Kenji Tsukino stared up at the large building. The very large building. He turns his head slightly in the direction of his blutooth, which also happens to be the shoulder with a small black cat. "Are you sure it's this building?"
There's a moment of silence. His answer is reluctant. "Of course I'm sure. I've been here so many time before."
And the reason for that relucatant answer? Kenji still jerks in surprise, because talking cat.
Kuna sighs again, and then he can feel her mischievous kitty nature. "Though usually it is from above. Balcony entrances are much more flashier, you know."
Kenji stares again, this time focusing on said balcony. It's more of a pinprick than anything from down here. "Right..."
Inside, he manages to find a concierge amidst the frikkin lower levels mall and asks for directions to the penthouse.
He is, of course, met with suspicion. And more than a little stuffy grumpiness.
Untill he gives his name.
The concierge's eyes light up at his family name, though he quickly tries to hide it. "You're related to Usa-chan?"
The next few minutes are spent with a proud papa showing off the obligatory baby pictures in his phone. Not literal baby pictures, but he has a few from when his baby girl is two, five, and ten.
When he's finally in the elevator a few minutes later, shifting the somewhat weighty file box in his hands, there's a soft grump from his shoulders. "That was entirely unnecessary."
Kenji snorts. "Right. Because just learning that my little girl brought that man take-out in the aftermath of that great storm was unnecessary."
Luna grumbles. "You just like showing off pictures of your kids."
The elevator door opens and Kenji strolls out, shrugging his shoulders and puffing out his chest. "Of course I do. They're cute kids."
He looks at the doors. There's a sign on one asking to be knocked on, so after shifting the box to he knee that's what he does.
The door is answered within seconds, but not by Mamoru Chiba. The young man who answers it is even taller, to begin with. White shirt, sleeves rolled up against the heat, blue jeans -- white hair, falling straight nearly to his shoulders.
Kenji has two photographs of this boy -- not his own, but taken by neighbors helping him keep track of what was happening to his house in his absence. In one of them he's working, hauling materials side-by-side with the even stronger boy with brown hair; his head is turned aside to call an instruction to Saburo. The white hair is longer in that one, still loose. In the other, the white hair is still the longer length, but tied back behind his shoulders; he's with Makoto there, assisting as she distributes lunch to the others dealing with the house.
The photographs do not convey everything, though, and Usagi's "He looks grumpy but he's a sweetie!" description doesn't either. They don't give the emotionless way he takes his first survey of the visitor -- it's like being evaluated by a passing shark. They don't give the precise way he steps back from the door and bows, or the way that it's just possible that his first words afterward might have been stitched together very carefully from a slightly out-of-date etiquette manual. "Good afternoon, Tsukino-san. Luna, it is always a pleasure. Please be welcome. May I get either of you a drink? Have you eaten?"
Kenji's shoulders droop as he takes in the tall boy.
Of course the expression is startling. And of course his Usa would think this boy is a sweetie.
Still, that's not why his shoulders droop. even as he returns the bow. "If you're Kazuo-san, Mamoru-kun could have saved me a lot of time in my research if he said you had white hair. Though I've already guessed you weren't Kazuo Ishiguro."
He's lying through his teeth. Mamoru said the boy's full name, brief description and all. But, well, the boy in front of him seems to enjoy unnerving people. So, while he's found out about the boy's disappearance from university and such, he figures...
Aw, heck. He's not a spiteful man, and he's a far better reporter than to resort to trickery and lies. "I'm sorry. You look young for a twenty-five year old."
His research on the Takeba boy is in the box, as well.
He enters and toes off his shoes, eyebrows reaching toward the ceiling when he notices a pair of clean but obviously worn bunny slippers.
His feet encased in the obligatory pair of his own, he follows the tall boy in.
Luna, as soon as she's able, leaps over to Kunzite's shoulders and purrs her way between hair and neck, curling against him. "At least you won't jerk when I talk."
Kenji sighs. "I'm an old man being introduced to new ways. Have pity." He looks around a moment, shifting the box. "If you're having something already, I'll join you. Otherwise I'm fine, thank you."
"Kunzite?" Luna's voice is tiny and quiet in his ear (only so Kenji won't hear that name because it isn't her place) but the question is obvious as her tail swishes against his jaw. Do you have that tuna I like? Purrrrrrrrrrrease?
"I take it he's not in today?" He being, of course, Mamoru. There's a moment where the look in his eye is clearly 'HE BETTER NOT BE OUT ON A DATE WITH MY DAUGHTER' but again, he's an old man being introduced to new things. Have pity.
There's a flicker of a blink. "You're correct," Kazuo says, without making it clear what he's saying Kenji is correct about. "My apologies. I should have introduced myself properly at once." He steps back and waits politely, without the faintest hint of wince at Kenji's discovery of the bunny slippers. (Or at Luna's impact, but Luna's impact is potentially the lesser of the two.)
He remains still until the feline's settled herself, and then turns to escort Kenji into the living room. It is, fortunately, not a wreck today. The game controllers are a tangled mess, and there's a couple of discarded volumes of shoujo manga and a stray blue silk scarf on the coffee table, but alongside those are a university-level biology text and a book on the Syrian civil war. And the seating is free of landmines. And the noodles did not stain the carpet. It could be worse. It could be much worse.
"Mamoru and Saburo are out at a tutoring session," Kazuo answers. "Helping some underclassmen worried about falling behind over the break." ... at a certain orphanage. The failure to mention that is habitual, rather than Kenji-oriented. They might also be playing Pokemon Go. Or, more likely, checking on Reiko at Doctor Shelby's clinic. Failure to mention either of those is Kenji-oriented.
Whether Usagi is involved in any of these things, Kazuo neither knows nor speculates.
His detour into the kitchen is likewise matter-of-fact. He hasn't answered Luna on the subject of the tuna, but she knows by now that no-answer actually means 'yes, and of course you can have some,' and that water will also be supplied, and a little cream. The humans get water too, and 'if you're having something already' means lunch pulled from the fridge -- cold noodles with varied and colorful toppings, cherry tomatoes, boiled eggs. The riceballs and cookies are inevitably their savior Makoto's work; Kenji is likely to recognize them.
Luna's fish is fetched back out to the table with everything else, if set at more convenient-for-her floor level on a tray. One does not exile one guest in favor of another.
Luna, taking his silent yes for what it is, purrs loudly, rubs her furry, whiskered cheek against Kunzite's, purrs loudly, and probably even sheds on him to show her affection.
Kenji doesn't sit down at the sofa, though he does take note of the manga and scarf. He sets the box down and habit finds himself straightening up the controllers before catching himself.
Oh well, this far into the task already...
Wrapped and secure, he places them on the console, running a finger over the text and history book. Definitely not his daughter's touch, bless her heart.
"Sorry about that. A habit from having...well, you've met my daughter."
There's a twitch in his eye. He sees a bunny cup.
Luna parks in front of her tray, tail swishing and favoring Kunzite with a wide kitty smile. "Thank you for the food!" Nomf.
Kenji shakes his head as he joins Kazuo at the table, muttering about spoiled cats. Not that he's one to talk, of course.
He recognizes that brand of tuna.
Before he starts eating, though, and perhaps because he's waiting for Kazuo to start (another habit of having children and the instinctual desire to see that they're taken care of before himself) but also because he has something to say. "I came looking for Mamoru-kun, but I'm kind of glad I found you, instead." He looks over at the box briefly. "He said I should give the photos to you. I told him it'd be up to you if he sees them, but..." He looks at Kazuo, straight in the eye. "I don't want him seeing them. Whatever else he is, he's also still just a boy. And there's some things no one should have to see of their parents."
Kenji, on the other hand, is the guest. Eating first is his privilege. Well, his and Luna's, but Luna is not going to be the delaying party in that particular. Kazuo has not attempted to remove the stray bits of shed fur from his shoulder; trying to brush them off wouldn't work well enough to make the process any more dignified than just wearing the things.
He seats himself at least, which removes something of the looming quality. "I have had the honor of meeting your daughter, yes," he says. That one ... is not stitched together out of etiquette manuals; 'honor' there is not a word spoken for form's sake. It's something grave and calm and running deep, and entirely at odds with cute bunny slippers and cute bunny cup. "And looked forward for a little time now to meeting the parents who could raise her without either stifling her or being overrun. Bringing children up well requires a great deal of work, and a considerable degree of artistry."
... Luna's share in that, latecomer as she is, is one of the reasons that Kazuo does not consider That Tuna spoiling her.
Looking Kazuo straight in the eye is not precisely a mistake. It certainly does not prompt any reaction, or feel like a social misstep. It certainly does not fail to achieve Kenji's purpose in it. It's just that the absolute steadiness with which Kenji is regarded in return -- no. Nineteen is not the right age. Twenty-five is not the right age. Boy might be the right word for Mamoru, or at least for some parts of him, but it's not the right word for this one at all.
It's not that Kazuo's trying to make a point, after all. It's that he's old enough to recognize that making a point is unnecessary.
"If he decides to see them," Kazuo says quietly, "there's a limit to what I can do. It's his right to make that choice for himself. But I can be prepared to mitigate the damage."
Kenji's lips twitch at honor, and his eyebrows raise in amusement as Kazuo expresses having looked forward to meeting him. Not because he thinks the boy (and yes, boy) is being sarcastic, but because he is being honest. "Most of that I learned from my wife."
He pulls out a phone, because yes, he's an adoring Papa and preens whenever people accuse him of this. Besides, his own upbringing had been...stiff. He holds up the phone for Kazuo to see, and though the beaming, bright, happy, soulfully recharging face (it's been mentioned he's an adoring Papa, right?) is familiar, it's also that of a four year-old.
"Besides. Would you try to stifle this if it's the face that greeted you every time you came home? I promise not to show you any more, but only because I'd be showing them to you all day, and you strike me as the kind who would let me even if you got bored after hour two."
...And maybe the look Kazuo gives him at his steady look almost has him reconsider his mental assessment of referring to him as boy. Almost. But in a way, it also strengthens that resolve. From what he's read and from what he sees now, this is a man who most needs the allowance of being just a boy if he wanted.
Besides, even if Usagi went off to rule Planet Raxacoricofallapatorian, he'll still think of her as 'My Baby Girl, Queen of Raxacoricofallapatorian.'
He sighs and his shoulders droop again. "Okay, fine. And maybe they're not as bad as I think, who knows." They're probably worse.
And then, sensing they'd be here all day, allowing the food to rot under their noses, Kenji takes the first bite.
After all, he may be stubborn, but this is food we're talking about here.
Grey eyes glance toward the phone, and there's a change of expression at last: something ever so slightly warmer at the corners of the eyes, a little twitch upward at the left-hand side of his mouth.
(Every day? Every day? FOr years on end? Attached to that small of a gleeful bouncing wrecking ball? He might have had to banish tempting pillows from the public areas of the house, in order to avoid a far more direct stifling. He's still not sure how he managed not to murder at least one of the boys, until they started attaining ages of ostensible reason. Kenji is kinder by far.)
(Never mind that she can trap him into letting her lean on him for eight solid hours of Johnny Depp. That's one day. It doesn't count. Clearly.)
"I don't want him to see them either," Kazuo says after that sigh. Those photos, not the ones of Usagi. "But it's the same as when they learn to walk. We can't carry them forever for fear of their falling. Better to be ready to catch them instead."
(Unbidden, an image he cannot and would not offer a photograph of. A young girl who was not Usagi, then, weeping her heart out over the loss of a stray.)
He glances away from both the father opposite him and the memories that rise, and concentrates on the noodle salad. He is not and will never be up to Makoto's ever-rising standards, but he's at least competent.
(Yes. Every day. And it's because of faces like the picture that she hadn't been clobbered by pillows. Well, only when she started it, and clobbered is the wrong word. More like harmlessly bonked. Because Tiny Baby Usa Cries are a thousand times more painful to endure than Gleeful Bouncing Wrecking Balls, and so not rewarding at the end of the day when he would tuck her in, chase away scary Redheaded Closet Monsters, and kiss her goodnight.)
(Also, Kazuo, you're lucky you missed the solid week of Disney Movie Marathon when Usagi was out sick with the chicken pox and Kenji had vacation days. Or unlucky.)
He sighs. "I guess you're right. I had to do the same with my other kid." A faint blush. "Ah, not Shingo. I got years left on him. Usagi's friend, Naru? I had to sort of do that when she became old enough to stay home by herself on vacations."
(Kenji has yet to do that with Usagi. Mostly because he hasn't been around when she's experienced death. But also because he'd tactfully distract her whenever they would pass road kill.)
And suddenly, there's awkward, but he can deal with that.
However, a few more bites in, he furrows his brow. "Okay. So I know those are Mako-chan's." He points toward the cookies that his tastebuds are just waiting to be coated in and the riceballs. "But this isn't. But it's really good. Who made it?"
He knows the answer is not Usagi. And for some reason, he has his doubts on Mamoru.
Years left on him. There's that faintest crease at the corners of Kazuo's eyes again: younger brother as car battery. "Naru," he repeats. "I knew she and Usagi were close, but somehow it hadn't occurred to me that that would make her quite so much part of your family. She's a clever girl. Creative. Strong. I apologize if her visits here have taken her away too often."
(Bunny slippers. Bunny cup. Bunny bestie?)
When Kenji directs his attention toward the cookies and makes his assertion, there's a slight nod. Mako-chan creations, recognizeable on sight. As for the rest? "Thank you for the compliment to Makoto's skills as a teacher," he says. "I'll pass it on to her. I've had the privilege of learning from her for a few months now. Mamoru's a good cook, but his attention needs to be on his studies, not housework. This year particularly. He wants to attend medical school; he'll need the right university for that, and that's not easy for anyone."
Talking cats. Walking statues. Threatening phone calls. Underground temples with open skies. Impossible storms. Missing boys. Sailor Senshi. Crown Princes of Earth.
Kitchen arrangements and tangled cords and homework.
Naru. Of course she comes here. (Perhaps she's the cook.) It really shouldn't surprise him.
It also shouldn't cause his jaw to tick.
He raises his eyebrow. So the cooking isn't Naru's. His eyebrow is arched and his voice wry. "Compliments to her student, as well."
More ticking of the jaw.
Kenji's a calm man, even when he isn't.
School? "I can help with that. I know people at some good schools, I can..." I can be useful, dammit!
He picks up a MakoCookie and almost has it to his mouth. Then he puts it down because he knows it would taste like ash. "What killed my daughter?"
Lune freezes from licking her chops and scurries up to Kunzite's shoulders, hiding in his hair the best she can.
"I know something did. She said as much before she flew off. Literally freaking flew off. And obviously she's better now. But that one won't talk to me, and Usa's...What killed my daughter?"
Now more than ever, it's a pity that his hair hasn't grown back yet. He puts a hand up to steady Luna, all the same. Regards the cookie set back down for a moment. Lifts his attention again, steadily, to Kenji's face.
"If he decides to see them, there's a limit to what I can do. It's his right to make that choice for himself..."
"Late this spring," Kunzite says levelly, "the Earth was infected by a parasite that devours worlds. Harvests the life on them; consumes the forces that keep the planet itself stable. Your daughter cleansed the infection, both from the Earth and from the rogue worldlet that carried it here. She burned herself out in doing it. Spent too much of herself to be able to survive."
There is, for a moment, no speaking. He is not her father. She is not his world. But she is his prince's world, and he saw --
"There was another boy there," he says, because the silence cannot be borne. "One who could do -- what any of us would have, if we'd had the power. She gave her life for the world; he gave his for her, and gave Mamoru the chance to bring her back."
He could have said it differently. Could have said 'resuscitated' and left the rest aside. But that would not have been fair. Not to Kenji, who chose to know, and who deserved the answer, no matter how much it hurt, how much damage it did. Not to Fiore. Not ever to Fiore.
"I...see." And he's not looking at Kazuo. Instead, his hands are curled around his water glass and he's finding it very interesting. His jaw ticks some. "Thank you. For telling me. I felt it when it happened, I think, but I didn't know what it was."
He may sound a tad bit stressed, maybe a touch too calm.
On the inside, though, he's giving his daughter a run for her money on the level of freaking out he's doing.
His jaw ticks some more. "You'll tell me? If something like that happens again?" It isn't an order, really, not that he'd be able to order any of them around. It is what it is. It's the request of a father who knows there's not a damn thing he can do to help.
He clears his throat and stands up, walking into the living room to gather the box. There may be a surreptitious wiping of his cheek, or he could just be scratching an itch.
He sets the box on the table. "That's the rest of what I have. Well, copies of the papers. Your file's on top. Unfortunately, aside from what's there, all I can give are educated guesses."
Yes, Kazuo. He now has a file on you.
And there may or may not be hospital reports in there.
Kenji's got sources.
"If I can." The answer is that same, steady tone, never mind the implication: if something like that were to happen again, it would be all too likely that Kazuo would first be in no condition to be telling anyone anything. Probably ever.
That is nothing like reassurance. But it's honest, at least.
The trip out for the box is taken as given; obviously there is nothing wrong or remarkable in the slightest. Kazuo rises as Kenji approaches again; there's a slight tilt of his head to one side at 'the rest of what I have,' that resolves itself at the word 'copies.' Not so much as a flicker of an eyelid at the mention of Kazuo's own file --
He pauses, though, and turns aside to the box. Opening it without a word. Opening that file. What he's looking for is likely to be in the first page or two; he skims them, steady and focused. Reads the handful of words three times; four; five.
Father: Hiroshi Takeba.
Mother: Akemi Takeba (deceased).
No other children.
There is no overt sign of recognition. His expression doesn't change as he runs a fingertip over his mother's given name -- shifts to only the slightest of frowns when he takes his hand back and closes the file again. Perhaps half a second later, his face has gone neutral again, and he's turning back to Kenji. "Thank you," he says. "Is there anything you wish to discuss now? Or would you prefer to compare notes after I've had the chance to catch up on your work?"
It's possible that Kenji would know, if nothing else.
And he'll be likely to find out he's a rather vengeful man when it comes to something like that.
(Kamikaze mission though that may be...)
He watches Kazuo with a keen eye, not bothering to hide his curiosity.
Luna jumps down from Kazuo's shoulder, and the tsk is from Kenji is habitual, along with picking her up as he sits down, placing her in his lap. "Off the table, you."
He remembers himself then, and his cheeks turn a bit red. "Sorry."
Luna just purrs in response.
He looks up at Kunzite. "Nothing comes to mind at the moment. I don't even know if I know anything you lot haven't already pieced together." And at this point, petting and scritching his daughter's cat is habit, too. He nods his head at the file. "I didn't look much into anything. Just the basics. If there's anything you do want me to check, I will." He pauses. Admission time. "Though I warn you, I may look anyway. I'm sometimes more curious than I should be."
Then he holds up his hands. Luna lets out a grumpy 'hey!' at the sudden lack of scritches. "Who knows? Maybe you guys can research everything you need to. But I know a lot of people in a lot of places, and one thing I've learned is people themselves very rarely leave paperwork if they don't have to."
It's likely that Kenji would know. It's likely that Kenji knows that Kazuo can guess that -- those illicit hospital records, after all. Thirteen-year-old boy admitted with seizures, ongoing at the time of admission, and concomitant dehydration. August third. Twelve years ago.
"We haven't had time to do much piecing," Kazuo says. "Some things won't wait. Crisis. Construction. Finals. This was old, as far as we could tell. We had some time."
-- and then Luna is complaining, and Kazuo crouches down to lend a hand to soothing her for the few seconds until Kenji's own are back in play. "Mn." Silence a moment after. "You told Mamoru that when you looked into this, you were threatened."
Kenji certainly has connected those dots. That with his daughter's unrelenting tears from that day and the week that followed proved Mamoru's words to be true more than anything else.
"Well, that's what I'm here for. I can be your research guy. I actually find the mind numbing Google searches kind of fun."Not that that's all there is to it, mind. There's been some favors he'd turned in recently, especially getting the hospital records of a minor, and some money exhcanging hands so the father wouldn't find out.
Speaking of medical records, and recent ponderings of his daughter...
Quick as he can, he reaches in and grabs another familiar folder, this one somewhat worn at the edges. It has the pictures, ranging from those of the crash scene, bodies and all, taken with the critical eye of a seasoned reporter, to the autopsy photos that never made it to the final, official report. The images themselves are new, printed from the antiquated sim card.
He taps the corner of it against his head, really annoyed with himself that he has this one stipulation. "I may not be able to tell you kids not to look at them. But I've kept these from my girls for the past twelve years, and both of them are extremely curious. I don't want Usa...or Naru to see these. Show them everything else, I don't care any more. But..." He gives Kazuo what can only be described as Stern Papa Bear Eyes. (Eyes he may sometimes see in the mirror!) "Tell them it would make their papa cry if you have to."
Luna is being scritched again, and Kunzite is greeted with a sleepy kitty smile and more purrs.
"The calls haven't come since the second one. I have a recording of that, and wrote down what I could remember of the second." He shrugs, though it really wasn't as small a thing as the gesture may claim.
Usagi'd almost been an only child in a single parent home.
Not nearly all there is to it, and the faintly amused expression (lack of expression? it's more in the angle of head and eyes than anything else) suggests that Kazuo's aware of that. There's no chance for him to comment, though, because Kenji's reaching for another folder --
Even Stern Papa Bear eyes don't prompt a visible reaction. Except that Kazuo puts his hand out for the folder. When Kenji, however reluctantly, turns it over, Kazuo lays it down; opens it at random.
Regards what he sees for a moment, and closes it again, far, far more gently.
"Yes," he says. "They don't need to see those."
Mamoru, if he makes that decision. Mercury, perhaps. Possibly Venus. He can even conceive of situations in which Mars or Nephrite or Zoisite might need to. But not Usagi. Not Naru. Not Jadeite, either. The gentle ones don't need to see those. And therefore those are not likely to stay in the apartment. Let the caracal watch over them, instead.
His hand remains resting on the folder, holding it closed, as if against the possibility of anyone else wandering into the room. He lifts his attention back to Kenji, about the calls. "Are you aware," he says, "of how important you are? How important it is that you, and your wife, and your son, remain safe?"
There's a moment of tension in Kenji's shoulders. He didn't really want Kazuo to see them, either. But Mamoru is a stubborn boy.
Then his shoulders relax and he looks less like he's gonna bite someone's arm off. "Good. I'm glad we agree on that. Just...if you don't think there's anything you've missed. Of if you can get someone else to see whatever it is he could see. Try to dissuade him if you can."
Yeah. Kenji's about as stubborn as his daughter on certain things.
Kenji regards Kazuo for a long moment before giving a long sigh through the nose. "There's a reason I didn't pursue it harder, when it would have been easier to solve. One thing it's taught me over the years is how to be discrete." His eyes flicker to the glass. "I don't know. But I know it's hard to have someone close to you die. So if it's even a fraction of what I felt, I don't intend for her to feel the same thing. That, at least, I can do for her."
"I'll try. But it won't work." The folder is lifted with an unspoken reverence and placed back in the box. Others are pulled and set on top of it. "They were his people. He'll feel he owes it to them, even now. Still. I'll try."
Because the shadows in one cave have certainly always been able to talk the mountain out of being a mountain. Right down to the bedrock. But knowing it won't work isn't a reason not to do it.
He straightens to his feet, looking down at Kenji for a moment. Then turns a little away, not looking at Kenji or at Luna directly. "It's easy," he says, "for you to imagine that she has always been who she is. That you had no hand in it other than giving her a place to grow. It's easy to look at her worse habits, or at things you wanted for her and could not give, or at time you could not spend with your children, and be frustrated with yourself and sure you could and should have done better.
"But I've seen what she would have grown into with every advantage. With people haunting her steps to make sure those worse habits were corrected; with people with endless time to spare for her; but without your influence, without your wife's, without Shingo's or Naru's.
"She would still have had that smile, but much more rarely. Less of the brashness. All of the hope, all of the fascination with the world, all of the admiration for the people around her; all of the habit of seeing their best qualities. But without the confidence. Without the belief in herself and in her friends, and without the certainty that it does not matter if she's a fifteen-year-old girl who weeps at the slightest excuse and would rather spend her time with sugar than subtraction -- that she can and will change the world anyhow.
"You gave her that certainty. And as long as she has it, she is right.
"You raised a daughter whose heart is strong enough to shape the world. And the foundation of that heart and that strength is her family.
"We do, and we will continue to do, our best to keep her safe. Because of who she is and what she can do, yes; because for some of us it is our job to protect her, and for some of us it is our job to protect Mamoru, who loves her enough to give his life or her soul for her, and so we can protect him best by protecting her; because we love her, too, as everyone who knows her well enough loves her. But part of keeping her safe is and must be keeping her family safe. Because she loves you, and when she thinks you are at risk, that foundation of her strength cracks and bleeds.
"We are not the sort of people who would try to bind you for your own good. we will not, would not, try to restrict your actions. But ... we would also be fools to ask you to touch a matter that has put you at risk before. Unless you are willing to work with us to help diminish that risk."
Kenji works his jaw. Blinks a little too much while looking over at a blue scarf. Part of it is because Kazuo, Mamoru, even Luna apparently knew her in a life he hadn't shared. But mostly, and really, it's not about that at all. "You really see her, don't you?"
That has always been a fear of his. Every time the teacher would call. Each time she came home crying because one of them suggested she dye her hair or cut it so at least that way she'd fit in. He lived in constant fear that the society around them would eventually succeed in forcing his little moon bunny into how they thought she should be, despite her already being better than the lot of them.
And it's because of this, and because of he had been raised and how Ikuko hadn't been, that they never forced her to go to cram school, why they always caved and gave her a big, late night snack when she was forced to skip supper for a bad grade. (After all, for Usagi, a couple hours delay in food was punishment enough. All night was borderline child abuse in her case.)
He looks up at Kazuo. His cheeks are dry, but there's a bit of a shine in his eyes. "First, how do you mean by diminish? Second, would this way be so obvious that it makes my wife and son suspicious? Third...I could never lie to Ikuko for very long, so..." And here, there's a flash of fear in his eyes. Not the 'this will cause me physical harm' but in the 'she doesn't have to cause physical harm.' "I assume, since you know her well, you have seen when she gets angry. Legitimately angry. She didn't get that from me. Luna? Tell him."
He holds up the cat, who flails a moment but is secured by a hand under one kitty arm as her kitty butt rests in another.
Luna sighs. "Her anger is comparable to that of the Earth and Moon Queen. When it's deserved."
Kenji nearly screeches. "It was two days I forgot, Luna! Two days!"
Luna gives a haughty sniff. "Well, these paws can't clean litter boxes themselves, you know."
His eyes are nearly frantic as they look up at Kazuo. Because if she was that angry then.
"When the time comes. And it will. Would you help me tell her?" He puts Luna on his lap and covers her ears with his hands. "I'm not throwing you to the wolves, on my life's honor. She's a mother and she was born to be one, and I know her and one look at you all the figuratively murderous impulses she has will disappear."
Because, it should be noted, Ikuko would take one look at Kazuo and hug him, because the boy needs hugs. Even Kenji can see that.
Really see her? ... that's treated as a rhetorical question. Well, nearly. There's a slight sound, a miniscule inclination of Kazuo's head. Mor to emphasize the her than anything about his sight.
He turns back toward Kenji, all the same. "No risk can be eliminated," he says. "Particularly when we don't know the nature of the enemy. Nor can I make any guarantees about what we'd have to do. My preference, if we can arrange it, would be to keep these things as unobtrusive as possible. Perhaps monitoring the easy ways to contact you -- telephone, Internet -- in the hopes of being able to trace back any further contact. Perhaps someone watching from out of sight. Perhaps a method for you to notify us in an instant that there's trouble. Perhaps something as obtrusive as Saburo stopping by to drop something off for Usagi, and letting Shingo talk him into playing video games while he's there. And no, only a small fraction of the times he's done that already have been because we were concerned."
His mouth tightens briefly. "But I can't guarantee my preference. We don't know the enemy's power or reach. We don't know how or when, or whether, it or they will show themselves. We can do things much more quietly if we're working with you rather than around you. But I can't promise you it will always be quiet."
And then there's the entire question of Ikuko. Whatever it is that Luna's comparing Ikuko's wrath to, it's enough to draw a slight flinch from Kazuo. He starts to answer at the 'would you help me tell her?', but Kenji's not done talking --
Given the amazingly flat look he gets at the explanation of the disappearing murderous impulses, he might have wanted to stop someplace around the throwing-to-the-wolves comment. Before or after, both would've been fine.
Still. Personal preferences don't affect the answer. "The point," Kazuo says, "is to keep all of you safe, is it not? Keeping you from spontaneously combusting under the force of your lady's wrath would count as part of that."
Yes, he did just use that phrase to refer to Ikuko.
And it's good, that it's treated as rhetorical. If it weren't, even though if Kazuo had answered in the positive, Kenji wouldn't feel as relieved by it.
He nods, though. Looks up startled at having been unknowingly protected in the past. A bit of a suspicious glint in his eyes after that, but only over 'how many more times?'
"I understand. Just...if at all possible, give me warning? Even a minute would be helpful."
He sighs and rubs his hands down his face. "You and yours can do...whatever you think is necessary to our phones, our internet. Actually, I'd feel...ridiculously safe if you kept track of Ikuko and Shingo's phone anyway. Bug the house -- bug us if you have to. I'm...slowly getting the idea I'm kind of over my head here."
He blinks at the flinch. Mentally marks it down. Apparently, one of these queens frightened Kazuo.
And he returns the flat look with one of his own. "I used the word figuratively on purpose. No matter how angry she is, she'd never harm me or our children. And if you think otherwise from what I said, I'll make it my life's work to embarrass you in public."
Because he's a Dad, and that's what Dads do.
Still, his muscles lose a lot of rigidity, and he nearly slumps over onto the table. "Thank you..."
He looks up and shrugs. "Besides. I remember I also asked Mamoru-kun, but to be honest, you're very good at explaining thing. You don't sugar coat it, yet you don't punch you...pupil, I guess?...in the face with it. That's truthfully what made me ask. The rest was assurances on my part. Which I fully believe."
And he's reminded of something else, speaking of then. "Mamoru-kun also mentioned a 'Kunzite.' Who is he? Part of me wonders if he's you, because Kazuo and Kunzite were mentioned very similarly to each other. If it is, which name do you prefer?"
That suspicious glint goes unanswered, at least unless Kenji actually asks out loud. The rest, though -- "Whenever we can give it, we'll give warning," Kazuo says. "Let me know the best contact methods. As for the rest -- our best technical expert is stiflingly busy right now. But if she can't make time, we'll do what we can until she's available." He has literally no idea what Zoisite can do, these days, if left to improvise -- particularly with the kind of resources Mamoru and Nephrite can put behind him.
That Kenji thinks he needs to defend Ikuko wins him a brief blink. "Your daughter's angriest threat," he says, "involves kicking someone in the toe." ... as if that were the best denial he could give of any concern about Ikuko actually harming Kenji.
(Okay, so it's probably pretty good.)
"As for the other -- I am Kunzite, yes." Tall pale-haired expressionless young man. ... very ... pink ... rock. One of these things is not like the other. "I'm more accustomed to that name. But I answer to Kazuo, and it will be much simpler for you around your son if you have the habit of using that."
Again, muscles loosen as shoulders become less tense. "Trust me. I realize sometimes warnings can't be given until it's right then. But that's all I ask. If it's possible, and I mean without putting anyone in danger because of it." He looks at Kazuo. "Because I have a feeling Usagi would be heart broken if anything happened to however many there are of you as well."
He blinks. "My daughter...has people as well? I don't suppose...?"
If Kunzite feels it's within his rights to share, Kenji will gladly listen. If not...he won't be happy but again he would understand.
If people went on blabbing about his daughter, for instance, he'd have some serious words for them. And serious fists.
His brow furrows in confusion and worry both. "Is Naru...?"
Somehow, he thinks it's best not to complete that question.
There's a bit of a puff of pride. "Toe kicking is a serious threat to those we actually care for. It's those we...well." He sighs. "I know about the flowers. But I know something happened before. Whoever that was...I do know my daughter wouldn't have done whatever was done if the being(s?) in question didn't ask for it. In the most cosmically serious sense of the word."
Kunzite. A pink rock. Huh. He'd lean more toward Malachite, but what does he know? (Oh yes I did. Zee-snap!)
"Okay. Well. I notice you didn't say which you prefer. But thank you for looking out for my son."
He tilts his head and looks at Kazuo straight in the eye once more. "You do know you're important to my Usa, right? Your name has come up at the dinner table before." He doesn't specify which one. Perhaps both.
Then he blinks. "Saburo is the one who legitimately enjoys watching romantic comedies with her as well, right?"
"There are many people who want to keep your daughter safe," Kazuo answers Kenji. "But most of them don't answer to me, and I have no right to disclose their secrets." His follow-up not-question earns another of those faint little tugs at the corner of his mouth. "And Naru is Naru. We look out for her when we can, too. Mamoru's hired her to paint a mural here -- though that's on merit of her artistic skills, and keeping an eye on her is a pleasant addition."
Perhaps there's a conservation of wordcount between Kenji and Kazuo at the moment. His conversation about toe-kicking and certain entities asking for it is met only with another slight nod -- confirmation of something that he probably didn't want to think about confirmation of. The idea that Kazuo might be important to Usagi, that she might have mentioned him to her family, wins an actual awkward glance away --
And then there's that blink.
"Yes." Kazuo lets out a breath, and rakes a hand through his hair. "And who encourages her with the ice cream. How they aren't both perfect spheres by now, I will never be certain."
"Alright, just..." He sighs. "I know my daughter's...on par to Mamoru, in terms of past life...whatsits. At least status-wise." And while Naru may not be one of them, he begins to suspect others. Surely MakoCookies aren't...?
"If you run across them, would you mention I'm interested in greeting them? Or greeting them properly? The only people I know for certain are who my daughter mentions at dinner. Ami-chan? Mako-chan? Though why she's blushing more about Rei-chan I don't..." He shrugs. "If any of those girls are involved, please pass on that I know, if you would. And that I won't be...I mean, I'll still be a Papa. That's who and what I am, and my Usa made me that. I won't give that up. So if I fret and worry over Mamoru-kun or you or anyone else, that's who I am, that's who she made me. But I won't yell at any of them. I'm not...they look after her. You look after her. Whatever else I may feel. That? It's worth probably more than you'll ever know."
Then Kenji is clearing his throat. "Well, from what I can gather, that boy's more like my Usagi than anyone else. Maybe they both have hummingbird metabolisms."
"If I become aware that anyone who protects her is known to you," Kazuo says, "and doesn't already know, then I'll pass that on." There's not a flicker of a blink at the names, no yes or no hints -- not about Ami, not about Mako, not about Rei. (Come to think of it, he didn't truly yes or no about Naru, either. No sorting out identities by which one he dodges the subject on; he's dodging on all of them.)
Of all the things that have countered Kazuo's apparent age in this conversation, though, the most is this: that there's no teenaged look, no rolling of eyes, no yes-yes-get-on-with-it, at the statement about fretting and worrying and looking after, and what that's worth. He understands. Not perfectly, no. He is no-one's father, not in this life or any other. But he understands.
-- hummingbird metabolisms. Yes. Much safer topic. "That could be," he says. "Who knows? Perhaps we should have him see whether she has his liking for work with clay." What's the worst that could happen? ... they spend four hours cleaning the studio and her pieces explode in the kiln. Hm.
Kenji nods. For all he knows, his daughter is incredibly popular when it comes to friends. (Actually, even with those three, his daughter is still very popular. There are other names she mentions, of course, but those three comes up the most. Minori, too, until the accident. The accident where Minori saved his daughter's life and--) "Minori. Do you know that name?"
It's not a thought out question. Just a genuine curiosity.
He snorts, though, because his daughter has worked with clay in the past. "When other fathers got ashtrays for father's day from art class, I got a blob. A circular blob. She said it was the earth because the earth was prettier than an ashtray, but it's all blue. I use it as a paperweight at work, which is more than what I would do with an ashtray. Still, it's a very 'If Waterworld Was Real' sort of thing."
Does he know that name? "Yes," Kazuo says. He's been speaking quietly all along, but that particular tone is something a little different.
A circular blob, on the other hand ... Kazuo's expression doesn't actually change, but he lifts a hand to cover his mouth unnecessarily. "I see. Perhaps not ceramics, then." Play-Doh is forever an option. Even a common one, when people are providing Jadeite with fidget toys.
He notices that change. The slight shift, either left or right he doesn't know. But he notices it. "Did she really die to protect her? And is that really why my Usa was so different for several months after that? Why she woke up screaming?"
He asks, because even though he doesn't know this boy very well, he knows he tells the truth. The best he can, anyway.
However, his lips do twitch. "Ceramics? No. But I've always thought she'd make a wonderful writer."
The youma that wore Mamoru's face, and power, and roses, and bore his connection to her soul. The terrible moments in the wake of Walpurgisnacht, when Endymion placed himself between Beryl and his Shitennou rather than leave them to face her alone, and paid for it with his mind and his identity.
"Those are questions," Kazuo says in that same level, quiet tone, "that I don't have the right to answer." His eyes hold answers, hold truths. But none of them are clear, and all of them are like the photographs in that folder: something no-one should have to see or to know.
It's not quite in him to answer that lighter note, not right now.
And Kenji has to look down, away from that look. Because he knows it for what it is, even if he doesn't want to admit it.
But, stubbornly, guilt for what?
Still, he lets it go. "I see."
It's sort of the truth.
Still, he's Kenji and he doesn't like to be serious for very long. At least not on the outside.
His eyebrow quirks up, just so, as he looks back up at Kazuo. "She got better around white day. May I assume it's because of him? Did he give her the world?"
Okay,there's some teasing in his voice, but really, he's a firm believer that his daughter deserves nothing less. Even if it wasn't the literal world.
"They reversed it this year, I understand," Kunzite replies, glancing back toward Kenji. "He gave her the world around Valentine's Day. She gave it back to him a month later." A little before White Day, technically. That was probably just when she finally managed to catch up on sleep.
He bits back a grin, but manages to keep his expression more or less blank otherwise. "Good to know. Also good to know he has an idea on her worth. She would have been happy with chocolate, I'm sure, but."
And of course, the 'she's worth more than that, all the things ever, if she were given the sun itself it wouldn't be enough' remains unspoken.
This Mamoru kid, one day, taking in account past lives as he knows them, and what he knows of this one, perhaps, possibly, may one day almost be worthy of his daughter.
(Let's face it, that's the best anyone can hope for.)
He leans forward a bit and sighs, and it's almost one of defeat. And it's almost good natured. "If I try to keep them apart, even if only until she's eighteen, she'll hate me forever, won't she."
Always unspoken. But really. If she were just given the sun like that, what would the two of them have to keep them busy?
"Not forever," Kazuo says. "You're her father." It wouldn't be true of all fathers, heaven knows. Her father, though. That's true. "But I've found, on the whole, that it's wisest not to try to give orders you already know won't be obeyed."
Literally putting her on a different planet would not be enough. Demonstrably.
Well, there are ways. But Kenji will only ever think of those more as 'holding hands with three feet between them' rather than anything involving smoochies. Even after they're married.
...Especially after they're married.
And he's not internally freaking out or anything, of course not.
So, since he's not freaking out, he clears his throat. "True. In the end, it's all much less of a headache anyway." Hard eyes suddenly look up at Kunzite. "What's the ring for."
Again. Kenji is not stupid.
No matter how much he sometimes wishes he were.
Those hard eyes get the calmest blink in the world. "The obvious," Kazuo answers. "That when she's old enough, he'll ask."
Old enough for what, and ask what, are left as a trivial exercise for the photographer.
Queue internal screaming.
YOU MEAN WHEN SHE'S SEVENTY RIGHT?! RIGHT?! RIGHT?!?!?!?!
He does have the presence of mind to send his hands flat. Luna scurries onto Kunzite's lap and cleans down some ruffled fur.
Impressive. When he read Usagi's diary, it was still only in her thirties. That was -- what, seven months ago? Five years a month? Or a year a week, perhaps?
Luna is given safe harbor, and steady fingers to smooth down the fur she hasn't gotten to yet. "There could be worse things," is all Kazuo says out loud.
He could be courting Kenji's daughter, for instance. In theory. In a very far distant from reality theory.
Kenji's eye twitches, just a little.
Thirty years old to start dating, seventy when she can marry.
And there's the catch twenty-two, if more than that had been spoken out loud. Because on one hand, IS SHE NOT GOOD ENOUGH FOR YOU!!!! While on the other, YOU'RE TWENTY-FIVE IT'S BAD ENOUGH HE'S EIGHTEEN!!!
He takes a few, calm, composing breaths. "I think, for my sanity, I'll tuck away that I know what it's far away. Deep. Buried beneath even the time I saw my parents...'kissing.'" Shudder. Ew. Still too soon.