Hindsight
By Katia-chan
A/N: Ok guys, I have to apologize for this right now. I haven't been able to write all summer, and this is the first thing I've been able to work up since June, so it's got bugs galore.
I won't be fixing it, but hopefully as my muses wake up again things will get better. So though there may be many errors, and things that just sound yucky, there is better stuff coming. . . at least I dearly hope there is.
There will be more Akito Ren stuff coming, because I adore the dynamic between them and wish to do it more justice than this.
Dedication: To my two favorite people in the world, Windswift and Adi88, for putting up with my procrastinating habits and just because they rock!
Disclaimer: haven't, don't, never will. Happy now?
Enjoy!
XXX
I watch from my desk as the scene unfolds. Ren-sama stands in front of the door, her face set in an expression of mild amusement, her eyes studying her child.
Akito stands before her, and it's like he's preparing to take a large jump, his entire body is rigid and only I, who have cared for him for years, can tell the difference between his usual towering fury and this, the complete and paralyzing fear. He takes a breath, barely noticeable, and then pushes past her, storming out of my office. I can't see him because she is in the way, but I know he just let out a breath of relief. He has touched her, has moved her, and nothing has happened.
She stays in the doorway for a moment, watching him go almost thoughtfully. Then she turns, still looking amused, maybe even more so than before, gives me a nod and leaves herself.
The door closes and I wonder. . .
She hates the bond he has with us, thinks it's all pretend. She is convinced that there is nothing real there. According to her it's all a sick game, and he should stop trying to play before he loses, as she is so sure he will.
But I wonder if she knew. . .
When she refused to hug her child, because he was a god and gods didn't need comforting; I wonder if she realized that that would make him cling to us all the more.
Did she realize that when she screamed at him, when she hit him as a child, that he would demand twice as much affection from the rest of us?
When she made him cry, he turned to us and demanded that we cheer him.
When she made him feel isolated and alone, he came to us and demanded our presence, our company, which we gave him without thought or question.
When she hurt him, it was our hands that comforted, that healed and soothed.
I wonder if she knew that by denying him the bonds of love and affection he desired, she made that bond with us, the one she hated, the one she doubted, the one she wished did not exist, all the more real, all the more binding, all the more necessary. No one could live without it now, not him, not us.
The very chains she told him to release, she had locked in place over the years.
I shake my head.
Of course she knew.
She hated it, loathed it, was jealous of it, but she knew that bond had to exist. It was the natural order of things, and centuries of tradition cannot be broken. She knew, and even though it made her sick she cemented it; she made it something we couldn't break from.
Would it have saved us all if she had hugged her son?