were stored on. He...he was upset, and he let me into the
room...he gave me the key..the memoirs were open on the
screeen."
"You read Ken's memoirs?" Mimi asked, worry making her
voice shriller than normal.
Miyako met Mimi's eyes. "Yes. I read them. I think you know
what was in them, yes?"
Mimi nodded wordlessly. "I'm so sorry, Miyako."
Hawkmon and Palmon looked at their partners inquisitively. "We
don't know," pointed out Palmon with infinite tact.
Miyako smiled a bit wistfully at the plant digimon.
"Ken...he...he wasn't in love with me. He was in love with a
different person. But he married me out of necessity, anyway. And
he never let me know he loved someone else...I only discovered
that last night, and it's...very painful to talk about."
Indeed, Miyako sipped her black tea and looked as though she
wished she was somewhere else.
The conversation drifted onto other things at that point, but
nothing very important. In a few minutes, Miyako was claiming
other duties to attend to, and after promises to call and e-mail
if anything happened, the four split up.
When Palmon and Mimi were back in their apartment, Palmon finally
voiced the question she'd been thinking about. "Mimi, was
the person that Ken loved...Daisuke?"
Mimi looked shocked. "Ye~es...how did you know?"
"Because Daisuke moved away from Japan just weeks after
Miyako and Ken's wedding. I always thought that the events were
connected."
"You were right. Weddings do have some unexpected
reprecussions." Mimi looked very thoughtful, and after a
moment's pause, Palmon retired to her own room to do some
thinking herself.
To be continued. Aren't I a rat? Anyway, there's still another part in which I have to wrap this up! Will Koushirou and Miyako stop dithering? Why did Sora and Yamato divorce, anyhow? What's going to happen to poor Dai-san? Does anyone remember all of the childrens' names? I'll give anyone who can (without looking in one of the earlier parts, cheaters!) a brownie! ^_-
