Digimon Fan Fiction ❯ Matter of Perspective ❯ Multiple ( Chapter 3 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

DISCLAIMER: See previous parts.

A/N: The taito content officially begins in this part, although -- as you might have gathered from the previous ones -- it's not exactly male/male at the moment. This is by no means a permanent situation, so don't worry. Matter of Perspective might juggle gender issues and play around with the different types of relationships, but Daisuke's intention was to transcend these things. Also: I apologize in advance for Taichi's general crudeness. He's eighteen, not forty-five. ^^;;

Looking them in the eye without smirking was extremely difficult, and Koushirou didn't even consider himself the sort of person who smirked. Not that a smirk would have alerted anyone to what they had planned -- facial expressions just weren't that communicative. Still: this whole thing had the undeniable potential of causing extraordinary discomfort, and Koushirou didn't want to leave any clues that could be assembled later on when things started to go wrong. As Daisuke had so charmingly put it, he really preferred not to give Yamato the option of blaming him for her first period. ("He already had PMS. You seriously want to see what happens when there's a reason for it?")

It had to look like an accident, above and beyond anything else. If this meant rushing a little so as to have everything ready in time for Mimi's semi-facetious Nine Year Anniversary Picnic, then they rushed a little. If they had to drag innocent parties into the debacle because otherwise someone might wonder what made Yamato so special, then they dragged innocent parties into it. Initially, extra clothing to make the new boys and girls feel more comfortable had been a part of the plan, but Daisuke decided at the last minute that there just wasn't a good enough excuse.

He had a point -- Koushirou knew intellectually that he had a point. This point just failed to entirely reassure him. Perhaps the others would be all right, but Yamato dressed exclusively these days in rather pretentious skintight vinyl, leather, or occasionally silk. He was either going to burst a seam or break a rib (depending on material), and Koushirou couldn't think of any way out. Even when Yamato finally appeared in silk, the Keeper of Knowledge felt no better. His issue hadn't been the problem as much as what that issue represented.

They had known about this from the very beginning. It was something Daisuke noticed when Ken ran through the original design specs. Naturally, Koushirou had directed their attention away from such a tiny detail until the rest of the plan was in place, but that had still left several days to come up with a solution. Even on the morning of the reunion, that tiny but potentially hazardous variable had continued to present a threat. Hindsight didn't help in the least. Quite simply, Yamato's shirt was outside their control. Maybe Koushirou had already made peace with this as a scientist, but as a man -- especially when it concerned the happiness of his friends...well, that was a slightly different matter.

It's fine, he told himself aggressively. You know that. The equations are absolutely perfect, and changing one person isn't any different from changing four or even four thousand. Why are you still worried, Koushirou?

Because Daisuke kept changing the plan. Because he had never tried to alter more than one person or digimon at a time. Because Ken had broken out into a fine sweat, and that meant he wasn't the only one having second thoughts.

It's fine.

He just wanted Miyako to arrive. They were supposed to be leaving now, but she hadn't actually shown up yet. A few of the others had started making idle conversation, shifting uncomfortably in his field of vision. Eventually, Tentomon went airborne and did what passed for pacing in the insect world. The incessant buzz of his digimon's wings only made Koushirou feel that much more like powering up the digital gate would be priming a bomb. He swallowed restlessly.

"Ohabingo!" Miyako veritably exploded into the computer lab, flashing a victory sign at anyone who stared. "Sorry I'm late, you just would not believe how long my sisters can spend in the bathroom. It's either leave without one or wait through the next few consecutive eras. But I brought pasta!" she added, shoving a plastic-wrapped dish into Sora's face. "Leftovers from dinner last night. Are we going?"

For a minute, it looked as if Daisuke might snarl at her glibness -- but then he shrugged and lifted his digivice to the nearest computer monitor. Apparently, thinking about what they were going to do today made him unusually generous. "We're going. DIGITAL GATE, OPEN!"

There was a flash of light, and a wave of heat rolled out to greet them. Koushirou had decided some time ago that the whole process reminded him of opening an actual, physical door that led outside. He held his breath, and watched them all go through exactly like they always did. Waiting unconsciously for some indication of what he knew was happening approximately halfway through the portal.

Slowly, the room emptied. Daisuke let out a whoop and grabbed hold of Ken's hand, as if his boyfriend weren't perfectly capable of traveling alone. Iori sighed almost inaudibly in a manner that might have been long-suffering and followed. Jyou quickly searched his pockets because he never did remember to take his digivice out ahead of time. Yamato smiled gently at Sora, who found an excuse to squeeze his shoulder or touch his face so that they went together, and Taichi almost didn't go at all because he was still gazing at where the two of them had been with a perfectly blank expression on his face. Takeru got caught kissing his girlfriend surreptitiously and grinned, waving her ahead of him like the gentlemen he epitomized.

Then he realized that Miyako wasn't moving. Frowning, Koushirou glanced over to find her peering at her D-3 and looking deeply puzzled. Shit. He knew they should have let her in on the plan ahead of time. Even Daisuke must have known that much, but he and Ken didn't need her help the way they needed Koushirou's. Besides...she had a part in the plan that she might not agree to play if they asked her permission. This wasn't a disaster. All he had to do was stay calm.

"Miyako-kun? Are you staying here?" he asked, in what passed for a mild and unconcerned tone of voice.

She blinked, evidently startled out of her thoughts by the question. "No, but...Koushirou-senpai, I think you should have a look at this. There might be something wrong with my digivice."

Rapid assessment of a situation was one of Koushirou's strong suits, but still he wished he had made up a response ahead of time. Every second of hesitation between her request and his explanation increased the likelihood that she would decide he had been acting strangely when she thought about their conversation after the fact. Because of this, Koushirou actually leaned over to examine her proffered D-3 before figuring out what to say. Looking at what anyone but Miyako would have dismissed as too small an anomaly to worry about made him smile inwardly; as nervous as he felt, the Keeper of Knowledge was still impressed.

"You know," he heard himself saying unexpectedly, "I noticed that when I came in this morning. It seemed odd, so I was going to run a diagnostic check with Gennai-san, but...I don't think I ever actually got around to it. You see, Jyou-san called on my cell phone to make sure the party was today and not tomorrow, and then he wanted to know what I thought he should bring for lunch and were there any food allergies he didn't know about and did I think Mimi-san had been avoiding him, and...well, you know how Jyou is." Realizing with a jolt that most of this was a lie, Koushirou took a moment to pray fervently that it didn't come back to haunt him. Making himself look uncertain (not exactly challenging, under the circumstances), he continued in a halting manner. "Do you think everyone else is all right?"

As expected, Miyako sucked in her breath and brought up a view of what should have been the landing site. Palmon stood there alone, obviously agitated and glancing about every few seconds impatiently. She hurried over to press her face against the monitor, and even though her enormous black eyes showed little emotion, Koushirou could all but taste the digimon's fear. "Koushirou! Please, you have to come right away! I think Mimi's sick!"

He wasn't given time to react: Miyako had probably readied her digivice before Palmon so much as opened her mouth. Perhaps she would have responded like that for anyone, but as her adopted elder sister, Mimi had special priority. Taking a deep albeit somewhat unsteady breath, Koushirou followed as soon as he had recovered from the abruptness of her departure. He knew what was wrong with Mimi, even if Palmon didn't. That hardly prevented him from feeling apprehensive about what he would see when they eventually met up with her; much like knowing that their transportation would be suddenly and painfully interrupted hardly prevented him from crying out when what felt like a sledgehammer slammed into the back of his skull.

Darkness came swiftly after that.

* * *

When Taichi awoke, his first and admittedly weird thought was that someone ought to tell that bus driver that you weren't supposed to be able to do things like that in zero gravity. His second thought was that at least he hadn't broken every bone in his body -- two of his fingers still moved without excruciating pain. Around this point, he realized that he had landed on top of Sora and quickly rolled away from her because the last thing he needed was Yamato starting in again about whether or not he wanted his best friend's girl. It was a rather ironic concept in Taichi's opinion, mostly because his current interest in Sora mostly revolved around setting crude little effigies on fire. Not that he had ever done that more than once.

Of course, when he lay there with his eyes closed to block out the vengeful sunlight, Taichi thought he could understand the attraction. Sure, the Keeper of Love had been flat like a brick wall on into tenth grade, but she was nice and almost cute in a Bambi kinda way. Plus, unless the bus driver had snuck water balloons between them after he ran them over, Sora's boob fairy had finally paid a visit. Only process of elimination kept him from thinking he had landed on Mimi instead, and even then he wasn't so sure.

The brunette pinched himself and slowly got to his feet. He had stopped caring at some point that his resentment towards Sora had no real justification, but habit saw him through the motions of berating himself for it anyway.

Feeling at least slightly more able to deal with whatever had gone wrong, Taichi schooled his features into leaderly determination and turned around to check on Sora. It wasn't her fault he hadn't realized how much he loved her boyfriend until they started spending all their time together. If he looked at her as just another soldier instead of the person who kissed Yamato when they were alone, then maybe --

That wasn't Sora. He didn't recognize her, but she sure as hell wasn't Sora. One of the other Chosen Children, maybe: American or European or whatever. She looked part Japanese, which should have helped narrow down the suspects but didn't. All he could think was that the gate must have really fucked up if it had thrown him together with some random girl using a different entrance. Maybe she had just been about to leave, and he had clobbered her before she could? Seriously clobbered, because none of their collisions had ever knocked anyone unconscious before.

What if she didn't speak Japanese? What if he couldn't apologize? What if he had really hurt her, and she pressed charges? What if she never regained consciousness? What if he had put her into a coma, or killed her out right?

More than a tad panicked, Taichi knelt down beside the strange girl and pressed his fingers to her throat for a heartbeat. He didn't breathe until he found one, but there it was -- pulsing steadily. The brunette relaxed significantly and noticed in an absent sort of way that she had extremely soft skin. He checked for broken bones leisurely after that, but all she had in the way of injuries was a small bruise on one of her collar bones -- visible just above the v-neck of her torn silk blouse. Badly torn silk blouse.

Swallowing, Taichi forced himself to look anywhere else. He wanted to make a good impression here. Depending on how severe the cultural differences were (and he doubted they could be that bad), visible arousal might be considered a step backwards. Even if she was naked, he still wouldn't have wanted to... Okay, thinking about other things now. Didn't Yamato have a shirt like that? Almost certainly. There were days when it seemed as if the Keeper of Friendship could have supported the whole silk industry single-handedly.

He tried to remember what Yamato had been wearing, but the violence of their separation made Taichi's more immediate memories fuzzy and unreliable. Then he found himself wondering whether his best friend's underwear matched the rest of his clothing, and instantly redirected his train of thought onto a safer track -- like the stock market.

That was when the girl opened her eyes, and his brain alarmingly ceased to function at all. Maybe she'd been pretty with her eyes closed, but mostly she'd looked helpless and half-naked and possibly dead. There had been other and more important things demanding his attention. When she gingerly sat up and moved those incredible jeweled eyes over the surrounding trees, Taichi seriously compensated for his earlier distraction. She was beautiful. She was so beautiful. He wanted her name, her address, her favorite color...but at the same time, he had the strangest uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. Something that prevented him from introducing himself.

What's the problem? Taichi wondered. She's gorgeous. She might be available, which would definitely be an improvement. You should go for it: have an actual date and maybe go ten minutes without thinking about Yamato. It'll be good for you.

The uneasy feeling did not go away. On the contrary, arguing seemed to make it stronger and more purposeful -- more certain of itself. Almost like something in his train of thought had been related...but Taichi shook himself angrily. He was not going to let himself feel married to a boy who didn't even know he felt anything at all. Asking this girl on a date would not betray Yamato in any way, shape, or form. Unless she didn't speak a word of Japanese, he would get her phone number and see how things went from there. She was exactly his type.

Blonde. Blue eyes.

Slowly -- disbelievingly -- Taichi blinked. Even before Agumon came tearing into view with Gabumon in tow, the idea had occurred to him. It was insane. It was impossible.

Oh, fuck. He'd gone and done it again.

"Taichi! Yamato! You're awake!" the digimon said, coming to stand beside them and pausing to catch his breath. Agumon glanced at the blonde girl somewhat dubiously. "Does Yamato need a new shirt? I don't think anyone brought extra clothes with them -- well...maybe Mimi..."

She blinked, almond-shaped blue eyes still groggy, and ducked her head to examine what was left of the tight silk shirt Yamato had indeed been wearing earlier. Then she noticed what had torn it, and screamed like her life depended on being heard back home. Even shrill and frightened, he couldn't help noticing that she had a great voice.

Goddammit. Bitterly, Taichi sat down again. Let someone else fix things for a change. Without bad luck, the Keeper of Courage probably wouldn't have had any luck at all.

TRANSLATIONS
ohabingo: 'Morning. More a Miyakoism than a real word. Hey, if she said 'arigabingo' in "Bokura no Digital World" instead of 'arigatou'...

End Part Three