The Sohma Institute
By Lady of the Ink
Disclaimer: I don't own Fruits Basket, but you knew that. I hope. I do own this story, and all the plot twists it contains.
A/N: Since no one seems to know Momiji's mother's name, I'm just going to give her one. I picked Minna, because it's a German name meaning love, mother, and bitterness. That fits the image I'm going for nicely and it starts with "M", so it shouldn't be too confusing. So remember: Minna = Momiji's Mother
Chapter Twenty
Outside the Box
Minna Sohma stood by the window of her apartment in The Compound, her gaze fixed somewhere on the distant skyline. It wasn't the impressive view she was seeing, however, but a montage of images from the past. She saw a red-faced newborn being passed into her arms . . .a gurgling infant with golden curls reaching towards her . . .a grinning toddler tumbling around her ankles . . .
With a partially stifled sob, she pushed away from the wall, struggling to thrust the memories from her mind. The room before her didn't help, as she saw the ghost of the same boy, older now, seated on the couch and sprawled on the floor. The echo of his laughter filled her ears, breaking her last bit of control. Sliding to floor, she buried her head in her hands and cried for the little boy who had been lost to her for so long.
Minna had never been what could be called a hardy person. The smallest amount of stress had the ability to leave her bedridden with headaches that just wouldn't go away. Both her pregnancies had been extremely difficult and had taken twice as long to recover from as was normally expected.
Her health had seemed to improve during Momiji and Momo's growing up years. The illnesses came fewer and farther between, allowing her to be the hands-on kind of mother she'd always wanted to be. Her days were filled with her children, her nights with the husband that she loved with every breath she took. Life was good.
Until word came down through the family that Akito was sick, very sick. Although no one was sure exactly what was wrong with him, it soon became clear that whatever it was, it was quite serious. His already slender build grew almost gaunt. Pale skin became nearly transparent and attacks of debilitating weakness struck him often.
Minna had felt bad for the young family head, knowing firsthand how awful it was to be ill in a world filled with healthy people. She knew that his increasing temper tantrums were likely the result of seeing all the things he was missing out on. She was more than willing to cut him some slack, wish him the best, and put his troubles in the back of her mind. She didn't forget about him, but neither did she dwell on his situation.
But then the doctors that were employed by the family dropped their bombshell. They feared there was a chance that other Sohmas might be at risk for the same disease. At their request, tests were done on all of Akito's blood relatives. Everyone held their collective breath until the results came back.
To her horror, Momiji was one of the unlucky ones to test positive for whatever the doctors had been looking for. In less than a week the decision had been made that he, along with the others, would be sent to stay at the facility doing all the work. They tried to comfort her, saying that being closer to the doctors would speed up their work, which would, in turn, bring him home sooner.
She'd tried to believe them, but all she could see was that her little boy was being taken from her. The day that she'd watched him wave goodbye from the backseat of a car, she'd collapsed. It was more than a month before she could go back to an existence that even vaguely resembled her old one. But even as she went about her days, Minna remained fiercely aware of the blonde-haired boy that was no longer a part of them.
She'd wanted to visit him as soon as she got well enough, but they'd told her it wouldn't be wise. He needed time to settle in and become comfortable in order to promote the most beneficial environment. She hadn't liked it, but she was willing to do it for Momiji's sake.
Days turned into weeks, weeks dragged into months, but she still wasn't able to see her son. She began going to everyone that she could think of who might be able to help her. She asked questions - Where exactly was the hospital? How many of the other family members had been sent there? - she begged favors, and she pleaded with anyone who would listen. Nothing helped.
Her distress soon took its toll physically. She lay in bed for two weeks straight, barely aware of the world beyond the blankets. When she could think at all, her focus inevitably returned to Momiji. All she could think about was how much she wanted to see him. When she managed to sleep, her dreams allowed her to glimpse her family as it should have been: all together again and destined to remain that way.
Sheer will alone got her back on her feet. Her love for her son and the concern for him that was growing inside her got her back to her plans. She was determined to see Momiji immediately or know why not in as extensive detail as she wanted.
The day that all those plans fell apart remained at the back of her mind like a wound that refused to heal. Momiji had been away from home for more than a year. Minna had been told repeatedly that he was doing well; a report that came straight from Akito after he went there for his own treatments. She took a small amount of comfort from knowing that Momiji was in the same place where Akito was a patient. Aside from the roundabout link she had to him, she was also sure that if Akito deigned to grace it with his presence, it had to be a high class medical center.
She had been in the kitchen putting the finishing touches on dinner when she heard footsteps in the hall. She knew that they didn't belong to Momo, since the eleven year old was playing next door. As she stopped to listen, it became clear that they were heading for the room where she stood. Dropping the dishtowel she held, Minna turned to the doorway.
Even if she had been expecting him to arrive home earlier than usual, and she hadn't, one look at her husband's face would have made it clear that something was very, very wrong. His short, dark hair stood on end as though he had been running his hands through it. Sadness and something she couldn't identify lingered in his eyes as he moved to her side. Fear stiffened her entire body as he took her hands between his own.
The soft tone that he'd used had done nothing to lessen the blow. She heard the words "Momiji", "complications", and "nothing they could do" before her world began to dissolve in a haze of darkness. She barely felt her knees slam into the floor as a fist of pain squeezed her throat and shredded her heart.
She would never know how, but she made it through the funeral, suffered all the condolences, and tried her best to be there for Momo. It had taken almost all of the five years since to come to terms with her loss, but somehow, she had. Life, different and a bit emptier, had gone on as it always does, and she went with it. She was different as well, a change she wasn't sure was for the better. It was like a wall of thick glass surrounded her now, shielding and keeping anything from getting to her.
Until today.
She shifted where she still sat on the floor, pulling her legs against her chest and wrapping her arms around them in a futile quest for comfort. The chance meeting on the street with that girl had shattered her glass protection. Every repressed emotion and half faded memory had come flooding back, hitting her with the force of a wrecking ball. She had barely made it back home before breaking down.
But now that the worst of it had passed, she was able to think more clearly. Her mind just kept repeating the girl's words again and again in a never ending loop. What possible reason could she have had to do what she had done? Momiji was gone; there was nothing to be gained from pretending otherwise.
Only, she had seemed so earnest . . .
Everything about her side of the conversation made it seem like she didn't think her words were anything out of the ordinary. There had been no sign of malicious intent in her tone or expression. Minna would have wagered anything that the girl was being completely sincere.
The logical side of her mind knew that there were any number of reasonable explanations for the whole ordeal. Maybe the girl had thought she was someone else. After all, she had called her "Mrs. Sohma", not by her given name. They had also been standing just past The Compound, where any number of "Mrs. Sohma"'s lived. If the meeting had happened somewhere a little less populated with Sohmas, she could be more sure that the girl had been looking for her specifically.
That didn't explain why she would be asking any Mrs. Sohma about "her" son Momiji, though. As far as Minna knew, there was - had been, she quickly corrected herself - only one Momiji Sohma, and that was the one she herself had given birth to.
So if the girl really had meant to talk to her, and she had meant her son Momiji, and she was being sincere in her words, was it possible she'd meant everything else that she had said?
"I was talking to Momiji . . ."'No,' Minna thought, shaking her head and forcibly tamping down the part of her that wanted so badly to hope. 'I barely made it through losing Momiji once. If I let myself believe again and it turns out to be a joke of a misunderstanding, I don't think I could bear it.'
She sighed, pushing her hair back with both hands. The speed with which her heart had filled with hope told her that while she had tried to move on, a piece of herself had never fully accepted the loss. Maybe it was because he had been away from home for so long before it happened. Maybe it was because she hadn't had the chance to say goodbye. Maybe it was because she had never really understood what had caused it.
Whatever it was, Minna thought as she forced herself to rise to her feet, it was time to get over it. Five years was long enough that the sound of his name should no longer cause her to break into tears in the middle of the street. Maybe it would never stop hurting, but she should be able to handle the pain to some degree.
Walking to the dining room in an effort to distract herself, she saw the pile of papers she had left on the table that morning. Momo would be turning sixteen in a few weeks, and Minna had already begun the planning. She took a seat in a chair and pulled the top sheet closer to her. Working out the details of the party would hopefully occupy her mind enough to keep it off of more troublesome things. But even as she decided on the cake flavor and the wording on the invitations, pieces of memories rose from the past to flutter on the edges of her consciousness like moths at the edge of a flame.
It had been a closed casket funeral.
Her husband had told her it would be better that way; that she shouldn't taint her memory of their son with the sight of his body. When she'd insisted anyway, he'd grudgingly explained that there were some visible signs of his illness left over. She'd been too torn up at the thought of his suffering to protest further.
The other Sohma family members who had been diagnosed like him hadn't returned to The Compound either, then or since.They had all left around the same time once the test results came in, but she hadn't seen the others the day Momiji left. She knew of them, though, and had always paid attention when their names came up. From what she had heard, word about them came back with the few visitors they received. Not once had they come home themselves, not even for an afternoon.
Akito wasn't confined to a hospital room for longer than a week, and never had been.For the person whose illness had started it all, there was something strange about that. If they had simply been at risk for the same disease he already had, he should have been much worse off than them. Why was he still walking around while they apparently needed round the clock care?
She tossed her pen onto the tabletop with such force that it ricocheted across the room. Ignoring it, she drew in a deep breath that was anything but calming. The longer she thought about it, the more question and inconsistencies came to mind. If such a thing had happened even just the day before, she would have pushed it aside until it went away. If she didn't think about it, it wouldn't hurt.
But the meeting with the girl on the street had changed that. Maybe she had spent too much time with her head buried in the sand. Maybe there had been a lot of signs that she had missed over the years, important signs.
Maybe it was time to start asking questions again.
The blinds of the large office were drawn tightly against even the minimal nighttime light, causing it to be filled with more shadows than anything else. The few furnishings had been reduced to dark lumps spread throughout a greater darkness, barely visible until you were already upon them.
This didn't bother either of the room's occupants. One was sprawled on floor on a large pillow, arms covering his head. His relaxed position made it clear he wasn't going to moving for a long while, so the furniture was of no concern to him. The other person stood near the door, his hands folded in front of him as he waited. Every inch of the large space was imprinted in his mind, so well known that he could cross it even in this gloom without so much as brushing an obstacle.
At that particular moment, the furnishings were the farthest thing from his mind. He knew what was coming, had been through the exact same thing several times before. He didn't like it, but then, he didn't like a lot of the things he was forced to do. He simply had no choice.
"Kureno," came the slippery voice from the floor, causing a flinch he only just repressed.
"Yes, Akito."
"I want to know more about this . . .Tohru Honda. Find out for me, would you?" An order lay hidden in the request, as if he would even think about refusing. It wasn't allowed, and everyone knew it. What Akito ordered was done, and that was all that you needed to know. Resisting that simple truth would only cause pain, which was a lesson he had learned early on and well. So Kureno did the only thing that he could, the only thing he had ever been able to do.
He obeyed.
