Author:
amarielah Title: Captive
Fandoms: Digimon
Rating: PG for this chapter.
Pairings: Ken/Miyako
Wordcount: 4,237
Warnings: None.
Summary: Aged-up semi-AU. In which Miyako gets captured, the Kaiser is repressed in all the wrong ways, and things become more complicated than either of them want.
Nobody would ever accuse Inoue Mantarou of being the most sensitive guy in the world. In fact, as far as being sensitive went, Mantarou placed pretty far down on the list. But he had seen his little sister growing up, and, as such, he knew her moods like the back of his own hand. And, seeing the way she was slouching across from him at the table, barely interested in her food, he knew that something wasn't right. Furthermore, it was something big; because only something really bad could make Miyako lose interest in her food.
"So, Ko-chan," he began, using his old nickname for her. "How's school going? Still aiming for Todai?"
"Yeah," she replied, offering him a weak smile.
He raised his eyebrows. "Where's the enthusiasm? You were so excited about it the last time I asked that you nearly blew a gasket. Having second thoughts?"
She shook her head.
His fiancé Shizuna elbowed him in the ribs, giving him her "shut the hell up you idiot" look, and he gasped a little in pain.
"What was that for?" he whispered.
"We'll talk later," she said. Then added, "Men."
The rest of dinner consisted of his parents questioning him and Shizuna while Miyako looked down at her barely-eaten food in dejection. And, once the two of them were alone in their bedroom, Shizuna leaned in and said, "She's having boy trouble."
Mantarou scowled. "No way, Shizuna."
She rolled her eyes and sighed. "You're just saying that because you can't accept the fact that she's all grown up."
Folding his arms defensively, he said, "My little sister is not dating someone."
"So what are your other sisters doing, then?"
"Doesn't matter. They're old enough."
Shizuna also crossed her arms. "And how old will Miyako-chan have to be before she has your permission to date?"
He thought about this for a moment. Then, matter-of-factly, he said, "Thirty."
She rolled her eyes again. "Fine. I guess I'll just have to go talk to her myself." And she walked out of the bedroom and over to Miyako's, knocking lightly on the door. "Miyako-chan," she said, giving another quick knock. "Can I come in?"
"Uh...yeah," came the hesitant answer.
Shizuna opened the door and walked inside the room, taking the liberty to sit on Miyako's bed. Miyako for her part was seated at her desk, pencil in hand and textbook open.
"I am so glad that I'm out of high school," said Shizuna, making a face at the textbook. "All that studying."
Miyako offered her a smile. "Yeah, it can get pretty tiresome. I like learning things, but I don't think I'm ever going to need to know the names of anyEuropean monarchs once I'm in university."
Nodding in understanding, Shizuna said, "So...do want to talk about it?"
Miyako blinked. "About what?"
A sly smile came to Shizuna's lips. "About the boy that you're having trouble with."
Miyako blinked again. "...Boy?" And suddenly, comprehension sparked in her eyes. She barked out a very unconvincing laugh. "A boy? Hah! I wish!"
"Uh-huh," said Shizuna.
Miyako gave her hand a dismissive wave, a big fake smile stretching her lips. "That's seriously ridiculous. I am completely and utterly devoid of any problems involving boys."
"So..." said the older woman, putting a hand to her chin. "Is it an unrequited love?"
"No way!" said Miyako, this time with genuine incredulity. She had gotten so involved in the emotion that she had actually stood up in her chair. Self-consciously, she lowered herself down again, swallowing. "I mean...there's nothing in my life right now that involves that kinda thing, even if I wish that there was."
Shizuna's smile fell away, replaced with a look of concern. "You have Tarou-kun really worried, Miyako-chan. And it takes something really obvious to get his attention." She stood up and walked to the door, but stopped when her hand reached the handle. "This is probably more complicated than I first thought, so I won't pry any more. But if you ever need somebody to talk to-somebody who isn't really involved-just give me a call." Turning so that Miyako could see her face, she grinned. "Good luck with the studying, though. I can't say that I envy you."
With that, she exited, closing the door behind her.
Miyako stared down at the textbook, reading the words without really understanding them. Her head felt like it was stuffed with cotton wool, and her eyes felt hot. She tried to take a deep breath, but it only caused her to cough.
I am not sick, she told herself firmly. I do not have a fever. This is just fatigue, and I will be absolutely fine in the morning.
She thought back on the events that had happened earlier in the day, and felt a lump develop in her throat. She couldn't be sick-not when she needed to be strong. But the world had a way of making sure that all of your problems happen at the same time. What was it that Americans called it?
Murphy's law.
She coughed again. No, she thought. Murphy doesn't exist, and I am not sick.
The clock on her desk told her that it was already past one in the morning, and she still had to go to school tomorrow. And...even if she was sick, maybe the Kaiser wouldn't bother her?
The thought did little to comfort her when she finally got into bed.
She woke up feeling worse, but forced herself to go to school. Her test was, after all, only a week away. Her D-terminal remained blissfully empty for the duration of the school day.
Unfortunately, it was not to last.
Come to these coordinates at 5:00 PM.
- Digimon Kaiser
She looked longingly at her bed, then back down at the screen. Her clock told her that it was already three o'clock. If she went to bed now, there was no way that she would be able to wake up in time.
Her chest suddenly hurt, and she coughed hard.
Maybe there was a Murphy after all.
The first thing he noticed when she arrived in the control room was that her face was very pale, her eyes glassy, and the Kaiser's eyebrows furrowed. He stood up and walked over to her.
"What's wrong with you?" he asked, now only a step away.
She didn't look at him. "Nothing's wrong," she said, and her tone was so miserable that she would have been better off not saying anything at all.
Something about that annoyed him, and his eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Is that so?" He reached forward and took a hold of one her arms. "In that case, come with me."
She came with surprisingly little resistance, but they had barely walked five steps before he heard the unmistakable sound of a stifled sob. But, when he turned back to look at her, there were no tears to be seen-just the same expression of misery.
He scowled. "You haven't even seen the surprise yet. That look on your face will be more appropriate once you have."
She finally looked at him, but her gaze seemed completely unfocused. Blinking hard, she said, "I need to sit down." And she did, right there in the middle of the control room, her arm slipping out of his grasp. Then she added, almost as an afterthought, "It's really cold in here."
"Get up," he commanded.
She shook her head as if trying to clear it. "I don't think I can."
"Get up," he repeated, even more forcefully. "Before I do something you'll regret."
She bit her bottom lip, but she still didn't move. When she looked at him again, her eyes were even more unfocused. "...Are you going to hit me?"
He sighed in exasperation. "Don't be foolish." He kneeled down. "Are you really planning to continue acting like a child?"
She didn't respond for several moments. But, after taking a very deep breath, she finally said, "I'm not being childish; I just don't think I can get up." The words had barely left her mouth before her body was wracked with deep, raspy coughs-coughs that sounded like they belonged to a sick old woman rather than a seventeen-year-old girl.
And then his eyes widened.
Pale face, glassy eyes, chills, weakness.
Without really thinking, he took off one of his gloves and pressed the back of his hand to her forehead. A forehead which was very hot to the touch.
There was a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. "You have a fever," he said.
She gave a weak, derisive laugh, followed by another series of coughs. "I bet that makes you happy. Looks like I'm getting very thoroughly punished."
He could see, now that he was paying attention to it, that her breathing seemed labored and shallow. "You should be in bed," he said, the remnants of his anger evaporating. "Here, let me help you up." He held out his hand for her to take.
Eyeing it, she said, "This is a trick. Once I'm up, you're gonna make me watch you do something horrible to Hawkmon."
That had been the plan, the Kaiser conceded to himself. Her distress was genuine, he realized, and he wondered-if this was how she was reacting to just the thought of it...
"Miyako-san..." he began, suddenly unable to look at her.
"Don't call me that."
"Miyako-san," he said, more firmly, but still not looking at her. "You probably have bronchitis, but if you exert yourself too much it could develop into pneumonia. It's important that you rest." He frowned. "I have no intention of making your condition worse, so please let me help you."
"I know what bronchitis is, Ichijouji-kun."
He frowned. "Then why did you come here?"
"Because I'm not stupid enough to think that you care about my health." Another derisive laugh, followed by a hacking cough. "Besides, you would've just thought I was lying." With trembling arms, she pushed herself to her feet, stumbling slightly in the process.
The Kaiser stood as well, lips pursing.
"Okay, I'm up." She gave an incredibly strained smile. "Let's get to making me regret doing whatever it is you're refusing to tell me I did wrong."
He was becoming increasingly frustrated, and, before he could stop himself, he snapped, "Aren't you even going to try and convince me to spare you?"
"What's the point?" she replied. "When I say the wrong thing, you get angry. And when I try to say the right thing, it always turns out to be the wrong thing. Honestly?" Now she just sounded tired. "I don't think that there is a right way to talk to you. You obviously just want to make me suffer, and any hint of compassion you've shown in the past was just a way of giving me false hope so that you could mess with my head even more. So...I may as well just stop expecting any better from you, shut my mouth, go along with your sadistic games, and wait until you get bored with me."
The Kaiser's hands clenched into fists, a feeling that was not-quite-anger welling up inside of him. He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her towards him, crushing her to his chest. Putting his mouth right beside her ear and weaving his free hand into her hair, he said, "You think that this is bad, Miyako-san?" He chuckled mirthlessly. "I could make your life a living hell if I wanted to."
He heard her breath coming in short, harsh bursts, and felt the unnatural heat radiating from her body. "Do you want to know the truth?" he continued, dropping his voice to a whisper. "The truth is...I don't think I'm ever going to get bored of you." Her breathing become harsher still, and he smirked. "I suppose this is the part where you 'shut your mouth', hmm? Perhaps you should have done it sooner."
"I-" her voice was strained and raspy.
"What?" he all but growled, pulling her even closer. "Have you lost the ability to speak?"
"I can't-" A cough. "I can't b-breath."
Her back was moving very quickly against his hand, and the Kaiser immediately let her go, stepping back.
She was hyperventilating, eyes wide and pupils dilated. He could see wetness in her eyes as well, and the way that she was trembling, and it was like a bucket of ice water had just been dropped over his head.
Softly, he said, "You can breath, Miyako-san. You just need to calm down."
She shook her head and closed her eyes, the wetness spilling over onto her cheeks. It was then that she began to cough again, doubling over with the force of it. But she went right back to hyperventilating once the coughing fit was over.
And then her eyes rolled back into her head.
Luckily, the Kaiser had excellent reflexes, and he managed to catch her before she hit the floor. He then pressed the back of his still ungloved hand against her forehead.
What he felt there made him feel sick with fear.
Awareness returned slowly, but it didn't take Miyako long to come to one conclusion: she felt like complete and utter crap. Once that revelation was out of the way, several other things came to her attention. Namely, that she was lying in a bed, and that she had no idea how she had gotten in that bed.
And then she remembered what had happened before she came to be-well, wherever she was-and, much to her frustration, tears began to well up in her eyes.
"I'm such an idiot," she said softly, sniffling. It hurt to speak through the dryness of her throat, and she was assaulted by a fit of coughs. This, in turn, only made the crying worse.
"So...you're awake," said a very nearby voice, and Miyako felt her heart sink even further.
"Oh." She sniffed again. "It's you." She opened her eyes, but she couldn't see much without her glasses; just indistinct shapes and colors. The tears weren't helping, either.
Something cool and damp was placed against her forehead. "...Yeah," was his reply. "Would you like me to get you a tissue?"
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak properly, and pulled one of her arms out from under the covers. The tissue was pressed into her hand, and she used it to wipe the wetness from her cheeks before blowing her nose. This was followed by a painful cough.
"Where are we?" she asked, her voice cracking.
There was a pause, and then, "I'll get you some water." She heard a door opening a moment later.
Blearily, she looked up at the ceiling. It was...familiar, even though her vision was terribly blurred. If anything, that only seemed to be adding to the sense of familiarity.
In fact...
No, she thought. It can't be that.
She heard the door being closed again, and she turned her head to see a tall, blurred form walking towards the bed.
He sat down. "Can you sit up?" he asked.
She pushed herself up without answering. "Can you hand me my glasses?"
"Ah," he said, a little hesitantly, and handed them to her.
Putting them on, she found her suspicions confirmed. If she had the energy, she would have gotten furious. "How did you manage to get into my room while I was unconscious?"
Ken had the courtesy to look apologetic. "My security system logs the system information of every computer that accesses my base. " He must of noticed the way her face contorted in outrage, because he added, "I never intended to use it. But...this was an emergency."
"Right," she said dubiously, trying her best to quell a cough. "Can you just give me the water?"
He handed her the glass, as well as two small red tablets. "They're for your fever," he said.
"I know," she replied, then swallowed them with a big gulp of water. Luckily, she managed to finish before her body was wracked with another cough. After it had subsided, she said, "As hard as it must be for you to believe, I do actually know about obscure things like bronchitis and analgesics."
He was beginning to sound angry again. "I was just clarifying that I wasn't planning to poison you."
"That wasn't necessary." She took another sip of water. "I know that you wouldn't want to damage any of your toys."
He made a derisive sound in the back of his throat. "You should be thanking me, you know. I could have just left you on the floor of my control room."
Much to her horror, she felt tears returning to her eyes. Why was this happening now? She used her sleeve to wipe at them, but it proved to be futile. "Um...thank you for not leaving me on the floor." She hated how pathetic she sounded, and that just made the tears come faster. "Really-I'm grateful. But..." She looked at him. "Can you leave now?"
The expression on his face mellowed somewhat, and he asked, "When was the last time you ate something?"
She honestly had to think about it. "I dunno. This morning?"
Putting a hand on her shoulder, he gently pushed her down so that her head was laying on her pillow. It was oddly reminiscent of the previous day, and Miyako did her best to fight off yet another wave of tears.
"Just lie down for now, alright?" he said. "I'll be back in a few minutes."
And he exited the room again, leaving her to herself.
The kitchen was fairly organized-though nothing compared to his mother's level of meticulousness-and the rice proved easy enough to find. He rinsed it in a colander he found underneath the sink and put it in the rice cooker, turning the setting to "porridge". The timer said it wouldn't be ready for another 20 minutes and, for a moment, he considered going back to check on Miyako.
She may still be crying, he thought, and decided that it was probably better to wait. Why did she have to make everything so complicated? It wasn't entirely his fault, after all. She had decided to say things that she knew would get him angry. And...
And he couldn't keep that train of thought going, because he knew that it wasn't true. As much as he hated it, there was simply no way to rationalize what he'd done. Regardless of what she'd said or done the day before, it was irresponsible to behave antagonistically towards somebody with a fever as high as hers. He was absolutely certain that he'd made her condition worse, and the guilt that came with that knowledge was awful in its familiarity.
But in spite of everything, there was still lingering anger. The events of the previous day kept playing over and over again in his mind, and, if he was being perfectly honest, he still wanted to punish her.
All the more reason to make sure she recovers as quickly as possible, he thought. For now, he would push the anger away. There would be an appropriate time for it later.
He watched the rice cook with deceptive calmness. Underneath the stony expression, however, his mind continued to race.
Her lips on his, sweet and pliant. Her eyes afterward, glazed and distant.
She had pretended that he was somebody else, just like she had said she would. How dare she. It was...it was...
"Why are you looking at them, dummy? I want you to look at me instead."
It was disrespectful. And with that thought, it took every ounce of willpower to keep himself from snarling.
He was finally brought back to the present when the rice cooker gave a piercing "ding", and he ladled the steaming porridge mechanically into a bowl. He remembered watching his mother make it when he was much younger-although she had done it over a stove. She had always added the salt right before serving it. Just a pinch, he remembered.
There was salt in a cabinet close to where he'd found the bowl, and a several spoons on the drying rack. Grabbing both, he considered checking in the fridge to see if there were any green onions to slice up and add, but eventually decided against it. He didn't know if Miyako liked green onions.
Osamu had hated them.
He stirred the porridge thoroughly and left the bowl on the kitchen counter to cool down, locating a medium-sized plastic container from one of the cabinets. Pouring the unused porridge into it, he sealed it with its lid and put it in the refrigerator. Then, he washed the bowl of the rice cooker and set it on the drying rack.
He picked up the bowl of porridge and walked back to Miyako's room, glad to find that her parents hadn't yet returned home from whatever it is that they did for a living. There were many explanations he could use in the event of an inconvenient encounter, but he would have much preferred to avoid that.
When he entered her room, he found that she had stopped crying, and was a little uncomfortable at just how relieved he was that this was the case. Walking over to the bed, he sat down in the chair and balanced the bowl on his lap.
Her eyes were closed.
He reached forward and shook her gently. "Are you awake?"
She didn't open her eyes, but said, "Yeah," in a soft, croaky voice.
I should have gotten her more water, he thought. Aloud, he said, "I made you something. Can you sit up?"
She nodded and pushed herself up, her eyes finally opening. They were blood-shot. "I'm really not hungry."
He held out the bowl. "You should eat it anyway."
She took it and transferred it onto her own blanket-covered lap, looking down at it with apprehension. She then took a spoonful and put it in her mouth. Once she had swallowed, she said, "It's good."
The praise made his stomach do an odd little flip-flop. "I didn't know if you like green onions or not, so I left them out." It felt so silly to say. Why had he felt the need to tell her that?
She smiled weakly. "I love them," she said, staring down at the bowl. "When I was little, I used to ask my mother to put in extra."
"Me too," he said, before he'd thought better of it. His cheeks went warm. "I can take it back to the kitchen and add some, if you want."
She shook her head. "No, this is fine." She ate another spoonful.
An apology was on the tip of his tongue-several, really.
I'm sorry that I didn't ask you before I made it, was the silliest one.
I'm sorry that I made you sick, was the hardest one.
I'm sorry that I can't forgive you yet, was the ugliest one.
He didn't say any of them, however. He just watched her, that strange ache building in his chest.
Once she had eaten about half the contents of the bowl, she said, "This is my limit, Ichijouji-kun," and put down the spoon. She then covered her mouth and let out a series of coughs.
He took the bowl back the kitchen and washed it. The bowl of the rice cooker had already dried in the meantime, so he put it back in its proper place. This time, he was sure to get her a glass of water.
Sitting back down in the chair, he handed it to her. She didn't protest like she had with the food, and gulped it down hungrily. Not waiting for him to take the empty glass from her, she leaned down and put it on the floor next to her bed.
Finally, she lay back once more, closing her eyes.
"Is there...anything else I can do?" he asked.
She cracked her eyes open. "Well...since you're already here, I guess there is something."
"What?"
"There's a textbook open on my desk. Can you quiz me?"
"Y-yeah," he said, surprised, and went to retrieve said textbook. It was on European history.
He began the quiz with easier questions, like "who was the British monarch who established the Anglican church?", but he made them progressively harder as time went on. She managed to get all of the answers correct, up until her voice began to slur.
There was no answer to his final question, and, when he looked up from the textbook, he saw that she was fast asleep. He put the textbook back on the desk, thinking that it was perhaps time to go back to the Digital World. But he was struck be a sudden impulse, and he went back to stand beside her bed.
He leaned down and kissed her forehead, and discovered that her fever had gone down. Straightening, he noticed that a few pieces of hair had fallen into her face, and he brushed them away.
She was so...
Beautiful.
He traced a finger down the side of her cheek, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath.
A butterfly...is still just an insect. He swallowed, removing his hand. And that's all it can ever be.
Finally, he went to her computer, and was gone a moment later.