Rebel

Chapter Title: First Date
Pairings: Implied Hatori/OC
Disclaimer: Morning Musume is a peppy Japanese pop group of young girls. I claim no rights to them, their products, music, or Fruits Basket.

I had changed my clothes 13 times before 9 o'clock.

I was going to dinner with Hatori at 9pm. He was picking me up. I finally settled on a black skirt that clung to my hips, and then flared out. The black boots and stocking from last time I had seen him would keep my legs warm. A white cashmere sweater brought out the silver shimmer in my hair, and the hair itself was tied loosely up on the back of my head, loose tendrils cascading down my face in bouncy curls. A black scarf completed the outfit.

With a second thought, I added a coat.

Ayame walked in too the bathroom, just as I finished applying my makeup.

His eyes glittered appreciatively, and he smiled like a proud father. "Ha'ri-chan won't be able to keep his eyes off of you." He walked up to me, hugging me tightly. "Gorgeous, Miichan, you look gorgeous."

I blushed, returning the embrace. "I hope so."

He pulled away, gazing down at me, still smiling. "Well, believe me, you are."

I grinned, taking the compliment as it was. "Thanks, Aya. Did you come in here just to tell me that?"

"Sadly, no, my dear princess; Ha'ri is outside in his car."

"Oh, God." Suddenly, all of my nerves came in a rush, a flood of butterflies swimming in my stomach and head. I felt dizzy.

I did not exactly date often. It was forbidden after all.

"It'll be fine. Relax," Ayame assured. "He's completely smitten with you."

"Thanks for the ego-boost, Aya." I sighed, gathering my courage in a deep breath. "Be nice to Mine while I'm gone." I kissed him on the cheek, grabbed a black leather purse, and rushed downstairs and outside. It was snowing, the white glitter crunching under my feet. The street lamps made the dark street sparkle like an ethereal dream.

My heart skipped a beat when I saw his black American SUV.

I climbed in, shutting the door quickly so the cold would not get in. It was toasty warm in the car, heat blowing on my toes and face. I felt like a pop tart.

I turned to smile at him, but stopped, my breath catching with fear. I raised a shaking hand to touch the bandage, as if I wasn't sure it was real or not. But it was real. Oh-so very real. The white tape and gauze marring his perfect cheek.

He didn't look at me, shoulders stiff as he started the car, and began to drive.

"Ha'ri…" I said, voice thick with sorrow. "What happened?"

He was silent, and my hand fell away. Pain seemed to thicken and grow in the air of the car, making it harder to breath. I held my hands in my lap, staring at him, worry etched in my face, making it seem older than it was.

"I told Akito I was taking you to dinner. I am sorry I was late." He didn't look at me as he said it, his voice strained, knuckles white on the steering wheel. He probably hurt.

"No; don't worry about that. It's fine." I looked out the window. "Did he hit you?"

"He threw his dinner plate at me."

I fought not to cry. Hatori was the one in pain, not me. He needed my strength, my compassion, not a crying little girl.

"Is it serious?" I wondered. Maybe he needed to go home.

"No. Just a cut." I visibly relaxed.

"Does it hurt?"

"I took some pain killers. I'll be fine, Miku."

"Did you clean it?"

He looked at me, condescendingly, almost scathingly. I didn't believe it was Hatori looking at me for a second. "I am a doctor, Miku," his voice heavy with implication, and annoyance.

"Sheesh; whatever you say, Doc," I said, imitating bugs bunny.

He cracked a smile, small and weak, but still a smile. The tension eased. I could breathe again.

They pulled into the parking lot, and while I fumbled with my seatbelt, Hatori climbed out and got my door for me.

"Here," he mumbled, leaning over my lap and pressing the buckle. It clicked open.

I grinned, cheeks red with embarrassment. "Thanks."

He stepped back and offered me a hand. Still blushing, I took it. He helped me down from the car, and led me into the restaurant.

Still holding my hand, as if he'd forgotten he hadn't let go.

I didn't mind, reveling in the sensation of his smooth hands against mine, as we walked inside.

Hatori gave his last name to the concierge and he took our coats and scarves before leading us too a table. He told us our waitress would be there shortly, before he went off to answer the telephone. We took our seat.

"Wow; this place smells amazing," I said, wide-eyed with awe as I stared around. It was some kind of incense.

"I think its cinnamon," Hatori mumbled, smiling as he watched me gaze about. The mood was low, romantic, the lights dimmed, the sounds of some Arabic music soft, the restaurant decorated with Danu statues, Buddhist statues, woven tapestries over the windows, and pillows scattered about in rich gold's and purples.

"I'd hoped you'd like it. The curry here is supposed to be world-class," He said, bringing my attention to the most beautiful thing there.

Just then, the waitress, a pretty, mature woman came over. "The cook used to work in India; rumor says he's served the president there." She bowed. "I'm Kiki; I'll be your server for the night."

"Thank you," Hatori said. "We'll take some Jasmine tea," He glanced at me for objection. I shrugged, smiling, giving him the floor. I'd just let him order. "And two servings of your best curry."

"Over rice?"

"Yes, please/

"I'll have it out shortly." But as she turned to leave, she glanced back at me. "Pardon me if I'm being rude, but are you Mikumi Yuki, the model?"

I blushed, modestly, looking down at the table. I'd never had anyone recognize me outside of the store. Mikum-yuki was my first name, so I'd used it for my work Alias. "Uh, yes, I am."

She bowed again. "It's a pleasure to meet you. My husband adores your spring catalogs."

"Thank you." She left with a nodded farewell, and I put my face in my hands. "That was so awkward."

"Apparently you're gaining some prestige as a model." Hatori commented, light scorn in his voice. My choice of career was bout the only thing we disagreed on. And we fought over it all the time.

"Not here, not now; please, Hatori."

He sighed, eyes softening. "Why do you do it? I don't understand."

I shrugged. "Because I'm good at it, and its fun."

"How?"

"The chaos just before a shoot, Ayame in general, the beautiful clothes, joking with the camera man, seeing myself in print. I don't know. It just is."

The hostess came around then, gave us our tea, and then went off to her next table.

I took a sip "mmm"ing at the hot, sweet liquid. "Why are you a doctor?"

"When I was younger, Akito and I were friends. But he was always so sick, so sad. It hurt to see him like that. I guess I did it too make him happy."

I reached over the table, and took his hand. His eyes studied me, then his fingers threaded into mine. He smile, and for some reason seemed extremely happy. I didn't ask, I just enjoyed his smile, returning it with one of my own.

Our food came, and we ate in remote silence as a group of belly dancers served as the night's entertainment. They were beautiful, elegant, bodies moving like water, gracefully to the pulse of the music.

When they left, bowing, both Ha'ri and me clapped.

"That was amazing," I gushed as a busboy took our plates and refilled our drinks.

"I take it you're enjoying yourself," he mused, a smirk in his eyes.

"Very much so." I smiled, eyes glittering. He was beautiful. So beautiful. This place was amazing. I felt like a pebble in a sea of pearls; but a very, very happy little pebble.

"Good; I'm glad I've…" His voice trailed off, and his fists clenched. Then he smiled at me, and it was false. His eyes weren't in it anymore. Confused, I waited for him to explain.

He leaned forward, elbows on the table, chin on his hands. "So who's the boy worth risking Akito's wrath?" He asked, all cheerful curiosity. But his eyes were dark, all tease and annoyance and… pain? Maybe something else.

I nearly choked on my tea. "What boy?" Shit. Was Akito telling him things about me?

"The boy you mentioned at our picnic; don't worry, I haven't told Akito."

"Well, um…" I trailed off, biting my lower lip and looking down at my lap. I felt dizzy and sick to my stomach. Could I tell him? Should I? Is it the right time, or will I just ruin everything?

"You said I know him," Hatori said, prodding at me with words.

I opened my mouth to tell him, to tell him I loved him, that he was beautiful, gorgeous, that he meant everything to me, how I thought about him, and how much I enjoyed just looking at him, being around him. But instead, "Hatori, I should be getting home. It's late and I have a photo shoot early tomorrow morning" came out.

Liar. Dirty rotten liar.

Hatori's eyes shut down to that cold façade he danced around in, in front of other people. It had taken me forever to break through that ice in his eyes.

How had I hurt him? Why was he getting cold with me? I suddenly felt like crying as I watched him get up and pay for the meal. Sluggishly, dazed and depressed, I followed him. I moved stiffly as the concierge helped me into my things and followed Hatori outside into the cold.

It was snowing again, and the warm glow of the restaurant hit his back, casting soft shadows, making the snow glitter and shimmer as it landed on him. The November wind blew his hair around strong, broad shoulders.

He looked beautiful, almost wistful, and oh-so-lonely walking in the snow like that, with his back to me.

I wanted to run to him, wrap my arms around him, sobbing, crying, telling him how sorry I was, that I never wanted to hurt him, that I'd never do it again, and I'd do anything to make him smile at me again.

But I couldn't, because I didn't know what I'd done.

So I left him to crawl back into his icy shell. I climbed into the SUV, all shimmering blackness and creaking leather, and it was a silent drive.

"Thanks. See you later, Ha'ri," I said softly, awkwardly as I climbed out. He didn't look at me. Didn't say a thing. He was the same as when I'd climbed in three hours ago, but I felt like I'd lost something.

I felt that loss so hard, it felt like my stomach and heart simultaneously dropped to my feet. My heart shattered on impact.

I shut the SUV door, stiff, trying to control my emotions as I walked into the store. Me and Ayame shared an apartment upstairs.

Ayame was waiting for me, in his pajamas, and jumped up off the store couch, smiling, opening his mouth too give off a cheerful welcome. But apparently, I wasn't hiding my hurt as well as I thought, because the smile melted into concern.

"Miichan?" He asked, voice gentle, as if he was afraid talking to loud would frighten me.

"Did you get dinner?" I asked, avoiding it. Ayame realized it, because his eyes gained a determined twinkle. He stepped forward, embracing me tightly. And it took that for me to realize how badly I wanted to be held

I clenched my fists in his night robe, burying my face in his chest, shoulders shaking as I cried.

Ayame led me to the couch, and we sat down. He cradled me against him, running his fingers through my hair, rubbing circles in my back, murmuring comforting, nonsensical words as he rocked me.

After a while, I calmed down.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He asked, voice still soft and tender, still holding me.

"I need to call Ha'ri," I mumbled, coughing. I was surprised I hadn't had an asthma attack with all that crying. "And my inhaler." I pulled away from Ayame, and he followed me upstairs.

I went into the bathroom to get my inhaler, still coughing, as Ayame went to find the home phone. I had a feeling Ha'ri wouldn't answer if it was my cell calling. I looked in the mirror as I fished the inhaler from my makeup case.

I was a wreck. Hair frizzing, my eyes red and puffy, lipstick smeared, eyeliner and mascara running, eye shadow rubbed clean off, and cheeks blotchy from the cold. I used my inhaler, and was washing off my face when Aya walked in with the phone.

I used speed dial, thanking Aya, and walked into my room while the phone rung. I shut my door, and sat down on my bed, Indian style, staring at a peppy poster of Morning Musume.

I was wiping my face dry on a pillow when he picked up, on the 16th ring.

"Dr. Hatori Sohma's office. Is this an emergency?"

"Hey, Ha'ri, can you talk for a sec?"

All I got in reply was a dial tone.

I felt tears well up. I threw my pillow at the smiling poster, screaming without words.

I tried ten more times. He didn't even pick up.

I fell asleep crying, the phone cradled to my chest.