(no subject)
Characters: Hikaru Sulu + OPEN
When: 36 hours after the Riot
Where: On the road.
Rating: PG-13
Description: Hikaru Sulu looks at his broken house and remembers Manzanar, and how he needs to learn to breathe.
When Hikaru Sulu was 11, he watched out the back of a truck as they drove away from Manzanar, his baby sister asleep on his lap. As he watched the last four years of his life shrink into the distance, he could feel his hopes bubbling inside, the joy of going home creeping slowly into his system. They were free, they were safe, they could go back to their lives. He had been 11 the last time he felt that genuinely hopeful. Hours later, when he was standing holding Mari's hand in front of what used to be their house with all of their things inside, the bubble had been popped and failed to grow to such a size ever again. He always saw himself as something of a realist, and he knew getting his hopes up would only hurt in the long run. Being a Japanese American sucked, and he was prepared for it. He had felt that absolute emptiness for the first time staring at the door of the house he could no longer call home.
At 17, that same aching settled in his stomach as he found himself picking up pieces of glass from the grass in front of their home. Cordelia had been called, and she had driven through the night to get home, her car now in the driveway where he own should have been. His car was still in front of the school, smashed and in need of every repair in the book. His entire family was home, and Hikaru had to be the man of the house again. He had to be calm, had to take care of Mari and help clean up the mess that terror had inflicted on them. He could do it, he always had been able to do it, to keep calm when everyone else was chaotic. It was a gift he got from his mother.
He could remember her face when she had been kicked out of her own house by strangers. He could look in the mirror and see it again. There were more important things to do than panic.
Mari hadn't been allowed to leave the house, not since the incident, and none of them had strayed past their own picket fence. Now though, they needed more garbage bags, more milk, band-aids. He had volunteered, taken Cordelia's car keys and headed outside, only to stare for a moment at the front of their house with its shattered windows and broken door. It felt like the ghost of Manzanar back to haunt them, and he going quickly wouldn't help with getting any from it. He got into Cordelia's car and started to drive towards the grocery store, only to drive right past it. He needed air, he needed to get out of this town, he needed to relieve the pressure of Manzanar on his chest.
He drove until he didn't feel like driving anymore, near the spot where the party had happened a few weeks ago, near where he had been when he drove Pavel home. He didn't want to think about Pavel right now, nor how he was doing in this situation. All he wanted to do was breathe.
Rolling down the windows, he rested his forehead against the steering wheel momentarily before leaning back against the seat, sighing and running his hands over his face and up to his head.
He wanted to breathe more than he wanted to cry, but that was Hikaru Sulu for you.
When: 36 hours after the Riot
Where: On the road.
Rating: PG-13
Description: Hikaru Sulu looks at his broken house and remembers Manzanar, and how he needs to learn to breathe.
When Hikaru Sulu was 11, he watched out the back of a truck as they drove away from Manzanar, his baby sister asleep on his lap. As he watched the last four years of his life shrink into the distance, he could feel his hopes bubbling inside, the joy of going home creeping slowly into his system. They were free, they were safe, they could go back to their lives. He had been 11 the last time he felt that genuinely hopeful. Hours later, when he was standing holding Mari's hand in front of what used to be their house with all of their things inside, the bubble had been popped and failed to grow to such a size ever again. He always saw himself as something of a realist, and he knew getting his hopes up would only hurt in the long run. Being a Japanese American sucked, and he was prepared for it. He had felt that absolute emptiness for the first time staring at the door of the house he could no longer call home.
At 17, that same aching settled in his stomach as he found himself picking up pieces of glass from the grass in front of their home. Cordelia had been called, and she had driven through the night to get home, her car now in the driveway where he own should have been. His car was still in front of the school, smashed and in need of every repair in the book. His entire family was home, and Hikaru had to be the man of the house again. He had to be calm, had to take care of Mari and help clean up the mess that terror had inflicted on them. He could do it, he always had been able to do it, to keep calm when everyone else was chaotic. It was a gift he got from his mother.
He could remember her face when she had been kicked out of her own house by strangers. He could look in the mirror and see it again. There were more important things to do than panic.
Mari hadn't been allowed to leave the house, not since the incident, and none of them had strayed past their own picket fence. Now though, they needed more garbage bags, more milk, band-aids. He had volunteered, taken Cordelia's car keys and headed outside, only to stare for a moment at the front of their house with its shattered windows and broken door. It felt like the ghost of Manzanar back to haunt them, and he going quickly wouldn't help with getting any from it. He got into Cordelia's car and started to drive towards the grocery store, only to drive right past it. He needed air, he needed to get out of this town, he needed to relieve the pressure of Manzanar on his chest.
He drove until he didn't feel like driving anymore, near the spot where the party had happened a few weeks ago, near where he had been when he drove Pavel home. He didn't want to think about Pavel right now, nor how he was doing in this situation. All he wanted to do was breathe.
Rolling down the windows, he rested his forehead against the steering wheel momentarily before leaning back against the seat, sighing and running his hands over his face and up to his head.
He wanted to breathe more than he wanted to cry, but that was Hikaru Sulu for you.