Tabula Rasa

I know I said there wasn't going to be a chapter two but… well, plans change, alright? That said, I can say definitively there aren't going to be anymore after this.

Also: never miss an opportunity to roast the Saikou clan.


"I found a reason to keep living, oh, and the reason, dear, is you."

The Velvet Underground, "I Found a Reason" (1970)

A pair of tired, bleary eyes look back at Junichi from the mirror hanging in the hallway next to the front door.

Ten weeks. That was how long they'd been out of the country, traveling halfway across the world to track down the poor idiot who hadn't figured what was best for him and ruined his career to bring her to justice. Now, again, for his trouble of not having the good sense to flee the country years ago he was lying dead in a makeshift grave (a refrigerator) in a Los Angeles junkyard, his skull beaten in so badly with a bat that even if the local authorities cared enough to run records on a freshly off the boat immigrant they'd probably never be able to properly identify him. Now all was at peace for her. No one knew what she'd done. Mr. Saikou and his family had made sure of that as best they could for reasons Junichi still didn't understand. The only person who might've been able to shine a light on her crimes was gone, due to be forgotten by the world in dutiful fashion because of course he would be.

The universe, Junichi has found, hates him.

'At least it's let me keep my hairline.' The joke is pitiful, lame, and only voiced in his own head but at the very least he's managed to keep some of his wits about him after all these years. It was only a few weeks ago that he celebrated his 30th anniversary in hell with her.

His meager salary hadn't let them go to an expensive restaurant but she had seemed mollified all the same when they'd gone to the Italian place a few blocks away; their outfits hadn't been more refined than what they normally wore for work: a suit and tie for him and a business dress for her. He'd bought a few bottles of wine to go along with their meal and, at least for a time, the alcohol had put her in a good mood. When Junichi had helped his very tipsy 'wife' back to their home in the suburbs - taking her across the threshold like a couple of newlyweds at the request which was not a request - to their bedroom, he'd had only moments to take off his suit jacket before she'd thrown her underwear at him from halfway across the room.

"You didn't get me a present, darling."

His breath had hitched in his throat at that.

He hadn't.

Oh gods, what was he going to-

"That's okay," she had purred, her eyes seeming to match the glow in her cheeks. "You can still make it up to me. Let's give Ayano a baby brother or sister."

Somewhere in the present, Junichi stares at himself, almost pushing 50. His hair, once black as pitch, is fading gently into salt-and-pepper. With all the stress raising their daughter had brought him, even if he'd wanted to try once more, he couldn't bring himself to answer her. He can feel his skin crawl at the memory of obediently slipping his pants off without protest.

He failed her again when she never developed morning sickness afterwards. But it seemed that for once in his miserable life, her usually spotless memory had failed her. Never again did she bring up the subject and he dared not breach it for piquing her interest again after that hazy night. Or maybe that had simply been her twisted idea of foreplay, couched in nothing more than terms of how she could bring something else twisted, malformed, into the world from her womb if she wanted to. Junichi grimaces at his own internal monologue.

No, that's not true.

There'd been one exception to that rule.

Kicking off his shoes and putting them onto the rack - the idea that he's leaving his own troubles behind at the door is an irony that never escapes him - he makes his way down the darkened hall to a familiar door. She had gone to bed early. Tired, she'd said, from the flight back to Japan and the ensuing jet lag it'd brought. She'd bid him goodnight and had entered their room without so much as referring to him by her pet name for him. There was no need to make him come with her; she knew by now that after three decades he wasn't ever going to leave her, even if she didn't watch him like a hawk.

He raises his arm towards the barrier between him and the small ray of sunshine in his life. Much as he never thought he'd take to the role of being a father, the fact that tonight is a school night flashes through his mind as he raps the wood before him. Light spills out near his feet; it's merely a matter of if the occupant wants to talk with him.

"Come in," the dry monotone greets his ears.

Without hesitation, Junichi pulls on the handle and slides it open, letting himself into Ayano's bedroom. Time has slipped by so much since he first built her crib in here all these years ago. Now, there's a computer sitting on a desk where her changing station used to be, a TV with a game system set up where her toy chest once was, and a bookshelf lined from panel to panel with various manga titles whose names he always means to look at but never remembers to read. Ayano, too, is different. Instead of the infant he could hold in his arms and rock to sleep, she has blossomed into a beautiful young woman (no matter how much she reminds him of her). Prominent cheekbones frame a delicate face and, arrogant as it is, Junichi likes to think she looks like some noblewoman from one of the period dramas that show up on TV. The butsudan does suggest somewhere along the way that they had blue blood in them once upon a time, after all. Much as he doesn't like to think about it given the context, he can't deny she's filled out her clothes well enough that he's sure boys' heads turn when she's doing P.E. with them.

Absurdly, he feels an instinctual overprotectiveness momentarily before it gets snuffed out as quickly as it arrives. Given who she is, and what he's seen her kind do, he should be worried about what she might do to them rather than the other way around.

"Yes?"

This is typical for her, Junichi understands. Ever since she could talk, Ayano always gave him short, clipped questions and answers. No matter how much he's tried coaxing her in the past she always defaulted to it.

"Hey, baby girl. I just wanted to check in and see how you were."

He lowers himself onto the edge of her bed slowly. He's always given her space and this time is no different. If she doesn't want to talk, then he won't force her to.

"I'm fine."

She brings her knees, clad in bright blue pajamas, to her chest, eyes cast downwards.

"How was your trip?"

"It was…" Junichi searches for how best to describe being an accomplice to murder. It's an open secret between them. Each of them knows how she is but neither wants to say it out loud. "...difficult, but we got back in one piece."

"I see."

"The United States is beautiful. Traffic's a pain, especially in the cities, but you should see some of the forests they have over there in… California, that's it. Maybe someday we can go again. You know, as a family."

He really wants to say just the two of them, but Junichi has never believed in miracles and isn't about to start.

"They have these kinds of trees over there, redwoods, that're as tall as a building. Ancient too. Makes me wonder if the spirits who live in them are as old."

"Maybe."

Junichi focuses a little more clearly on his daughter. Ever since she'd been born, he'd had to learn the intricacies of her expressing herself. She never emoted but that didn't mean there wasn't a mind working things through. She was distant, even for her, as if her mind were elsewhere.

"...Something the matter?"

Ayano shifts next to him uncomfortably, her ponytail swaying with her movements, before casting him a side eye.

"Yes."

He pushes himself over to her, wrinkling the blankets underneath him as he brings a hand to her lower back and rubs as soothingly as he can. Physical contact has always been an important part of his 'therapy' for her. Junichi has never been one to tout his own accomplishments but he likes to think, at least in some small way, that it's helped impress on her the idea that touch doesn't have to be about hurting others.

"Mm…" Ayano presses her head to her knees and Junichi simply lets her sink into herself, drawing circles against the cotton of her nightshirt.

"You can tell me anything, you know."

"I know, but…"

Her normally distant, unfocused eyes meet his own and Junichi feels his hand stop moving in shock as he sees a flurry of emotion in them. Anxiety, fear, concern - all are present as she quickly looks away.

"You'll… you'll be mad."

Junichi feels his now free hand move to his collar, adjusting his tie, as he stares at the floor.

There's an inkling in the back of his mind now, something that causes his own terror to begin welling in his stomach as it spreads throughout the core of his being, as he understands just what would bring those very things that he's come to see as impossible for someone like her to the surface. He mutters curses under his breath as he puts his head in his palms, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Junichi had known what would happen if they left her alone. He'd wondered it aloud to her on the eve of them leaving for America. He'd hoped against hope that, deep down, the lessons he'd try to teach her would dissuade her from finding a partner - no, a victim. The only thing that seemed to effect Aishi women on a deeper level was finding someone to sink their fangs into and never let go.

"How long ago did you meet them?"

"Ten weeks now."

The amount of expletives he wants to hurl her way are so virulent that it shocks even him.

"How many others were there competing with you?"

"...Ten."

It's 1989 all over again.

Junichi, just as with everything else in his life, has failed once more.

"What's his name?" he practically hisses at her. He hardly even notices Ayano flinch in response.

"Her name is Taeko Yamada."

Junichi stands up from the bed, barely keeping his balance as he tries to steady himself against painted walls. All he can see is red. He can feel his fists clench and unclench themselves, almost involuntarily as he whirls around to look at his daughter.

"Guess I should be at least thankful that it'll all die with you, huh?" the venom seeps out of his mouth, dripping into the air as he glares at her. Gone is all the warmth he felt before setting foot in here. All Junichi can feel is a stifling chill. "Her name. Not that it fucking matters..."

He wants to continue his verbal barrage, to unleash everything he's had to shove down inside of himself over the years, but it dies in his throat as he stares at her. For the first time in Junichi's life he knows that Ayano understands what pain and sadness are. She has completely pulled herself back to the corner of the bed where it meets the wall, staring at him in shock as if he'd smacked her across the face.

You'll be mad, her voice echoes in his mind tauntingly.

"Ayano, I-"

Selfish.

Stupid.

Cruel.

There are other descriptions that Junichi can think of, a hundred more, but none of his mental putdowns seem adequate enough to undo his brief descent into vicious mockery. He stands there, wringing his hands lamely, finding the floor a much more interesting subject than the one person whose trust he has violated, whom he has told to look up to himself as an example of how to properly react, and, in turn, interact with the world at large.

"-I'm sorry. You didn't… I'm sorry."

Ayano still hasn't moved from her corner, normally blank features on high alert as she sits uncertain and straight against what he's sure must feel like a jail cell now. Junichi wants to turn into dust and be scattered by the wind.

"You don't trust me," the words are sharp, pointed, as if they were knives being carved into his skin.

He wonders just how apologetic he looks to her and if it will ever be enough to take back his few seconds of misplaced anger. Junichi doesn't need to say anything more; his outburst to her was enough to confirm her hypothesis.

"You're scared of me, aren't you? You think I'm going to end up like mother."

Ayano wants to hear him say it aloud. Wordlesly he sinks to his knees and for a brief moment considers his options. He has tried to protect her from the world as best he can. No matter how cruel her classmates were to the 'freak' that visited them every day, he'd been there to pick her up, clean her clothes, and kiss any scrapes they made her endure. But had it been genuine? Had he truly come to love her or was it simply in the hope that she'd be different? Dimly, Junichi can recall pondering something similar years ago when Ayano was small enough she hadn't even learned to crawl yet. The same flurry of emotion courses through him now. Junichi puts his palms on the smooth tatami underneath them before pressing his forehead to it.

"You are like your mother, Ayano. You notice everything."

A beat.

"Please forgive me."

He sits there frozen like a statue for what seems like centuries as his daughter sits in judgment. 'Gentleness,' he can hear his own voice ricocheting inside his skull, 'is a virtue. It's what separates us from the animals, Ayano. Be kind to everyone if you can even if it seems as if they don't deserve it. Do what's good for the world and it will always follow you, like a shadow. I think the Buddha said that once.'

But he couldn't blame her if she decides not to. Ever since she could understand him he's impressed upon her in whispers that her mother is someone who doesn't understand gentleness or kindness. They're not in her nature. It was a path that she could find herself on someday if she wasn't careful - but then, Junichi sardonically notes, that was everyone, wasn't it? Even him. To compare her, especially after dismissing her without so much as asking what had happened was an insult so vile that it made him feel like he'd been binge drinking for a week straight.

Junichi hears the gentle rustling of fabric and the patter of bare feet against the ground as someone much smaller than he is lowers herself somewhere ahead. Even now, he does not raise himself to meet her gaze; on the off chance his apology is even accepted Junichi isn't sure he'll never live this moment down. A soft hand finds its way to his shoulder and gives him a shake.

"Yes."

That gets his attention. Junichi pushes himself up and fixes her with a hard stare.

"But what I just said…"

Ayano holds out her arms and Junichi practically falls into them. For the second time in his life, Junichi feels as if she were the parent and he the child. Her fingers dance along his back in a familiar, comforting pattern.

"I knew you'd be upset. I said so."

"I- I shouldn't have said-"

He can feel a burning sensation begin to erupt from the corners of his eyes and he doesn't even bother to stop the tears that begin to fall. He pulls her tightly against him, his grip the strongest he's ever managed against another human being, as they sit there together.

"It's okay."

The dullness of her tone is surprisingly comforting. He'd have given everything up if he could take the words back, but this is as good as he's sure to get.

"I'll always forgive you. I love you."

There are no words to describe the feeling that rushes through him in that moment. It's a phrase he's always told her but never had repeated back to him, or at least, never spoken with conviction. It was a hollow formality just like everything else that Ayano had to do to fit in. Much as he'd watched her get closer and closer to puberty with trepidation it had been exciting in a sick way. All the work he'd put in, hoping against hope it wasn't in vain, was suddenly laid before him. She had listened. Not simply doing so out of necessity, but to learn.

"When did you get so smart, huh?" It's a terrible attempt at humor but Junichi is tired in so many ways, not only of physical and emotional exhaustion, but a desire to steer the conversation anywhere but his lack of faith in her.

"Learned a lot, had good teachers. You, friends… Taeko."

Her eyes become unfocused and look past Junichi to wherever it is that her paramour lives in Buraza. It's a lot to unpack despite her few choices of words. The thought of Ayano bringing home another girl made him feel uneasy. Those kinds of romances were fine for flings in high school, but what proper home could be led with two wives in it? 'Not that you're one to talk,' his mind chastises him. 'Your marriage, such as it is, is anything but natural.'

'Or consensual.'

'Point taken.'

"Wait… friends?"

It's a strange, foreign word that doesn't seem to match with his daughter in the slightest. He's had more parent-teacher conferences than he'd care to count over the years about the endless litany of bullies that had plagued Ayano no matter what school they put her into. His daughter had never brought anyone home on a playdate and never went anywhere. That was simply how things were, no matter how much it made his heart ache to watch her trudge through the house everyday to sit in a room and do nothing until it was time to eat dinner and go to bed.

Ayano nods her and a ghost of a smile traces her thin lips.

"A few."

"Miss Popular, huh? You'll have to tell me… us all about it in the morning."

Ayano frowns at that, shooting him an uncertain look that, without so much as a word, asks him, 'Have you lost your mind?'

"Mother wouldn't approve."

"How d'you figure that?"

Aside, of course, from the fact that Junichi is certain has never had any genuine contact outside of her parents, and the two of them, in her entire life. There simply wasn't room in her deadened heart for anyone else.

"Met them when trying to talk to Senpai. All of them wanted to love her too. It made me really, really angry but…"

She pauses, her cheeks heating up, as she looks past him towards the door behind him.

"...I knew you'd be sad if I hurt them. How I'd look to the world. All of my friends were broken. I helped put the pieces back together."

Junichi resists the urge to break out into a fresh round of tears, though this time for far different reasons than before. They had done it. They had beaten the Aishi curse. All of his gentle reprimands, firm words of encouragement, and trying to keep her mindful had paid off. There was no way he could articulate to Ayano just how happy he was. He didn't think there were words in the Japanese language that would properly allow him to convey it either. If there was one thing that could make up for everything he'd endured then this might have very well been it. Nurture had abandoned nature to its own devices long ago.

It's his turn now to pull Ayano into an embrace so tight that he can feel her struggling to breathe. Relaxing only enough that it allows her to gasp against him for air, he gives her the widest smile he's ever worn in his entire life and certainly the largest he'd ever had since coming to his proverbial cell.

"You did it, baby girl. You have no idea how much I've wanted to hear you say something like that. You rose above and beyond."

He reaches forward, running his fingers through her soft hair. She's practically beaming at him now, the faint upturn of her lips now split into a full blown grin.

"Thank you for believing in me."

"I always tried to."

It's a small lie just for the two of them. She had seen his mask slip only a few minutes ago and there hadn't been a day where he hadn't second guessed himself on if it was ever going to be worth it in the end, but it's okay. Everything was fresh and new to Ayano but if tonight had been any indication then Junichi is sure everything will be alright. She will grow up into the woman that he dreamed she could be.

'No,' he corrects himself. 'The woman she wants to be.'

His mental appraisal is broken by Ayano glancing toward the nearby clock on her dresser, gasping at its digital display before she looks back at him apologetically.

"Should sleep. Tomorrow I'm meeting Megami to talk about student council business."

Junichi blinks. Ayano truly is a fount of surprises, that's for sure.

"Student council? The one headed by the Saikou girl?"

"I'm the 'student council historian.'"

Junichi was actually thinking of the fact that she was 1) directly related to one of the most powerful and richest men on the planet and 2) didn't know it was possible for someone's father to have their hair contain that much styling gel.

"What d'you do?"

Ayano gives him a shrug and picks herself up, lifting the blanket and snuggling under the covers of her bed.

"Transcribe things. Think she just made it up, honestly."

Seems she'd also inherited her father's penchant for making redundant and/or useless departmental positions at any rate.

"Wouldn't want to miss that, I'm sure. Night, baby girl."

After a sleepily mumbled 'goodnight' from his daughter, Junichi leaves her room behind him, flicking off the light on his way out, and gently closing the door. Without so much as a second thought opens the room across the hall. Her slumbering form looks almost peaceful laying underneath the purple sheets of their bed. It's moments like this, if he lets his mind fade into a static backdrop free of any preconceptions of his captor, he might even be able to appreciate her physical form. The equally purple nightgown she loves to wear always leaves little to the imagination, as always.

Undressing is mechanical for Junichi and he briefly considers not even bothering with anything at all, but decides discretion is the better part of valor and opts to put on a simple cotton t-shirt and sweatpants instead. After all, the former would only be seen as an invitation and perhaps she'd finally make good on the threat in his memory of a new sibling for Ayano. But not even the thought of fatherhood, forced on him just as with everything else in his life for the past three decades, is enough to wipe the smile from Junichi Fukunaga's face as he drifts off to sleep.