AN: I actually have very little to say here for once… um… For disclaimer and dedication, see previous chapters. For real this time; I know I went a little redundant last time. The flashback part takes place during and slightly after the events in Akito's flashback.

Fear God, and keep his commandments: for this is the whole duty of man.

-Bible: Ecclesiastes, XII, 13

Chapter Three

Present

I have no idea what exactly I am expected to say, or why Momitchi and the others thought I would be of assistance. Flattery is not my strong suit.

Still, once I have seen to Haru's infinitesimal wound – which luckily did not drip blood on his dance costume – I turn to Kisa.

The eleven-year-old is resplendent, certainly, and would look very ladylike if she wasn't nearly green with stage fright. Confidence, I suppose, is what she needs, but I am woefully inadequate in granting self-assurance.

Ayame, however, is watching me with shining, childishly confident eyes between his chattered sentences, fingers flying along the tear on Kisa's hem.

Feeling rather an idiot, and a futile one at that, I make a conscious decision to reach out and pat the girl's orange hair. "You look lovely."

It comes out as cold and stiffly as everything I say, but Kisa smiles shyly and whispers, "Thank you, Hatori oji-chan," and Aya beams approvingly.

And then amply compensates for my shortcomings by spouting his usual eloquent prose, making comparisons to dawn, the ocean, and several different flowers.

"Down, boy," Hatsuharu says, but all three of them look pleased.

The door opens and Hiro walks in, looking bored. He's seen Kisa in her costume before (he'd claimed he didn't want to and Shigure began making comparisons to the tradition of a groom not seeing the bride in her dress before the wedding, which changed his mind quickly) but he falters at the sight.

Kisa looks significantly more at ease.

"I'll leave this to you then," I say, checking my watch again. Dress, check on who's made it so far, answer the million questions family and servants won't want to ask Akito, report to Akito myself and pray that he's not in a sudden plunge in health…

I dissuade Ayame from accompanying me to change and start on the "one quick question" walk to my rooms.

Kureno was in charge of most of the planning and could answer all of the questions far better than could I, but Akito would be most unhappy with that arrangement.

I run through everyone I know to be here again and come up short still, but the main concern is assuaged when I look out the window and see the meandering figures.

There's time yet.

I wait by the door as Shigure wanders in, looking around with interest at the people and decorations. Behind him, I can see Yuki folding in on himself, closing off whatever small bits he's allowed out, living away.

"Oh, Ha-san! Did you come to meet us? How sweet!"

"Don't start, Ayame and Momitchi were just doing that."

"Ah, no, I wasn't segueing into your coldness, Ha-san. I was going to say that, as adorable as it is, Akito-san doesn't appreciate our chit-chatting before we see him," Shigure says, waving his finger at me.

"I need to see him myself. I'll walk with you," I say firmly.

I need to keep him in a good mood.

I tell myself that this is because it is far more practical to have Akito-san not throwing things at a family festival – there are skeletons in our closet, dust we've swept under the rug, and it helps our family to operate if their contact with Akito is limited to computer and letter, seeing him only when he is not acting unstable.

I know that isn't all there is to it.

I look at Yuki and feel sick, but know that it changes nothing. We can't be happy unless he is.

God's in his heaven, and all is right with the world…

Shigure nods to my statement, reaching back and pulling Yuki up to him with an arm around the shoulders. I doubt it helps, but the boy doesn't pull away.

Keep everything from shattering for just three more days, four more nights…

The closer we get to Akito's rooms, the quieter things become, until almost the only sound in the wing is Yuki's ragged breathing.

Shigure's usual burbling chatter seems to have dried up, and only when we're just out of earshot of Akito's room does he release Yuki.

There are things we don't mention. Things that can't be made vocal and real because there is nothing we can do about them.

Or, worse, there is… we could change them if we tried. But we don't. Because Akito wants them this way.

I watch Yuki become visibly calm, almost content, and know it's an act. To protect himself, to protect us.

I rub a hand against my forehead on the left side, covering my eye, and it makes almost no difference in my view.

Because god wants them this way, and that makes them right.

We walk into the room and Akito brightens in his blacklight way, reaching like a child for Shigure's embrace as the dog says all the right things.

He relishes Yuki's perfectly concealed terror, and settles for holding the younger boy's hand while he gives me half of his attention.

And things hold together a little longer.

Eight Years Earlier

I sit on the edge of my bed in the Main House for the nights of Sanga Nichi, the days spent in this house.

And, at this rate, in this room.

"You are not going to do this."

My father paces up and down the room in measured, careful strides.

"You are not going to throw your career away. A private practice, certainly, once you've completed your internship. No son of mine, no high-status Sohma, is going to work in some public hospital. But the family doctor… that will mean next to no contact with the outside medical community. Your achievements, should you in fact make any tending stuffed noses and bruised knees, will go completely unappreciated. Surgery, Hatori, that is where greatness lies. You could do it, we both know that. And you want to play family vet?"

He turns to me, face a picture of disgust.

I've always done what you told me to do. Everything you told me to do.

Until I announced my decision yesterday before the banquet. To enter the accelerated medical program and become the official Sohma family doctor within only a few years.

He told me it was not an option, ignoring the fact that this had been my assumed course by our Head for years.

I left the room.

Now, I don't believe I'll be leaving this one any time soon.

"Father," I say evenly, "Even if I agreed with your view, Akito-sama does not. The decision is ultimately his."

"Don't hide behind Akito. You and that Shigure boy could talk him into having your birthdays proclaimed national holidays."

I could laugh at that. Yes, Shigure holds some sway, but only if used sparingly and well, and I hold none at all.

"Hatori," he says, and almost there is a note of pleading in his voice. "Do you honestly want this? Is this all you want out of life? …Say something!"

I wonder vaguely why, as he isn't going to listen, and say, "If you truly think this only a waste of my career, than all I can do is ask that you respect my decision."

He doesn't understand, or he wouldn't ask what I want.

Akito wants this.

He stiffens, and then slowly exhales. "You can stay in here until you come to your senses and stop acting like a childish brat," he says in clipped tones, and then he turns and leaves.

I lie back on the bed, letting out a long, slow sigh.

We've never been on the best of terms.

Compared to Ayame and Shigure, I've no right to complain, whatever they think. My father has never hit me arbitrarily, like Aya's parents – not that he's one to spare the rod, but only when I've actually done something wrong, not because he's in a bad mood. Shigure's parents… it's worse than having their memories erased; they never needed to. It was no tragedy for them. They simply never cared for or paid attention to their son. My father certainly has never ignored me.

In fact, I'm only second in his priorities. First and foremost, he is a brain surgeon, renowned throughout Japan. Second, and above all but his work, he is a father. Father of a boy who will become a surgeon, preferably neural, and who will be internationally famous.

I am not supposed to disappoint him.

I always have.

I've done extremely well academically – not pride but fact. I know as much as most college graduates, and have only just graduated high school.

But I should have graduated early, should have kept better company than "those two," should have… been better.

I'll never stop desiring his approval, striving for it even. However, there is one thing that tonight has helped me come to terms with. I will never have it. And that I don't need it. It won't kill me. I'll move on.

No, I don't need him.

The door opens, and I sit up expecting Ayame and/or Shigure, but my line of vision continues to track down until it finds crow-black hair and darkened eyes in a small, pale face.

"Akito-san?" Puzzled, I nonetheless slide from the bed to kneel on the floor, half from respect, half to bring myself to eye-level. "Is something –"

As he walks toward me, I note that the shadow on his cheek does not change as the light in the room slides over his face.

She doesn't usually hit him where it shows.

"Have you seen Shigure?" He enquires. "His rooms are empty." He sounds calm, but his eyes are narrowed in a sign of impending pain if he is not instantly gratified, narrowed just as Aya's are on those rare occasions he is angry.

"Not recently… Will you let me see to that before it bruises?" I reach out slowly, giving him every chance to indicate that my touch is not wanted, but he doesn't move, and my fingers dance around the red mark gently. "He'll probably be by here soon, at any rate."

"Very well." Some of the tension leaves his tiny shoulders, crisis averted.

He slips onto the bed while I fetch some of my first aid supplies, kept handy nearly constantly in this family. "Why will Shigure be by soon?"

"He has a nose for trouble," I respond dryly, turning his head to see his cheek. Not unlike yourself.

"What trouble is going to bring him here?" His voice acquires the lilting intonation it takes when prodding another's wound.

"My father and I had a disagreement. This is going to be cold." I spread the cream over the rapidly darkening redness, nearly a handprint but not quite fitting on his small face, and eventually give in to his pointed silence. "Our views on my career are different."

"Oh." He sounds dismissive. I wonder idly if he would sound the same if Shigure told him something like this. "But you will do as I say."

Something occurs to him and he pulls his head free to face me. "You will, won't you?" Because you love me more?"

"Akito," I sigh, "it's not about whom I love more."

His frowns, small fists clenching. "Answer me!"

I want to argue the point, try to show him that it love isn't a simple competition, but I don't. We never do.

"Yes," I say helplessly, realizing that, in the most basic way, it's the truth.

He smiles, one of his hands curling in my shirt. "Good."

"Now let that sit for a minute and –"

"It's slimy."

" – I'll get it off."

He twists the material of the shirt around his fingers, eyeing the coiled cloth as if fascinated. "I had Ren-san removed from my presence. She won't hit me again."

I stare at him silence.

People go all their lives without that kind of strength.

I should be happy, purely happy, but some small part of me is unnerved by the inhumanity of it in contrast to the other Sohma children's silent suffering.

That, then, is human…?

And his eyes dart to me, almost anxiously, as if seeking approval.

"…Good." I put my hand over his on my chest.

"Yes." He smiles, his sweet smile, and looks like nothing but a little boy.

I check my watch, tearing my eyes away, and pull out a cloth. "It shouldn't bruise now."

As I wipe away the cream as gently as possible, he instructs me, "Now take me to Shigure."

It occurs to me that I'm grounded, but I believe I've found a replacement as well.

"For an hour. Then you need to get some sleep."

He reaches out to be carried, and I pull him into my arms, standing. He weighs nothing.

"…Very well." He drops his head onto my shoulder, a warm bundle of limbs. His arms lock around my neck, but even on the way to find Shigure, they fall away, limp and trusting.

AN: There's Ha-san. I feel guiltier every time I write him. At any rate, there we are, and please review!