SIX

The balance between past and present is ever fragile.

Merely being in this house, not to mention living in it, steeps her in memories of: Kanade, Yatsuhiro, Fudou, and the deep well of loneliness that defined her early childhood. Each of her I-will-never-return departures and each of her circumstance-has-forced-me returns only compound the tide of memories. She knows well the strain; she understands intimately how battered Maria has been left.

Finé has had a hand in making all of them, from the commander to the children, from the currently living to the long dead. How can one person have so much power? Power of the kind that Fudou craved, power that Finé wielded so cruelly and effectively—there is no comfort in knowing that the commander has Finé in custody.

("Your uncle called." Her father's breath stuttered. "This time, this time I swear you will be safe." He did not need her to tell him that he was too late.)

The commander had assured them—cold as he has never before been—that Finé was no longer a threat.

She… does not know. She cannot ascertain the veracity of that claim. She knows only that Maria's hands shake even weeks after having their daughter safe with them, that Elfnein vacillates between astonished elation and panicked guilt, that her father still calls nightly to reassure himself of her family's continued wellbeing. She knows these things to be true because she has seen them, felt them, heard them.

What else does she know?

She also knows that everything else matters little when her daughter carries such a heavy burden. She hurts more for her daughter than for herself. Not even her love for Maria may supersede the duty she has to her daughter; Maria, of course, would agree if ever asked to choose. She knows what to do. Or, she knows the first step, and she hopes that the path will reveal itself further as she goes.

However—and this is a painful but unavoidable truth—she knows herself enough to recognize that she needs to heal first. She knows her emotions: betrayals intertwined with pain, an anger that is perhaps exacerbated by a temper she inherited from Fudou, and agitated, stifled needs to fix it.

She knows she cannot see the commander or Yukine until she can maintain a level mind around them (until she can forgive them for letting her daughter be a pawn, until the vicious accusations in her throat transmute into rational questions). She knows that she has a long way to go before she can sleep through the night (without getting up constantly to prowl the house, lingering at Elfnein's door, straining to hear every slight sound). She knows that as much she would like—would like, as if it were a mere, frivolous want!—to ease her family's pain, she cannot until she has at least ascertained that she will not indefinitely repress all her emotions.

That is why she finds herself in the shrine room for the second time in a long time.

"Elfnein is at school. Maria is at Lydian. They are safe. There is nothing that need concern us," she tells Kanade's ever-grinning portrait, despite the words being meant for herself.

Worry gnaws at her nevertheless.

Perhaps she should check on Elfnein. Mr. Fukube certainly would not mind, and if she leaves soon she can catch an earlier train and get there during Elfnein's lunch break, though that means she would have to remain in the area after the visit because traveling back to the manor would be a waste of time. That is not a hardship; she can scope the area while she waits for Elfnein's classes to end. Better that she be there, immediately available, for hours, than be stuck here, away from her wife and daughter.

No matter what the commander said, she cannot trust that Finé will allow herself to remain in custody, and she cannot trust that Finé will stay away from Elfnein (and Carol). She needs to be there, not here, to anticipate any sort of scheme Finé might enact, and the longer she lingers here the more likely it is that Finé will escape, or, or—

—She is half-convinced that she should go, has turned to the door to leave, but when she glances at Kanade again, she remembers to take a breath. "They are safe," she says more firmly. She breathes, keeps eye contact with Kanade's ever-confident portrait. "They are safe."

"You're such a worrywart, Tsubasa. And a crybaby!"

Her burgeoning anxiety subsides as she ruefully shakes her head. She murmurs, "You're as awful as ever," and finally sinks into a proper kneeling pose in front of Kanade's shrine. In the buoyant wake of her relief, she turns her thoughts inward once more.

She has a reason to be here, after all. Anxiety attacks or not, she needs to process the latest upheaval in her life, else she will fall into the same rut she did when Kanade—died.

"I adopted a child."

She breathes.

"Maria and I, that is to say."

Her jaw clamps shut as reluctance stays her words. It is silly to talk to the portrait of a departed person, is it not? Moreover, to speak aloud her private hopes and fears exposes her too much. Her thoughts are safer locked in her mind, where no one can use them against her. Making herself vulnerable on purpose is tactical madness. This is unnecessary, this is foolish, this is—

She sighs. She has a purpose. She does not shirk her duties or her promises, even the unpleasant ones; if she could stand to be paraded as Fudou's precious heir with a smile, can she not do this for herself?

"I have a daughter….

"She is ten, nearly eleven. She has a voracious appetite for all sorts of knowledge….

"I think she has a curiosity about the world that would rival your own, Kanade." Tears sting her eyes. "She has amassed quite the collection of stuffed animals. She is not a rambunctious child, for which I am thankful. Her sister, on the other hand…."

Elfnein's sister, Carol.

"Hibiki's child," she says flatly. Betrayal suffuses her voice. "I did not know, until Finé took them." The mention of Finé stirs something else. "Finé. Years of silence, of peace, shattered. We were happy. I wish she had not intruded on my life." That gives her pause. Resentment? "I wish Finé were not my concern," she tests, and yes, it is resentment that colors her voice. "She returns after a decade of uncertainty, takes my daughter, reopens countless wounds carelessly, and does not have to deal with the aftermath! If not for her, Chris and the commander and Hibiki wouldn't've betrayed me!"

Something heretofore unknown in her chest unwinds a little as she shouts her grievances.

"Why? Why does she so enjoy causing pain? And why—why did the commander, Chris, Hibiki conspire against me?"

Her strident tone gives way plaintive confusion and hurt. She feels small. Her hands rest uselessly on her knees.

"A cryptic phone call is all Hibiki gave me. She left me to stew in panic. Maria was in no state to contact me. Were it not for Miku, I would have been waiting at the station for hours with only the knowledge that something was wrong.

"I was here while Maria was there and Elfnein was—somewhere."

She trembles. Her shoulders and chin cave inward.

The root of the problem, the stubborn kernel of truth: "I was here, Maria was there, and Elfnein… was somewhere else."

She stares at the single candle she had lit for Kanade. Its steady flame has nearly consumed the wick. Her faint breaths are not nearly enough to buffet it.

Even when the light diminishes to a mere ember, she does nothing else but breathe faint breaths.

How long will it take her to heal from this?

How can she help her family when her existence is stretched taut under the weight of this hurt?


a/n:

Hohoho, look who it is!

Next up is Miku; her chapter will probably take me a long time because I'd forgotten how depressed I made her and now I have to decide what to do with that since Tsubasa was already plenty angstful (that should totally be a real word) this chapter.

Let me know what you think! I'm always open to suggestions (for which, by the way, Symphoguest deserves a bunch of gold stars!), comments, and whatnot.