Sooooo...sorry? Got my computer back *don't kill me* I'm not exactly happy with this chapter, but eh, update...
Getting right to it then...
Warnings: cursing, mentions of drug use, probably something sexual...
Spoilers (duh): if you haven't read the manga or seen the anime...
Quick Note: this chapter was supposed to be filler, but yeah, I don't think I can do filler. Lots of background too, so be prepared, and if you have questions/concerns, let me know! Also, it's a long chapter, so I didn't edit much. If you see typos, kindly let me know, and if they're bad enough I'll fix them.
Chapter 4
Evie was doing something complicated with her feet, trying and for the most part failing to teach the horde of children surrounding her. Mai thought maybe it was ballet, or some sort of dancing, but either way she'd probably hurt herself attempting it. Plus, she wasn't sure an ankle was supposed to turn that way. Ouch.
"Good, good!" she encouraged, as the kids imitated her sloppily. One girl, around seven maybe, fell over with the effort, but somehow managed to get up without much fuss. Not even going to try it, she thought, rubbing her ankle absentmindedly while she painted little daffodils with cheap Crayola watercolors. Discarded beside her was a sizeable stack of caricatures, mainly of her tea-addicted boss shooting up Earl Grey. Her favorite was a cupid Yasu firing well-aimed arrows at Ayako and Bou-san. She'd really captured the glint in his glasses.
Oh the joys of being demoted to a babysitter for the morning.
"What are you doing?" Evie's voice was suddenly right at her side, leaning over her shoulder as she painted a mini Lin-san frolicking in her field of yellow flowers. The hair, she was especially proud of the hair.
"Painting. What are you doing?"
Her question went ignore. "Nice job on the hair."
"Thanks!" she preened, twirling her brush in the murky grey-purple cleaning water. The colors swirled around each other for a moment, reds tripping over blues and greens. Evie plopped gracelessly into the seat beside her. Apparently the thirteen-year-old boy who'd been sort of innocently drooling over her had vacated the dining hall. "So…ballet?" she asked, because she felt the need to start a conversation. The kids at her table were unnervingly quiet.
Evie hummed the affirmative, snatching a paintbrush before a little boy could. "A requisite of my adopted mother. Apparently, SPR is inherited."
"What?" The question sprang more from the casual mention of 'adopted' than confusion over either statement. Either no one in England kept their kids, or orphans had an ingrained tendency to amass in numbers. Looking around their current case location, she was inclined to believe the latter.
"My father, Naoki Kazuo, is a researcher at SPR. Dahlia, my mother, is clairvoyant," she explained while idly swirling a purple brush over a wrinkling piece of paper, "It was pretty much decided the moment they signed the adoption papers that I would walk in their footsteps. So Mother gave me one rule. Do something completely unrelated to parapsychology for at least two years. After about fourteen years of ballet lessons, I decided to do that. Skipped university for a studio, then joined a traveling troupe for the last two years."
Well then. Her working at a department store for a year before she barreled recklessly into the world of SPR seemed vastly less interesting. "Cool. Travelling must have been exciting. What was it like?"
"It wasn't as glamorous as you'd think," Evie admitted with a tinge of nostalgia, her nose wrinkling affectionately as she mused mostly to herself, "I was what amounted to a chorus girl, which was exhausting, but we were like a huge, back-stabbing, cliché-wrought family. It was fun. I ended up purifying a few theatres, so I guess I didn't entirely avoid the paranormal. Plus," she leaned in close for theatrical effect, which Mai couldn't help but find fitting, even as her stomach punched itself at the proximity, "my feet are pretty horrifying after two years. We might have to exorcise them before we're done here."
Mai laughed, even if she wasn't quite sure why she was laughing. Probably at the self-deprecation, or maybe it was the way Evie tended to share much more than necessary, or the way she tripped over words sometimes. There was always the added bonus of ebbing emotional turmoil and psychic dream-visions drastically limiting her sleep too. Yeah.
She was probably going to end up hitting someone today, wasn't she?
"What are you painting?" Evie asked, much to her confusion until she realized that during her moment in Mai-land the dancer's attention had turned to the little girl beside her. A familiar one with big brown eyes and a messy braid down her shoulder. Ryouko, she thought maybe her name was, or something along those lines, who'd been talking to herself at breakfast the day before. So maybe babysitting had its perks.
"Flowers, like Mai-chan!" she answered cheerfully and notably to someone who actually existed. She didn't seem in anyway off, no blanking in her eyes or weird sadistic questions, and her attention to her blobby-looking flowers was relatively normal. The painting next to her, if it could really be called that, was anything but. The smell of blood flashed, unbidden, in her memory.
I'll kill him. Over and over and over, every corner of the thick sheet, blurring together and mixing black and gray and her skin was crawling. Something about the thick black lines seemed too old, too carefully rushed for a ten-year-old. Familiar, like the red I don't want to die and just as sinister as her fingers hovered over the words. Bile rose in her throat from her churning stomach. It wasn't Evie this time.
"Ryouko-chan," she began warily, half-hoping the name was right, half-too freaked to care, her fingers playing at the edge of the water-crinkled paper, "Why did you write this." Her fear kept the words flat as they were gentle. The girl looked up from her current work, her eyes skimming over the proffered evidence with a plaintive smile.
"Oh, I didn't do that. I don't like black," she explained with the nervous edge of a reprimanded student. Caught cheating, big red failure. Evie met her eyes briefly, nodding her understanding over the little girl's head.
"Then who did, sweetie?" she prompted calmly, when Mai made no further move to question her. She was too busy pouring over the letters, hoping her instinct would provide more than just a jarring nausea. A fingertip traced the words and she shut her eyes to focus on the texture of the paper beneath her skin. Fear, hatred, anger, she wondered if Evie felt it too.
Ryouko turned back to her painting, adding crooked stems to the borderless flowers. "Hideyo." Her brown eyes looked down at her work, unconcerned by the two woman exchanging horrified glances over her head. '….when I asked them who they were talking to, they all told me the same name. Hideyo.'
"Who?" It was Evie who found her voice first. Mai was untangling the memory of Juri-san's voice from her head, sifting through each word, testing their weight in her palms until she was sure. I'm right.
"Hideyo, my friend. He likes to hide in the air," Ryouko sang, still focused on her painting. She'd used too much water in the paint, drawing the colors thin and wispy, like high, high icy clouds. Mai shivered. Her little purple flowers were crying. Bleeding, she thought, maybe the purple looked red for a moment.
A flash of red. The air was suddenly very heavy, fingertips bearing down on ever point of skin. Her throat pinched. I was right.
"Where is he hiding right now?" Evie pushed, her brow furrowed. Losing patience, Mai thought distantly, losing finesse. It's a boy. She felt the air entering her throat to fill her lungs, expanding and pulling only to push back out through her clenched lips. Her stomach twisted and clenched, a fist of breath punching first her diaphragm, then her intestines. Fuck, she hated these moments. Half-right.
Ryouko didn't speak. The question hovered about her like so much colorful dust, but she made no move to respond, as if she'd forgotten about Evie, about Mai wallowing in her own body. The bleeding flowers had a bleeding sun to nourish them, and when she was content with her macabre work, her paintbrush clattered quietly against the table. She looked up.
Her brown eyes glazed just above Mai's head.
He hadn't slept half the night, which is to say he slept no more than two hours. Most of his nights were carved out by books and case notes and the occasional thoughts of his brother if he let himself, but he couldn't even manage that much. How could he, when such frivolous thoughts invaded his head every minute.
Oliver was alone, and thankful for it. Lin might not be so understanding if he found his charge staring unblinkingly at the wall of their bedroom, common as it was when he reviewed case material.
Which was exactly what he attempted to do at the moment, 'attempted' being the operative word. Fairly cut and dry residual haunting. Nothing overtly complicated, but all the more dangerous with the presence of children and the aggressive nature of the ghost. A boy, she says. It's a boy. He shook the fleeting thought of her from his mind. Removal of the spirit could prove difficult, with the estimated duration of his attachment to the home. The residents should be evacuated. We should prepare for an exorcism, but purification might be possible. I need more information. Miss Hara should be adequate. Or Mai.
A sigh rushed between his lips. His subconscious was not going to cooperate, was it?
She leaned towards the screen in interest, her shirt riding up. His eyes had locked onto the strip of pale flesh revealed despite himself. Really, as if it were uncommon for Mai to dress inappropriately on cases. Shoulders and arms always, a flash of thigh beneath a too short skirt. There was no need for such…indignation on his part. Yes, that was the right word for what he was feeling. Indignation.
His indignation proved beneficial in the end, thankfully. He had little doubt that the angry bruise would've remained an uncomfortable secret until it had faded suitably. So perhaps her clothing choices weren't all bad….she'd recounted her dream in quick monotone while staring at a spot behind his head. He'd found that the content of her dream hardly interested him, rather he wanted to meet her eyes, just to see that familiar emotion roiling in the cinnamon brown.
Long fingers pinched the bridge of his nose. I'm getting nowhere quickly. Obviously, without his brain cooperating, any hope to further what little development he'd made on the case was futile. His back hit the bed in a graceless flop he'd never let anyone see. Alright, subconscious. I give you the reins, however reluctantly.
There was only one direction his thoughts could possibly turn, having been half-way there already.
Mai.
She wouldn't look at him. In fact, he'd go so far as to say she'd been avoiding him all morning. Her fumbling attempt to avoid brushing his fingers while passing him his cup of tea would have been amusing, had he not been used to her equally fumbling embarrassment when their fingertips did meet.
Another sigh. He'd hurt her, hadn't he? Idiot scientist or not, he could see that much, even without the tell-tale fleeing from the room after their argument, or the tears spilling from their too-determined dam. He hadn't understood why something so typical for them, something he'd missed during his time in England, could excite her rage-fueled defenses.
Don't call me useless. A ridiculous thing to say. She more often than not proved more useful than the other irregulars. Invaluable, actually. Yes, that was fitting. Her role was without limitations of value. That intuition of hers startled him at times, when she knew exactly what to say or what to do in order to rouse the attention of a spirit, even if it was reckless. Perhaps the lack of self-preservation should worry him, but he found it strangely endearing. Gene was very much the same. Well, her motivations tended to be a bit more…pure than those of his brother. Dangerous as her methods were, they were effective. No one could argue that much. She's been training, he reminded himself. Something he should've been present for, but that was his own failure. Her possibility was endless in any case.
You can't come back and expect everything to be the same! Only two months away, but it was enough to miss so much. Something like regret curled in his stomach. She—they were different, all of them. Grown, or maybe wiser. He couldn't be sure, but the change was so sudden, his head was spinning in a weak attempt to catch up. Or maybe it wasn't sudden. They'd been changing, growing together as a unit and as individuals. He'd been (understandably) preoccupied at the time, too frantic to see beyond their use. The scientist part of him berated his lack of observation. The idiot part mourned the loss of connection.
Detached, he was a separate being from them, from her, and he had the gall to suggest she was a stagnant creature without him. Slow on the roll, but he wasn't totally inept when it came to emotions.
He understood. It went beyond mere 'narcissism' to belittle her so. It was cruel.
His fingers pinched the bridge of his nose, two grounding points of pressure to keep him present. Apologies weren't his forte. He had rarely felt the need to apologize in the past, and if he did, either Gene, Luella, or sometimes Evie if she were feeling charitable would do it for him. All so he could pretend he didn't have a heart. How foolish.
This time he was on his own. The thought stung briefly, another needle on his skin to remind him of his loss, before he snuffed out the feeling. He'd apologize to Mai, but in his way. As he did everything now, in his way.
A buzzing in his pocket, and he lifted the phone to his ear with a numb hand. "Yes?"
"Hey Big Boss! I've finished my research on the house. If you have a minute, I could fill you in," the tinny voice of Yasuhara suggested cheerfully, if not a little wary. Considering he'd greeted the student with an almost polite tone, Oliver wasn't surprised. He'd be frightened too.
"Yes," he answered simply, grabbing his black casebook from the nightstand, pen in hand, "Continue."
"Right. Aside from the occasional maintenance, no major work has occurred since the mansion's original construction. The design was commissioned by a profitable merchant, who quickly sold the land to the Hamasaki family for a low fee after his last venture failed. For the past seventy years, no one outside the Hamasaki family has owned the mansion." He paused in his recounting, presumably to give Oliver adequate time to catch up. Strange, how one so clownish could manage to be studious and professional with no indication he'd ever been otherwise. Even he had to admit that Yasuhara proved a formidable asset.
"You may continue."
A tinny chuckle grated his ears. "Yes sir! Right, where was I? Oh, initially, the building served as an inn for travelers on their way to Morioka, but after the war, the first Hamasaki widow converted the estate to an orphanage. She herself lost her husband in the war, and there was a high precedence of abandoned and orphaned children at the time."
Interesting. A vengeful mother, perhaps? Too soon to be determined. "Any records of child abuse or runaways?"
"No to the abuse, but in 1953, a twelve year-old girl was reported missing. Miyata Hana allegedly ran away. Her brother, Hideyo was found hanging in his bedroom." The name jarred his memory. When I asked them who they were talking to, they all told me the same name. Hideyo. Thinking back, the way she stumbled over her name was not indicative of someone recounting a repeated occurrence. It seemed as if she'd known the name before the children began personifying frowned. Clearly Juri-san was more aware of her predecessor's history than she let on. Her lack of cooperation would only prove bothersome to the investigation. He sighed internally in dreaded anticipation.
"Suicide?"
"There's no evidence to the contrary. What are you thinking, Big Boss?"
Mai was most likely right. Of course she was. Intelligent as he was, he recognized that very little could trump pure, psychic instinct. Yasuhara was waiting patiently while he mused, humming some tune under his breath, but Oliver had no intention of revealing his thoughts. In due time. "Get me the missing persons report, as well as the case file for Hideyo."
"Sure thing, Big Boss."
He didn't bother with a farewell. The click of the call ending was dismissal enough. Regardless, he wasn't quite in the mood for niceties.
Speaking of niceties…. "Shibuya-san?"
He turned to find the house matron hovering in his doorway, her thin hands twisted in the fabric of her apron. She was a spindly little thing, with wispy black hair that spilled from a hastily constructed bun. Her eyes might have been beautiful when she was younger, he noted, but even piquing into her forties a dull listlessness had settled over the warm brown. Her skin was pale and clung to her angular cheekbones like powdered rubber. Perhaps her only claim to beauty was the shapely mouth turned up at the corners to form a hesitant smile, born of courtesy rather than pleasure.
He regarded her with an even look, and her eyes fled.
"Lunch will be ready soon," she said in her pleasantly musical voice, exactly the type of voice he imagined a frightened child would clamber for. Her timidity bid her to escape, but Noll was not in the mood to play cat and mouse.
"Juri-san, if I might have a moment…"
The mass undulated, no more than so much colored air. Some semblance of emotion curled from the whole in branching, curling arms of red steam, too twisted to call it rage, as if someone dumped hatred and anger and longing and misery onto a canvas and called it 'fury.' There was nothing human about this rooting, formless shape. Not even the two, acidic green eyes that burned her even from across the room. Her spine pricked with every breath. Male, it feels male.
"Please, don't be afraid," Masako soothed as calmly as she could, which given her experience, meant that not even a tremor of the fear she actually felt made it into her voice. The fear was purely instinctual in any case. After all, she'd been staring at the presence for the past twenty minutes, and he hadn't felt the need to attack and probably wouldn't. At least, that's what she persuaded herself. And of course, I excel at deluding myself, she thought bitterly, allowing the distraction to whisk away her anxiety momentarily. As if the spirit would act during the fleeting indulgence of self-pity.
Impatience was threatening to steel her aura against the undulating presence anyway. She needed to collect her emotions. Exude warmth, light, safety. Be as vulnerable as love while secure as a home. The words flitted across her thoughts more out of habit than any need for remembered instruction. Those green eyes narrowed, but did not speak.
"I can help you," she offered, tactfully avoiding the 'find peace' people expected of her. That statement rarely achieved anything but a shove down the stairs. She kept her voice airy and light, letting the words hum between her lips. The form was pulsing indecisively, eyes swam and shifted like those of a caged animal seeking escape. Cornered. Time to move. She sat down on the stranger's bed behind her knees slowly. Her thighs trembled with the effort to over-control the motion.
It wrought the desired effect. The pulsing slowed to a controlled, swirling current of energy, the presence at the epicenter with his curious acid eyes. But curious was too innocent a word, too stable. Suspicious, maybe. Glaring holes into her mind as if to drain the secrets from her skull. That sort of pain was familiar to her; the battered child. Maybe Mai wasn't entirely incorrect.
"Talk to me." Another finger of longing stretched farther this time, skimming along the bed across from her. "Let me see you."
The air was heavier, pulling the stagnant breath from her lungs. He was moving closer, teetering, rocking back and forth on his misty heels. Indecision. She waited. Something vibrated the air, some zipping electricity that crackled across her skin, buzzed around her ears. Words that weren't words, the inhalation before a sigh. The eyes looked human, just for a second. Not long now….
"There is only pain here. I can show you comfort. A true home," she enticed, lifting one porcelain palm in offering. Another rock forward. Masako didn't dare move her hand, and she thought perhaps she should be tense all over. Her instincts should be screaming at her to run. But she felt naught but a soothing calm. So long, she'd been sending spirits on their way for so long. She probably wasn't much more human than them.
She pushed the thought away. His edges were instantly, fractionally sharper, like the minute focus of a camera lens. Awkward, thin shoulders, long arms alluding to height he would never reach. Just a child. "That's it. Let me help you."
A hand misshapen, fluctuating hand began to reach, closer, just a bit more….
"Hara-san?"
The green eyes snapped to the door, pulsed once, twice, a third time hotly, and he was gone. Vanished. Damn it. Masako let her shoulders slump in disappointment briefly, before she pulled them back to their pristine posture. No more self-pity, although she allowed herself an annoyed frown as John tentatively opened the door.
"Forgive my intrusion, but lunch is ready," he informed her with a soft smile, nodding his head respectfully to ease her frustration, "Could I accompany you to the dining hall?"
Her frown softened hesitantly. John was perpetually attentive, which she supposed was preferable for his current lifestyle. His courteousness managed to quell her frustration (directed at him), albeit spoken so….endearingly. She'd long since gotten used to his quaint little accent, but even so, she still felt the need to giggle. A kimono sleeve artfully hid her amused smile.
"Yes, thank you, John-kun."
She rose to her feet with all of her usual grace, hands folded demurely across her front. A force of habit, really, the urge to play the gentle damsel stemmed from hours of training. Her manager called it a 'signature' every time her hands, softened by expensive lotions, yanked the medium's shoulders back into that perfect porcelain posture. Mother, she corrected herself, with a twinge of something she wasn't quite ready to identify. So she looked at John's sweet face instead. He really was handsome, all big blue eyes and golden curls unlike any she'd seen before. Truly handsome, with a smile like a kind big brother. That same smile followed her easy trek across the floor and her own lips quirked at the corners. She'd always wanted a big brother, at least to distract from the minutia of her subjected career.
A deep breath, to dispel her useless thoughts, unsatisfactory as she resisted plucking at the loose thread in her pale green kimono. The air was stagnant, unusually dead, as if all the energy and life had been drained away the moment he'd blinked from the room. There was nothing, not a trace of him to be found in the floorboards or drywall. No warning at all.
"I'll kill him."
John, sweet John, didn't notice her tense, because her shoulders were drawn back into their learned torture. He didn't notice her eyes widen, because the violets never bloomed for fear. She allowed the hand at her back to guide her towards the hall, fingers curling into the silk because he didn't even notice that he'd felt it too.
She'd tell Naru, Dr. Davis, later, after she'd stared down her pride.
Houshou watched his girlfriend with interest. Probably too much interest, but hey, she deserved it.
Her deep auburn hair was pulled back into an endearingly sloppy bun, pierced through with a pencil to keep it in place. The sunlight from the window ignited her pale skin to a soft gold, and her lips curled into a soft smile. She was stunning.
"Are you going to stand there staring at me, or are you going to dry?" Yep, she was so stunning he was willing to look past her snarky baiting in favor of moving to her side, dishcloth in hand. She had already filled the sink modestly, her hands plunking beneath the steaming water as she set to work on the dishes from lunch.
All five hundred of them. Well, it was probably more like a hundred and fifty. In any case, he was delightfully confused, and for two very distinct reasons.
For a doctor, Ayako was not one to volunteer herself to help someone, especially if manual labor was in any way involved.
She was doing dishes. As in, elbow-deep-in-hot-water-and-soap-wielding-a-sponge-and-a-dishcloth doing the dishes. With manicured nails she constantly complains about ruining.
So needless to say he was scratching his head.
"You surprise me," he said impulsively, because he wanted to hear the gentle condescension in her voice. Maybe start a tiff, so he could see that little dint of frustration form between her eyebrows. The clean plates passed effortlessly from her wet grip to his dry, calloused fingertips.
"How so?" she asked with a touch of carelessness, one red brow arched elegantly above matching eyes. He smiled.
"I didn't think you would jump at the opportunity to play bus girl to a few hundred kids."
She hummed a short note in regard to his explanation. "I like busy work, I guess. Is there a problem with that?"
There it was, the toeing of the line. Her relatively harmless question challenged him, and he had too many options to take. There was the typical mock-and-row, but he was feeling weirdly, domestically serene, and exciting her anger when she looked so beautifully relaxed seemed wasteful. She didn't get enough moments like this. So he opted for an actual conversation. And she said he couldn't be mature…
"Not at all. I'm glad you dragged me into your self-imposed torture," he commented with a cheeky smirk that she didn't bother looking up to see. The subtle roll of her eyes told him that she knew it was there anyway.
"You're a ridiculous old monk."
He tapped her fingertips playfully as she passed another frying pan. "Glad you noticed, baby."
They fell into silence, lost in the rhythmic slap of her hands against the water, the occasional squeak of the towel against ceramic plates. Outside, the children were enjoying the unusual warmth of the November afternoon, their squeals and shouts punctuating the domesticity of the moment. He felt at home, which was a feat, given the presence of an aggressive ghost hiding somewhere in the walls of the enormous orphanage. Maybe it was the totally mundane peace of washing dishes, but he thought that it probably had more to do with the priestess pinching bubbles between her fingers when she thought he wasn't watching. Beautiful.
"Hey, Houshou?" Her saccharine voice lulled his eyes away from the trees outside the window.
"Yeah?" In hindsight, he should've been more suspicious at the sweet way her tongue curled around his name. Too late now.
He turned, only to have a handful of bubbles slap into his vision. She didn't. A particularly large stack glopped down onto his gray t-shirt with quiet, foamy pops. She did. His eyes shut automatically to avoid the soapy sting running down his forehead. She's dead.
"We should probably head to base. If Naru misses the chance to bombard us with useless tasks before dinner, he'll pout all day tomorrow," she suggested nonchalantly, as if she hadn't slapped him in the face with a fucking fist of bubbles.
She wiped her hands gracefully with a dry dishtowel, too thoroughly to not be mocking. His eyes narrowed dangerously through his foamy mask.
"Too right you are. But first…" The movement of his hand was a blur as it dunked beneath the sudsy water and tossed a clumsy scoop of water at the unsuspecting priestess. A glob of bubbles stuck to her forehead, before rolling to a stop just above her indignantly pressed lips.
Pregnant silence reigned.
"You're dead."
He snickered. "I don't think so, baby."
"You will be destroyed." A drop of water slid down her softly curved nose, winking in the sunlight before dropping unceremoniously to the tile below. They stared each other down, waiting for the other to move. His head quirked to the side, a challenge, beckoning.
And thus war ensued.
Mai wasn't entirely sure what she expected when she walked into the kitchen. Maybe Umi-san quietly chopping vegetables in preparation for tonight's dinner, or one of the younger maids cleaning up the dishes from lunch.
She didn't expect to see Ayako and Bou-san sitting on the floor, completely drenched from head to toe, covered in bubbles, and sharing innocent kisses through their laughter. Every intention she'd harbored of preparing Naru's midafternoon tea vanished in series of complex emotions.
First: adoration. Her pseudo-parents were adorable, all childish giggles after having a bubble war. Warmth spread through her heart at the sight. Second: confusion. She'd never suspect Ayako of such preciously childish behavior. Her immaturity was more antagonistic. And third: disgust, because who the hell wants to see their parents lip-locking on the kitchen floor?
Mai decided it was far more amusing to express the last. "Ew, kissing," she complained in her highest, brattish squeal.
The giggling pair looked up. For a second, albeit a fleeting one, they looked guilty. Then they realized it was Mai who had discovered their intense, soapy battle and not Naru. Guilt quickly transformed into teasing.
"Oh Houshou!" Ayako proclaimed dramatically, before swooning gracelessly onto his lap. "Kiss me!"
"As you wish, princess," he answered an octave lower than he normally spoke. Mai had to give him props: the effect was all the more ridiculous. With that he leaned down and captured his girlfriend's lips in a slow kiss.
Mai actually covered her eyes. "Come on! I'm standing right here!"
"You can leave," the monk noted solemnly, but she could hear the laughter straining his voice. Stupid fake monk with his stupid old priestess. He smacked his lips lewdly, as if breaking a particularly…wet…kiss.
"I'm going to throw up." She added an exaggerated gag, just for effect.
"Okay, okay," Ayako relented, clambering to her feet and dragging her boyfriend up with her. "We're done." Mai could practically see the innuendo congeal in the gutter within Bou-san's mind.
Her eyes narrowed threateningly, a look that her pseudo-mother couldn't help but find too similar to their black-clad boss. The priestess let her lips turn down as she thought about the events of the other night, the shouting that could be heard even on the third floor, above the din of little children chattering to each other before sleep. She recalled the foot-print-shaped bruise from yesterday morning all too vividly, her eyes skimming over the barely faded ring of fingers around her neck. Ayako could have smacked herself. After the week Mai's had, she hadn't even bothered to check up on her.
Mai for her part noticed the contortion of appeasing to concern with trepidation. The air itself seemed to bow in preparation for Ayako's switch to mom/doctor mode and the consequential trigger of Bou-san's paternal instincts as well. She'd almost forgotten this kind of anticipation. Something overtly parental was about to occur. The thought almost made her smile.
Almost.
"Mai…" Sure enough, the older woman began with warm hesitance. "How are you? You've had a rough week."
Bou-san snapped into attention, and she briefly imagined a spit-up cloth draped over his shoulders, baby-pouch firmly in place on his chest. Oh, mental images. "No kidding. Let's recap, shall we? Random chick shows up, you almost get strangled, you trip (shocker), two fights with Naru, and a psychic dream with corporeal transference. Quite a list, Jou-chan. Are you okay?"
"I'm fine. This case is just bugging me. I can't figure out what my stupid powers are—."
Ayako interrupted her mid rant with a gentle hand on her shoulder. "We can work that out later. Right now…"
"We're worried about you. You." Bou-san finished softly, standing beside his girlfriend to form a wall of tender worry.
The barrage of affectionate concern was enough to halt any impulse of lying her way out of this admittedly uncomfortable situation. Eh, it was a good kind of uncomfortable. Plus she sucked at lying.
"I'm okay. Really. I mean, the ghost attacks and tripping are pretty standard. Nothing I can't handle." She shrugged as if to emphasis the sheer normalcy of the matters, which probably didn't do much to ease their worry. Sometimes, not often, but sometimes, Mai thought her life would be much easier if she weren't a ghost hunter. Much more boring and unfulfilling, but safer.
Well, she wasn't one for playing it safe. Look who she fell in love with.
"And the fights?" Ayako pushed knowingly, crossing her arms and lowering a stern but gentle gaze on the young woman. Mai didn't even try to hide her frown of confusion.
"I don't really know how to feel right now. I'm angry, but really, now I'm just kind of…tired. I'll be okay though. Trust me," she explained softly, not letting her voice above a whisper, as if Naru were standing at the door. In her defense, it seemed like something he might do.
The parental figures shared a look of tentative acceptance. They'd let it be for now, but a silent agreement passed between the two. If Naru didn't get his shit together soon, he'd have to deal with the consequences. Ayako knew perfectly well how to use a scalpel.
"We do, Jou-chan. Just keep us posted, alright?" he implored with a loving hand atop her head, ruffling the already mussed hair into a complete nest. Mai wrinkled her nose at the gesture, but the smile she'd valiantly tried to fight lifted the corners of her mouth anyway.
"Of course. Now if you're done going all 'Daddy Bou-san' on me, I have to get Boss some tea before he starts drinking the tears of children instead," she warned with false urgency, skipping merrily to the waiting teapot Umi-san had so helpfully left on the stove.
He shook his head. "You're a weird one, Jou-chan."
Ayako smirked. "She gets it from you."
Aside from Masako's run in, nothing overtly interesting had occurred all afternoon, if he discounted the three year-old that decided it would be a fantastic idea to attach itself to his leg, Evie abandoning any sense of professionalism she pretended to maintain in favor of flicking rice at him throughout lunch, and the equipment failure that happened to occur precisely at the moment of Masako's run in, which he was inclined to ignore for the sake of his own sanity. And of course, Juri-san had been remarkably uninformative about the history of her own business. He remembered well her blank look of confusion when he'd caught her in the hallway, scampering from room to room with dirty bedding in hand like a squirrel with an acorn.
"I don't know anything about that. Grandmother didn't keep very neat records."
Of course she didn't. That would've made his life easy, and God knows that wasn't allowed.
You sound like Mai, that suspiciously Gene-like voice pointed out. Noll pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. Despite a lack of interesting, the day had been a frustrating one, and that damned conscience wasn't helping.
"Shut up." Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was ticking off the symptoms of early-onset schizophrenia. He could feel a psychotic break oncoming.
Said Mai.
Noll eyed the monitors in front of him calculatingly. Three, maybe four hard bashes to the temporal lobe would knock him unconscious. Maybe even kill him. What a reprieve that would be. "I'm not going to dignify that with a response."
You just did. He was starting to think maybe Gene was floating around in his head, mocking him with potential insanity instead of enjoying the afterlife. It seemed like something his antagonistic twin would do.
The clock above his sequestered bed ticked obnoxiously, edging closer to the seven with every annoying flick. Great, twenty minutes wasted to mind-numbing idiocy. He needed something interesting to occur, if only so he could stop thinking stupid thoughts.
"Naru, dinner is ready." Lin. His monotone voice was definitely refreshing. Perfect.
"I'll be down in a moment." Once I'm done self-administering a lobotomy. "Go on and make certain Evie doesn't inhale her fork by accident." Just as he planned. A throaty chuckle, followed by footsteps and he was alone. Even Lin was derailed by his brief stints of sarcastic humor.
He made his way downstairs with careful slowness, following the rowdy shouts of children like breadcrumbs. As his feet slapped the floorboards quietly, old, stagnant energy swirled up around his ankles, snakes winding up his leg. The recesses of his mind thrummed along with some hollow part of him, a burning hole that clenched around nothing, and he was powerless to fight the gentle onslaught. He couldn't see through the flashes of life across his vision. A child, clutching her bruised knees and crying. Baskets of folded laundry, the smell of detergent. Half a century of moments flickering through his mind as he hovered on a single step. The last step.
Noll hated old houses.
This…nuisance was a familiar one, after hours of Gene prodding his temper, frustration with himself, his mental walls fractured along the seams. Self-control slipped first, then someone else's vision took hold, and he'd ride it out, clutching his forehead as he did now, waiting for it to cease so he could be himself again.
"Hi!" The memories halted so violently that he stumbled blindly, catching the railing gracelessly while his mind settled into itself. His feet stuttered down to the floor of the parlor, away from that damned step. A dull ache spread between his eyes, but at least he was back, the little sloppy voice for an anchor.
He eyed the toddler dispassionately. "Shouldn't you be at dinner?"
The little boy giggled in return, waddling closer in that endearingly clumsy fashion so typical of unpracticed babies. "You too, Oniisan."
"Then let's go." He refused, refused to engage in another battle of wits with the three-year-old. "We're late."
His gait was thankfully steady, and the dizziness had already dispelled. It wouldn't do to have Lin (and Evie if she weren't too busy shoving a mountain of food down her throat) watching him as if he were an invalid. Child forgotten, he renewed his trek towards the teeming sounds of dinner.
"Oniisan!" was all the warning he received before a soft, notably tiny hand clamped onto the fingers of his right hand. Noll looked down at the little, nameless boy who so boldly invaded his personal space, but the child was looking forward, his bare feet thudding against the wood floor as he all but dragged the bewildered investigator behind him. Quite forceful, considering that earlier he'd played the weak, curious little monkey adeptly. His pants still had wrinkles from where the boy's legs had wrapped around his calf as if it were a tree branch.
They were nearing the hall when a familiar, spindly woman blocked the archway.
"Itaru, let go of Shibuya-san. You've bothered him enough!" Juri-san snapped, and the sharp quality of her voice caused him to jump minutely. She wasn't looking at him though; her eyes were glued sternly to his recently acquired parasite, evidently named Itaru.
"He's fine." The words were out of his mouth before he'd really thought about them. Am I possessed? "I asked Itaru-kun to escort me to the dining hall." And now I'm lying. I must be. "Right, Otouto?" While he addressed the little boy, he contemplated asking Hara-san to check him.
"Right, Oniisan!" His permanent apathetic scowl softened at the enthusiasm in that chirping bird's voice. The boy's soft, coal eyes were wide with incomprehension, affecting the look of one who agrees as feelingly as they do blindly. In children, he supposed, it was endearing. Without any further ado, he allowed Itaru-kun to 'escort' (drag) him into the dining room, back bent to his level, consequences be damned. A smiling Juri-san followed behind. There must be something wrong with me.
Lin nearly choked on his tea.
The sound of his near-asphyxiation was drowned out by the grateful clink of silverware and the thunk of ceramic against wood, the hollow drum against plastic. For a room full of children, he could hear his own heartbeat clearly keeping steady time in his ears. It was nearly peaceful, the start. Dinner had only barely begun, the children only just settled (and by children he meant Ayako and Takigawa), and now the precarious semi-peace was threatened.
By a three-year-old holding Noll's hand.
A three year-old.
Their backs were to him, but the slightest noise could provoke them. An eager "Naru!" from a flustered Mai, or a polite, bewildered "Shibuya-san" from John, for example. If he were a weaker man, he'd cross his fingers. He forbid it of himself. It would be just his luck in any case to demonstrate theatrics, only to draw attention to the issue at hand.
A minute passed during which Naru was still, angled to the child's level, listening attentively to whatever babble poured uselessly from his lips. Entirely indiscrete, being right at the doorway, hovering between two benches the way they were.
His dread was unwarranted; no one had noticed, and the boy, being distracted by something shiny or whatever drew the attention of a toddler, released his grip on Naru's hand and darted towards the tables designed for children. Naru straightened to his pristine posture, and walked nonchalantly towards the table. No one watched his approach save for Lin.
Sometimes, things just went his way. Rarely, but he wouldn't be ungrateful for that.
"Naru," the smooth voice of Hara-san intoned in greeting, with her added allure he was too used to hearing. He did note that her eyes were dispassionate, the words superficial. Probably born more of habit and courtesy for the empty chair beside her than her previous motivations. He wondered when exactly she'd given up on that venture. In any case, Naru paid her no mind. Now that his identity was common knowledge, the young man had taken to spurning Masako in subconscious retaliation for her blackmail. A little childish on his part, Lin thought.
As to be expected, Noll barely acknowledged the medium before claiming a seat. Right next to Mai. His own meal was suddenly abandoned in favor of this rather interesting development. Part of him felt fairly ridiculous. He wasn't a nosy intern, so why was he acting like one? The other part of him was elbowing Evie none to gently in the ribs and gesturing subtly with his soup spoon.
"Thanks for that, old man," she muttered bitterly, rubbing her side but following his pointing regardless. Her face was priceless. He didn't think her eyes could widen that far.
"You look like Bambi, stop staring."
She turned her Disney eyes to him, narrowed in a fierce glare. "Shut up and watch this magic. Is he possessed?"
Lin couldn't say for sure. Noll wasn't looking at the girl, nor was he really outwardly aware of her presence. But knowing Noll as he did, Evie's shock was definitely appropriate. The distance between Noll and Mai was miniscule at best, and his elbow was tapping hers. Mai was staring at her neighbor as if he had expressed emotion or something equally unlikely. Even more baffling, it all seemed very deliberate on Naru's part.
"I don't think so. Maybe this is Noll apologizing." Lin couldn't really hide the awe that had crept into his voice. He'd have to text Madoka tonight.
Evie gripped his hand as if for support. "I think you're right. How…strange…."
Lin was inclined to agree.
"You better text Madoka. This is a revelation, and you know she'll want to hear about it."
He smothered a quiet chuckle. "I plan to."
She fell silent for a moment as she appraised the teenagers with some hint of nostalgia twisting her features. He took the opportunity to glance over the changes of her face since he'd last seen her in the flesh. Two years almost. Some new things, the tattoo on her back, the length of her hair, but her face was the same. Same almond-shaped eyes, still too black to be called brown, same startling red-blonde hair. Same shape and curve of almost pouting lips, the too-plump bottom worried between teeth. Yet they turned down, when she looked away. That sadness that pervaded them all had finally reached her. In hindsight, he had every opportunity to tell her about Gene. Phone calls, Skype sessions, emails, but he didn't. It was always someone else's duty. He looked to Naru, the flat line of his mouth, and back to Evie, where her smile had waned. No, his motivation, or rather his lack of motivation was far more selfish. He hadn't wanted to see that weight across her lips that he saw in Luella and Martin and Naru and Madoka and himself. Loss.
"They need to just fuck already," she finally whispered with pressed exasperation, and he couldn't help but bark out a laugh, heedless of the shocked stares turned his way courtesy of his teammates. The words juxtaposed so precisely what he was contemplating, and her look of confusion was just too much. Always, always she knew exactly what not to say, but said it anyway, and somehow it managed to be exactly what he needed. God, he loved her.
"Oh god yes," he managed through his laughter, and despite her confusion Evie joined him.
"What are you two going on about?" Naru barked in irritation, because of course, when anything vaguely cheerful occurred (and he was left out of the loop) he had to stop it. And of course, his meddling only served to fuel their mirth.
It had been so long since they'd laughed like this together, since Naru had interfered with his seriousness, and despite the feeling that something was missing, that the situation wasn't quite complete, Lin was absorbed. So absorbed, in fact, that he didn't note the full plate beside his empty one, the unused chopsticks and napkin crumpled in her lap. He didn't hear the wheezing in her typically tinkling laughter. He didn't see her pale hand clutching her stomach in pain rather than humor.
He didn't notice, but then she didn't want him to.
Noll was back in his room, back to slumping dejectedly on his bed, back to thinking stupid thoughts. Apparently, his mind was determined to gradually succumb to some hidden well of stupidity within him, a well for which he was considering a name. His heart, maybe, the proverbial one. The one people assumed he didn't have. Despite his outward coldness, he wasn't entirely without feeling, nor was he without awareness of those feelings. Otherwise, he wouldn't be awake at two in the morning contemplating them. No, he recognized them even if he didn't understand them for the most part.
There was a distinct explanation for his insomnia and his recent bouts of irrationality pertaining to a certain individual. He wasn't so delusional that he didn't see it, despite how very hard he tried not to. From a logical perspective, there was really only one conclusion that fit the evidence; his thoughts and the direction they turned towards when no one distracted him, his indignation, the unidentifiable, psychosomatic warmth in his gut. They outlined it clearly.
But he wouldn't think it. He wouldn't acknowledge it. Her smiles and bright eyes when she spoke of 'Dream Naru,' her fights with himself, her reluctance to say Gene's name outlined another conclusion. He'd sleep. Tugging the blankets over his shoulders, he shut his eyes against the darkness and tried to clear his mind.
No such luck. Memories of dinner shuffled across his mind's eye until he gave in.
He hadn't looked at her directly until her gawking had ceased. God knows if hadn't resisted, then he would've smirked and provoked her and ruined his apology. A convoluted apology, but she understood. She had a knack for reading his more complicated mannerisms. Cue psychosomatic warmth. Sometimes he theorized that her intuition originally manifested itself in her ability to accommodate the needs of people so adeptly, before her ability to determine ill-intent. Safer topic. She seemed to say the most resonate words when he, they needed it most.
Noll pinched the bridge of his nose. If he couldn't sleep, he wouldn't whittle the night away unproductively.
Careful not to disturb a soundly sleeping Lin, he crept out of the room and down the u-shaped stairs to the base. If he remembered correctly, Evie was taking over Father Brown's shift at the monitors. She was exactly the person he needed to speak with at the moment. Perhaps knowing emotion the way she did, she could offer a more rational, alternative explanation to his inner turmoil.
"Evie," he said quietly in greeting, lacking inflection but at least he bothered to alert her to his presence. She often complained that he walked like a cat.
Her reaction was disappointing. Other than a slight jump, she seemed quite unsurprised. "Why aren't you in bed, Noll?" she asked, as if he were a naughty child. His eyes narrowed.
Evie for her part barely refrained from throwing a monitor at his head. Jesus, he walked like a cat.
"It should be obvious. I can't sleep, and I'd rather not waste my time staring at the wall and listening to Lin snore," he replied airily, taking the seat beside her and steeling himself for what would probably prove an unpleasant experience. Rarely did he offer himself to be her guinea pig.
"Lin doesn't snore."
He shrugged and looked to the monitor. Evie watched him with careful attentiveness. Anyone else looking at him would see a young man glaring sleepily at a grainy image of the hallway upstairs. But she wasn't anyone else. There was definitely some confusion etching those circles under his midnight eyes.
"Okay Noll, you've played aloof well. Now what can I help you with?" she asked firmly, a command hidden by the inflection of a question. He didn't often take well to such maneuvers, but he was tired and obviously emotionally volatile (as much as he could be). She played it to her advantage, feeling the slightest bit cruel for it. She couldn't often discern the line between wanting to help someone understand themselves and wanting to understand them herself.
He pressed his lips together in a hard line and stared at the screen. For a moment, she imagined that he might not speak, when he blurted out, "Read me," in as an impulsive a manner as she'd ever heard from him.
She didn't say 'what' or asked him to repeat. She heard him well enough and even if she didn't really understand this self-imposed invasion, she wouldn't make him be vulnerable again. Instead, her hand found his, because even if it sucked, feeling his emotions as her own would give her a more accurate reading.
"Just relax and for the love of God stop thinking," she suggested none too gently, to open his mind to her by the physical contact and the sleepy analysis of her words. Already she could feel his mental walls tremble beneath her initial probing. It was a quick response. He wasn't fighting her the way she expected him to, but then, he asked for it. Much sooner than she was used to, he let her in.
It hit her in a jumbled, tempestuous, mangled swirl. Pain, anger, sadness, jealousy, guilt, guilt, guilt, jealousy, defeat, curiosity, content, loss, determination, loss, affection, loss, relief, loss, the indescribable feeling of losing a limb, some vital piece of you. Unavoidable, she knew she'd see it but her heart cracked anyway. Sometimes she forgot. It had only been days since she found out and even if she hadn't seen Gene in two years she hadn't felt his absence until now.
Their grief mingled in her chest for the briefest second before she shut down her own mind and just felt him. Loss, yes, but joy, nostalgia, and love. Some part of him saw it, but the others, the jealousy and the guilt and the sadness formed sort of a cage around it. So he was close. She almost smiled at the realization.
His emotions starting to cycle in time with whatever his unheeded thoughts were, and she was deliberating whether to let go when she felt it. Something she'd never imagined reading from serious, self-controlled Nature Boy.
She was all too familiar with the little flip of warmth in the stomach whenever someone not blatantly hideous walked into the room. As she was rediscovering, there existed the additional jab of fire down the spine when someone special, in her case Koujo, walked into the room. There was only one word for it: attraction. Noll was undeniably, intensely attracted to someone. Well, she said someone….In any case, oh my god, oh my god, Noll actually has a dick. At the ridiculousness of her own mind, Evie unceremoniously dropped his hand and laughed.
"Thanks, Evie. That's very comforting." His belligerence did little to calm her sudden onslaught of amusement. It was too much. He actually went hormonal for a second, however brief. She'd have to call Luella and inform her that grandchildren were a distinct possibility. "Would you care to share your findings with the rest of the class?"
That little comment managed to sober her minutely. She didn't appreciate the condescension. It wasn't her fault he could recognize that he wanted to be, well, indelicate with Mai. "I don't recall agreeing to that, professor."
"Evie," he growled in warning, as if she were afraid of him. Silly Nature Boy.
"Noll, I'm all for invading your personal bubble whenever you agree to it." He didn't even bother glaring at her. His look of contempt was enough. "But in all seriousness, what you showed me is not for me to reveal. I can help you figure it out by pointing you in the right direction."
She grabbed his hand again. The physical contact would anchor him for a moment even if he tried to shut down. "Just let it happen, Noll. You know what I'm talking about so don't play ignorant."
His face relaxed from its terminated look of false confusion and in its place lay an expression of utter exhaustion. Maybe he would sleep tonight. Evie squeezed his fingers gently before releasing the limp hand to his lap. He didn't want to see it right now. That much was plain to her, even without reading him. Something stood in his way, and she wasn't sure that it was entirely his inclination to be dense.
"Oh, Nature Boy," she lamented warmly, smoothing an errant lock of black hair in place and cherishing this sort of affection he rarely let anyone demonstrate. He probably wouldn't have allowed if he weren't nearly as lost. That was Noll, though, and far be it from her to ask for anything different. Gene really had been spot on, but then, he always was. For someone so brilliant, Oliver had the worst tendency to be his own bane when it came to discovering something new.
She watched him drift further into himself with a sad interest, wondering if that hollow ache was carving him from the inside too, if he still felt his loss the way she did; fresh and unhealed. She wondered if grief held him back or his inability to cope with his own emotions. For once (or was it always?), Evie wished she could possibly understand his mind beyond the fundamental level.
"I'm going to bed. Goodnight, Evie," he deadpanned robotically, a natural response made unnatural by his blanking control of himself. She nodded, accepted his parting hand at her shoulder without fuss, and watched him drift from the base like a shadow blown away by a breeze.
As she turned back to the monitor, her eyes were too misty for her liking. What was the use of crying if there was no one with you? Tears were meant for others, so they could be comforted by the act of comforting you. At the moment, Evie felt more alone then she ever had, more useless. Especially because the tears brimming and spilling silently over her eyelids were for herself.
She couldn't even help him. He needed to work out his feelings for Mai, his ever present grief on his own, but some selfish part of her demanded that she contribute, and then blame herself when she couldn't. It was all so absurd. What right did she have to insert herself into Noll's issues? But as family, as someone who loved him and who knew him as well as she could, there was an obligation, a duty to try, to guide him as best she could.
There were times when Evie hated her ability. Sure, it had its uses and it was fun occasionally but when she was feeling particularly inclined to wallow in self-pity and self-deprecation, it only left her more confused. She knew emotions well, and yet she managed to know little of her own.
"I'm getting nowhere," she said aloud, to hear the sound of her own voice. Granted, her sudden descent into vapid metaphysics was a welcome distraction. She shouldn't have thought of Gene. She'd doing well in avoiding that reality.
….and that thought was counterproductive. Little unimportant memories she hadn't realized she'd stored were now at the forefront of her thoughts, worth more than she'd expected. Gene plucking discordant tunes from a violin he had no idea how to play. The twins together, switching places for a week when they were ten but somehow she could tell them apart (Noll thought maybe her powers were the reason. She liked to think it was the awkward smile). Sneaking into lessons, watching Koujo meditate and Gene be still in a way he never managed anywhere else. Focused and he looked even more like his brother in those moments. Watching a Disney movie, Hercules maybe, throwing pillows at Noll whenever he claimed something was anti-Semitic, not noticing when Koujo snuck away somewhere near the beginning. So many little things she'd miss.
As she thought, her tears dried and the monitors were clear and undisturbed. On one screen, the one depicting the hallway leading to their bedrooms, Ayako stumbled fuzzily past the camera, offering a wave to the unlucky sap stuck watching the monitors at….five in the morning. Great. Evie smiled despite herself. Just like old times. She'd definitely missed ghost hunting, even staring at empty rooms for three hours all alone in the middle of the night.
Though she wasn't alone for long. Soon enough, Ayako's quick, measured footsteps tapped their way to the base, "Morning," the doctor whispered, taking the seat beside her and looking to the screens, "anything interesting?"
"Not particularly."
"Then you won't miss much," she began, turning in the chair to face Evie more fully. Her curiosity was tapping its way up the empath's arm, an insistent prodding. Evie had been expecting this moment, the game of twenty questions. Oh, the fun to be had.
Evie smiled brightly. "No, I don't think I will."
And so it began. Her questions were direct and to-the-point, asked in much the same way as a doctor would question her patient. Nothing surprising, nothing too personal, except one horrifyingly misguided belief that she and Noll had ever been together. Between the indignant flailing and repeated "Oh God no, like a brother" and other miscellaneous bumbling, Evie managed to refute that thought. Ayako glanced over her family, wondering about her Japanese surname, but mainly, her focus seemed to revolve around Lin.
"If you don't mind, of course," was her qualifier, even going so far as to twist her hands nervously in her lap.
"Not at all." She wasn't lying. There wasn't much that she viewed as off-limits in her head. However, some jealous part of her questioned why the doctor wanted to know. It was probably just curiosity, maybe protectiveness for a friend against an unknown party, but even so….jealous. "I suppose you could call us childhood sweethearts."
And she launched into some confused, disjointed definition of her not-relationship. They were together, but not, and yet they weren't with anyone else. She hadn't even entertained the thought of anyone else. Koujo was her closest friend, her mentor. He had the most brilliant mind, the kindest heart, and he knew her well, knew everything about her. As Ayako listened with gentle attentiveness, she wondered aloud why he was with her. She'd expected him to find someone like him, tall and willowy, contained, Chinese. She was explosive in everything she did. She was small, buxom, a Welshwoman with fiery gold hair and a less than subtle personality. They didn't match in any way. But he turned from his thoughts and his work for her, and in return she lay still in his arms. She was his unashamedly, and for whatever reason, he was hers.
The women sat together in silence, basking in the pale morning light that had begun to seep through the windows. Soon the others would join them, one by one, quiet from the remnants of sleep, and the mansion would come to life with the rush of a hundred morning routines. For now, Evie enjoyed the stillness, letting her eyes wonder to the glowing curtains. No unidentifiable pain, no grief, no confusion, just peaceful anticipation.
On the bottommost screen, as the camera struggled without an audience to flicker from night-vision to color, a little figure stood just in view, the morning light cutting through her shape like shards of glass. She heaved, once, twice, before fading into the persistent shadows.
He'd taken to playing with her hair. When they first met, he used it as a tool to keep her still during lessons. She'd stop her flitting about the room like a butterfly whenever he offered to braid her hair. Done and undone, another twist, maybe two or three, over and over while Martin or her father read them stories. They were strange stories, about people hiding in their minds to protect themselves, but Evie listened to them carefully, and her father always said they were working. Koujo didn't really understand, so he kept her calm.
Now, he did it for fun. Her hair was soft, fine and curly and so different from his sister's thick black strands. It shined like copper when he ran his fingers through it, or twisted the locks into a complex braid.
"Lin!" she chirped happily as she flounced into the library, interrupting his half-mastered meditation that was already giving way to the warm summer sun. He looked up, smiled serenely when he confirmed that it was his Evie sliding across the marble floor, and opened his little gangly arms for her. As per custom, she didn't bother slowing and rammed into him at full speed, knocking them both to the floor. She was giggling as he shook her curls from his face.
"Hello, Silly Girl," he greeted simply, toying with a stray lock, tickling his own nose with it. "Why are you here?"
"Otousan and Uncle Martin have 'business.' Mama said I should play with you." She rolled off him, her big doe eyes turned down. "You do want to play with me, right Lin?"
"Yes," he answered seriously, allowing her to haul him to his feet in her excitement. As soon as he was standing, though, he was forgotten in favor of the sunlight sprinkled along the marble floor. Her shoes were already missing; he didn't even notice her kick them away. Then, almost as quickly as she'd flitted away from him, she was back, tugging him around the room at her darting sprint just because she could.
Koujo followed her with an easy smile, his hand only slightly bigger than hers but they fit so well together. They jumped across the couches, ducking under beams of sunlight and dust, then chased each other around the massive cherry-wood bookshelves. Her energy was boundless, but even when his lungs burned with the effort of breathing and his legs ached, he pushed himself to stay beside her.
"Over here!" she'd shout, and they race in that direction, only to choose another and trip over each other trying to get there. Two hours, they played their escaping game, until he coaxed her into stillness with his typical promise.
"Come here Evie," he offered gently, "Let me play with your hair."
Her smile glowed softly, her curls floating around her head, mussed by running. Without a word, she crawled to his spot on the floor and plopped gracelessly in front of him. Strands of coppery gold, like the ribbons he tied in his sister's hair during New Year festivals. They were warm from exertion, when he sank his fingers between the bundles, pulled them into place and began weaving them together.
"Lin?" Her voice was sweet, like tinkling bells at Christmas. She was a lovely little creature, a fairy or a doll, and so unpredictable in everything she felt or said or did. She fascinated him. His Evie.
"I'm Koujo, Evie." His own voice was calm and level, pitched deeper than it naturally sat because he tried so hard to be a man like his brothers, like his father. "What is it?"
"I love you," she sang softly, reaching her hand back to play with his knee but not turning around, not interrupting his focus, "You're my serious old man."
"Okay."
They were silent. He finished his work, but kept fidgeting with the little curls at the nape of her neck. When he was done with that, he pulled her closer and hid his face in her unusual hair, letting her play with his fingers. She pulled them apart, folded them in on themselves, held them tightly between her own milky white hands.
"Evie," he said, just to say her name, then another thought formed by the sound of it, "you're mine too."
She giggled and turned in his arms, her pale cheeks bright with color, her black eyes warm like crushed velvet. Yes, she was his Evie, and he was her Koujo.
So much cuteness at the end. I'm thinking about doing a series of one-shots about Lin, Evie, Gene, and Noll when they were young, and maybe Dahlia and Kazuo, Evie's parents. (She's French, he's Japanese, Evie's Welsh. One heck of a mix, right?) Anyway, apology time!
So I get distracted easily. I've started another story that is just pure angst and fluff. I'll give you a spoiler- Mai and Naru adopt John. If you read Prestidigitation, you'll understand the inspiration for that one...Anyway, I still love this story, and I fully intend on finishing it. I'm a little miffed right now, because my outlines for future chapters were deleted -le sigh- BUT! I will finish it! I SWEAR!
I hope you enjoyed! Sorry again for the wait. I need to work on my focus...