Warnings: None.
Speak
Chapter 03:
"Contact"
As I watched her go, noting with displeasure the way both mine and Yusuke's energy signatures clung to her skin like a cloud of perfume, I tried not to let my caring smile slip into an expression of darkening humor. It was lucky Yusuke had saved her, of course, but when I considered the consequences of taking time to rescue a mundane civilian from an equally mundane threat...well, I wasn't sure if the benefits outweighed the risks.
After all, Yusuke and I had much more pressing matters to attend to than escorting Momo home.
Momo and I had walked to the train station in silence, mine by choice and hers by an act of nature. I told her goodbye on the platform (she responded with more than a few bows and apologetic looks) and hurried her onto the last train of the night. I watched her reach up and grasp a handrail through the car's misty windows. She chose not to sit even though the car was empty. How odd. Our eyes met through the pane of foggy glass; she smiled, I waved, and then she tugged a pen and her notebook out of her bag and began to scribble something.
I studied her as she wrote. A lean body, tall, long legs, narrow hips; definitely the athletic type despite her trendily short uniform skirt and carefully applied makeup. An oval face with dark almond eyes, full lips, high cheekbones, black hair so thick it was a wonder it didn't weigh her head down...Momoko was pretty in a sultry way, but only after you took the time to study her thoroughly. At first glance, her dark coloring and caramel skin made her fade into the background. Still, even after ample observation she wasn't some great beauty. She had a pleasing teenage face with clear skin and straight teeth, and that was all. I got the impression she didn't mind, though. She didn't seem like the vain type.
The car's doors began to close. Momo looked up from her notebook and flipped her hair out of her face. Bangles on her wrist glimmered when she smacked the notebook flat against the window. A long, slender finger pointed at the words inscribed there as if to say 'Hey, pay attention!', and with a quirk of her lips I realized she was—in a bold yet surprisingly subtle way—both flirting with me and being polite simultaneously. I could interpret her intentions either way, a fact I immediately realized she was counting on. But then the train pulled away from the platform and she shot me thumbs-up, grinning like she only meant the polite side of her actions.
"Thank you, Kurama!" she had written. "Make it up to you?"
Beneath that she had penned her email address.
Yusuke scowled when I walked up behind him a few blocks over from the karaoke place; I had traced his energy in order to find him. "What took you so long, Kurama?" he asked with a raised eyebrow. I merely shrugged.
"Did you get her number?" Yusuke asked.
I tried not to smirk. "Not exactly."
"You should have. She had nice legs." He scratched the back of his neck, craning his head to study the cloudy sky above. City lights drowned out the stars. "Too bad about her voice, but whatever. The demon's gone, for the record."
Frowning, I asked: "Could you track it?"
"Nah. Hiei followed it for a bit, but then it started masking its energy. Slippery damn thing."
We had been tracking a demon wanted by Spirit World for almost a month, but the mission had proved much more complicated than predicted. Although the demon's energy levels barely qualified it as upper C-class, the thing could mask itself and blend in with humans as though it were human itself. In fact, it had been doing just that for almost twenty years: it had escaped from Spirit World custody two decades prior and had been living as a human ever since. A demonic energy spike accompanying an inexplicable earthquake in a small Spanish village had prompted Koenma to investigate the incident, which resulted in the demon's rediscovery and, thus, the beginning of our mission when the demon migrated to Japan.
After the incident with Seishou, Ryu, and the Society of demons and humans in their employ, I had fully intended to abstain from any subsequent Spirit World missions. It was time to nurture my human life, like I had vowed to do after the first Demon World Tournament. Koenma had insisted I join this mission, however, with promises of a favor owed—and despite my best intentions, I'd found myself accepting. It had taken a few weeks for me to admit why.
Frankly, I was bored. Boredom and I are old enemies. It's responsible for my old...occupation.
"Hiei got in touch a few minutes before you got here," Yusuke said, tapping his temple to indicate telepathy. "He said the demon tried sneaking up on Kuwabara, but luckily the big lug was able to defend himself. Then the demon ran off. Hiei can't find it."
I sighed. "I suppose we'll have to track it tomorrow night, too."
"Only if it slips up again," said Yusuke. We had not seen the demon in a long time, but for some reason it had released a spurt of energy in the area earlier that night, alerting us to its presence.
"Now it knows we're onto it," I muttered.
"Makes our job harder," Yusuke agreed. "But there's no point keeping this up tonight, or even tomorrow unless it makes another mistake. Go home and get some rest." He walked away, speaking over his shoulder. "I'll call you if we catch wind of it again."
"Tell Keiko-san hello," I called after him.
Yusuke did a weird jerk-turn, flinching like he'd been sucker punched. Then he smirked. "Uh, yeah, I'll do that."
I watched him jog around a corner and out of sight, wondering at his reaction. Then I turned to go my own way home.
Two days later my mother met me at the door of her two-story suburban home with her hands on her hips, but no anger colored her warm eyes when she said: "Shuichi, you're late!"
I shrugged off my jacket; she took it from me and put it in the closet just inside the front door. "I'm sorry for not calling, Mother, but I had to finish a lab report at school. Time slipped away from me."
"You're usually so on top of things," she fretted, kissing my cheek.
I stepped further into the house, noting the cozy furniture and tasteful decorations mixing Japanese and Western styles with flawless ease. Shuuichi's muddy soccer cleats were the only objects out of place, but even they seemed to be arranged with utmost care. Someone—probably Mother, knowing her—had stenciled 'Hatanaka Shuuichi,' followed by a phone number, onto one of the soles.
I mused over my stepbrother's name for the umpteenth time. The only differences between his name and mine lay in slightly different pronunciations and the fact I had been named after nothing but my mother's whim. My stepbrother, on the other hand, spelled his name in homage to his paternal grandfather, one Hatanaka Ryuuji. We avoided name confusion by a clever (or obvious, I suppose) use of honorifics: I was forever Shuichi-san, whereas little Shuuichi was, predictably, Shuuichi-kun. I had never been called 'kun,' not even as a child, so the distinction came easily to our blended family.
"Your stepfather should be home soon," Mother said as we walked to the kitchen. "Shuuichi-kun is at a club meeting and will make it just in time for dinner. Can you help me get ready?"
"Of course," I said.
Mother had set the kitchen table before we arrived, and on the kitchen counter she'd laid out all the ingredients for the evening meal. At her direction I diced vegetables for a salad. She basted chicken on the stove.
"I thought we'd eat Western style tonight," she said. "Lemon-basil chicken is supposed to taste nice."
"I've had it before," I said. "I like it."
She breathed a sigh of relief. "That's good. I wouldn't want to drag you back home and make something you hate to eat, too."
"You didn't drag me, Mother," I said gently, but I could see in her eyes the glow of subtle disbelief. She bent over the chicken with her hair pulled back in a low ponytail. My features resemble hers, I thought when I looked at her wide eyes, thick hair, and pointed chin. It's just my coloring that's so different.
Not for the first time, I found myself thinking of my human father. Mother never spoke of him. I didn't even know if they were married when my human shell was conceived. Was my father responsible for my red hair and green eyes, or had my demonic soul been the catalyst for that genetic mutation?
"I suppose I just want you closer than usual," she said, drawing me from my reverie. "Ever since the attack in Sakana…"
She trailed off, blotted her hand on her apron, and squeezed my fingers with her own. I saw the worry in her eyes, the desperate desire to protect her child turning her gaze both hard and soft at once. That desire would only intensify if she knew the truth: the attack on the winter festival in Sakana had been the work of demons, not a terrorist organization as the human news proclaimed, and I had been on the front lines fighting them, not safe in the home of a friend of mine who lived in the mountains north of Sakana itself.
"I'm fine, Mother," I said. The lie came smooth and quick. I had practiced it many times. "My friend's home is far from the city. I was in no danger."
She shuddered. "But bombs, Shuichi. I can't help but feel I almost lost you, just knowing how close you were when it happened." She gripped my hand tighter. "Forty people dead."
I wanted to grimace at the mention of bombs and cadavers, but I suppressed the expression. Koenma's cover-up left something to be desired if it continued to worry my mother like this. The attack had entered public consciousness in a way Koenma likely did not intend. I'd seen red awareness ribbons pinned to my classmates' breasts ever since the incident was reported in the news.
"It was a tragedy," I said. I squeezed her hand back. "A horrible, horrible tragedy. I pray for all the families who lost loved ones that night."
I pray they will forgive me, for not saving more of them.
She searched my face a moment, as though reading a foreign text. I wondered, vaguely, what she saw. Then she sighed, and hung her head.
"I can never tell what you're thinking about, Shuichi-san," my mother murmured. "Even when you were a child, I could never tell. And now, as an adult..."
The sadness in her voice made me wince. "Mother..."
She smiled, but not with happiness. "You're an old soul, Shuichi-san, and before you were born I would never have used that term. But now I know there are people who just...who just have more to them." She turned from me, hiding her face behind her hair. "I'm sorry I could never..."
She did not finish speaking. I said nothing, because I didn't know what to say. A thousand years of life had done nothing to prepare me for a mother's sadness.
A sigh let me know the conversation wasn't over. "I could never call you 'kun,' even as a child, because you were never enough of a child for that. It felt wrong, somehow. Forgive me."
The plea for forgiveness surprised me. "What in the world should I forgive you for?" I said, troubled. "You're my mother. You raised me, and I love you."
At last she looked at me, and to my horror her eyes brimmed with tears.
"I'm sorry I raised you alone," she said, voice quiet. "Maybe, if I'd had someone to share you with, you would have had a...a normal childhood. You shouldered too much responsibility for someone so young. You grew up too quickly." Mother swallowed, pasting on a brave smile. "I wish I could've protected you. I wish I could've given you a proper, carefree childhood."
She crossed her arms, fingers splayed over the soft skin exposed by her rolled-up sleeves. Raised bumps—scar tissue that would never heal and always remind me of my sins—decorated her forearms like a child's finger paints. With a pang I remembered how she got those long, jagged scars. I put down my paring knife.
"Mother," I said, reaching for her hand. I turned it over to expose the scars, and with my other hand I traced the lines and whorls of the damaged tissue. "Mother, you raised me, and you did it well. The day you saved me from falling and received these scars, you taught me to risk myself for the ones I love, to cherish my relationships and friends, to protect my family because they are an extension of myself. Because of you I know compassion, and love."
Another sad smile. "You act like you weren't supposed to know how to love, Shuichi-san. It's like you've seen things you shouldn't have."
I didn't reply, only pulled her into my arms for a hug, not wanting my poker face to betray how close to the truth she'd come, because she was right. I never really was a child—not in my human life and not in my demon life, certainly.
Mothers, I thought as I smoothed her hair. They pick up on everything, don't they? I was a fool to think I could ever deceive her.
I felt the sob before I heard the sound rip from her. I held her more tightly, feeling her warmth and love wash over me. My eyes squeezed shut, blinking back tears of their own.
I was a fool to think I could leave her, I thought, and I truly am a monster for breaking her.
It was with love that my broken mother spooned another helping of potatoes onto Shuichi-kun's plate; I felt the emotion radiating from her every pore. She held Kazuyu's hand under the table, where neither of her sons—biological or adopted—could see it, but I knew from the light blush and the twinkle of her eye that she was happy. More happy than I'd ever seen her.
I'm glad she got married, I thought, watching her chat with her new husband and son. Shuichi-kun is giving her everything I never could. This could heal her.
That didn't keep the more human side of me from feeling jealous of my mother's freely given love, of course—but it certainly helped.
Mother was serving dessert when my stepfather—who had been unusually quiet during our meal—spoke up.
"Do you think," he asked Mother, slipping an arm around her waist as she put a slice of cake before him, "that I could invite a few people over for dinner next Sunday?"
"That's fine with me, dear," she said, kissing his thinning hair. She took her seat again. "How many people should I cook for?"
He hesitated, glasses glimmering in the kitchen's soft light. He wore his usual work suit, but he'd taken off the tie and unbuttoned the collar. Seeing him with my mother reminded me of just how pretty she was. Kazuyu was also handsome, and they made a handsome couple.
"Two, for sure," he said, "but maybe three."
"Well, if you agree to eat an extra helping if it does turn out to be just two..." Mother teased.
He smiled. "Of course."
"Who's coming over?" Shuuichi-kun asked, mouth full of food. His messy hair and wide eyes, set in tan skin, would even out as he grew; even now I could tell he would be a good looking young man.
Kazuyu hesitated again. Mother put her hand on his.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
"It's nothing, Shiori," he said. "It's just...my brother."
I put down my fork. "Brother?" I asked.
"You never told me I had an uncle!" Shuuichi gasped, wiping a crumb off of his chin.
Mother looked hurt. She put her hand back in her lap. "Yes, you never told me that, either."
"I didn't mean to keep it a secret," my stepfather said, running a hand through his hair.
"Then why did you keep it one?" I think I sounded more menacing than I intended, because Mother shot me a sharp look and Kazuyu winced.
"It wasn't my choice," he said. "It was my father's."
We all fell silent. The shadow of Ryuuji-san, my step-grandfather, loomed over all of us. He had almost not allowed Kazuyu to marry my mother, threatening to cut him off if he didn't marry a woman with connections, but in the end he had relented. I had never met the man, of course (he had not deigned to attend the wedding), but I knew him by reputation enough to realize crossing him was not a wise decision—for my mother's sake. I could handle a mere human, socially powerful or otherwise.
"My brother has been ousted from our family for almost twenty years," Kazuyu went on. "I reconnected with him. Father doesn't know, and I don't want him to, either. He wouldn't like it. But I want my brother and his family to meet you all."
Mother touched his hand again, smiling. "That would be nice, dear."
He smiled with obvious relief. "I knew you'd understand." Then his face darkened. "I can't help feeling indebted to Mamoru. I put him through so much."
"What do you mean?" Shuuichi piped up. Kazuyu seemed to realize his son was there for the first time, and he shook his head.
"It's nothing," he said, but I inferred he wasn't telling us everything. "Now let's finish this cake!"
I cornered Kazuyu after dinner. Shuuichi went upstairs to take a bath before bed while the rest of us washed dishes. When my mother went to find a new sponge because hers disappeared (yes, the disappearance was my doing—my old skills as a thief are still good for some things), I said: "You owe Mamoru-san?"
Kazuyu started, glasses slipping down his nose.
"Would you like to fill me in?" I asked silkily.
Kazuyu seemed reluctant, but I had long ago learned my presence unnerved him. A long, cold stare got him talking.
"Mamoru was my family's heir," he admitted. "I wanted that for myself. I married Shuuichi-kun's mother, got her pregnant, and convinced my father I was more suited than Mamoru to take over."
I considered the facts. "You're not the heir now," I said. "If your plan didn't work, and you didn't manage to depose your brother, why is Mamoru-san estranged?"
He chuckled. "You're too sharp for your own good. Sarayashiki University found a good recruit in you, Shuichi-san."
The joke failed to amuse me. "I try," I said, and I waited.
My silence broke him, eventually. "My plan did work," Kazuyu admitted at last, "I deposed Mamoru, but only because..."
"Because?"
His eyes flashed. "Don't tell your mother. This had nothing to do with her."
"And you don't want her to think you're anything but a good man," I said.
His cheeks reddened with embarrassment and rage. "It's because I don't want her involved," he ground out. "If my father finds out, he'll—"
"I won't tell," I snapped back. "I value my mother's peace of mind."
My eyes, boring right into his own, said, Unlike you, you lying snake.
It took him a long time to recover enough to finish his story. "I falsified a document that showed Mamoru making a small accounting mistake," he said. "I thought it was small enough to not get Mamoru fired from the family business, but Father is a stickler for perfection and wanted to disown him. But before he could tell Mamoru that he was being let go, Mamoru found out about Father's new choice of heir. He left, swearing never to speak to us again. He didn't know about the document." He looked tired. "The same day, my wife miscarried. Father had lost a son and a grandson at once. He demoted me, made a cousin the heir."
"Treachery is rarely rewarded," I said, and Kazuyu looked murderous. He threw the plate he had been cleaning into the soapy sink, fully intending to beat me into submission with his words, but at that moment Mother walked in.
"Found a sponge!" she chirped. "It was all the way in the garage, and—what are you two doing?"
"Nothing, Mother," I said pleasantly. Kazuyu lowered his hands, sheepish but angry beneath the wool. "Let's finish the dishes."
"Of course!" she said, and she joined us.
I went back to my apartment in the city later that night, thinking about Kazuyu's deceit and lies. First he lied to his father, then he betrayed his brother, and then he kept the identity of his brother from not only his wife, but his son.
"Just what kind of family did you marry into, Mother?" I whispered, my car's tires rolling gently over asphalt and concrete as I pulled into my building's parking garage. I got out of the car—a present from Kazuyu's wealthy family, one which had served me well but now looked uglier in context—and went up to my apartment. I didn't turn on any lights. The dark didn't bother my eyes.
Living at home with Mother and her new life felt suffocating. I wanted her to have the experience of a warm family without me hovering in the background like a ghost. My chosen apartment was close to the university. Students received discounted rent. Therefore, I tolerated my living space despite its small size. I kept my quarters neat and tidy, cultivating an area of peaceful detachment to serve as my private sanctuary. The minimalist décor and abundance of house plants create an ideal retreat when I feel the need for solitude, which is more often than not.
Still, despite my need for privacy, sometimes I felt like the forgotten son, the misfit, the outsider. I missed my mother's warm company when she was absent. But when I examined the consequences of stressing her through virtue of my sheer presence, I realized it's better to just stay away.
Mother, more than anything, taught me the art of sacrifice.
I took off my coat but kept on my shoes when I went inside. I had never liked the Japanese "shoes off" rule, much preferring to be ready to leave at a moment's notice, so in my own space I did what I wanted. I poured myself a cup of water in the kitchen, holding the cold glass to my forehead for a second to wake myself up, and then I carried it to my computer desk in the living room.
The desk sat before the wide window, but at that moment only lights from other buildings cast shadows on my hands. I opened the laptop and turned it on, watching the familiar loading screens with eyes that didn't really see them. I hadn't checked my email in two days. I didn't really know what to expect when I opened the browser and logged on, but I did not like the way I had trouble swallowing when I saw the only new thread in my inbox.
"Hey!" the tagline read. The sender was none other than 'peachgirl16.'
Momo, I thought, just as I had when I sent her an email the night I escorted her to safety. Peach. Predictable.
A smaller part of me, however, thought the address was rather cute. I made sure not to listen to it.
My email address, on the other hand, was not so noteworthy. I had made a brand new one from a free provider on the web, choosing the simple name "kurama" with no numbers or frills to distinguish it. I couldn't use my school email address with Momo, of course, because it contained my human surname. I didn't want her asking any unnecessary questions.
I scanned the simple message I had first sent to her (Hello, it said. This is Kurama, whom you met this evening. Did you make it home?) with a frown. Why was it so formal? Did I always write like that?
Momo seemed to think the same thing.
Hey there! she had written. Great to hear from you, even if you do sound like you're writing a letter to the editor or something, ha ha.
Anyway, just wanted to thank you again for what you did for me. I don't know what would have happened if you and Yusuke hadn't come along cuz, you know, screaming like a damsel in distress isn't exactly within my skill set. Biting and kicking, yes, screaming, no. Also, walking to the train with me when you really didn't have to—YOU'RE A LIFESAVER, and that's not a metaphor all things considered.
Anyway, my mother freaked out a little when I told her what happened, but she said you're probably an angel or something and that I should thank you at least a thousand times for rescuing me. Unfortunately, I doubt my fingers could type that many 'thank you's without falling off. Mom says you're her new favorite person and we owe you big time, so please be content with that knowledge, but don't ask us to hide a body for you or anything similarly illegal. I mean, I can teach you sign language if you want, and Mom's a doctor so she can always give you a free checkup, and all of these offerings seem weird but Mom's a very "gotta pay back those I owe!" kind of person, so please humor her, ha ha.
Well, in the interest of not taking up even more of your time, I'll cut this off right here. I know I talk too much sometimes (and yes, you're allowed to laugh at the irony!).
See you later!
Miyamoto Momoko
I had to read it twice before the message really sank in, and when I typed my reply I tried not to sound as rigid as I did in my first email. Momo certainly didn't think we needed to adhere to strict formality.
Dear Momo, I wrote. Thank you for the response, and I'm glad you made it home safely. Tell your mother it was nothing and that I need no payment. The night was not as riveting as I had first hoped, and you helped me kill time I would have otherwise spent doing very little.
I don't know what prompted me to write the next sentence.
So your mother is a doctor? I am currently in Sarayashiki U.'s pre-med program. Where did she go to school?
I hesitated. Was it proper for me to ask that so soon into the email? I had never been very good at teenage social interaction. When I couldn't come to a decision I let the lines stay put and decided end the message. I didn't know what else to say.
I will tell Yusuke you made it home, and that you said 'thank you.' Try to stay out of trouble. We might not be around next time, you know.
My attempt at a joke seemed forced, but I didn't want to stoop to writing a colloquial 'lol' after it, so I didn't. Then I agonized over the signature. 'Sincerely' was too formal, 'love' too familiar, 'bye' too final.
In the end I just signed my name. I was about to press send when my fingers did some typing on their own.
You know, I wrote, you're a lot more talkative than I was expecting.
After that, there really wasn't anything left to say.
Momo responded later that night. I almost didn't see the message, but I fortuitously had to open the laptop to look up a term for a paper I was writing and my inbox was still open. Momo, unlike me, didn't bother with a salutation.
We do to have to pay you back! she wrote, and next to it was a small text-drawn face that looked comically angry. You did so much for me! You even bought me food and sake, which was totally awesome but also completely too nice for words.
Tell you what, she went on. Since you bought me food, why don't you let me do the same? Name a time and a place and I'll pick up the tab. Seriously! It's either that or a check, and trust me, I'll go back to that karaoke bar and wring out the cashier so hard he'll spit up your receipt in spades.
Your choice =P
Momo
I stared at the words with a quirked mouth.
"Is she threatening me?" I murmured.
I wrote her back, keeping my reply short and sweet.
Despite my misgivings about payment (which is unnecessary, I'll remind you), I think I'll choose to save the cashier's neck. When and where?
I deleted the words a second later, shaking my head. You can't get involved with her, I told myself. She'll only get hurt.
Then I remembered how she'd given me her email in the first place, and how she seemed both flirtatious and merely friendly all at once. She wasn't looking for a boyfriend, not necessarily. Perhaps she would make for a worthy friend.
"A friend," I mused. "One friendly outing can't be a bad thing, can it?"
A voice in the back of my head whispered a name, but I shushed it with a protest of my own.
"She's won't turn out like Maya," I said, jaw firm. "I'll make sure of that."
I retyped the words and sent them.
NOTES, January 2016:
Cleaned up some grammar/wording, made Kurama's language a little more adult, and fixed some capitalization snafus (when I first wrote this chapter at age 19, I apparently didn't know when to capitalize "mother" and when to leave it lowercase. Embarrassing!).
So they're corresponding. Yay! Also, for those who haven't read my other story, Future Talk—"Seishou" is a character from that story, and the attack on the festival in a town called Sakana is a reference to events in Future Talk. Wanted to say that in case anyone was confused!
Many thanks to those who reviewed the previous chapter. I know rereading must be boring, but we'll get to new content soon enough! Akara Suzuki, AnglBunny, AkaMizu-chan, jcampbellohten, j.d.y., Xxser3ndipityxX!
NOTES, 2010:
Kurama point of view? What? WHAT?
I want to show Kurama's depth of feeling for his mother. The more demon-y part of him is clinically detached (EX: when he thought about his genetics and coloring), whereas the human part of him is devoted to his mother and her happiness. He's protective of her and wary of his new family members, ready to do anything to keep her safe. But there's still that guilt there that keeps him from really connecting with her. It's fascinating.
In the anime (or maybe the manga?) Kurama says that he broke his mother's spirit. I think he did that by never really acting like a child or needing her the way a human baby should. I'm trying to
THANK YOU SO MUCH, REVIEWERS! Seriously, the response to this baby of a story has been staggering, and it's humbling. Love you guys! Dumbrat, Naitza-Kururugi, chocolateluvr13, AkaMizu-chan, Aisop, heve-chan, Foxgirl Ray, Dyani91, Panda-chan31, rain chant, Kaiya's Watergarden, Out-Of-Control-Authoress, Reclun, oceanabyss, Talye Kendrin, SillyGoddessDisco, rubyparker93, xenocanaan, crossyourteez, and strawberry9506!