Digimon Fan Fiction ❯ For They Shall Be Filled ❯ Ask and Ye Shall Recieve ( Chapter 2 )

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For They Shall Be Filled

The future is only a reaction to the past.

By: Vain (Vainglorious696) 5/31/2001-1/26/2002

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I do not own Digimon, Ichijouji Ken, the Digidestined, or the Digital World, nor am I making any money off of this. Kazunori, Sanghee, the Golden Triangle, the Revelationas Arch, all its OC's and original concepts all belong to me.

Please DO NOT use or "borrow" them without my written permission.

Special Thanks goes to Herongale and the Guardian for betaing and thank you's are extended to everyone who reviewed on FF.net, especially Athena, ShinniJekka, KA, Pan-chan, Crew of the Clow, Mink, and Soulfull Ishida.

Because of the FF.net situation, this story will be posted here gradually. The entire fic and its sequel can be found here: http://www.fanfiction.net/profile.php?userid=91738

Thank you and please read and review.

~ Vain

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~ Because narrow is the gate and difficult is the way which leads to life,

andthere are few who find it.

-Matthew 7:14

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Chapter Two

Ask and Ye Shall Receive

Ken Ichijouji entered the park with his head bowed and a deep frown creasing his brow. This had not been a good idea. He held a shoebox in his right arm close to his body. There were circular holes cut into all four sides of the box and perforating the lid that was placed firmly on top. His school case was in his left hand, heavy with homework and various papers and reminders of things that needed to be finished before he left. In his pocket his D-3 beeped intermittently.

He sighed heavily. This is not a wise decision. I should go back. Perhaps I can cancel or make other arrangements . . .

But there were no other arrangements to be made, and his appearance was expected at the camp.

But what if he says no?

His frown turned into a dark scowl and he made a concerted effort to show no emotion. Then he says no, dummy, and you move on. End of story.

"Ken?" a small voice emerged from the Darkened interior of the box. "Are you all right?"

No. "I'm fine, my friend."

"We don't have to do this, you know. I'm sure there's someone else who'll--"

Despite the fact that the voice's owner couldn't see the motion, Ken shook his head, indigo hair swinging. "No, there's not, and we both know it. Unless you want to ask another one of them, of course."

The box was silent for a moment before responding. "I could come with you, Ken."

"We've discussed this already, Minomon, and we both know that it's too dangerous."

A wry snort escaped from the box. "Math camp does sound rather exciting."

Ken gritted his teeth and Minomon was still, fearing that he had pushed his already tense human too far. When Ken spoke again it was with quiet, if strained, patience. "We've been through this, my friend, and my answer is still the same. Besides, it will do you good to be around other digimon for a little while."

The box was again silent and Ken knew that Minomon was sulking. He came close to smiling (or rather, as close to it as he ever came these days) at the thought of his digimon's expression and absently wondered how it was that Leafmon, Minomon, and Wormmon could all convey the impression that they were pouting given the mouths that they had. Stingmon never gave Ken that impression, but, then again, Stingmon was not the type of digimon that pouted, either.

Ken's digivice beeped again and he glanced about the park, anxiety well hidden behind the flat expression in his blue eyes. He spotted them after a moment and set down his school stuff. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his D-3 and studied the small screen for a moment. Wonderful. They were all over there, even the ones who weren't around much.

The frown resurfaced, briefly marring Ken's china doll features before vanishing once more beneath his smooth mask of condescending apathy. There simply had to be some digi-god or spirit out there that passionately hated him. The last thing the boy genius had wanted was for this to turn into some sort of production, particularly after what had happened in Primary Village earlier that week. The Digidestined were sure to have numerous questions for him, and Ken had numerous reasons for keeping silent. He also had no intention of sharing his reasons with them.

But there they all were, with Davis right in the center, one happy family unit. It was all so sweet that it practically gave Ken a toothache to watch. Secretly, however, the sight simply made him feel even more tired and alone than ever, and he buried the feelings deep within himself for later. Now was hardly the time or place to have and emotional breakdown. He could read the headlines now: Boy Genius Has Nervous Breakdown at Sight of Picnics. Ha! If only they knew . . .

Ken Ichijouji was a mess of contradiction and misinterpretations. In all appearances he seemed perfect. He was a certified genius. He was calm. He was sweet. He was polite and obedient. He was a star soccer player, tutored, and taught seminars at the community college. He was every parent, teacher, and coach's dream. Or so he seemed.

The reality of his situation couldn't be further away from was he once described to Wormmon as his "camera face," the plastic smile that adorned his face when he wasn't alone. When he was alone, though, one look in his eyes could totally convince anyone that "Camera Ken" was merely a front, and a poor one at that.

There was an incredible darkness in Ken and it had been there for as long as he could remember-even before Sam had died. It had been his constant companion as he grew, slowly burrowing deeper and deeper into his soul, slowly taking control of him. He had never made friends easily as a child. In fact, he had never made friends at all. He saw things, heard things, which normal people didn't. Voices talked to him and whenever he was on the computer by himself he saw little creatures on the screen that other people didn't. Ken had always been slightly different from other people and was shunned because of it.

The only person who had ever understood had been Sam.

"Oniisan, why does everyone hate me?"

"Ken . . . they don't hate you, they're afraid of you."

"You're special, Kenny Boy," Sam had told him. "You have so much in you to give to the world; don't ever forget that."

But one day Sam was gone and Ken did forget. He listened to the voices and the darkness swallowed him up. He fell so far into himself that by the time he realized he was drowning he didn't even want to save himself. It was all simply too hard, and he was just too tired.

But he had to save himself. He needed to find his heart for Sam and Wormmon, and himself, as well. He had to know if he was truly lost forever. It was all kind of funny, though. He had found his heart. He found Wormmon in the bargain, but he couldn't find peace or salvation. He was beginning to wonder if he ever would again.

It was like the bubbles he had blown as a child: perfect and beautifully iridescent on the outside, but totally black within. Hollow--just like him. He didn't blow bubbles anymore.

"Ken?" Minomon startled him out of his reverie. "Ken? Are you still there?"

The boy blinked rapidly several times and looked down at his left hand, surprised to feel a dull ache creeping up his arm. His fingers were wrapped so tightly around his black digivice that the knuckles were white and his hand shook. He let out a hiss of breathe as his eyes flicked to the time. He was going to be late.

"Ready, Minomon?" he asked the box.

"I'm okay, Ken."

Tossing his head to the side to rid his eyes of the indigo hair that was constantly in his way, Ken returned the digivice to his pocket, picked up his bag, and began moving towards the Digidestined with a feigned resolution and confident grace.

As he came closer he heard his name and quickened his pace to reach them. He arrived just in time to see Kari smile and nod at the one called Tai.

Her voice was a soft chirp. "Well, I'm glad that that's settled. Now we just need to talk to Ken."

Speak of the devil . . . Firmly setting his face into his coldest, most aloof expression, Ken set his bag on the ground and stepped forward, suddenly painfully conscious of the box he carried. "Talk to me about what?"

His eyes captured them all, devouring them and memorizing every visible detail for later review. They were all stunned to see him. It looked as though they had just reached the end of a debate-- apparently one concerning him. His pupils dilated slightly as he filed that bit of knowledge away for further use.

His gaze flickered in acknowledgment to Tai and Izzy, dismissed the others coolly, and turned to focus itself with eerie intensity on Davis.

In response to this pressure the other boy bounced to his feet and a stupid-looking, clumsy grin spread across his features. His voice seemed to hold genuine delight. "Well, speak of the devil! We were just talking about you, Ken! How are you, man?"

Ken cocked his head to the side, surprised to hear an echo of his previous thought emerge from this boy's mouth. Perhaps this could work out after all . . .

He dipped his head in both greeting and response to Davis' question before looking the other soccer player over again critically. He had to be certain Davis could be trusted. The object of his examination appeared to be oblivious to the fact that he was being studied so thoroughly.

He checked the urge to shake his head in frustration. What was the point in being so suspicious now? He was the one they wanted dead, not Minomon. Old habits died hard. Besides, what choice did he have? There was really no one else he could risk trusting.

With a soft exhalation that was close to a sigh, Ken brought the box in his right hand directly in front of him, holding it so that it was between him and Davis. His sapphire eyes bored into Davis's brown ones intensely as he spoke. "I'm sorry that this is so abrupt, but there was nowhere else I could go. There's . . . I need you to do something for me, Davis. There's no one else I could ask."

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