| Keep You Safe |
[Mar. 15th, 2009|07:33 pm] |
| [ | Tags | | | katsuko | ] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| |  contemplative | ] |
[[Takes place March 21st, a day after Great Party, But It's Hell on the Furniture]]
March 21st dawned bright and cold. Katsuko woke to the blank grey ceiling of her blank grey room and stared, unseeing, as HQ's alien scents and sounds filtered in. Fatigue and the warmth of her thick sheets tugged at her, a pull almost strong enough to drown out the creeping whispers of last night's dream.
Kaminari staring at her through the bars, pale eyes assessing where to cut next, what jutsu to use next--
Flinging aside her blankets, Katsuko went to get changed.
If her hands shook while pulling open her dresser drawers, well, it was obviously because of the cold.
She threw on worn jeans and a thick sweater, eyes wandering toward the canvas-wrapped package on her bedside table. It lay, as it had for the past week, precisely wrapped and ready to go with the card attached.
Somebody bellowed and slammed a door in the apartment downstairs; the high-pitched screech and crash of something thrown at the same door told her that the woman in 215 had broken up with her boyfriend again.
Good. They were noisy as hells, anyways.
Katsuko didn't want to risk seeing those two in the elevator or the stairwell this early in the morning. Grabbing the package off the table, she slipped out through her window and fell the three stories to street level, landing in a small crouch.
She straightened and tilted her head up, staring for a moment at the brightening sky. The snow was melting; birds chirped somewhere nearby. It smelled like mud and wet and spring. Katsuko tucked her package under her arm and shoved her hands into her pockets, ambling towards the main road.
***
It'd been a long time, but not long enough for her to forget the way to her... to the house. The little green two-story on Furikake Street stood nestled between two hulking buildings, defiant in its compact neatness. The front garden was, as always, neatly groomed and the windows shining clean. The lights downstairs and in the master bedroom were off, but a warm amber glow shone through the closed curtains in Makoto's room. Katsuko grinned and headed for the little side alley between her...the house and the left-hand building.
It was still dawn. Makoto wouldn't be nineteen for another three hours. But to stay alone at HQ, with her nightmares still lingering in the shadows...No. She couldn't.
The first pebble against Makoto's window went unheard. Not even a flicker of movement from behind the curtains. The second and third pebbles provoked no response, either.
That was when Katsuko got frustrated and moved on to things larger than pebbles.
The muted thump of the cloth-wrapped rock against Makoto's window definitely didn't go unnoticed. There was a flurry of movement and a muffled yelp, and then the window slammed open with an indignant crash. Her little brother stuck his head over the sill and gaped down at her, dark eyes still foggy with sleep. "Katsuko? What the hell are you doing? It's-- It's--"
"Really, really early?" she supplied. "Been awhile, Mako. Now get out of the way. I'm coming up."
The window was thirty feet off the ground, but Katsuko was a ninja. She sent chakra to her feet and walked up the side of the house, shooing Makoto out of the way as she steadied herself with one hand on the window-pane and slung herself inside his room.
They stared at each other in silence. Makoto had grown taller since the last time she'd seen him; a few more months and he'd be able to rest his chin on the top of her head.
"So," she said at last. "What's up?"
"What's up?" Makoto said, running his hands through his thick dark hair. It was flattened on one side and stood straight up on the other, and Katsuko had to restrain herself from smoothing it down. "I haven't seen you in a year, your last letter--which was a month ago, don't think I've forgotten--consisted of 'I'm joining ANBU, hope you've been okay', and you're asking me 'What's up?'"
"Um," Katsuko said. "Yes? And I'm very sorry about that, but I brought you a present."
Makoto crossed his arms over his chest.
"Happy birthday?" she tried, and held her package out in front of her like a shield.
He stared at her, mouth tight and shoulders rising almost to his ears, before slumping in defeat. He turned away and pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers, taking several deep breaths. "What are you doing here, Katsu?" he said, and collapsed into a chair.
The glow from his floor lamp illuminated the haggard lines and unnatural paleness of his skin. He'd been sick again, and recently. Katsuko placed the package carefully on his desk and stuck her hands into her pockets to keep from feeling his forehead for fever.
"Dumbass," she said, affectionately. "I'm here to wish my little brother a happy birthday." She prowled around the room as she spoke, avoiding looking at his thin face and old, old eyes. An eighteen-year-old who still lived with his parents shouldn't look like that, like a world-weary refugee who'd seen enough of people to last a few lifetimes.
There were more paintings and scrolls than a year ago, which was to be expected. The delicate gray-blue watercolor that had won Makoto admission into Hanamiya Painter's Academy still hung in its place of honor in a sleek wooden frame. Scrolls were tacked to the wall under it in chronological order, from his first ham-handed attempts at calligraphy to the graceful, flowing kanji he used today. Katsuko looked at them all, fierce pride burning in her chest.
"You're getting better, kid." She grinned at him over her shoulder. "Any idea when you're gonna graduate from Hanamiya?"
"A year," he said, shortly. "Nobara-sensei already has some commissions lined up for me."
She pursed her lips and whistled, propping her hands on her hips as she turned back to look at the paintings.
There was a rustle and a slight creak, and then Makoto said, "... Katsu? You know I'm not nineteen for another three hours, right? You couldn’t have waited until it was light outside, like a normal person?" Katsuko glanced back and saw that Makoto was holding her package in his hands, staring down at it and fiddling with the card.
A grin worked its way across her face. "Since when have we been normal? Happy birthday, Mako."
Makoto set his present aside and looked up at her, folding his hands in his lap. “Katsuko, we have to talk.”
“Let's not and say we did,” Katsuko said, and backed away. “Since when did you become my psychiatrist?”
“You mean the psychiatrist you visited just enough to be declared sane and then never went to see again?”
She stiffened, eyes skittering away. “There was nothing I needed to talk about that I could tell Roly-poly-san.”
“You don’t talk to anybody about what happened to you," Makoto said. "Not really. The most we know is what Dad could get from the mission report.”
“We were ambushed,” Katsuko said, eyeing the open window. “Hideki-sensei was killed, and I was brought underground and kept there for six months. What more do you need to know?"
“The rest of the story, godsdamnit!” Makoto snapped, and lunged out of his chair and across the room in three long strides.
He’d changed, Katsuko realized. Just a year apart and already the little boy who'd clung to her hand was gone, replaced by an angry young man with wounded eyes. He glared down at her, chest heaving, and she stared steadily back.
“When they brought you back from Lightning,” Makoto said. “It was like you’d died inside, Katsu, and even after you started talking again we could feel you pushing us away. Mother and Dad still talk about you like you’re dead.”
Katsuko snorted. "Might as well be, yeah," she said. "This family's got no use for broken things."
Makoto flinched as if she’d struck him, face going bone-white. “Don’t say things like that,” he wheezed. “Don’t say that.” He coughed, once, before doubling over.
“Mako? Makoto? Shit, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it.” Katsuko started forward, hands outstretched. Worry and self-recrimination robbed her of any words except for I’m sorry, so she kept on saying it as she gripped his elbow and steered him to the chair as he coughed and coughed. She rubbed soothing circles between his shoulder blades, feeling every bump of his spine as she counted the spaces between breaths.
“I’m okay,” Makoto said at last, voice gravelly. He pushed her hand aside, rolling his eyes.
“Idiot," Katsuko said. "You’re not supposed to strain yourself.”
He glared at her. “Whose fault was that in the first place, huh?”
“Oh, Kami.” Katsuko threw her hands up. “I came here to give you a present, because it’s your birthday and you’re my brother and I miss you. Can we open just open your damn gift and not talk about it now?”
He was quiet for a long time. “Fine. I’ll open your present. But Katsu—“
“What.”
"You've got to talk to somebody, Katsuko. Anybody. Because what happened to you--what they did to you--"
She gritted her teeth and glared at her irritating little ass-rash of a brother. He stared back, face as stony and implacable as the Hokage Monument. It took her a minute to dredge it up, but her answer was sincere. “Fine. Fine. I promise I’ll try to talk to someone, you little bastard. Now open the damned present.”
“Sweet.” Makoto grinned and started tearing into the wrapping, as gleeful now as he'd been on his fifth birthday.
Katsuko sighed and leaned against the wall, feeling like she’d just come through a war she wasn’t entirely sure she’d won. "You could have gone into T&I, Mako."
He glanced up at her, smirking. "I'm more awesome as a civilian, admit it."
"Never," she said. "Your head's already big enough as it is."
He threw a wadded-up piece of wrapping paper and she grinned, batting it away. The lingering memory of Kaminari's cold gaze retreated; she closed her eyes in the warm glow of the room's light and finally, finally let herself relax. |
|
|
