>.< Kamen Rider Kabuto
Aug. 8th, 2008 05:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ciirceeSo I got my jump drive back. The stay at the school did nothing to improve the story. I just have a really, really hard time writing Kabuto fic. I never feel like I'm catching the characters. At any rate, this is not the Gon/Daisuke + 10 years fic. This is something that came to mind while tinkering with that (probably about trashed-draft five?). So though it will never come up, this is backstory to that.
Dust and the scent of Summer
All the best doctors assured her that her daughter was fine; 'wonderful' one had said, 'perfect' had said another. Junko had thanked them all, had accepted their judgment and compliments with gratitude. She'd taken their advice to heart.
'Don't tell her', the white-coated, dark-haired doctor had said, that one a neurologist, a specialist. 'Even if you told her not to think about it, subconsciously she could try to force the memories and it could cause permanent damage.'
So she said nothing and wondered if maybe all the best doctors didn't know what the hell they were talking about.
Yuriko was crying again, sobbing in her sleep. "I want to stay with you! Don't let go of my hand! Don't ever!"
"Yuriko," she moved from her futon to her daughter's, touching Yuriko's shoulder lightly so as to not startle her and make things worse. "Yuriko, you're dreaming. It's all right. It's just a bad dream," she soothed.
"Don't!" Yuriko bolted upright and Junko took her in her arms, holding her tightly as her little body shook. "Mom?"
Junko smoothed a hand over Yuriko's hair. "I'm here. You were having a bad dream." Again, she thought, again.
In her arms, Yuriko drew in ragged gulps of air but quieted. "A dream," she said quietly.
"Just a bad dream."
Every night, ever since she'd come home.
"Do you want to talk about it, honey?" she asked, stroking Yuriko's hair again, rubbing her shoulders and back as though she were an infant again.
"You went away," Yuriko murmured. "You were gone and I was all alone. There wasn't even any wind, just me."
Her heart hurt for her daughter. "I will never let go of you again," she promised.
"I know." Her brave, sweet little girl sat back in the circle of her arms and smiled at her, tiny but real. "I know you won't. You never stopped trying to find me, right? That's why I'm not afraid."
"Then…" Junko kissed Yuriko's forehead, "let's stop having bad dreams, okay?"
As she'd hoped, Yuriko giggled. "Okay."
They were silent for a long time, taking comfort in each other, and Junko felt Yuriko's body become heavy in her arms, obviously falling asleep. She shifted, laying her daughter down carefully and pulling the blankets up around her. "Sweet dreams," she whispered.
Yuriko's eyes fluttered open. "I think…" she said sleepily, "I think the nightmares are from when I don't remember. Because I was alone for so long with nobody to take care of me. I had to do it and when I sleep, the memories come out. The alone memories."
Don't tell her, the doctors had said. But the doctors didn't live with her daughter and they'd never seen the love or the sudden shock of loss in Kazama Daisuke's eyes. "Yuriko." Junko cupped her daughter's face, so round and soft and smooth and she was her mother damn it. "You don't remember it but there was somebody who took care of you. That person protected you and loved you and you weren't ever, ever alone."
"That person…" Yuriko murmured, her eyes unfocused, blinking slowly against sleep. "I forgot that person…how could I forget…?"
Junko tucked a strand of hair behind Yuriko's ear, unable to resist basking in her child's very presence. "It's all right that you did, Yuriko. You didn't want to forget. It's all right."
"I wish I could remember," Yuriko mumbled. "Then maybe I wouldn't be scared at night."
"That person remembers you," she said, thinking of Kazama Daisuke that day in the stadium. "You don't have to be afraid because that person won't forget you. No matter what that person…" she broke off, looking at Yuriko's sleeping face. "He'll always protect you," she finished softly.
She got up and went to the window, opening it a little more to the late-summer night. "Isn't that right?" she asked the breeze.
Dust and the scent of Summer
All the best doctors assured her that her daughter was fine; 'wonderful' one had said, 'perfect' had said another. Junko had thanked them all, had accepted their judgment and compliments with gratitude. She'd taken their advice to heart.
'Don't tell her', the white-coated, dark-haired doctor had said, that one a neurologist, a specialist. 'Even if you told her not to think about it, subconsciously she could try to force the memories and it could cause permanent damage.'
So she said nothing and wondered if maybe all the best doctors didn't know what the hell they were talking about.
Yuriko was crying again, sobbing in her sleep. "I want to stay with you! Don't let go of my hand! Don't ever!"
"Yuriko," she moved from her futon to her daughter's, touching Yuriko's shoulder lightly so as to not startle her and make things worse. "Yuriko, you're dreaming. It's all right. It's just a bad dream," she soothed.
"Don't!" Yuriko bolted upright and Junko took her in her arms, holding her tightly as her little body shook. "Mom?"
Junko smoothed a hand over Yuriko's hair. "I'm here. You were having a bad dream." Again, she thought, again.
In her arms, Yuriko drew in ragged gulps of air but quieted. "A dream," she said quietly.
"Just a bad dream."
Every night, ever since she'd come home.
"Do you want to talk about it, honey?" she asked, stroking Yuriko's hair again, rubbing her shoulders and back as though she were an infant again.
"You went away," Yuriko murmured. "You were gone and I was all alone. There wasn't even any wind, just me."
Her heart hurt for her daughter. "I will never let go of you again," she promised.
"I know." Her brave, sweet little girl sat back in the circle of her arms and smiled at her, tiny but real. "I know you won't. You never stopped trying to find me, right? That's why I'm not afraid."
"Then…" Junko kissed Yuriko's forehead, "let's stop having bad dreams, okay?"
As she'd hoped, Yuriko giggled. "Okay."
They were silent for a long time, taking comfort in each other, and Junko felt Yuriko's body become heavy in her arms, obviously falling asleep. She shifted, laying her daughter down carefully and pulling the blankets up around her. "Sweet dreams," she whispered.
Yuriko's eyes fluttered open. "I think…" she said sleepily, "I think the nightmares are from when I don't remember. Because I was alone for so long with nobody to take care of me. I had to do it and when I sleep, the memories come out. The alone memories."
Don't tell her, the doctors had said. But the doctors didn't live with her daughter and they'd never seen the love or the sudden shock of loss in Kazama Daisuke's eyes. "Yuriko." Junko cupped her daughter's face, so round and soft and smooth and she was her mother damn it. "You don't remember it but there was somebody who took care of you. That person protected you and loved you and you weren't ever, ever alone."
"That person…" Yuriko murmured, her eyes unfocused, blinking slowly against sleep. "I forgot that person…how could I forget…?"
Junko tucked a strand of hair behind Yuriko's ear, unable to resist basking in her child's very presence. "It's all right that you did, Yuriko. You didn't want to forget. It's all right."
"I wish I could remember," Yuriko mumbled. "Then maybe I wouldn't be scared at night."
"That person remembers you," she said, thinking of Kazama Daisuke that day in the stadium. "You don't have to be afraid because that person won't forget you. No matter what that person…" she broke off, looking at Yuriko's sleeping face. "He'll always protect you," she finished softly.
She got up and went to the window, opening it a little more to the late-summer night. "Isn't that right?" she asked the breeze.
