BOUND BY LOVE
CHAPTER 1: A CHILDLESS MOTHER AND A MOTHERLESS CHILD
In a different world, the scientists didn't calm Mewtwo down in time.
He was screaming Ai's name as the glass around him shattered. He was screaming Ai's name as the machines around them exploded into sparks and shrapnel and flames. He was screaming Ai's name when the hands that touched him turned to ash, and continued screaming when the laboratory flew apart like a pile of leaves, blackened and whirling with red and blue fire. Even when the smoke began to clear (he smelled salt, rot, and the sea) and cinders stung his arms, he kept screaming for Ai to make it all go away, to make the tears stop and the pain fade. He thought of her with his eyes clenched shut, imagining the places she'd shown him in their dreams: the city, the house, and the room that had once been hers. He wanted to be where she had been (let her be there, please) and felt the power in him swelling again. He might have feared it, but his fear of her death made his other fears fade. The power burst over him, cold and making his soot-stained fur stand up, but then he was swept away from the still-burning ruins, as if he had never been there.
It was quiet when he reappeared, but it was some time before Mewtwo opened his eyes. When he did, he found himself in Ai's bedroom, which seemed unchanged from when she'd left. He almost, for a moment, had hope…but then he saw the flowers on the desk, the photograph and the incense, and knew instinctively that it was different. She was gone. He began to tremble then, whimpers rising from his throat (it hurt) and moisture leaking from his eyes and nose. It was too open here and the sunlight was too bright. There was space under the Western style bed, so the kitten went down onto all fours and dragged himself underneath it into the soft, quiet dark, where he hoped he wouldn't be disturbed. He left smears of soot and blood on the carpet, but he didn't notice. Instead, he curled up into a tight ball, crying for Ai to come back, because this world was strange without her in it.
He must have made more noise than he thought, or maybe the woman simply checked the room regularly. The fact that the flowers were fresh and the incense newly changed suggested the latter. But eventually the door opened, and when he opened his eyes, Mewtwo glimpsed slipper-covered feet not a foot away. There was a gasp and a worried statement, and then the woman got down on her hands and knees and slowly, with caution, lifted the sheet to look under the bed. Mewtwo shrank away from her, trying to get closer to the wall. She said something then, but in his current state, he couldn't make sense of it. When she reached a hand towards him, her fingers curled down and close to her palm, he hissed and cried out, "Go away!"
He saw her eyes go wide and heard her gasp. She jerked, hit her head on the edge of the bed frame, and cursed as she rubbed her head. After a second, she looked at him again and thought: It just talked. That cat just talked. And then she smiled wistfully and thought, Ai would have loved this. A psychic kitten is hiding under her bed. She remembered her daughter's laughter as she cuddled with the neighbor's cat and wished she could have gotten Ai one before the crash, before her husband had gone mad, before everything had gone wrong.
Mewtwo heard it all and realized. "Are you Ai's mommy?"
The woman blinked, her blue eyes filling with surprise. They were the same shade that Ai's had been. "You know my daughter?"
That answered his question. His throat went tight and the tears came again. "She said she had to go away. Why did she have to go? It's not fair!"
Ai's mother looked at him with sad eyes and said, in a slightly quavering voice. "No. No, it's not." And then she reached out a hand to him, touched his paw, and said, "Come here, sweetie."
For a moment, he didn't want to, but eventually he gave her his paw and was pulled out. She sat with her legs folded under her, her hands around his as he stood before her, shivering and so unused to the feeling of being touched. It was almost painful, but it was also warm, and he felt so cold and needed that warmth. She seemed to sense that, because in a slow, deliberate motion, she drew him close and wrapped her arms around him. He instinctively tried to jerk away, but then melted into the comfort of it, because it was nice to be held and to have something solid to hold onto as he crumbled.
"I don't understand. Why couldn't she stay?" As he curled up against the woman, feeling her hand rubbing his back, he whispered, "I wish I was with her."
The hand on his back paused. Then the woman whispered in a raspy voice, "I know."
She'd spent the last two years wishing for that, too.
Makoto Fuji hadn't expected to be a mother again. Then again, she also hadn't expected to find a traumatized little boy under her late daughter's bed. Well, "little boy" was how she thought of him, even though he resembled a cat more than a human child. She wasn't even sure if cat was the right word to describe him. He was a psychic pokémon and a unique one at that. But "boy" seemed to stick in her head after finding him crying and covered in cinders. His questions made her heart go out to him. So she led him to the bathroom and washed him up, gently wiping the black out of his pelt and taking care with his burns. He hissed and squeaked at points, but in the end, she had him clean, had disinfected and bandaged his burns, and had gotten some water into him. He guzzled it down too quickly, spilling water down his muzzle and having a coughing fit which brought up dark mucus. That was probably for the best. The sooner he hacked it out, the better he would feel.
She wrapped him in the biggest, fluffiest towel she owned and led him to the guest room. He seemed to want to go back to Ai's room – he kept glancing back longingly – but a part of her couldn't bear to let him use her girl's bed. That was selfish of her, she knew, and she tried to rationalize it with the thought that he needed a break from the memories…but that had never worked for her, so why would it work for him? Why should it work for this freshly traumatized child? Still, she wanted to help him. Maybe giving him his own space would accomplish that (maybe it would help her, too). When they were inside, she lifted him onto the bed, looked him in the eye, and asked, "Are you hungry?" He'd been dehydrated, so maybe-
There was a grumbling sound. He looked at his stomach in surprise and what seemed like offense.
She smiled. "I'll take that as a yes. I'll be right back with something for you."
That was easier said than done. What was she supposed to feed him? She looked though her cabinets, knowing that there wouldn't be anything canned that he'd like. Cats were carnivores, so meat would be better and fresh meat would be best. She had some leftover tuna in the fridge, maybe that would work? She got it out of its container and put it in the microwave. He could use some warm food. When it was done, she put on her oven mittens and carried it to the counter, getting out a plate and some silverware. She mixed it up and poked at it to make sure it wasn't too hot. It seemed okay. After a moment, she decided to bring a cup of warm milk as well. Maybe he'd like it. It might lull him to sleep, too, which would be good. The poor boy looked exhausted. Indeed, when she entered the guest room, he was drooping on the bed. He perked up when he smelled the fish. She set it and the milk on the nightstand, gesturing for him to dig in. Which he did – with his face. Makoto wasn't sure whether to be amused or appalled by the lack of decorum, but she settled on a smile. When he finished licking the bowl clean of every morsel, he grabbed the cup of milk, sniffed it, and took a tentative taste. His tail twitched and he lapped the drink up eagerly. When he was done, his face was speckled in tuna and milk.
She went to the bathroom, soaked a washcloth, and wiped his face clean. There was something cathartic about doing so – though it made her sad, too, remembering all of the times she'd done the same for Ai. Especially with chocolate – Ai had loved her sweets, especially cake. Makoto ached then, but it had been two years, and while she wasn't okay, she supposed she was doing better than her husband. Ex-husband. Daichi had become obsessed with resurrecting Ai. Perhaps he'd even succeeded for a time. This boy was too raw from Ai's death. It was a recent wound for him. The thought was both heartbreaking and infuriating. She understood Daichi's grief and desperation - she would give anything for one more moment with their daughter. But Daichi's experiments hadn't been working and it was too painful to lose someone over and over again. Worse, he'd focused so much on his work that he'd forgotten to keep living. She couldn't follow him down that path. Ai had said that life was wonderful and she'd wanted to honor that.
And now this. What had Daichi done? She looked at the child in front of her, almost able to see Ai's shadow next to him and her reflection in his eyes. The words didn't come to her easily, but when they did, they tumbled out. She asked him to tell her about Ai. To tell her about Daichi. To tell her about himself. His answers were more like images in her mind's eye than words in her ears, but she understood. She'd feared this outcome. She realized that this boy had likely killed her husband (ex-husband) and his colleagues, but how could she blame him? Daichi had attempted to play with the powers of a god and outwit death. Was it really a surprise that he'd lost his life as a result? Daichi had brought this on himself, and while she grieved for him, her grief was already worn. She'd known when she'd left him that he was on a downward spiral and that nothing good would come from it.
Well. Maybe one good thing had.
She pulled the covers of the bed back and told the boy to get comfy. When he laid down, she tucked him in. "Get some rest. You'll feel better it the morning."
He seemed doubtful, but he chose to trust her. He curled up into a tight ball and closed his eyes. She touched his forehead and then grabbed the dishes. She turned out the light and pulled the door halfway closed, not wanting to trap him inside. She kept the hallway light on, just in case he needed to come find her. He might - she would understand it if he had nightmares. She'd had them for a long time after the crash. Sometimes she still did.
It was dark when she went downstairs, putting the dishes in the sink and making a quick meal for herself. She wasn't very hungry, but she forced herself to eat something. Years of therapy had ingrained some good habits. She was about halfway through a sandwich when the telephone rang. She banged her knee on the table in her rush to reach it - she didn't want the ringing to wake the boy. She picked up the phone on the third ring and said, "Hello, this is Makoto speaking."
"Makoto. This is Sakaki Maki." Ah. Daichi's financier. Of course he would be the one to call her. "I'm glad I caught you before you were in bed. I'm afraid I have some bad news."
The conversation that followed confirmed her suspicions. Daichi was gone. The certainty of it was like a blow to the stomach. After a couple of failed attempts to speak, she choked out, "Do - do you know what happened? How he died?"
There was a pause on the other end, before Sakaki said, "Something went wrong with one of his experiments. The explosion destroyed everything on the island. There were no survivors." And then, in a softer voice that she didn't think she was meant to hear, he murmured bitterly, "It was all a waste."
So he didn't know that the boy was alive. Makoto wasn't about to enlighten him. The child had suffered enough – her family had suffered enough – and there needed to be an end to this. Their ordeal had gone on two years too long. "I'm sorry, but I need to call the rest of my family. Make arrangements. You understand."
"Of course. I apologize for having to deliver this news to you. My condolences, Makoto." He sounded sincere, but then, she supposed he would be. He'd be sorry for losing his investment if nothing else.
She wouldn't say that to him, though, as tempting as it was. "Thank you. Goodbye, Mr. Maki."
There was a pause as he noted the formal address, but he accepted it. "Goodbye, Mrs. Fuji."
She didn't bother to correct him as she hung up.
She went back to her half-eaten sandwich, stared at it listlessly and with a churning stomach, and mechanically took out some cling wrap and wrapped it up, sticking it in the fridge for later. She couldn't eat any more. She made tea instead, telling herself that she needed to drink something and that something warm would be good. It would fill up the emptiness inside of her and be a comfort. But afterwards, she just sat with a warm cup in her hands, staring at the tea and knowing it would taste awful. Like the news she'd received today, it would be too bitter, no matter how much honey or sugar she stirred into it. When it was cold, though, she forced it down, telling herself that like the boy upstairs, she needed the hydration. She needed - but there were so many things she needed. So many things she would never have again. Suddenly, she couldn't hold it in any longer. She sobbed, her hand scrambling for the paper towels. Daichi was gone. Daichi was gone. He'd been her best friend, her lover, the father of her little girl. The idea of him being dead…her mind had processed it, but her heart rejected it. They may have parted ways, but that didn't mean she didn't care. If only things had gone differently, if only they'd made different choices, if only Ai was here, if only…!
It took a while, but eventually she cried herself out. She wiped her face and drank another cup of tea, then left the kettle and cup to sit in the sink. She'd clean them tomorrow. For now, curling up under several blankets and sleeping for a few days sounded good. She could send her editor an e-mail before she crashed, telling him not to expect anything for a few weeks. She had to arrange a funeral, and mourn, and…and figure out what to do with the boy in her guest room. As she climbed the steps, she mused that it was a good thing that she worked from home. She'd started when she'd had Ai and hadn't seen a reason to change things afterwards. It would make taking caring of this new child easier. It wouldn't be easy – she wasn't certain what to expect from him – but she would try. Maybe she could set to rights the wrongs done to him.
When she got to the door, she pushed it open and peered inside…only the find the bed empty. The pungent smell of urine hit her nose as she walked in and she inwardly groaned. Teaching one child how to use the toilet had been painful enough. Now she'd have to teach a little boy. Yet after she checked over the room, then the bathroom, a whine of panic rose in the back of her mind. Where was he? But of course there was only one other place he might be. She went to Ai's room and found him huddled at the side of the bed, clutching the blankets around himself. For a second, she was annoyed. Those were Ai's blankets and he was soiling them and…he looked up at her, miserable, ashamed, and a little afraid. Her heart softened and she sighed, then reached out a hand to him. He took it, and yes it was damp and he smelled, but she'd been through this before and could do it again.
"Come on, sweetie. Let's get you cleaned up."
She gave him another bath, talking to him as she did. She explained how to use the toilet and quickly realized that he might not be able to use it at his size. Well, she could get the step-stool out and the potty seat. They were packed away in the basement, but she had them. He still looked nervous and apologized to her quietly, but she reassured him as she rubbed body wash into his fur. He sneezed at the suds. After she got him rinsed off and bundled up, she asked him what room he'd like to stay in.
"Wherever you want. I don't mind." But he glanced at Ai's room and that decided it.
"Hold on for a moment." She went and changed the covers on Ai's bed, hugging the bottle-blue ones to herself for a moment, then swapped them for a clean set. She re-tucked the boy in and whispered that she'd be back in a couple minutes. She left the door open so he could see where she went. She piled the blankets from Ai's room and the guest room into the laundry room, putting the worst ones in the wash. Then she changed into her nightgown and washed up. She brushed her teeth and mused that she'd have to teach him that, too. There was so much to do and the thought of it exhausted her. Turning off the light, she went to Ai's room and sat on the edge of the bed.
The child was staring up at the ceiling with interest, but looked at her when she sat down. She reached out and placed a hand on his paw, and while he cringed at first, he relaxed soon enough. "Would you like me to stay with you tonight?" she asked.
He looked away and curled up, whispering, "If…if you want."
"I do," she said. She pulled down the covers and laid next to him. It was a tight fit – it was a small bed for two people, one of them an adult – but it worked out. "I think we could both use the company tonight. And by the way, sweetie? You can call me Makoto."
"A-alright." There was an uncertain pause and he seemed to curl in on himself more. "Makoto, can I stay here? I have nowhere else to go..."
"Of course you can. And while you're here, I'll take care of you. It's the least I can do for a friend of Ai's." And it was the least she could do to make up for what Daichi had done.
"Th-thank you." There was a quaver in his voice, as if he was about to cry.
She hugged him. After a while, he stopped shivering. He turned his eyes back to the ceiling and whispered, "Ai told me there are stars so we don't feel alone in the dark. What kind of stars are those?"
Makoto smiled. The plastic, glow-in-the-dark stars, which Daichi had painstakingly arranged to match the constellations, covered most of the ceiling. "The fake kind," she admitted. "But they mean the same thing. What else did she tell you?"
He told her, hesitantly at first, then more and more confidently. Whenever he started to get agitated, she hugged him a little tighter, letting him know she was there and that he'd be alright. By the time he finished, it was well past midnight and he was drifting off, practically drooling onto the pillows. But before he closed his eyes completely, he murmured, "…and she said my name was Mewtwo because we all have a two at the ends of our names."
Good lord. Daichi had been brilliant, but creativity hadn't been his strong suit. She'd have to do something about this. "Well that isn't very original," she said. "Why don't I give you a new name? Something simple that'll be just yours. Would you like that?"
The clone opened his drooping eyelids and said, "But Ai called me that."
Makoto frowned, but she supposed she could see why the boy – Mewtwo – might be attached to it. Still, it was a description of what he was, not a suggestion of who he might become. With a sigh, Makoto said, "Maybe so, but you didn't call Ai 'Aitwo,' did you? I'm sure she'd want you to have your own name." He didn't say anything in response. Giving him a kiss on the forehead, she said, "Why don't you think about it? A name is an important thing, you know." She'd spent a long time deciding on Ai's name and it had suited her well, in the end.
The boy calling himself Mewtwo nodded and promised he would. He curled up into a ball of fur, warm and soft next to her, and began to sleep. On occasion, she saw his eyes shift beneath their lids, saw a whisker and a paw and tail twitch, but whatever it was he dreamed, it did not appear to disturb him. Making sure the blankets were secure over both of them, she closed her eyes and hoped that sleep would come as easily to her. It didn't, not for a long time, but when it did, the little body beside hers proved a comfort. The pain she'd been carrying for the last two years began to ease.
She was a childless mother and he was a motherless child. Together, they would make it work.
The first two weeks passed by in a frenzy. Makoto busied herself with arranging Daichi's funeral, calling their family, friends, and colleagues to inform them of the wake and ceremony. Mewtwo had to stay upstairs that weekend, since Makoto didn't think it would be a good idea for him to be around so many people, especially if Mr. Maki showed up. This turned out to be the right call, because the nearness of so many people, most of them lost in their grief, nearly drowned the young empath. He came close to heaving numerous times, but he focused on his breathing and tried to make it stop. He didn't want to make another mess that Makoto would have to clean up. She'd already had to clean up other messes (he'd made it to the bathroom after that first time, but it still hadn't gone as well as he'd have liked) and she was hurting. He didn't want to add to that. So he tried to focus on things other than the sadness eating away at the fringes of his mind. He looked more closely around Ai's room, which Makoto said would be his after she packed away some things. Mewtwo wasn't sure how he felt about that, but it was more comfortable to him than the guest bedroom, so he supposed he was grateful.
He peered first at the books in the bookcase, which had numerous symbols on their spines. He stared at them, trying to figure them out, and felt the feelings of the mourners surge for a moment. Queasiness hit him again, forcing him to clench his eyes shut and breathe in deeply. When he opened his eyes, though, and stared again at the books, he was surprised to find that a few of the words suddenly made sense. "Of," "and," "or," "red," "blue," "bird," "magic" – he didn't know how it had happened, but now he knew them! He wanted to know more, so he pulled one of the thin books off a shelf and opened it. Indecipherable symbols hit his eyes, with only one or two on each page registering. He stared at them, willing them to become clear, but they didn't. With some frustration, he put the book back and turned to look at other things.
There was a desk under the west-facing window, so he went to it. There were plastic containers full of colorful sticks and stubby white ones. When he opened the drawers, he found colorful papers, papers with pockets, little sticky smiley faces, fluffy feathers, and more. In the bottom of one, he found ball of red string, which excited something in him that he couldn't name. He pulled it out and batted it between his paws, his eyes tracking the dangling end of the string, which he fumbled to pull at. At the ball began to unwind, he pushed it over the carpet, grinning as it left a red line behind. He continued to bat at it, following where it tumbled. Then the string got the better of him.
When Makoto checked on him, she stared for a moment, then had to lean against the door to keep from falling over with laughter. How had he managed to entangle himself so thoroughly in that string? The sour look he gave her only made her laugh harder, tears springing to her eyes. After he started to struggle with the string (which only made it worse), she stumbled forward and knelt down next to him, helping him free himself from the entanglement. "Thank you, sweetie. I needed a laugh." She grinned and ruffled the fur between his ears, which made him squeak with indignation. He scowled at her, which didn't change her mood a jot. "I won't ask you how you managed that. Did you do anything else since the last time I was up here?"
The people downstairs were leaving now, which made the pressure he'd been under ease. He still wasn't happy, though. He petulantly refused to answer her, but her expectant look made him cave. He looked at the books and said, "Those. I tried to understand those."
"Really? Any luck?" Makoto began to rewind the string into a ball. Ai had been a quick learner when it came to reading, but she wasn't certain whether Mewtwo would be the same. He was a pokémon, after all. Though come to think of it, plenty of psychic pokémon showed skill in deciphering languages. Perhaps he'd surprise her.
He nodded. "A little. I want to know more." He looked at her and this time his gaze was imploring. "Can you teach me, Makoto?"
She smiled. She wrote children's stories for a living, hoping to spark their interest in reading. She'd be happy to help him. "I'd love to. How about you pick out a book while I see off the last of our guests? I'll be back soon."
He nodded and went over the bookshelf, pulling out books and glancing at their covers before putting them back. Figuring he'd find one eventually, she went down and said goodbye to the last of the guests, which included some of Daichi's old interns. She recognized Masaki Sonezaki, the so-called "PokéManiac," who was the lead designer of the new PC System the League was planning to implement. He was the brightest and most promising of Daichi's pupils and, she supposed, her favorite as well. He was a humble and laid-back young man, but he was passionate about his work. He'd also been the first to arrive and the last to leave, which counted for something. As his friends went to their car, he told them he'd catch up and turned back to Makoto with a soft, sad expression.
"I'm sorry we had meet again under these circumstances. You have my condolences, Ms. Fuji."
She sighed. "Thank you, but…you know he wasn't doing well since Ai died. This wasn't as much of a surprise as I wished it was."
He nodded and, after a moment of hesitance, offered her a hug. She accepted it. When he pulled back, he glanced up at the ceiling and then back at her. His voice was lower when he said, "By the way, I know you're trying to hide it, but my abra sensed someone upstairs. A young psychic with a lot of potential."
Makoto's blood ran cold. Seeing her alarm, he put up his hands. "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone! I'm curious, but I won't pry." He shifted his weight uncertainly and said, "It's just…Ai would've been easier to train. But that child upstairs has a lot more raw power, so…if you need help, Ms. Fuji, don't be afraid to reach out. I'm not a psychic, but my starter is, and I think I did alright by him. If not, just be careful. Psychics can be dangerous when they get upset."
She nodded. She knew that well enough. "I'll think about it. Thank you. And you can call me Makoto, Masaki. It's fine."
He seemed surprised, but he nodded. "Alright." There was a chirp from his pager. He looked down at it, read the message, and said, "We need to start heading back to the hotel. I'll see you at the funeral, Ms. – Makoto."
"I'll see you there."
He waved goodbye and she shut the door behind him. She wasn't sure how she felt about him knowing about Mewtwo, but Masaki was a nice young man and he seemed more concerned for her than anything else. Remembering that the child in question was waiting for her, she locked the door and headed upstairs. She found him sitting on the bed with a book propped open in his lap. He was staring at it with a furrowed brow, but his forehead smoothed when she sat down next to him and put an arm over his shoulders.
"Which one did you pick?" she asked.
It was a picture book on the legendary pokémon of Japan – specifically, central Japan. Slowly, with her teaching him each of the symbols he didn't know, they read about Moltres, the firebird of valor; about Zapdos, the thunderbird of instinct; and about Articuno, the mystic snowbird. They read about Entei, whose roar woke volcanoes from their slumber; about Raikou, whose paws raced faster than bolts of lightning; and about Suicune, whose touch could purify any pool or stream. They read about Celebi, the guardian of the forests; about Lugia, the king of the southern seas; and about Ho-oh, the phoenix who painted the sky with rainbows. And just like Ai had been, Mewtwo was drawn to the story of the shape-shifting trickster: to Mew, the creature said to be the ancestor of all pokémon. Glimpsed around the world, the phantom could bring fortune or devastation to those who saw it. It might bless crops one year and raise lotus swarms the next. Most pokémon fled before its strength, and humans, the story warned, must only approach it with good intentions. If their hearts were pure, it would grant them a wish...but if they sought Mew out of greed, they would be ruined instead. Playful, mischievous, and inclined towards good, it nonetheless also knew the value of destruction. Morality and death were foreign to it, and that made it the highest and most alien of the legendary pokémon.
It was also, Makoto was certain, the creature Mewtwo had been created from. Mewtwo's own name indicated that, but he confirmed it as well, saying that he had dreams of rainforests, snow-capped mountains, bubbling pools, and Mew itself. Mew was there in the depths of his dreams, and now that he knew who his ancestor was, he wasn't sure what to think. Would he bring good things to people or hurt them? Or rather, would he hurt more people than he already had?
Closing the book and setting it aside, Makoto hugged him and whispered, "You made me laugh today – on a day I didn't think I could laugh. So if that's what you want, then I'm sure you'll bring good things to people. It's your choice. Your life is what you make of it, Mewtwo."
"I...I don't understand. What should I do? What was I made for?"
Probably nothing good, Makoto thought, but didn't say that. Instead she said, "I don't think that matters. Daichi and I didn't make Ai for any purpose. We just made her and we were happy we did. Ai would have made her own purpose, and you need to as well someday. Find something you love and you'll do just fine."
He gave her a confused and annoyed look – he wanted her to hand him a purpose, it seemed – but life didn't work that way. He'd figure that out eventually, but for now, at least he was asking himself important questions. Some people never seemed to wonder about such things, which could lead them to live shallow lives. Yet it also wouldn't do for him to obsess over what his purpose might be, especially when it could change multiple times as he grew older. She didn't want him to brood over it and forget to enjoy life. So she ruffled the fur between his ears and said, "If you keep frowning like that, your face will get stuck that way."
"…No it won't!"
She laughed, then picked him up and carried him to the bathroom, telling him it was time to teach him how to brush his teeth. He ended up dripping foam by the end of it, looking like a cartoon rabid poochyena. She couldn't help but laugh again. It felt good to laugh.
The funeral was well attended. The casket was empty, but since Daichi had been a Christian, that didn't matter as much. The casket, decorated in a black cloth with a silver cross, had some of his possessions in it: his best academic papers, the suit he'd been married in, and a copy of one of their family photographs. She hoped it would be enough to tie his spirit to this patch of earth, right next to Ai's grave. Surely that's where he would want to be. They set flowers around it and lit incense, and after the ceremony concluded, she wished everyone safe travels. She stayed a while longer as the soil was filled in, struggling to figure out what else to say to him. She'd already said goodbye once. What more was there to say?
Eventually, she went home. She was emotionally drained, but there was more to do. Daichi's final arrangements were taken care of, but there were Mewtwo's new arrangements to consider. He simply wasn't comfortable in the guest room, so that left Ai's. She would have to go through everything in there and decide what should stay or be packed away. She should have done that ages ago, but, well. It was her daughter's room. It was all she had left of Ai. Could she be blamed for not wanting it to change?
But that was a project for tomorrow. After making sure that Mewtwo was fed and cozy, she told him that she was going to bed early tonight. He nodded and seemed slightly disappointed – she saw him glance at the books – but he didn't say anything. "We'll read two books tomorrow, I promise," she said, kissing him on the forehead. He gave her a smile and reached for the book on legendary pokémon, which he could now read a fair amount of on his own. His memory amazed her. Whenever she taught him a new word, he seemed to imprint the symbol into his mind and was able to recall it later. She figured it was an effect of his empathy. As she understood it, it mostly let him absorb emotions, but knowledge also seemed to sink into him with ease. It made him a fast learner, one she was looking forward to teaching more to. Plus, it was always nice to have a child who was interested in reading. Books could be a child's best friend.
Though, on that subject, what was she going to do to socialize Mewtwo? He was isolated from society right now, due to her not wanting Mr. Maki to learn of his survival, and also because she didn't want any trainers to try to catch him. Mewtwo didn't seem to mind only having her for company – the wake had been stressful for him – but he needed a friend. Someone his own age, who wasn't his caretaker. She cared for him and would make sure to play with him, but it wasn't the same as having someone to shares adventures and secrets with. He also hadn't been outside yet, which worried her. Maybe nighttime walks were in order? He might like that. He seemed to be nocturnal or at least more comfortable at night. If he really was a cat, that would make sense.
She made a breakfast of pancakes, sausages, and eggs the following morning, which Mewtwo eagerly sniffed at and scarfed down. She made a point of showing him how to use a knife and fork, but as had been the case with chopsticks, his paws couldn't move that deftly. When he saw her raised eyebrow, he slowed down and gingerly tried using his claws to the same effect. She supposed him eating with his fingers was better than burying his face in the plate. When they were done and she washed his paws (why were boys so messy?), she led him upstairs, grabbed some boxes and tape out of her office, and brought them to Ai's room. She started with the closet, taking out and folding each of the clothes inside, carefully smoothing them and stacking them in the boxes. She couldn't bear to part with them yet, but Mewtwo would need the space. When she was done with that, she went through the toys, asking him which ones he liked. He picked out five of the dolls: a Pikachu Doll, a Meowth Doll, a Charmander Doll, a Bulbasaur Doll, and a Squirtle Doll. She remembered that those had been the species of the other pokémon clones he'd befriended and said nothing. It did make her concern about him needing friends more pressing, though.
She cleaned out what was in the desk, though she left the paper and pencils, figuring she'd teach him how to write soon. At his request, she also left the feathers and string. It was such a cute, kitten-like interest that she was happy to indulge him. She didn't touch any of the books. He liked them and it was comforting to teach him from the same books she'd taught Ai from. There were other odds and ends in the room, like Ai's jumping rope, her ballet shoes, and her recorder. She packed them away sadly, saying goodbye each time, and tried to keep her smile bright when Mewtwo asked about each item. She'd lost her little girl, but now she had a little boy, so maybe she could start looking forward, not back.
"What is this?" Mewtwo asked, pulling a small box out from under the bed.
Makoto stared at it. She'd seen that before, but what had Ai always been putting in it? She asked Mewtwo to hand it to her. She opened it and found a stack of crinkled, slightly faded envelopes, each bearing the stamp of a clematis flower within a circle. She looked at the name and address and the memory clicked. "These are letters from Ai's pen-pal, Natsume Kurosawa." She hadn't thought about her in ages. "They were friends before Ai passed. She sent flowers and a card, but she couldn't come to the funeral. She was a sweet girl. Shy and insecure, but sweet."
They'd met Natsume and her family at a conference for psychic children. There hadn't been many there, of course – psychics were rare and psychics who came into their powers before puberty were even rarer. But Ai, always the charmer, had hit it off well with the quiet girl, insisting that Natsume show her the entire gym and grounds while the adults talked about "boring stuff." Natsume's parents hadn't seemed pleased. They were from an old and noble family, so the lack of decorum had ruffled their feathers. But Makoto and Daichi had agreed that Ai could use a psychic friend to consult about her telepathy and, moreover, Natsume looked like she could use a friend. It had taken awhile, but they'd convinced Natsume's parents to let Ai and Natsume be pen-pals and visit each other on holidays. The Kurosawas had agreed to "help Natsume improve her penmanship and social skills," which had struck Makoto as cold, but as long as they let their daughters' friendship blossom, Makoto wasn't about to point that out.
And blossom it had. The girls had sent each other letters every week. While Natsume's letters were sparse, Ai told her new friend about anything and everything. Makoto had only ever read what Ai had explicitly shared with her, wanting to give the girls their privacy. Really, what were they going to talk about that should worry her? Ai might have been mischievous, but she never involved herself in anything bad, and she suspected that Natsume was on too short of a leash to cause trouble. When Ai had visited the Kurosawa family, she'd embarrassed Natsume by playing detective and asking her parents "impertinent" questions, but they'd still had fun. Ai told them about exploring the manor's many rooms with delight, with even Natsume not knowing what some of them were for. Personally, Makoto had thought it was good for the Kurosawa clan to have someone shake things up. The stick they had up their asses really shouldn't be passed on to their heir. And Makoto knew that Natsume's parents were trying to - she'd seen that when Natsume had come to visit. The girl had been unfailingly polite and incredibly quiet. It had taken a lot of coaxing for her to open up and have fun. When she'd finally relaxed, she'd shined – literally shined with a faint blue sheen of psychic power. Makoto had worried about that at first, but after no harm had come to them, she'd shrugged it off.
But it was heartbreaking to see the girl's happiness fade when she'd been picked up to go back to Saffron. She'd given them a strained smile, hugged Ai, and bowed to Daichi and her. Then she'd followed her father with a look that Makoto could only describe as resignation. No child should look that way at the thought of going home.
Makoto would not go so far as to say that Natsume was being abused, but repressed? Definitely. But in her grief over Ai and Daichi, Makoto hadn't thought about the other girl. Suddenly her stomach went queasy from guilt, because god, how was Natsume doing? She'd lost one of her closest friends and…and Mewtwo was tugging at her sleeve, trying to get her attention. She turned to him. "Yes?"
"Can we read them? I want to know what she thought about Ai!"
She sighed. "I'm not sure the letters will be about that. And she didn't send them to us. It might not be appropriate for us to read them."
But she was once again reminded of the fact that, well, Ai was gone, so who else was left to read them? And she was curious about what Natsume had told Ai about her life. She was worried and this could be a way to learn what she was up against. Besides, hadn't she been wondering who could be Mewtwo's friend? He'd also lost Ai, and even though a friend's death wasn't a happy connection for them to have, it was still a connection. She wouldn't get her hopes up yet, though. She didn't know if Mewtwo would even want to befriend Natsume or vice versa. But maybe, if they were open to it, she could improve two young lives instead of one.
So after they moved the boxes into the attic and ate lunch, she sat on the bed with Mewtwo and found the first letter. It was a short message, thanking Ai for being willing to write to her and hoping that she, Natsume, would be a good pen-pal. She described some daily occurrences at the manor, including meeting with her aunt and her cousins, none of whom seemed very nice. Natsume mentioned how they'd taken her to play kickball in the yard, but then refused to pass her the ball because "she was the heir and they didn't want her to get hurt." That might be true, but they might also be two-faced little snots. Some children were like that.
They read through several other letters that night, which confirmed Makoto's suspicions that Natsume's home life was cooler than she would have liked. Natsume, for her part, clearly hungered for more affection. She sought it by attempting to please everyone around her, with mixed results. She practiced her powers diligently with her father (she gave Ai many tips, which Makoto doubted her family would have wanted shared). She arranged flowers and had voice lessons with her mother. She took on some of the hostess responsibilities when visitors came. She was being groomed to follow a very traditional role, perhaps to be married off to another noble family someday. That her parents were "trying to give her a little brother or sister" and failing would undermine that plan, though. If Natsume was their only heir, she would take over the clan someday…which would mean that she'd have to train in "unladylike" things, too, like pokémon battles (why that was considered unladylike in this day and age, Makoto had no idea, but she also hadn't been raised in a conservative household). Given the amount of times Natsume sneaked off to watch her father battling, Makoto was pretty sure she would like that. Not that she didn't want siblings. Natsume clearly did, but it simply wasn't to be.
It took them a few more days to get through the rest of the letters, as the later ones grew thicker and they focused on getting other things done. They made sure Mewtwo's room was to his liking, she measured and sewed him some cloaks so he could go outside unseen (she would have to see if she could make him winter clothes, too, which would be tricky, considering his tail and second neck), and they began taking nighttime walks together. Mewtwo was skittish at first, but soon he relaxed and looked around himself with wonder. The moon in particular seemed to interest him, because unlike the stars, it "was always changing." He developed a fixation on astrology for a few weeks afterwards, which gave Makoto some ideas for his name, but she decided she'd mention them when the subject came up again.
She also tried to figure out a balanced diet for him. He was omnivorous, which made that easier, but he couldn't handle anything strongly spiced or salted. It made him throw up every time. Not wanting him to develop any aversions, she kept their meals mild for him. She consulted a list of not-safe-for-cats foods, too, and nearly panicked when he ate some of her chocolate-covered raisins. Fortunately, he didn't get sick afterwards. Even so, she decided to give him new foods slowly and sweets sparingly, just to be safe.
By the end of the week, they finished reading the letters and the condolences card. In the end, they'd learned more about Natsume than her thoughts on Ai, but Makoto had been expecting that. Mewtwo, for his part, was pensive afterwards, but then asked, "What happened to Natsume after that?"
It was the opening Makoto had been waiting for. "Why don't you write to her to find out?"
Mewtwo looked uncertain. "But I don't know how!"
Makoto smiled at him. "I'll teach you."
They started practicing and, as had been the case with chopsticks and silverware, Mewtwo's hands weren't nimble enough to grasp the pen correctly. He had no thumbs, so the best he could do was clutch the end of the pen with his fingertips and scratch at the paper. He tried, bless him – he tried under he was nearly crying and threw the pen across the room in frustration. As he whined, some of the books on the shelves quivered, the covers on the bed twisted, and a few pencils on the desk floated upwards. Remembering Masaki's warning, Makoto placed her hands on his shoulders. "It's alright, Mewtwo. We'll try something else."
"Like what?"
She nodded to the pencils, which were hovering in the air. When Mewtwo gasped, they fell and bounced as they hit the desk. "Maybe that? If you can make a pencil float, then maybe you can write with one."
"But how do I control it? I don't know how!"
"Well, Natsume gave Ai some tips, remember? Your powers are tied to your emotions. Maybe if you focus on how much you want to write to Natsume, your powers will help you."
He seemed uncertain, but he nodded and picked up the pen again. He set it on the paper, then stared at it intently, willing it to move. For a minute, nothing happened. Then the hairs on Makoto's arms prickled as static filled the room. The pen shot upwards, puncturing the ceiling and sticking there. Mewtwo was horrified and babbled that he hadn't meant to do it, but she shushed him and handed him another pen. "I know you can do this. Just focus."
He tried again. This time the pen sprang only a few inches into the air before, hesitantly, it touched the paper and dragged down it. The paper tried to go with it, but Mewtwo held it down with his paws and furrowed his brow, concentrating harder. He willed the pen to write "hi" at the top of the page. The end result was shaky and wasn't within the lines, but it was legible. He glowed afterwards and crowed, "I did it! Makoto, did you see? I did it!"
She hugged him. "Great job! Why don't you practice a little more and then we'll figure out what you'll say to her?"
He nodded and got to work, writing out the words he knew. His control over the pen became more and more confident as he practiced. Makoto was proud of him and infected by his excitement. It was always a joy to watch your child accomplish something. Giving him a kiss on the head, she told him she was going to make dinner. "I'll call you down in a bit." Leaving him to practice, she went downstairs, humming to herself as she baked fish and steamed the carrots, peas, and rice. When it was ready and the plates were set out, she called him down and listened for his quiet footfalls. Ai had always raced down the stairs, but due to the shape of his legs, Mewtwo was more careful. He had to crawl down them backwards. Walking up them was, comparatively, much easier for him.
She had him wash his hands - he'd somehow stained them with black ink - and they ate their meal together. He surprised her by using his telekinesis on the silverware and ate far more politely as a result. He gave her a smug look afterwards, which he'd earned, in her opinion. She certainly couldn't lift silverware with her mind, now could she? Besides, he should take pride in his accomplishments. As long as he didn't get it into his head that he was some all-power god who should conquer the world, it would be fine.
Afterwards, they went upstairs and sat down to write to Natsume. While Mewtwo figured out what he wanted to say and she guided him through drawing the characters, he paused at the end of the letter and frowned. When she asked him what was wrong, he said, "My name. What will I tell her my name is?"
Makoto took in his worried expression. "Why not just tell her your name is Mewtwo?"
He considered it, then shook his head. "I think I want her to know who I am first, before telling her what I am."
Makoto wasn't sure what to say. On the one hand, she didn't want Mewtwo to lie to Natsume about himself. On the other hand, she wanted him to have an identity beyond the one his creators had planned for him. Maybe when the children were secure in their friendship, he could tell Natsume the truth. She doubted Natsume would care. She liked and trained with psychic pokémon, after all. She couldn't see her judging him for being one. Hoping she wasn't making a mistake, she said, "How about Yuè Fuji?"
He stared at her. "Fuji?"
She nodded. "You live in my household. I consider you family. So Fuji would be appropriate."
He blinked rapidly and trembled, but then regained his composure. "And Yuè? What does that mean?"
"It means 'moon' in Chinese. I thought it would suit you." Well, that was what Makoto had thought, but if he didn't like it-
He hugged her.
Soon they went back to drafting the letter. In the end, it was short, simple, and polite note, which read:
To Miss Natsume Kurosawa,
I hope you are doing well. My name is Yuè Fuji. I am living with Makoto Fuji, who took me in because I have nowhere else to go. She is very kind to me. (Makoto was a bit flustered when he wrote that.)
She told me that you were a good friend of Ai. I was Ai's friend too. Would you like to be friends with me? I would like that.
Sincerely,
Yuè Fuji
It wasn't very eloquent, but it was sincere. She wrote the addresses out and let him seal the envelope (he grimaced at the taste) and stick the stamp on. They put it out with the morning mail.
Then the waiting began. Makoto knew it would take a few days for the letter to reach Saffron City, a few days for the girl to write a response, and a few more days for that response to arrive. Even though she told Yuè that, though, he eagerly asked her if there was a letter from Natsume every morning for over two weeks. On the third week of waiting, Makoto began to grow concerned. Yuè was becoming listless and uncertain, worried that Natsume had decided to ignore his letter. That didn't seem like Natsume, though. Of course, it had been two years. Natsume could have changed from the gentle girl she'd been, especially considering the household she lived in. Children grew up fast, and children who suffered through loss grew up faster. She made up her mind to call Kurosawa household tomorrow if a letter didn't arrive.
And then one did. But it wasn't a letter from Natsume. It was the letter they'd sent to her, and it had been sent back unopened.
That didn't seem right to Makoto. No matter how much the girl might have changed, she would have opened the letter and sent back a polite reply. Her parents, on the other hand…. She could see them sending the letter back more easily, especially because it came from a boy they didn't know. The thought angered her, but she bit back a curse, mindful that Yuè was in the room with her.
Yuè, for his part, was devastated that the letter had been returned. Did this mean that Natsume didn't want to be friends with him? Had he been foolish to hope that she would? He'd thought maybe she'd give him a chance if he pretended to be a regular boy, but…but maybe she'd somehow seen through him? Maybe she'd decided she wouldn't even consider him? Maybe he'd been stupid to think she would. The thought was a brutal blow to his self-esteem, and not wanting to show Makoto how upset he was (because it made her sad when he was sad), he turned and ran up the stairs. He heard Makoto call after him, but he didn't stop, going to Ai's – his – room and shutting the door behind him. He started crying, but what use were his tears? They wouldn't make Natsume change her mind. He climbed onto his bed and hugged one of his dolls. At least he had these. They could be his friends. They looked like the friends he'd lost, so maybe he could pretend and….
There was a knock on the door. "Yuè? Are you okay?" When he didn't answer, she said, "This doesn't necessarily mean what you think it means. Natsume's family might have moved. I'm going to call the Saffron Gym and see what's going on."
He heard her leave. After a few minutes, he wiped his face and slipped out of his bed. Maybe she was right. Maybe there was some other reason why the letter had been sent back. Still feeling sick to his stomach, Yuè opened the door and slipped out of his room, going to the top of the staircase. Makoto was on the phone and had a scrap of paper in her hand. She sounded...upset, but in a quiet way? There was a tension in her voice that he hadn't heard before.
"…I'm sorry for your loss, Mr. Kurosawa."
Oh. Oh no. He'd heard people say that to Makoto during the wake. People only said that when someone was dead. Had Natsume died? The thought nearly made him heave. He'd lost so many friends already, and he felt as if he knew Natsume, at least a little, through her letters. He didn't want her to be dead. Please don't be dead, please don't be dead. I want to be your friend, Natsume. Please don't be dead, not you too!
"But I'm confused. Why isn't your daughter staying with you? Where is she living right now?"
That – that meant she was alive. Natsume had to be alive. Relief rushed through him, making his legs wobble.
But the conversation wasn't over. Yuè watched Makoto's eyes widen. "The Lavender Tower? Why is she there? Why would you…?"
Whatever Mr. Kurosawa said made her eyes narrow. Yuè felt a surge of heat emanate from his guardian. The tension in her voice became cutting as she said, "I see. I suppose that is your decision. Even so, would you give me her new mailing address? I have a child staying with me who would like to speak with her."
The man said something else that Makoto didn't like, because Makoto's voice snapped and made Yuè jump. "I can call the channelers and find out. But I would have thought you'd want her to have friends her own age. Am I wrong?" That seemed to do the trick. Makoto wrote down an address and then said crisply, "Thank you. Have a nice day."
She hung up and glowered at the phone, muttering a word she probably didn't want Yuè to know.
She looked up the stairs and saw him standing there. She gave him a weak smile and gestured for him to come down. He did so and gave a hug. She looked like she needed it. "Thanks, sweetie. It seems Natsume's no longer living in Saffron City, but I have her new address, so we should be able to send her your letter tomorrow. Hopefully we'll hear back in a week or two."
She repackaged their letter and added the new address, giving him a copy for future reference. After putting it out in the mailbox and putting the little red flag up, she came back and dished them both some ice cream. It was more than Makoto normally gave him, but he wasn't about to complain. He like peanut-butter ice cream an awful lot. They clambered onto the couch. Makoto put on an animated movie about the adventures of a boy named Red and his pikachu, which was based on a true story. Yuè watched with interest – it was very different from reading – but on occasion, he glanced at his guardian, who didn't seem to be watching the movie. She just ate spoonful after spoonful of ice cream and seemed to be thinking hard.
After a while, he tore his eyes away from the television and asked, "What is the Lavender Tower? Why is Natsume there?"
Makoto leaned her head back, closed her eyes for a second, and said, "It's a cultural site. It also called the Pokémon Tower or the Tower of the Dead. It's one of the oldest and largest structures in Kanto and is surrounded by a massive cemetery. There are graves inside of it, too. The public can visit the bottom levels and have their dead buried there – their pokémon dead, that is - while the upper ones are for the priestesses who live and work there. Sometimes they make exceptions – I think they do tours during festivals – but mostly it's just the priestesses in there. They're all psychics, since they can commune with the ghosts and have an advantage over poison-types. And they're strong. I've heard they spend a lot of time training. And Natsume's father," she snarled the word, "sent her there to be trained by them. Instead of doing it himself. Like a good parent." She took a huge spoonful of ice cream and shoved it into her mouth.
"Is that why you're angry at him?"
"In part. The Tower just…it isn't a comfortable place for a child to grow up." She sighed. "I'm glad you want to be her friend. She'll need one."
Yuè wasn't certain what to think. He stared down at his bowl of melting ice cream, wondering if he would be a good friend to Natsume. Could he help her like Makoto hoped? He wouldn't know until he tried, and he wouldn't have the chance unless Natsume let him. His stomach twisted into knots at the thought. He set his bowl aside, unable to finish his treat. He didn't know whether he'd been a good enough friend to Ai and the others. His tears hadn't brought any of them back. Maybe he'd been unworthy of that miracle. But he wanted to try with Natsume. It sounded like it would be hard, but he'd risen to the other challenges Makoto had given him. He wanted to rise to this one, too. He wanted to help Natsume, whose father had sent her away. Who'd sent her somewhere dark and scary and didn't care that she didn't want to go. The thought made him angry. It wasn't fair. Maybe she was being taught important things there, but it still wasn't fair. He decided that if he ever met her father, he'd kick him in the shins. He sounded like someone who deserved it.
He felt Makoto rest a hand on his shoulder and looked up. She was giving him an amused, but also slightly concerned look. "You're making the lights flicker."
Oops. He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, urging his powers to quiet down. They did, reluctantly, and the program about Red and his pikachu flashed back on. She gave him a proud smile (his heart swelled whenever she gave him that look) and said, "Good job. Let's finish the movie and head upstairs. It's almost time for bed."
Yuè nodded and turned back to the television, eager to see how Red's journey ended. Yet in a corner of his mind, he gnawed on the thought of Natsume in the ghost tower, thinking about her when Red battled his way up Victory Road to the Elite Four, when he challenged and defeated each of them, and when – in a shocking twist – he discovered that his rival had become the Champion first and needed to be defeated too! He found himself wondering if he could battle his way to victory as well, but instead of going west, he would go east, fighting until he found the girl locked away in the tower. When he did, he'd tell her that she wasn't alone - that someone cared.
If Makoto suspected his train of thought, she didn't say anything. She rinsed their bowls in the sink and scooped him up, murmuring that he was a heavy kitty, and carried him upstairs. That night they read Western fairytales about knights, wizards, dragons, and princesses. His mind spun from the stories as she tucked him in. He spent a long time staring at the stars on the ceiling before falling asleep. When he dreamed, he dreamed of a girl dressed in white, though whether it was Ai or Natsume, he didn't know. Perhaps it had been neither. Perhaps it had been both.
The next day the letter went out. And the next day, the waiting began again.
Two weeks later, they received a reply from Natsume. The envelope was made of a pale purple paper that smelled like flowers. It was stamped with a different insignia than they one they were used to: a cubone skull crowned in a wreath of lavender sprigs. Yuè was nearly bouncing up and down as she broke the seal, his tail lashing behind him from nervousness and anticipation. Truth be told, Makoto was anxious as well, though she found the labels on the envelope promising. The names and addresses had been painstakingly written down, but the writing was clearly that of a child. That Natsume herself seemed to have replied, rather than her superiors, suggested that they'd finally made direct contact with her. Still, there was always a chance that Natsume might reject Yuè's friendship, so she held her breath as she passed the slip of paper inside to Yuè to read first.
He unfolded and stared at it, his brow knitting in concentration. The furrow deepened as he read. For a moment, she was worried that something was wrong, but the boy wore his emotions on his sleeve. When he pushed the letter at her, he looked more determined than upset – a look she'd seen him get whenever he was facing a vexing problem, like learning a new and complicated word. She watched him dart upstairs and then, much more slowly, clamber back down with a piece of paper and a pen floating in front of him. As he started writing, she read Natsume's letter.
To Mister Yuè Fuji,
Thank you for your letter. I was very surprised when Mother Kikuko brought it to me. I've been here two years and I've never gotten a letter before, so everyone was wondering about it. I thought it might be from Father, but that was stupid, because he only writes Mother Kikuko and sends me things when I need something. I was glad I was wrong, though. Your letter was nice.
I don't understand how you came to live with Mrs. Fuji, but it's okay if you don't want to say. I understand. She is very kind, isn't she? I miss her and Dr. Fuji sometimes. (Makoto's eyes stung as she experienced another flash of guilt. She hadn't checked up on Natsume, but Natsume had been thinking about her. She would have to find some way to make up for it.)
I miss Ai too. I didn't know she had a boy for a friend. She would, though. Everyone loved Ai.
I would be happy to be your friend too. But are you really sure you want to be my friend? I will understand if you don't. You don't have to be if you don't want to.
Please tell Mrs. Fuji hi for me. Again, thank you.
Sincerely,
Natsume Kurosawa
Heir of House Kurosawa
By the time Makoto finished reading the letter, Yuè was signing his response. As he darted to the drawer where she kept the envelopes and stamps, she grabbed his tail and tugged it gently. When he spun and gave her an affronted look, she said, "Hold on, Mister Yuè. Let me see that before you stuff it into an envelope and seal it."
Yuè held it out to her, and when she let go of his tail, he started pillaging the drawer again. She unfolded his response. She wasn't going to make a habit of this – the kids deserved some privacy – but Natsume was clearly…delicate…and definitely insecure. Her father was no doubt to blame for most of that, but there was something in those last few sentences that gave her pause. Natsume said she would understand if Yuè didn't want to be her friend. Why would she say that? Then she remembered what Mr. Kurosawa had told her and felt her blood run cold as a suspicion dawned. Could it be that Natsume and Yuè shared more than just their connection to Ai? Hoping that Yuè was too distracted to notice her shiver, she read through his response.
To Miss Natsume Kurosawa,
I definitely want to be your friend! I was worried you wouldn't want to be friends with me, so I am happy that's not true. I have so many questions for you. What is the Tower like? Who is Mother Kikuko? Is she nice to you? Is everyone nice to you? I hope so. Don't be mad at me, but your father sounds mean. He should send you letters. It's not fair that he doesn't, not when he sent you there.
(Makoto winced. That wasn't very tactful. She considered telling Yuè to edit it out, but then realized it should be said. Natsume's father was being terrible to her and it would be best if Natsume didn't delude herself about it. Anger, while hard to carry, was at least honest.)
I want to tell you more about me, but I can't right now. Someday I will, I promise. Right now Makoto is teaching me how to read and write – she says I learn fast. I'm going to help her in the garden soon. We're going to plant carrots and peas and squash and maybe melon! I've never eaten melon, have you? What kind of foods do you like? I like fish and milk and peanut butter. Especially fish.
Makoto says you're sikick. I am too, but I'm not good at it yet. You're probably better than me. Can you help me like you helped Ai? Please?
I'm going to send this in the mail tomorrow. I hope it gets to you soon. Please write back soon!
Sincerely,
Yuè – you can just call me Yuè! I don't mind.
Makoto smiled. He was such a sweet boy. She wasn't sure how Natsume would react to, well, most of what he'd written, but it seemed like a solid start to a friendship. She hoped that it would blossom as Ai and Natsume's had, because if there was something both Yuè and Natsume needed, it was someone to confide in. Carefully folding the letter, she reached past Yuè's searching paws and grabbed the envelope box and a packet of stamps. She let him write out the addresses this time, and when the letter was ready, she put it in the mailbox and raised the flag.
Yuè beamed and shimmered with blue light when she came back. She grinned, ruffled the fur between his ears, and said, "By the way, sweetie, psychic is spelled P-S-Y-C-H-I-C, not S-I-K-I-C-K."
Yuè looked confused for a second, then horrified. "Why didn't you tell me? Now Natsume will think I'm stupid!"
Makoto laughed. "I doubt that. If anything, she'll find it endearing. I thought it was cute."
He scowled at her, but his expression brightened when she mentioned the garden. She hadn't decided on a design yet this year. Would he like to help? Her little boy, of course, said yes.
By the time Natsume's next letter arrived, they'd dug up chunks of sod in the back yard and made a few curving rows of raw earth, which she spent several hours tilling. They planted the seeds, which Yuè checked each night, impatient for them to sprout. She advised him to learn how to wait – good things came in due time – but Yuè wasn't deterred. Sometimes she found him crouched in the raspberry canes or halfway up the jujube tree. Her heart nearly stopped when his claws scrambled at the bark and he slipped, but then he floated himself down to the grass feather-slow and she stopped worrying as much. She didn't think she'd ever fully stop - panic was a knee-jerk response to her child being in danger - but Yuè seemed remarkably capable of preserving his own hide. And getting it very messy with sap. It took her an entire evening to get it out of his fur ("Sweetie, no, don't lick it! You'll get sick!"). She hoped that would teach him not to do it again, but she wouldn't hold her breath. She'd just have to ask her colleagues if they had any advice. Some had pets and others had pokémon, so one of them was bound to know.
When the letter came, Makoto handed it to Yuè. She wouldn't check it. As curious as she was to learn more about Natsume's life, she wouldn't pry. For now, she'd focus on planting potatoes and parsnips. Yuè, sitting on the back porch, carefully opened the envelope and slid the paper out. Unfolding it, he held his breath as he read the first few lines, still nervous that Natsume might change her mind about him.
To Yuè,
I've never called a boy by his first name before. I'm glad, though. I'm glad you still want to be my friend. I thought maybe Makoto was trying to make you. I'm glad I was wrong.
To answer your questions: the Tower is very large and always cold, even in the summer. It's because of the ghosts – they steal all the heat. People can visit the first two floors, but we live in the upper five. The older you are, the higher you live. Mother Kikuko is the high priestess and gets the top floor all to herself. She's stern, but she looks after me. My sisters are also nice, though they're usually busy with training and making the ghosts go to sleep.
I've had all sorts of melons. Watermelon is very good in the summer. I like jujube candies, cherries, and buns filled with red bean paste.
I'd also be happy to help you. I don't know if I'll be very good at teaching, but I'll try.
My father - please don't think badly of him. He has his reasons. I do wish he'd talk with me more, but he's busy with our gym, so I understand. I can't be selfish. If I'm good and work hard, things will get better. I'm sure they will.
Have you started the garden yet? What are you studying? Does Mrs. Fuji still write books? Also, what's your favorite pokémon?
Please write back soon.
Sincerely,
Natsume – please call me Natsume
Heir of House Kurosawa
As he finished reading her letter, Yuè smiled and called out to Makoto, telling her that he was going inside to write. She nodded and continued planting. He raced up the steps, clambered onto the chair at his desk, and took a sheet of paper from the stack. He floated a pen in front of him and began to write, something in him singing as he did.
And that was how it all began.
Author's Note: While I know that Mrs. Fuji left behind her house key and her ring when she separated from her husband, for the purposes of this story, she got the house in the divorce. That or he gave it back to her when he moved to New Island for his research. She also currently goes by Ms. Fuji - either she kept her husband's last name or it was hers to begin with. Sakaki wouldn't have paid enough attention to get that right, though, and Natsume doesn't know about the divorce or Dr. Fuji's death. This story also assumes that it took a few years for Mewtwo to grow into an adult, which is how I'm justifying Natsume not being a teenager at this point.
This should be clear from context clues as well, but this story is set in 1990's, so the characters have views on gender that are outdated by our standards. They're also speaking and writing in Japanese, hence Natsume's comment about how she's never called a boy by his first name before. Please assume everyone is using the proper forms of address for each other, because I'm drawing the line at adding -kun, -chan, -san, and -sama to everyone's names.
If you enjoyed reading this chapter, please be so kind as to leave a review! I'll honestly be heartbroken if no one shares their thoughts, since this is the story that I've been the most excited to share with you all, due to it being the cutest thing I've ever written. Indulge this fanfic elder, won't you?