Bed of Nails

A Digimon Fanfiction

by Kit Spooner



Disclaimer: Oh, just sod off! (And apologies to U2)

Warnings: Might as well try to be a bit more succinct about the warnings this time. Anyway. This fic features several random pairings (Kouyako, Kensuke, Yamasorachi, Jyoumi, and hints of all sorts of other crap) and frank, explicit discussions of sex, peppered with relatively inappropriate butchering of the English language. Oh, and a healthy dose of four-letter words. Funfun.

Why am I doing this, you ask? Well, I think we're all in agreement that the end of Digimon 02 was a piece of guttertripe and wasn't worthy of its air-time. It also sucked big, fat monkey ass. And I like my pairings. I think they even make sense. Kinda.

Moving right along . . .



When We Last Saw Our Heroine, she had foolishly mentioned to Daisuke her spur-of-the-moment decision to nab Izumi. Eventually we will see why this was not a Good Idea. But in the meanwhile, the time has come to watch Miyako put her Grand Plan into action. It is a Fail-Proof Plan, and therefore it will be truly spectacular when it fails . . .



With or without you
With or without you

Through the storm we reach the shore
You give it all but I want more
And I'm waiting for you



Part One: Thorn



The gossip network that stretched elegantly among Odaiba's Chosen was a beautiful, complex creation. It was engineered almost entirely by Miyako with a little advice from Mimi, but that's beside the point.

What's important to understand is how the network functioned. Miyako had originally opened up the channels of communication so that her adored sempai, Mimi, could keep up to date on the happenings in Odaiba while in America. In recent years, Mimi had returned to Japan, but the gossips were still in full swing.

Most of the information processed through Miyako's web was gathered by Mimi or Miyako, herself, but most of the other Chosen contributed tidbits now and then. Ken was one of the surprisingly adept peripheral contributors. His rumors and predictions were almost always completely correct. Daisuke contributed more frequently, but tended to overestimate the importance of sports news.

At the moment, the most titillating bit of information was the news that Miyako was going to make yet another attempt to nab Izumi Koushirou. It was reported by no fewer than four sources (Daisuke, Mimi, Sora and Taichi) and was eventually confirmed by the Gossip Queen herself. Her plan, such as it was, garnered much critical acclaim among the gossip-inclined Chosen.

Miyako proclaimed her plan, "fucking brilliant," and most of those keeping up with the news had to agree. (Hikari was the only one to note that Koushirou had, in the past, seen through Miyako's clever ploys, but as usual, the voice of reason was drowned out by the excitement of new romance.)

So perhaps it was a good thing that not only was Koushirou one of the two Chosen to have no contact whatsoever with Miyako's gossip-net, but the other ignorant Chosen was Jyou. Jyou was a risk factor since he was pretty much the only one who might feel loyal enough to Koushirou to spill the beans about Miyako's plot. Fortune smiled upon Miyako on that day.

And what a decidedly non-glorious day it was! The sky was steel gray and clouds roiled ominously overhead. The rain was coming down in torrents by the time Miyako got off the bus in front of the University. She ran as fast as she could into the nearest academic building but she was still soaked to the bone as she pushed through the glass doors.

I can make the wet-look work for me, she told herself as she wrung her hair out, leaving a damp trail behind her as she trudged down the hallway toward her class. As long as Koushirou doesn't have some strange aversion to girls looking like drowned kittens.

This was a very important stage in her Plan to Catch Izumi. If she failed to make an appropriately fabulous first impression than she might have to start all over. And she didn't want to do that. Miyako had been waiting to enact this plan for weeks now. Merely tracking down Koushirou had been the easiest part. Then came the inevitable planning and string-pulling that followed. High school graduation had come and gone, but Miyako was focused on her Plan. And now, as the summer term at the University was gearing up, she was ready to leap into action.

As expected (and accounted for), the class was already assembled when Miyako meekly poked her head into the room. She was, unsurprisingly, the only female in the room, and probably the only one under 20 years of age. As one, all the heads in the room turned to stare at her as she made her way into the room, still dripping in an artfully pathetic manner.

"I'm sorry I'm late," she breathed, eyes dewy with regret as she gazed at the professor.

For a long, tense moment, silence reigned.

The professor, a short, prematurely-balding man in a rumpled oxford shirt and a pair of too-short trousers, cleared his throat. "That's . . . fine, child," he said nervously. "You must be Inoue Miyako, correct?"

Miyako nodded.

"Fine," the professor said. "Fine, just take a seat, please. We were just getting started. I'm Dr. Tsukimura and this is, as everyone should be well aware, the summer session of Computer Science 320, Distributed Algorithms . . ."

Miyako, still deep into her role as the precocious schoolgirl, demurely took a seat near the front of the class, where she would be easily observable by everyone else. And oh, how she was observed! Female Computer Science students were still rare, despite attempts by the department to lure in a more gender-balanced student body. Even rarer was the female CompSci major who was as undeniably attractive as Miyako, particularly when she wanted to be.

For the entire class period, Miyako was in fine form, crossing and uncrossing her legs when the attention of the class wavered from its mindless inspection of her legs and backside. It certainly helped that she was dressed as the demure schoolgirl in a short pleated skirt, white button-down shirt (with the top three buttons undone, of course), thigh-high stockings and a pair of almost-fashionable Mary Janes. In one fell swoop, Miyako became the darling of the Computer Science department, months before she officially became a Freshman.

Even Professor Tsukimura thought she was adorable, and not merely because of her appearance. Miyako had the audacity to not only raise her hand in response to questions, but to actually respond correctly. It was any untenured professor's dream. Unfortunately for Tsukimura, however, Miyako was actually paying very little attention to the lesson. This was because Miyako was already a skilled programmer in her own right. She'd even audited that very Distributed Algorithms class the previous summer. So hanging on every word that dropped from the professor's lips would have been pointless and boring.

It must be noted, at this point, that Miyako is not a genius, no matter how stridently she may claim otherwise. Oh, she's certainly brilliant, with a mind and wit to match her vivacious personality. But she's erratic, her interest flitting from subject to subject like some mad butterfly. She lacks the will to truly apply herself to any particular field of study. And she's certainly not in Ichijouji Ken's league. She's never pretended to be.

Well, she's never seriously pretended, in any case.

And convincing Daisuke that she was up for the Nobel Prize in physics wasn't much of a challenge, so it doesn't really count.

In any event, by the time Dr. Tsukimura was wrapping up his lecture and assigning reading for the next class, nearly everyone in the class was certain that they were in the presence of genius. It's important to remember that "nearly," though. It will become important soon.

The professor finished class, packed up his notes and slides, and slipped unobtrusively out of the room. Most of the students lingered, ostensibly chatting amongst themselves about the lesson. In truth, they were still eyeing Miyako's lithe, shapely form. A couple of the boys even screwed up the courage to introduce themselves. Miyako was polite and charming to them all.

A blonde, British exchange student was later heard to remark, "That Girl is hot. And bloody smart. Brilliant, in fact. But more importantly, she's fucking hot."

It took Miyako nearly twenty minutes to rid herself of her miscellaneous admirers. She had originally supposed that it would be fun to be the center of attention for an entire room of male college students, but the novelty wore off quickly.

Perhaps this sort of thing would be more fun with a gaggle of liberal arts students, she mused as she subtly begged the last of her admirers to get lost.

Finally Miyako was able to turn her attention to the final person in the room. The only one who had no illusions whatsoever about her genius, or lack thereof.

"Izzy!" The use of the his pet-name was deliberate, of course. "What are you doing here? And why are you lurking back in the shadows like that?" Miyako picked her way around haphazardly arranged desks toward the red-headed young man still leaning casually against the storage closet doorframe. She knew the answers to her own questions, of course, but it would seem a little strange if she didn't ask them.

Why the hell else would I be taking this moronic class if I didn't have an ulterior motive, she reminded herself wickedly. It certainly hadn't been difficult to find out which course Izzy would be assisting with . . .

Koushirou raised an eyebrow but clearly decided not to comment on the name. Perhaps he supposed it was a flighty creature like Miyako's prerogative to suddenly decide to resume a name-calling habit that had died rather suddenly and painfully the last time she'd tried to ask him out. "Hello, Miyako," he finally replied with the sort of bland smile that he knew drove her up the wall. "I didn't know you were taking this class over the summer. I thought you would have had your fill of this crap last summer . . ."

Miyako had the grace to look a little abashed. "I only audited last summer, Izzy. Then I realized that I really should have taken it for credit, so here I am." She hopped up to sit, cross-legged on the desk nearest to Koushirou. "But you never answered my question. What on earth are you doing here?"

"I'm here as Tsukimura's assistant," Koushirou explained with a sigh. "I don't know why he wanted me here today. There's nothing for me to do other than stand in the back and look helpful . . ."

"Ooh!" Miyako smiled admiringly. "That's awfully nice of you to help out like that."

"Niceness has nothing to do with it, Miyako," Koushirou noted. "I'm doing this for the money." He made a face. "Such as it is," he added with a slight scowl.

Miyako made a mental note never to get suckered into T.A.-ing a class if the pay was as lousy as Koushirou was suggesting.

"Ah, I see," Miyako said, fiddling absently with the hem of her skirt. She briefly considered 'accidentally' flipping the hem high enough to give Koushirou a flash of symbolically white, cotton panties, but then thought better of it. He'd seen through that ploy before. "Well, in any event, it's nice to see you again." And it truly was. Even if Miyako hadn't been aiming to get into Koushirou's spotless gray Dockers, it would have been nice to see him. Despite their somewhat rocky past, she still considered him one of her favorites among the older Chosen.

Koushirou gave Miyako a long, measuring stare, as if to gauge her sincerity. Miyako knew he was taking in her artfully rumpled appearance, as well as the near-obscene amounts of leg and bosom she was showing, but he wasn't one to get distracted by a little extra pale, creamy skin. "It's nice to see you too," he said finally with another small smile.

Miyako glanced at her watch and leapt down from the desk. "Shit, I'm late for my date with Dai." She peered up at Koushirou through her lashes. "I don't suppose you'd walk me out to the bus stop?" It took all of Miyako's self-control to keep from batting her eyelashes at him. She already knew that the Eyelash Gambit didn't work well on Koushirou.

"Sure," Koushirou replied with a shrug. He picked his bookbag up from the floor by his feet and slung it over his shoulder. "I'm not due back anywhere for a little while."

Inwardly, Miyako exulted. Koushirou hadn't changed significantly since she'd last seen him, nearly a year ago. He was still ridiculously sexy, for a nerd, particularly now that his hair had grown out a bit. She wasn't sure whether it was a deliberate change for him or whether he just hadn't gotten a haircut in a while. Whatever the reason, it gave him a delectably disheveled appearance that drew Miyako like nothing else.

She was subtle, however, in her sidelong glances as they walked together out toward the curbside bus stop. Miyako wondered, not for the first time, whether Koushirou had any idea how fascinating he was, with that silly hair and those dark, dark eyes of his. And he still had that wonderfully mobile mouth that somehow managed to be erotic, even when babbling about his summer internship as one of the local technology firms. At least when he was talking it gave her the excuse to watch his mouth. It was unfortunate, however, that by watching Koushirou's lips, Miyako was slowly and inexorably turned on, much to her horror.

I thought I was supposed to be the one seducing him . . .

When Koushirou finally wound down his ramblings about the horrors of the modern university experience, Miyako sighed. "I wish I had time for some sort of internship or real job or something this summer." She absently wound a lock of hair around her finger. "Mom and Dad still need me to work at the Ai Mart almost every day."

"Well, at least you know you won't get fired," Koushirou suggested.

"I hope," Miyako muttered then sat down on the bench to await the bus.

This is a good thing, she told herself, carefully not eyeing Koushirou. I only asked him to walk me to the bus stop. He's waiting here with me on his own. It's an omen! A sign from the gods that I'm going to nab the elusive Izumi! I might as well start planning where and when to lay him. Her exultation, perhaps a little premature, was well-hidden and didn't show in her facial expression.

"You don't have to wait here with me if you don't want to," Miyako noted hesitantly after a long silence.

"It's alright," Koushirou said, waving off Miyako's vague, polite protestations. "Now that the rain's stopped it's nice out. The air always smells good after a rainstorm."

"Ah," Miyako said before falling silent once again.

Miyako was one of the most skilled conversationalists of the Odaiba Chosen, so her sudden awkward reticence must be viewed as suspicious, at the very least.

"Koushirou," Miyako began again, sounding much younger than her nearly eighteen years. "I just wanted to apologize for . . . last time."

Koushirou paled, then flushed, but didn't look at her.

"I don't know whether I ever apologized for treating you like some sort of . . . consolation prize. You never deserved that and I just wanted to make sure that you were aware of that . . ." Her voice was very quiet. Miyako actually surprised herself by managing to feel a little guilty about the last incident with Koushirou. It went completely against her character to feel any shame or remorse, but Koushirou tended to bring out some of the odder aspects of her personality.

"I know," Koushirou finally replied, his voice also quiet. His eyebrows were drawn together in concentration, but he still wouldn't look at Miyako. "I always knew, Miyako. You don't need to keep apologizing."

"Yes I do!" Miyako exclaimed suddenly, jumping to her feet. "So stop trying to act so damn noble, Izzy!"

Now he looked at her, his eyes dark and unreadable, as usual. Miyako had no idea where she stood with him, but she might as well continue bashing her way through his defenses.

"I had absolutely no idea what your feelings were and I didn't give a flying fuck either way!" Miyako's eyes flashed with anger. "So you damn well better let me apologize again or I'm going to slap you silly!"

Koushirou looked a little startled by Miyako's final ultimatum, but he kept silent.

"You and I both know that you deserved much more than being my rebound date, after failing with Jyou so fucking miserably." Miyako's expression flashed rapidly from fury to agony and then to a sort of general misery. "But you hurt me too, Izzy. Don't ever think that I'm as heartless as Daisuke likes to pretend."

Miyako watched Izzy's eyes widen and inwardly cheered. I think I'm getting to him, the smug little prick. As she progressed farther into her rant, Miyako began to remember how much Izzy had hurt her, back when he'd rejected her so calmly, with such icy panache. Her smooth control was beginning to erode as she started to slide ever-so-slightly off-course, her Plan slipping awry.

"So now I want you to just accept the fact that I fucked up royally, and I want you to get over it. It's been two years, Izzy. Just forgive me, already. Stop avoiding me." Miyako's eyes filled with tears. "Stop treating me like something you'd dissect in your zoology lab. I'm tired of it!" She pulled her cardigan tighter around her shoulders. "I've missed you, Izzy," she finally said, her voice barely above a whisper, the wind snatching her words and tossing them far out of reach.

Miyako stared at her shoes and nibbled on the inside of her cheek. She really had no idea how Koushirou would respond to this latest tirade. He used to be so good at figuring out exactly what she was bitching about but he was certainly out of practice now.

Koushirou's response was not what Miyako was expecting.

In a single, smooth movement, Miyako was suddenly pulled forward, crashing against Koushirou's chest. Her arms went out to regain her balance, but she was foiled again when Koushirou wrapped his arms around her first. Miyako was so surprised that she simply froze, not even able to enjoy the warmth of Koushirou's body against hers. This was what she'd been angling for since that day that she'd announced to Daisuke that she was going after Koushirou. And she was too startled to take advantage of the moment.

Koushirou lay his cheek against Miyako's hair and awkwardly stroked her back. "I . . . I'm sorry too, Miyako," Koushirou said, his voice deeper than Miyako remembered, rumbling through his chest and making her stomach vibrate in synch. "I should have known that you were hurting too but I was just so . . ." His arms tightened almost painfully around her. "I forgave you long ago, you know."

Miyako was still frozen, her body stiff and unresponsive in Koushirou's arms. The situation was spiraling out of her control and she was damned if she had any idea of how to fix things. "Izzy . . ." she murmured, hoping to regain some semblance of her old self.

"Don't," he said, cutting her off quickly, his breath stirring her hair, still damp from her dousing earlier. "Don't apologize anymore, Yolei," he told her. "Just shut up, for once." Despite his curt words, his tone was kind and Miyako found herself at a loss.

He called me Yolei, she thought, warmth spreading through her belly, pooling about her thighs. It's been . . . years since he called me that. And he's so . . . Her eyes drifted closed and a smile quirked at her mouth. He called me Yolei. It was a pet-name that she'd missed more than she'd known.

Finally, she pulled together the strength of will to pull back from Koushirou, just enough to be able to look him in the eye. There was a strange expression on his face, one Miyako couldn't quite place. If she didn't know better -- and she definitely did -- she would have said he was torn between sorrow and . . . desire.

"Oh, Yolei," he murmured, giving her hair an affectionate ruffle. "I missed you too, you know." He bent his head closer to hers, as though making sure nothing would distract her from what he was saying.

One of the nicest things about Koushirou was that he was short, perhaps only an inch or two taller than Miyako herself. It made him a perfect height for these sort of soul-searching gazes that he was throwing her way. It also made him the perfect height for kissing.

This was something that Miyako had completely forgotten. Until now. She absently licked her lips.

The hand that Koushirou was using to tangle Miyako's hair drifted down to gently cradle the back of her head. He hesitated for a brief moment, then dipped his mouth toward hers.

Miyako had fistfuls of Koushirou's green polo shirt grasped tightly in her hands. When she felt his fingers at the back of her skull, she found herself tugging helplessly at that shirt. But when Koushirou's mouth drew near hers, she pushed away.

"Yolei?" Koushirou was clearly baffled, his eyes wide with surprise and hurt.

"Izzy . . ." Miyako found herself in the unenviable position of having to explain her completely irrational behavior to not only Koushirou, but to herself. "We can't . . ."

Izzy just stared at her, looking like a child who's been refused candy one too many times.

The bus rumbled to a stop behind Miyako and she grabbed onto the excuse like a lifeline. "I'm sorry," she blurted. "I'm so, so sorry, Izzy." She darted from Koushirou's arms toward the anonymous safety of the bus. "I'll . . . see you in class."

And then she was gone. The bus roared to life once more, spewed a little foul-smelling exhaust, and trundled down the street.

Had Miyako not freaked out so fantastically, had she remained behind, she might have heard Koushirou note, with a pensive frown, "Well, that could have gone better."



_______________





Next Time: We finally find out what the hell happened the Last Time our two mismatched lovers got together to make them get along like cats in a sack in the current timeline. And then we are faced with more important questions: Will Miyako ever get to sleep with Koushirou, or will she end up stuck in an endless repetition of her recreational time with Daisuke for all of eternity? Why on earth did Miyako run away the moment she got Koushirou to show a hint of affection? Will Koushirou, Boy Genius, see through Miyako's thinly-veiled attempts to get into his trousers? And why the hell would he object to letting Miyako into his trousers anyway?! And most importantly: Will Miyako be completely and utterly embarrassed before the chapter's out? (Most likely)