Hey! It's a little (a lot) late, and I'm still not 100% happy with the ending (more like 87%), but here's the chapter.

Whoops! Forgot to say that I (obviously/unfortunately) do not own any of the recognizable cast of Digimon, nor the term Brain Bleach. Digimon belongs to its respective owners, and Brain Bleach belongs to a place I would not recommend visiting if you value your free time.

Chapter 3

It's funny…

The feeling of suddenly being cold – of a chill that runs through blood and seeps into bones and sends shivers down spines – overtakes her as she steps onto the tile of the bathroom floor. She glances at the (definitely closed and maybe locked) door before she disrobes, piling her clothes onto the closed lid of the toilet next to the shower. She steps in, lets her fingers roam across the fluffy towel as water rains down upon it, then vigorously rubs the soap against it as fast as she can. The foamy substance is on – and then off – her as quickly as she can manage. She glances around the stall furtively at every strange sound, feeling like a fool for maybe the fifth time when nothing is there. A towel is loosely pulled up and around her, and she nearly flies out of the bathroom.

She's not paranoid.

(She wonders if the lie sounds as untrue in her head as it would saying it out loud.)

She looks up and sees that eight minutes have passed since she first left to shower and her return. She sighs, then flops down heavily on her bed. She considers what she's going to wear (because, according to her mother, since she is going out where other people can see her, she "can't just put on any old thing"), then decides to do exactly what her mother advised her not to do. One pair of sweatpants and her favorite old sweatshirt later, she bounds down the stairs, through the hallway, past the breakfast nook, and into the kitchen.

Her bare feet are planted firmly on the old, ugly, red kitchen tiles. She looks around and spots her father alternating between glaring at the coffee machine and his attempts at making pancakes. She giggles a bit, and her father turns and gives her a little thumbs up before turning back to the – now burning – pancake on the stove. He sighs and dumps it in the garbage disposal. Izumi starts to laugh, but a feeling of cold stifles the notion, settling deep in the pit of her stomach and turning her blood into ice.

…She knows this feeling.

She turns around to face her mother's penetrating glare, and instinctively moves closer to her father. Her mother is…not exactly a morning person – in fact, she's more akin to a vampire or zombie (because she's at home with the dark, but stumbles and swears at the sun's very existence) without copious consumption of coffee.

"You," her mother drawls sleepily as she rests her tired jade green eyes on her daughter, "change." Her feet drag heavily on the floor as she shuffles toward her husband, a finger pointed at his broad chest. "And you," she slurs, swatting at a strand of straight brown hair, "kiss. Coffee. Cash. In that order."

Izumi and her father lock eyes for a moment, and he winks at her before a wide grin splits his face. She watches amusedly as her father leans in, resting a finger on his wife's lips. She huffs a little indignantly, her lips moving as best they can to resemble a pout, arms crossed against her chest. Izumi can't help but laugh. Her father is smiling as well.

"Now honey," he says in his best mocking tone available, "as much as I love seeing you all tired and limp, don't you think you should have some of this warm coffee?" He brandishes the coffee pot in his hand, moving it closer to her nose.

Her mother's eyes flutter a little. A deep, sharp, sudden inhale comes through her nose. She grabs her husband's wrist greedily, hand clamping down like a vice. She stares openly, eyes locking with her husband's before settling into a glare that could shatter any man's resolve like it was a baseball coming through the neighbor's glass window.

"Honey, give it to me." She grinds out, teeth gnashing on nearly every syllable. She moves in closer to him, flush against his chest. She looks up at him, head level with his shoulder, pulls his head down closer to hers. "I want that inside me. Now." Her eyes are simmering like the coffee in his hands, and it takes him a second to think. Air rushes in and out of his nostrils in tempo with his erratic heartbeat. A quiet gulp breaks a loud silence.

All the while, Izumi is horrified. (What did I just witness?) No amount of Brain Bleach™ would ever erase any of that from her mind. (Was...was my mother…seducing my father? In front of me!?) She feels sick. Her stomach churns, her face is flush with heat. She idly wonders if she could die from embarrassment. (She kind of wants to.)

The sound of awkward laughter and a cleared throat, of cabinets opening, of coffee poured and consumed (with a sigh that does nothing to alleviate her embarrassment), brings her back from the brink. Her father's eyes are wide brown saucers, full of fear and sorry and something (she really didn't want to think about). His face blooms red, and her mother just looks back and forth at the two mortified blonds on either end of the room. She shrugs her shoulders.

"Oh, stop it you two! Dear, you've heard me say much worse than that." (Her father's face has now come to resemble a tomato, and Izumi really would rather be anywhere else right now.) "And Zoe," she addresses her daughter, using the name she was given during a visit to Italy by kids who wouldn't bother trying to pronounce Izumi, "I'm just trying to teach you how to win an argument with your husband."

Izumi nearly laughs at how absurd that sounds. If she were an anime character, she'd probably have a sweat drop rolling down her forehead right now. "Mom," she mutters, "I don't think nearly killing someone of embarrassment counts as a win in an argument." Her mother just shakes her head at her daughter, as if she were saying 'Nonsense, dear.'

"Oh Zoe darling, must you be so dramatic? You can't die from embarrassment! You're more likely to die from eating something bad…" Her mother says, entirely dismissing Izumi's look that screams that 'I beg to differ.'

Her father, on the other hand, decides to have a bit of revenge. "Like your mother's cooking." It's shot out his mouth like a bullet, piercing through his wife's entire argument with relative ease. He smirks triumphantly as she leaves her mouth agape, eyes wide, face flushed red as the kitchen tiles. His daughter bites her tongue to keep from laughing, yet it still comes out after a moment where he slowly sips on his own coffee mug.

Then he motions to the empty chairs at the empty table, where a plate of (barely) burnt pancakes rests. He waits until everyone awkwardly shuffles their chairs closer to the table, forks in hand, to offer them a wide smile. "Now that everyone at the table is thoroughly embarrassed, let's eat."

…Ω…

After an awkward start, where apologies are exchanged between husband and wife, breakfast is consumed. Izumi is "excused" (read: forced against her will) by her mother with a (very thinly veiled) hint to change her clothes to something less "lazy." She practically jumps up two or three steps at a time, and she is soon soaring over the top step with ease. She touches down a bit harshly, wood cool against the soles of her feet. Pivots suddenly. Rushes back down.

Unsure why.

A light shines from the doorway leading to the kitchen, radiates through the hallway, bathes her in a dull glow of yellow/white light. (She kind of wonders if the light's really white, or if all the colors dancing in front of her eyes make it seems less – more? – brilliant than it really is. Then she thinks about how stupid that sounds, and wonders if her not-obsession with Takuya is affecting more than her dreams.) She's drawn in like a moth to a flame, feet gliding across the colorful tiles of the hallway. She stops in the breakfast nook, the walls gleaming gold in a way that fascinates her for a second. She reaches out a hand, moves to touch it.

Muted laughter greets her ears, and she turns in surprise. It tickles across her skin and whispers in her ear and dances in her hair. She sees nothing, hears nothing, save for the gleam of gold before her. Her eyes dart back and forth, her hair raises on the back of her neck, her body is tense. A hand slinks it way up her spine, stopping on her shoulder. A voice soothing croons in her ear, "Relax, it's just me."

She does not.

She spins around, grabs what she hopes is a wrist, then pulls. Hard. She feels a body smash into her raised knee, hears the break in breaths. She smiles in satisfaction as she lets go of the gloved hand…

Shit. She's dreaming. Again. She scowls as Takuya (who she wasn't appreciating or anything) begins to rise up off the floor. He winces, one hand gingerly cradling…himself, while the other is busy picking up the rest of him off the ground. "Geez," he mutters hoarsely, "shoot me why don't you? It'd probably hurt less." He stands a bit shakily, leaning on the wall behind him.

"I could make it hurt more, if you like." She shoots back, hands clenched at her sides. He gives her a sly look for a moment, grins heavily. He opens his mouth and retorts something lewd and inappropriate ("As long as you kiss it better.") that Zoe has the decency to blush at. "I will do no such thing!" She says, embarrassed beyond belief.

Takuya shrugs his shoulders, looking completely nonchalant. "Well, can't say I didn't try." He moves to the kitchen for a moment, takes something out of the fridge, stuffs it into his pocket. He puts the bag it was in away before Zoe can see what was inside.

"What's that in your pocket?" She asks, voice curious and questioning at the same time. He smirks again, and she realizes what just happened. "Don't you dare – "

"Oh, this?" he replies cheekily, "I'm just happy to see you is all." He laughs as she groans in frustration, hand meeting her face in an obvious show of annoyance. Then, out of nowhere, his face shifts to one of seriousness. "But I can show you how happy later. You've got business to take care of."

Zoe looks at him, confused beyond comprehension. "What? What are you talking about?" She moves toward him, hand reaching out and brushing his forearm, but he moves away. Her eyebrow raises. (This hasn't happened before…) "Why are you doing this to me?! Takuya? Answer me!" He moves forward a bit. His hand raises. Stops on her head and fluffs her hair.

"Of course. But I've got something I need to take care of first."

"Something you need – I don't care what you 'need' Takuya!What about what I need?!" She says furiously, green eyes glaring up at him. Her hand moves to grab his, and she clenches tight. Pulls him closer. "Give me what I need, Takuya."

He looks at her as a sad smile stretches on his face. He leans down, presses his nose gently to hers. Her heart speeds up. "Sorry, Z. But you've got to wake up."

Ω

"Wake up, Zoe!" A voice cries out from beside her. She starts in bed, tumbles with the covers draped around her, yelping as she falls out and on to the floor. She looks up into the face of her mother.

"Mom," she mutters blearily, "what?"

Her mother sighs. Pinches the bridge of her nose. Shakes her head. "Come on Zoe, get up. Are you ok?" She looks her daughter over, running a hand through her brown hair, then purses her lips. "Is there…something – anything – you want to tell me?"

Izumi picks herself up, smoothing her rumpled (but totally different from breakfast) jeans and t-shirt with her hands once firmly on her feet. She stretches a bit, then looks at her mother. "It's a long story," she says in response.

So...you've got the chapter you needed? But do you think it was the one you deserved? Let me know in the comments section.

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I love you guys. Thanks for reading. Thanks to the reviewers. Thanks for even clicking on this. Or reading this far. That is all.

See you next time! (Which is hopefully not 2 months away again...