DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own Digimon or related chars. Damn. I do however own any original
creatures, characters, and concepts (except where SPECIFICALLY noted), including this dumb fic. And while there's not much I could actually do to you should you for some reason steal my crap, I WILL put a hex on you. So THERE.
Specific notation alert: Teyu is property of my sister Sammi, who can be found on FF.net under the penname Osidiano.
Author's Note: I think everyone should know that since I can't for the life of my recall how I started this story the first time, the chapters might not be so great until I get to a part where I once more know what I'm doing. Closer and closer, kiddies. ^.^;v
This story is faintly AU (or would that be AC?) from the actual series--BelialVamdemon never happened. In fact, nothing after the release of Quinlongmon and the dissapearance of BlackWargreymon happened. Okay? Given that, this takes place one year after 02. I already told you this repeatedly. =P
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9
Faulty Communication

Beep beep, 'Shiro-chan.

Eyes lidded and tired, Koushiro frowned faintly at his computer. His fingers hovered over the keys for a moment--and they were only trembling a little, now, he might have been proud of that if he weren't so tired--before descending to type out a reply: That's not funny.

Sure it is 'Shiro-chan, but it wasn't supposed to be. This morning. . .now that was funny, don't you think?

Again Koushiro paused before typing a reply--this time he looked down at the floor, the carpet perfectly clean, not a single stray sliver of shattered glass. Nor, of course, was there any blood on his arm, or any trace of injury. They had all vanished quite conveniently the moment his mother had come in to call him for breakfast, and though Koushiro was by then beginning to question his sanity he wasn't quite crazy enough to try explaining to his parents. Shaking his head, he scowled back at the screen. Fuck you.

Charming. But I digress--beep beep.

Grinding his teeth a bit, Koushiro almost told the other to shove it up their ass--figurative or literal, whatever would shut them up. He stopped himself, though--gripped his hands together until the nerve-bitten nails dug rough crescents into each palm--and closed his eyes. If this was a joke, it didn't matter. If this was a game though, if it was a game--and at this point it sure as hell felt like he was being toyed with--then maybe he had to play along. Beep beep--who knew? It might actually be important. So he pulled his hands apart and wiped the clammy-hot palms on his pants, stared at the words blurrily near on the screen, and dropped his hands to the keyboard.

Beep beep. He paused, then shook his head. A peculiar buzzing, a strange static fuzzing was clouding his mind. 'Beep beep' seemed the wrong thing to type in reply to the same, but then there was the answer like a shining coil in the bleak hazy cloud. Cue the sirens, call the priest; something wicked this way comes. It looked strange there on the screen, but it was right. Somehow, it was right.

He almost heard it laugh against the static migraine, soft and sliding and positively delighted.

Oh yes indeed, 'Shiro-chan, yes indeed! Except something wicked's here already. . .I suppose you missed the memo.

Memo? Koushiro blinked again, one hand leaving the keys to rest against his forehead--his hands were hotter than he thought, or maybe all the blood had simply rushed from his face to leave it cold and dry as carbon ice under his sweating palm. Memo? He had gotten a mem--

Beep beep, stupid. Good God, 'Shiro. . .do I have to draw it in crayon for you?

Beep beep. That was the important part, strange as it may seem. Beep beep beep beep bee--

He suddenly jolted up, knocking over his chair with a muffled thud against the carpet. Leaning forward over his desk he grabbed the mouse cord, hauled it up from where it had fallen in the earlier chaos and dragged the cursor across the computer screen. Beep beep. . .duh. He felt like smacking himself when he minimized the current program window to reveal his 'memo', his elusive and silent 'beep beep'.

In the corner of his desktop, the small red alarm light continued to flash.

~~~~~~~~~~

Taichi was restringing a guitar when the phone rang. It was a nice piece of work, lovely dark red and in good condition despite intensive use; one of Yamato's old ones, and Yama took fastidious care of any instrument that came near his reach. It didn't need to be restrung either, of course--as a gift to Taichi, Yamato had made sure it was in top shape from end to end. But Taichi was doing it anyway, when the phone rang, because shortly after he developed an interest in playing the thing from his musician friend he had picked up that particular nervous habit.

And. . .why not be nervous right now? There had been that strange call and stranger encounter with Koushiro earlier, and then coming home to an empty house--he understood that his parents were out today, but where was Hikari? It was raining hard enough, too, that the thick wet-pavement and ozone smell of outside had seeped into the house and permeated every corner. Damn, but he hated that smell, and damn but he wanted some company right now.

He almost dropped the guitar on the second ring, having not heard the first and being practically on top of the telephone. Taichi saved it before the neck hit the ground, mumbling a curse and reaching for the handset with a plan to hold his tongue just long enough to greet the caller politely and make sure it wasn't his parents. He examined a scratch on the guitar's body where it had hit the table, and scowled. Then the caller would die. Yup.

There was a brief buzzing, a digitized hum and dialtone before a voice came through the cracking line, thin and distant. "Onii-chan. . .?"

Again, Taichi almost dropped the guitar--and now the phone as well. He almost bit his tongue off to curb the sharp words he had intended, managing by some miracle to save both. "Hikari?"

"I don't feel good, onii-chan. . ." Her voice sounded plaintive in the static; small and worried and pleading. Vaguely, he heard her cough.

Tai bit his lip. Was she starting to get sick again? It hadn't happened for years, but if she was out in that rain. . . "Where are you? I'll come get you. . ."

"You said it would be okay. It's okay, isn't it. . .?"

"Yeah." Shit. She was choking on her words, sounded like she was crying and coughing at the same time--it left her choking, breathing shallow on the other end of the line. "Yeah. . .yeah 'Kari, it's okay, it's all okay; everything's gonna be fine. Just tell me where you are, okay, and I'll come get you. . ." Oh please. . .oh please don't let her pass out or hyperventilate. . .

"I. . .I'm sorry. . ." She choked again, sobbing, and the static almost swallowing her fragile voice.

Hang on, hang on. He leaned forward, clutching the phone close and hard until his fingers ached. "Sorry? Don't be sorry 'Kari, its no big. . .come on, where--"

"I'm sorry I couldn't. . .I couldn't kick the ball straight. . ."

Tai's eyes went wide; he drew the phone away from his face and stared at it in disbelief. She what?

Sob and static were one now, harsh and shrill and tinny from where the phone was held at arm's length. "Please don't hate me, onii-chan, please don--"

She had to be sick. Had to be sick and delirious and out of her head, because that was so many, many years ago. It had been heat stroke back then, or something. . . something to do with the sun. Holy shit, he remembered it like yesterday, sitting there in the hospital waiting room with wide eyes and his soccer ball clutched to his chest like a talisman. They had to hook Hikari to the machines, they had to take her away and put her on life support, and she had just looked at him with those tired, dying eyes and said 'I'm sorry I couldn't kick the ball straight. Please don't hate me." His mother screaming at him what the hell had he been thinking. Holy shit.

The buzz and hum sharpened, screeched loudly and gave way to a low, staccato ticking for a moment. He scrambled a bit, distantly heard the guitar hit the carpet with a muffled discordant crashing, pulled the phone to his face again. "Hikari?" It felt like his eyes were going to burst from his head, it felt like he was screaming her name because his throat burned. He had, quite suddenly, remembered that he had never once assured her that no, he didn't hate her. That yes, he forgave her; that it was all okay if she couldn't kick the ball straight. "Hikari! Hikari!"

Snap and crackle, a voice faded in, broken with interference and stammering with something else."--spital. W. . .we do--t kn-w what h--"

The line cut out, eaten alive by the roaring electric buzz. By then, however, it made no particular difference. By then the phone had slipped from Taichi's trembling fingers. By then, Taichi was out the door.

~~~~~~~

"Sora!"

Lifting her head from a magazine ('Tell the Boy You Love Him--Embarrassment Free!' the article proclaimed, and half a paragraph in she had decided it was pure bullshit anyway) Sora blinked; shaded her eyes and squinted into the teeming crowd. She heard her name again, a squealing exclamation, and spotted a waving hand coming nearer--pale pink nailpolish that sparkled under the harsh airport lights.

"Sora!"

She stood and waved back, dropping her hand just barely in time to catch her ecstatic and babbling friend in a tight hug. "Oof. . .hi Mimi. How was your flight?"

Mimi pulled away, still holding onto Sora's arms and smiling with her typically unique, purely contagious exuberance. "Horrible. I had to sit next to a nasty old man that kept leering at my chest. But oh Sora it's so great to be back! I mean. . .New York is great to visit but God what kind of masochist wants to live there?"

Sora rolled her eyes, shaking her head even as she laughed. "You do, for the shopping." She tugged on Mimi's grip, pulling her away towards the baggage check. "Come on. . .let's get out of here."

It was only a moment before Mimi was no longer content to be led by her friend, and grabbed Sora's hand to charge ahead through the crowds purposefully. "You know, one nice thing about America is you learn you don't have to be polite when you want to get somewhere. You can push people out of the way sometimes, Sora." And she did so. . .repeatedly. Sora sighed, shaking her head once more. . .but it was a faster way to the bored, sleepy huddles around the sluggish conveyer.

Folding her arms over her chest, Mimi continued to chatter at top speed as they waited by the belt. "So, how's life? Wait. . .how's your love life?" She giggled a little, at Sora's flush and evasive mumble. "Ai. . .Sora, when are you going to say something? He's a cute, sweet guy. . .if you're not fast he's going to find someone else!"

"Mimi. . ."

"You're too shy. It's a good thing I'm here; I'll shape you up in no time."

Sora sighed again, and shook her head. She did that an awful lot around Mimi. . . She loved the other girl to pieces, really. But her outgoing, flirtatious friend just had to learn that everyone was not her. Or at least remember what she had learned. . . "Look, Mimi--" She paused, then changed the subject. "I'm glad you were able to visit so soon. I was really surprised when you called me."

"Hm?" Mimi leaned forward to peer at a bag, then back again; rocking her head back against a support column. "Oh! Right!" She looked from the ceiling to Sora again, eyes closed as she continued to smile. "Well, I just had to get the soonest flight, you know? Since you invited me and all, I mean I just couldn't wait. . ."

Sora stopped listening just about then, as Mimi continued to talk. She could go on forever, if given half a chance. Or less. It was nice to see her again, to know what she looked like again--almost never quite the same way twice, except for that glowing smile and those big brown eyes; her hair and outfits changed far too often to track with photos--but she hoped that maybe Mimi would keep it down a little on the trip back to the apartment. Or talk to her, instead of at her. Sora wondered, maybe, if that wasn't what she needed right now to cheer her up--she had felt, lately, a woeful lacking in people she could sit down and simply talk to. Flat, frank, girl's-night-out, no-holds no-secrets talk to.

Suddenly Sora's thoughts hit what felt like a speedbump at seventy; and she jolted slightly. Something Mimi had said, while she had still been halfway listening, sounded wrong. She held a hand up to silence the other girl, putting her free hand to her head. "Wait a second. . .Mimi?"

Blinking a little, Mimi raised both eyebrows in confusion. She reached up, and pushed Sora's hand back down from where it had gone up near her face. "What?"

". . .Mimi, did you just say I invited you to visit?"

"No. . .I said that a while ago." She wrinkled her nose a little, the smile fading slightly. "Sora, have you been ignoring me?"

Sora blinked again, and shook her head; this time in confusion. "Mimi. . .I didn't invite you. Like I said. . .I was completely surprised when you called, and said you were coming. . ."

"But. . ." Now it was Mimi's turn to look confused--she straightened where she stood, arms falling slowly from their cross. "But you did. I remember you calling me, and asking me to come as soon as I could. . ." She shook her head, reaching up and playing with a strand of carefully dyed hair. "You said you missed me, and you really wanted to see me. . ." She laughed a little, halting and unsure now. "We talked for hours. . ."

"I did. . .I do. But. . .I haven't made a long-distance call in months. My calling card expired, and I'm not allowed to call distance without it. I just got it renewed yesterday. . .I couldn't have called you."

There was a long silence--Mimi almost spoke, then closed her mouth again as she turned the implications over in her mind. It was pure reflex when she reached out to take her bags from the conveyer, pure, silent habit and reflex as they walked out of the airport together to stand by the bus stop. Sora watched the road fixedly for the bus--she felt she would stare right through it even when it came, unseeing. Mimi stared up at the dark translucence of the shelter roof, watching the raindrops strike and slide.

Five minutes more, and then the bus came--they packed Mimi's things into the luggage rack and dropped into a pair of empty seats near the back.

With a heavy exhalation only just too much to be a sigh, Mimi let her head hang back on the seat, still staring up. ". . .Sora?"

"Hmn. . .?"

Mimi paused, and shook her head before turning it to face Sora in the seat beside her. Her wide eyes were serious, beneath the colored bangs and light but ever-present eye makeup. "If you didn't call me. . ."

Sora's cellphone began to ring.

~~~~~~~~~

Somewhere vaguely akin to the digital world, hands clad in black gloves ducked and wove; the fingers bare to the cold, the unnatural deathly chill. Against the drear and crumbling backdrop of a proverbial graveyard the skin seemed pale, the cord hanging suspended was bright and incongruous--mismatched eyes, one red one blue, observed it in narrowed concentration. Somewhere across the void, in the dark, something screamed and chattered. The sound fell into absence. . .but the damage was done.

"Christ on a stick." The young woman wrinkled her nose, and dropped her hands to her lap. "It's not even quiet enough around here for Cat's Cradle. . ." Scowling, she tossed her hands, flinging the tangled string from her fingers. "I hate Cat's Cradle! Hmph. . ." Nose still wrinkled, face still plastered into a frown, she crossed her arms over her chest. She hated her job.

Again, sound rose from across the chasm--this time the woman rolled her eyes, rocking up to her feet impatiently. She cupped her hands over her mouth, and leaned out over the edge. "SHUT UP! NOBODY WANTS TO HEAR IT!!!" The sound--this time a haunting, mournful weeping-- faded out, silenced. She beamed, sitting down again.

Or starting to.

She stopped abruptly in the middle of her action, then straightened--hidden in her half-tousled hair, a tiny pair of wings atop her head perked and fluttered. Somewhere. . .somewhere in the Digital World itself. . .

She squeaked faintly, a deliriously happy little giggle as her hands clapped together. "You want me to come back?" Again the small squeal of delight, and she hugged her shoulders. She bobbed her head quickly as if nodding, suddenly filled with a giddy, almost lovestruck enthusiasm. Needed her, he needed her! She did not even cast a glance over her shoulder as she all but skipped away from her post--she didn't want to see that place, in all it's gloomy glory, not right now, not when she was so bloody happy.

Her Masters had set her to guard it long ago; that towering sanctuary of death, of hate, of horror and despair. But now a different master called her.

And to him, she would always come.