A/N:
For those of you who haven't read my other fics, Yumiko's father died of cancer when she was finishing Law school and her mother is presumed to have died when the apocolypse started. She took both deaths incredibly hard.
also I forgot to say in the last chapter but Tomi mentions that Yumiko is small. She's actually not. She's actually pretty tall. But she's shorter than him so I have it as like a running joke between them that he's constantly teasing her for being too small.
After a few more minutes of minor squabbling, in which Tomi tried - and failed - to wheedle a glass or two of wine out of her, they continued their path towards the door. So close within reach now.
Yumiko chewed the inside of her cheek, deliberating. If she said nothing, this could all be over. The interrogations. The arguments. The exhaustion.
If she stayed quiet, they could leave.
But Tomi had been probing her all evening and it was time that she got a question or two in herself. Turned the tables. Yumiko thought she'd rather earned that.
Besides, the alcohol had made him relatively loose-lipped. And given how much she'd paid for that tonight, might as well use it to her advantage.
Yumiko slowed to a halt. "Can I ask you something?"
Tomi turned, folding his arms. "Depends what it is."
Fair.
(though it didn't exactly bode well for her chances)
"My friend, Ezekiel. . . I know he's on the waiting list to receive surgery. But I also know how waiting lists work." They both did. "Just how likely is it that he'll actually get any help?"
Tomi sighed, all earlier joviality fading from his expression. "You know I can't tell you that, Miko."
She swallowed. "That bad, huh?"
His mouth pressed into a grim line and Yumiko felt a band wrap around her chest, squeeze tight.
She didn't want to have this conversation.
Didn't want to think about this at all.
But she cared about Ezekiel.
She cared about him and so she had to have this conversation.
She had to know.
"Is there anything I can do?"
She had to know if she could fix this.
Tomi leant sideways against the wall, gaze unreadable - though oddly sober. Yumiko resisted the urge to shift under it, had the distinct feeling he was picking her apart, piece by piece. Searching through the cracks.
(quickly, she checked herself, sealing all that she could find)
"Possibly. You do have the necessary connections. I suppose it depends on what you'd be willing to offer. Although. . . given how pleased Hornsby was over tonight's wine and a little visit I had earlier from my successor, that might already be taken care of."
Carol?
Yumiko decided not to ask. Better she didn't know. Easier to deny that way.
She released a breath. "Okay."
If Tomi was right, if Ezekiel would be okay, would receive the help he required, that was all she needed to know.
All she'd wanted to know.
(her brother, being her brother, was less willing to leave it there)
"Would you really do it, though?" he questioned, voice low. "If you could. Take life-saving treatment away from another? Make that choice?"
Yumiko hesitated.
The thought. . . hadn't occurred to her. The consequences of Carol's actions - whatever they were. What the cost would be. She'd only been thinking of Ezekiel.
Imagined that held true for Carol as well.
(or not. If the cave had proved anything, it was how little she cared for the lives of anyone who got caught in the crosshairs of whatever she set out to do)
Tomi leant in a little, gaze boring into hers. "There are children on that list, Yumiko. All of them ahead of him." That made sense. Children were the future, and a malleable one at that - of course the Commonwealth would prioritize them. "If Ezekiel moves up. . . one of them moves down."
Yumiko released a breath.
Shook her head. "You know I wouldn't. Couldn't."
In all honesty, she wouldn't be able to take that treatment away from anyone. But especially not from a child. Not when-
"I know." Tomi leant back, and she felt the relief of expanding space once more. Distance. "Just nice for once to actually see you think through the consequences of your actions before you act."
(as though that wasn't all she did. All she'd ever done. Think, think, think. Plan for the consequences. Every consequence)
"Tomi-"
He waved her attempt aside. It was rude, dismissive, and not something she would normally have tolerated - from anyone. But given the nature of the conversation, Yumiko gave into the exhaustion building inside her. Allowed her mouth to fall shut.
Silence built between them.
It seemed that no matter what she said, or what he said, he was no closer to letting this go. Would possibly never let this go.
Or forgive her.
Yumiko looked down at the carpet, trying to focus on the color, and not the individual threads.
Tried not to count.
It was more reflex than anything at this point. The fastest, easiest way she knew to calm herself. But far from the best.
(and, frankly, more trouble than it was worth)
The rest of Tomi's words echoed in her head.
One of them moves down.
She'd studied philosophy in high school. Hated it. All the questions. The conflict. Choices to be made. What was right and what was wrong. She'd finished each lesson even less certain of herself and the world than she'd been at the start.
Yumiko had never done well with uncertainty.
Doubt.
Moral dilemmas.
So she tried her best to be certain in everything. Every word. Every feeling. Every action.
Every conviction.
It was why she'd never wavered in her belief over Magna's innocence. She'd taken her case believing the lie that had been presented to her, had made herself certain of it in the process, and defended off every shadow of doubt in the years since. Had never allowed even a trace to creep in.
She'd always been certain of Magna.
Not just of her innocence but. . . everything. Who she was. What Yumiko felt for her. Wanted from her. What they meant to each other. That she was safe. Trustworthy. She'd always been certain of Magna.
Or. . . she had been.
A single fight had changed that. Changed everything.
And that certainty, that certainty she'd always valued so much, that had been a fixture of their relationship since the very beginning, and which she'd so desperately clung to all these years living in a world where nothing was certain. . .
had died.
Yumiko wasn't certain of anything anymore.
Including this.
"There's no right answer is there?" she murmured. "No matter who gets moved up, who gets moved down, somebody loses. Someone who doesn't deserve to. And no one deserves not to lose more than anyone else. So how do you choose?"
How did she fix this?
How did anyone?
Tomi took a breath. "If it was up to me I'd prioritize those with the greatest chance of survival."
Logical. Practical. Probably even right.
Utilitarian.
But Yumiko couldn't subscribe to it. She'd changed a lot over the years - but not that much. "You know I can't agree with that. And you know why."
He exhaled. "In all truth neither can I."
She nodded, crossing her arms against the growing chill in the room. She regretted asking now. Regretted starting this conversation at all.
But she'd had to know.
Tomi watched her, still too much clarity in his eyes for Yumiko to feel at all comfortable under the attention. "You know, if it was you on that waiting list, you'd be at the top."
"I know."
The fact soured her stomach.
The idea that anyone deserved life-saving treatment more than another simply because of their social standing was. . .
Yumiko clenched her hand.
Tomi caught the action, mouth ticking up in the ghost of a smile, though there was something dead about it. "Mm. There's a reason I went into thoracics and not oncology."
That's not why.
But hell if Yumiko was going to start a conversation about that now. "People die in thoracics too. All the time."
"Yes, which is why I left. Still, barring transplants, there tends to be less of a waiting game - at least in matters of life and death. Less children too. . . of course, here in the Commonwealth, it doesn't matter. Aren't exactly enough surgeons to go around for me to specialize in anything. It's all fair game - and you can't save everyone."
"No," Yumiko agreed softly. "You can't."
She could understand now. Why he'd become a baker. Why he'd strived so hard to avoid returning to the career he'd near worked himself to death in order to attain. Their parents' expectations aside, she'd always thought he'd gone into medicine as a means to heal from the past - but if that was true, it had backfired. She could see that now. How all it had done was claw that past forth into the present. Made it bleed anew.
And it was bleeding.
That much was all too clear.
Her stomach sank.
Yumiko knew what it was like to avoid the past. Not just because you wanted to but because you had to. And the consequences if you didn't.
And she'd destroyed her brother's efforts to do the same. For good reason, yes, but still. . .
She'd destroyed them.
Yumiko looked up, meeting his gaze. "I'm sorry I dragged you back into it."
There was a long pause-
then Tomi inclined his head.
It wasn't forgiveness. Possibly wasn't even understanding. And God knew he may not even remember any of this in the morning.
But it was something.
There was a sneeze in the distance and, grateful for the reprieve, she turned towards it, biting her lip the instant her gaze landed on the culprit. Magna stood several meters away, rubbing aggressively at her nose as she glowered down at an innocent-looking flower arrangement on the table before her. Yumiko's mouth curved at the sight, the memory of when she'd so vehemently denied being allergic to any such pollen-producing organisms swelling in her chest: the redness of Magna's nose and far-too-adorable sniffles between words as she'd built her case, refusing to back down.
In the next heartbeat, Yumiko felt her smile fall, imagining how she might have teased her now, if things had been different. If things had been like they were. Like they'd been for years. The playful argument they would surely have descended into. And the stubborn set of Magna's jaw as she snatched one of the offending flowers off the table, defiantly presenting it to her as a gift, as proof of her apparent 'immunity' - and the sneezing that would follow.
Yumiko could picture it all.
Every last detail.
And the pain of its impossibility crushed her chest.
She wanted that.
Wanted it so much she could barely breathe.
(she felt the wine bottle grow heavy in her hand, sinking under the weight of its own futility)
"What would you want?"
Yumiko blinked a the question, turning away. "I. . ."
Tomi gazed back at her, eyes knowing. The faintest shadow of amusement lurking there confirmed that her distraction had not gone unnoticed. Surprisingly, though, he didn't comment. Didn't draw attention to her moment of vulnerability, one which could so easily have been exploited to further the agenda he'd been pushing all evening.
Perhaps he wasn't entirely without mercy.
"In Ezekiel's position, that is."
Right. Ezekiel.
"What would you want?"
A part of Yumiko instinctively curled up at the question, scrambled to retreat. She ignored that part. Instead, allowed herself to actually consider it. The possibility her brother had so casually presented. But was there anything to consider?
The answer was simple.
Easy even.
"To not be sick." In whatever way that came about. Survival. Death. Whatever way. Just as long as she didn't have to be sick. "But not at the cost of someone else's life."
There was a difference between killing a person in self-defense and stealing away the life of someone who'd done nothing to hurt you. Nothing to hurt anyone. Nothing at all.
She'd done a lot to save herself over the years but she couldn't do that.
Refused to.
Her brother looked unsurprised. "Mm, see something tells me a certain someone would take issue with that."
Something told Yumiko that too.
It only made her more grateful that she wasn't in Ezekiel's position. Would hopefully never be.
She could feel Tomi's eyes on her, reading every trace of her expression. Wondered just how many of her thoughts and feelings were on display. Was almost too tired to care at this point.
"You know as well as I do that illness isn't just hard on the people who are ill," he said.
"I know." She'd experienced that first hand with their father. Prayed she'd never have to experience anything like it again. "But it's also not as hard as being ill. Which is why no one should be allowed to make that choice for Ezekiel but him."
"Harsh."
"But true."
He shrugged, straightening off the wall. "I'm not sure you'd think the same if you were in Carol's position."
Probably not.
But that wasn't exactly a scenario she wanted to linger on.
"What would you want?" Yumiko asked.
"Oh, I'd want to live," he said lightly. "I like life. Adore it, actually. Possibly a little too much. Though, admittedly it's soured in recent months."
Yumiko hid a wince. Still. . . "I'm not sure I believe you. You didn't go into medicine just to please Mum and Dad, you did it because you wanted to help people. Save them. . . I'm not sure you could live with sacrificing someone in your place."
Especially since he wasn't like her.
Tomi had never taken a life.
Never killed anyone.
Hell, he'd probably never even thrown a punch.
He didn't deny the assumption. "I suppose none of us know what we'll do in any given situation - not until we're forced to."
That was only too true.
Yumiko had never ever believed she'd be capable of killing a person.
Let alone as many people as she had.
"I suppose you're right." She hesitated. "You know, Mum and Dad would have accepted you becoming a baker instead of a doctor." Wouldn't have been thrilled about it, certainly. But they would have accepted it. Eventually. "That pressure you talk about? You placed it on yourself. Because you thought it was what they wanted. It wasn't."
"How very easy for you to say. Considering you never felt any of that pressure yourself."
And the bite had returned to his voice. The resentment.
She bit back a scoff. "No pressure? Are you forgetting the part where Mum never forgave me for going into law instead of medicine?"
She'd mapped out that part of Yumiko's life before she could even walk. Had made no attempts to hide her disappointment at every step she veered off course.
"Only because she thought Dad was the reason you chose to. Took it as yet another sign that you favored him over her."
Yumiko was aware. And she'd tried for many years to disabuse her mother of that notion. Her relationship with their father might have been easier at times - calmer - but she'd never favored him over their mother. Had never forgiven him for what he'd done when she was a child, either. For cheating. And then putting her in a position to keep the secret of his indiscretion. To lie.
She hated lying.
But still. . . he'd been easier to be around. Less overwhelming. Less interfering. So there'd never been any need to avoid him like their mother.
And Yumiko knew that hadn't gone unnoticed.
She regretted it now, of course. Regretted it more than she would ever be able to put into words. She'd wasted so much time. So much time. All those years she'd spent dodging her mother's phone calls and presence, all the invites she'd rejected, the lunch dates she'd declined. . .
Yumiko wished she could take it back. That she could regain all the time she'd so carelessly thrown away.
But she couldn't.
(the Commonwealth could give a lot, return a lot, but it couldn't give her that.
Some things would always be lost)
"It wasn't because of Dad," Yumiko murmured, pushing the regret down. "He may have attracted me to law, got me interested in the first place. . . but I chose it for myself. Not for him."
It was mine.
"I know," Tomi said. "And medicine was never about Mum. She didn't understand that even if you hadn't chosen law, you still wouldn't have followed in her footsteps. Couldn't have."
No. She hadn't.
Hadn't understood a lot of things.
"You understood, though."
He was one of the few people who'd never questioned her decision.
Tomi nodded. "Not as much in the beginning, but after I became a surgeon. . . it became very clear. More than just a suspicion."
Because you reached a point where you could relate.
At least on some level.
Yumiko hesitated, remembering her earlier revelation. "I never realized."
He raised a brow.
"That you felt about medicine the same way I did. When you announced that was the career you were going to pursue I thought. . . well, I thought it was because you wanted to. Because it brought you some sort of closure."
The ability to save lives.
Help people.
Fix things.
There was a closure in that, wasn't there? One Yumiko had toyed with herself. But in the end she'd known such a thing would never be achievable. Not for her.
Not like that.
Tomi watched her silently, something crumbling in his eyes. A wall. That she hadn't realized was there until now. ". . . it's not the kind of thing you get closure about."
"No." She glanced away. "It's not."
But she'd hoped it might be for him.
Her eyes landed on Magna again, who'd graduated to erecting a blockade of sorts around the offending carnation, hiding it from view. Though judging by her still rather obvious case of the sniffles - the campaign had been largely unsuccessful.
Warmth flowed through her veins at the sight, filling her chest.
Comfort.
A part of Yumiko didn't want to look away. More than just a part. But she also didn't have the fortitude right now to risk Magna glancing in her direction, catching her stare.
If Yumiko was to meet her gaze right now, she couldn't guarantee that she'd be able to break the connection. Not again.
Couldn't guarantee that she wouldn't cave to the longing inside her, call out. Take Magna up on her offer of help. Not because she needed or even wanted it.
But because she wanted her.
Wanted her here. Now.
Beside her.
Wanted all the messiness and hurt and indecision of the last few months to disappear. For things to be good again.
Right.
('Things don't always work out the way you want, Miko.'')
She exhaled, turning back to her brother.
To the silence that still hung between them.
"I suppose I should be glad you didn't go into medicine," Tomi said lightly, after that silence had grown too thick. "I never would have stood a chance at becoming Mum's favorite then."
To be honest, Yumiko wasn't so sure favoritism had ever had anything to do with it. She'd gotten the monopoly on their parents' attention, she knew that - especially their mother's. But only because of fear. And habit. Only because they'd thought she'd needed it more.
And it wasn't at all the blessing that her brother believed it to be.
But she knew better than to say that.
Instead, she accepted the olive branch he'd so clumsily thrust out, deciding to go along with the feeble attempt at humor. "You know, if you'd given Mum a grandkid you would have been bumped up to favorite child in ten seconds flat."
Possibly six.
For a moment, he seemed to almost consider it. . .
"Not worth the cost."
Yumiko agreed.
She liked kids - just as long as she wasn't the one entrusted with their care. They were too. . . fragile. And complicated. And prone to explosions of various emotions and bodily fluids. Great in small doses. Terror inducing in anything greater.
Magna, on the other hand, was like some sort of child whisperer. She had a knack for them that Yumiko couldn't comprehend, but which she had to assume was born from the many years of experience under her belt.
Experience Yumiko didn't have.
She wondered whether kids were something that Magna wanted. One day. It was hard not to wonder after her brother's badgering tonight. Yumiko had asked her once but - like with most things - she'd dodged the question. Had instead responded with a list of reasons why she couldn't have kids. Shouldn't.
No mention of whether or not she might want them.
She supposed it didn't really matter now.
Whatever Magna wanted or didn't want, it was looking more and more like Yumiko wouldn't be a part of it.
Tomi hummed, examining a piece of lint on his jacket. "I'm almost ninety percent certain Mum went into obstetrics just so she could be even more involved when one of us finally had a kid."
Yumiko glanced away. "Well, that was a waste."
She caught the narrowing of his eyes out of the corner of her gaze, the calculating nature of it, the question - and knew that she'd let something slip in her tone. She wanted to blame it on her thoughts about Magna, the disheartening status of their relationship, or the memory of her mother, still so painful even now after all these years.
But she tried not to make a habit of lying to herself.
Clenching her jaw, Yumiko turned back to him, working all traces of that slip from her voice. "We should get going. Like you said, you have work. And unless you want to be sleep deprived on top of hungover . . . then I think it's about time we headed home."
"Or we could reopen the topic of my long-awaited niece or nephew."
She sent him a look.
"Very well." Tomi sighed, turning towards the door. "I do think you would make a very cute baby, though."
"It's not happening."
For so many reasons.
He released yet another mournful sigh but started walking. Slowly. Falteringly. Feet dragging along the ground.
Yumiko rolled her eyes and shoved him forward. "If you really want me to have a kid, then you might want to speed up the pace. Before I end up dying here of old age."
She'd seen snails with more pep in their step.
Unfortunately, her words failed to rouse him.
Tomi craned his head. "Your wife's staring at you again by the way."
Yumiko fought against the urge to turn around. "Pretty sure she's staring at you and wondering how it's possible for anyone to move so slow."
"No, no she's definitely staring at you. . . Looks rather unhappy happy too."
"That's just her resting face."
"I think she wants you to call her over."
"And I think I'd like to leave this building sometime this century. Now would you hurry it up?"
She was not above pushing him out the door like some broken-down car.
"Take a moment to consider this, dear sister of mine. Do you really plan on drinking that entire bottle of wine by yourself?"
"What I plan is none of your concern."
And it was hardly an entire bottle.
"As your one and only brother - not to mention your older brother - I'd say it is."
"Tomi."
"Oh, come on. Throw her a bone."
"I have. Multiple bones. Throughout the evening." And Magna had rejected them all. "You just want me to call her over so you can finally have the chance to interrogate her."
"Yes, and? Doesn't mean I don't also have your best interests at heart. I can fix your love life and interrogate your wife at the same time. I went to med school - I'm well adept at multitasking."
Yumiko's head was starting to pound. If this continued much longer, she'd have a migraine to contend with on top of everything else.
Biting back a groan, she evaluated her options.
Time for one last Hail Mary.
"If you make it out that door in the next two minutes, I'll reconsider my stance on your future niece or nephew."
He was gone before she could blink.
What-
Yumiko stared at the empty space her brother had once been.
Unbelievable.
Perhaps she should have led with that several infuriating conversations ago.
Shaking her head, she stepped forward-
Paused.
Don't.
But the temptation built in her chest, impossible to ignore now that the chance to act on it was almost gone.
One moment.
One look.
One look couldn't hurt.
Just a peek.
If only to prove that Tomi had been wrong.
Making her way over to the door, Yumiko risked a glance back over her shoulder. Freezing the instant her eyes connected with dark, familiar brown. There was a heaviness to that darkness. An emotion she couldn't quite pin down but found echoing in her own chest, aching.
Tomi hadn't been wrong.
Swallowing, Yumiko held the stare for a moment more - allowed herself that fleeting connection, though it felt less a pleasure than a torture - before turning. Turning away.
As she covered the last few steps to the door, she couldn't deny the expanding hole of disappointment in her chest, as no voice called after her.
The room kept its silence as Yumiko allowed the door to fall shut behind her, the heavy click echoing in her ears.
(somehow, it felt more final than that day she'd walked away all those months ago.
Somehow, it felt like the end)
A/N: so i'm thinking i might just have to rush through the remaining tomi & yumiko chapters rather than proofread them to the point where i'm satisfied. I hate posting anything that I'm not satisfied with but I really want to get to the yumagna chapters before the walking dead airs. so if I decide to do this the next couple of chapters will probably be fairly rough