Digimon Fan Fiction ❯ These Fine Things of Heaven and Earth ❯ Une Image Sans Visage ( Chapter 6 )

These Fine Things of Heaven and Earth

By: Vain 10/16/2001-

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I only own Tanuki-kun, Hanamura-sensei, and the plot-everything else belongs to Toei, Bandai, and / or *shudder* Fox Kids.

This story has yoai, shounen-ai, and mature themes including self-mutilation, psychological and emotional abuse, general angst, and one lemon scene-meaning that the rating will go up.

Special thank you's are extended to Herongale for beta-ing and letting me bounce ideas off her and Raptor-kun, Jekka-chan, and PeaceKeeper A for listening to me fuss with plot at 2 am on a weeknight.

This all takes place one year after the episode "The Crest of Kindness," and while Ken does have Wormmon, he did not go looking for his heart, nor has he had any contact with the Digidestined since his defeat. Please keep in mind that Taichi -is- OOC at times; there's was just no real way around it, though. Consider it artistic license.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::: PLEASE REVIEW :::::::::::::::::::::::::::

And keep in mind that all homophobic flamers who think that I'm gonna burn in hell for this will be laughed at and probably sent a particularly nasty response that will be published on various ml's, regular flamers will be ignored, and all reviewers will be cherished for the wonderful people that you truly are.

If you're squeamish and expected me to be writing about flowers and bunnies: A) You've obviously never read my work and B) If you continue, I don't wanna hear anyone bitching about the plot and what a terrible person I am.

If you're not and you didn't, then please:

Enjoy the fic.

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"I have no desire whatever to reform myself. My only desire is to reform people who try to reform me . . ."

~Carl Panzram

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Chapter Six:

Une Image Sans Visage

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The test had been an issue of contention in the Ichijouji household since the day of Osamu's death. It was nothing remarkable: a geometry test, answers and the neat sets of lines that read "Ichijouji Osamu" carefully written in a neat childish hand and a large red "Perfect-o!" written in red in the center of the paper in the round over-enthusiastic way that only elementary school teachers seemed to be capable of. There was tremendous importance placed on it though. It was a symbol in many ways of what was lost and the burden that had been left behind.

Hanamura Moriko had found that it was a rather accurate gauge of tension in the Ichijouji household. When things were alright the test, the last test Osamu had taken before his tragic and, in Moriko's mind, rather curious death, stayed smack in the center of the freezer door, directly at eyelevel for all to see. It was an advertisement of Osamu's final accomplishment that Rika displayed with a bizarre kind of pride. Tsuyoshi, however, hated the thing. His exact words had been "macabre denial of reality," actually, but Moriko had never gotten along with Tsuyoshi and had strongly, if quietly, disapproved of her friend's marriage to the slightly older businessman.

Currently the test was drifting perilously close to the edge of the refrigerator and had slid down to chest level. Rika fluttered anxiously around the kitchen, occasionally drifting over to hover around the slightly yellowed piece of paper and wringing her hands. It was a habit that Moriko had first noticed when Rika's second pregnancy, the child she lost, had come upon her and it had only worsened when Ken had been conceived.

Moriko settled against the counter and ran a single nail through her hair with her right hand, unnecessarily smoothing back her impeccable black hair, and raised her coffee cup to her lips. She pressed he lower lip against the edge of the warm ceramic and watched her friend groan and mutter over the rim.

"I just don't know what to do, Moriko! He doesn't talk to me! He doesn't . . . It's like living with a zombie! And Tsu and I have just been drifting apart . . ." Rika burst into tears for the third time since Moriko's arrival and tugged the ends of her short, mousy hair. "It's too quiet in here! I feel like I'm going to go crazy if something doesn't happen soon!"

Moriko placidly took a sip of coffee. She had learned that it was usually best to let Rika exhaust herself before she tried to help her friend. Personally, she thought it would be best for everyone if Ken was just sent away for a while. A nice western boarding school might be the thing . . . something in France or England perhaps . . .

But Rika wouldn't hear of it. Moriko wasn't sure where the guilt ended and the love began.

Rika sat down in a chair and looked around with a strange dead gaze that would have been frightening if it had been a new expression.

Moriko set her coffee cup down in the tile counter with a faint click and walked over to where the shorter woman was slumped in the chair. She knelt on the ground next to Rika, carefully smoothing her skirt so that it didn't wrinkle, and leaned her head against Rika's lap. She felt a soft hand lightly brush her hair and noted the slight tremors that shook Rika's slight frame.

"Rika-chan," she murmured, "how long have I known you?"

". . . Since I was nine . . . I ran out of the house because Momma and Papa were fighting. I was running so fast I didn't even see that Yankee until I ran into her . . . You stood up for me . . . stopped them from beating me up that day. We've been friends ever since."

"I've been here for you, haven't I? When your mother died and you lost your little one and throughout your pregnancies? When Osamu died and when Ken disappeared . . .? Have I been a good friend to you? A good doctor?"

"I just don't know what to do with him anymore, Moriko. My family is my world and now it's all falling apart . . . My son is dead, my husband's gone more than he is home, and my baby . . . is gone."

Moriko sat up and stared hard into Rika's brown eyes. She couldn't say anything that she hadn't already said and, while she had been Rika's unofficial therapist ever since the younger woman's mother had passed away, there was little that she could do to help her friend anymore. Rika was living in a destructive home environment and she had a long-standing history of depression that had never been formally treated. The combination was not conducive to a sound mind and body and Moriko blamed Tsuyoshi for allowing things to progress to this point.

The ebony-haired woman stood and sighed heavily. "Have you thought at all about what I said?"

Rika gave her a wounded expression. "Send him away? I could never do that! And Tsuyoshi-"

"No, Rika-chan." Moriko pinched the slender bridge of her nose and bit her lower lip hesitantly. "I know that you won't do that. I think . . ." she paused, unsure how to proceed diplomatically. "I think . . . Perhaps you might consider taking a vacation . . .?"

"A what?" Rika paled. "Leave? Leave my son and Tsuyoshi behind?" She blinked, appalled by the concept. "Abandon them?"

Moriko scowled slightly, a dark expression that pulled her skin oddly and made her delicate cheekbones stand out with unnatural prominence. "No. I want you to help yourself to help them. I want to help you save you marriage, Rika. I want to help you help Ken."

The smaller woman stood, her face flushed with an unattractive orange tint. "Then help Ken! That's why I called you here! You saw that box. You saw that-those things he's done!"

"And I am telling you that I cannot help him unless I have you full cooperation, Rika, and you won't give that to me! You won't take him to a doctor, you won't go to a doctor yourself, and you reject any idea that you all have to make changes and sacrifices!"

"But those . . . he did that to himself!"

"And I can't just look at him and tell you what's wrong and how to fix it! There has to be a history of aberrant behavior. He's not a vacuum! You can't send him out to be serviced and get him back in two weeks good as new. He is a person, with all the individual circumstances and complexities that come with that. He's not a little adult who can take care of himself and he's not a carbon copy of Osa-"

"I never said he was!"

For a moment the two women were silent, the accusation hanging in the air painfully.

"I never said he was," Rika repeated quietly after a moment. Her eyes drifted to the test still hanging on the door.

Moriko closed her eyes and turned away. She took a sip of her coffee.

Rika shifted. "I love my son more than anything, Moriko."

"I know, Rika-chan."

The door swung open, startling them both and Rika's eyes darted nervously towards the clock. It was still far too early for Ken to be home, so that could only mean that-

Moriko's dark eyes narrowed. "You told Tsuyoshi that I was coming over?"

"I .. ." the other woman fidgeted guiltily. "I had to tell him, Mori. He's my husband and . . ." Her voice trailed off, but Moriko easily read the 'and since you're single, you'd never understand.'

The older woman turned away and walked out of the kitchen. "I'll talk to Ken about the box, but then I'm leaving."

The test fluttered and then floated off the refrigerator door. A dark shadow fell over it as something blocked the light of the doorway.

Rika flinched. "Hello, Tsuyoshi."

". . . Oh, Rika . . ."

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The sunlight streamed through the large windows of the flower shop and Sora hummed softly under her breath as she made her way up an aisle of poinsettias. She knelt down check one of the more sickly plants for blight before she moved it to a higher shelf where there was more light. The flowers shop would never be her passion. It would never even be an interesting pastime. But she loved the flowers and she loved her mother, so despite her busy schedule, she didn't really mind working there in the afternoon.

The bell jingled as the door swung open and she turned, a slight smile tugging at the edge of her mouth. "Welcome to-"

Taichi fairly bounced into the shop, a broad mischievous grin on his face. His voice was a light singsong as he swept her up and spun her around. "Soooooooooora~chan!!!"

The brunette stiffened in surprise and alarm. "Taichi?! What's gotten into you? Put me down right now!"

He sniffed, but did as he was told. "You're just no fun, Sora-chan."

She shot him a harsh glare and began to fix her clothes. "And you need to grow up. I'm at work; what if someone had come in and seen that? What are you so happy about anyway?"

He leaned against the counter and his grin settled into a soft smile as he ran a hand back through his wild hair. "Have you talked to Yama yet?"

"No." She cocked her head to the side and frowned. "He took off right after school today. Why? You're acting weird."

Tai shrugged and pushed himself off the counter. He turned around and idly reached out to touch on of the flower arrangements. Sora scowled and walked around to where she could see his face again.

"So what do you think of Ichijouji?" he asked without looking away from the pointed holly leaf in his hand.

"Ichijouji?" The girl turned to frown at the floor. "What do I think of him, or what do I think of what you did to him?"

The former leader of the Digidestined looked up at her sharply and unintentionally tore the holly leaf from its stalk. "You don't have to lay into me for that, okay? Yamato already gave me the third degree and then some."

The girl leaned forward and pulled the damaged flower arrangement out of his reach. "Why did you do that to him?" she snapped back. "That was . . . That was weird, Taichi! And it was mean. I know you're mad at him, but-"

"I just wanted to scare him!" Taichi jerked away from the counter with a hiss of anger. "You know what, Sora? Never mind! I don't need your help anyway!"

She reached out and grabbed his arm before he could escape. "Tai . . . I'm sorry. What do you need help with?"

He hesitated for a moment, as though he were going to walk out on her anyway and then he hunched over slightly. "I felt bad," he muttered in a low voice. "After talking with Yama-kun this morning . . . I felt bad. For scaring him like that." Sora frowned and leaned forwards a bit as he continued. "So I decided I wanted to make it up to him . . . You know, kinda make peace with him. I went to Tamachi today to see him, but he's so cold . . . I was just wondering if you could help. Is all," he finished lamely.

She sighed and released him, crossing her arms over her chest as she watched him for a moment. "Just be nice," she said at last.

He blinked in confusion. "What?"

The girl shrugged and her short hair shivered with the motion. "I don't know. I just get the feeling that he's not too used to it. Maybe if you're nice and you prove that you really want to be his friend, he'll let you in."

Taichi pursed his lips thoughtfully and his brown eyes flickered as he considered this. "And how am I supposed to do that?"

"Well . . ." Sora frowned in consideration. "I suppose you could take him out somewhere. Or even just listen to him talk sometimes. Try to draw him out. But don't come on too strong or you'll force him away. Find something that you both enjoy."

Tai leaned forward attentively, taking in everything she said as she warmed to the subject. They talked for the better part of an hour.

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It was an effort to even close the door to his apartment. His fingers didn't seem to want to work properly and he felt lightheaded and empty. He felt transparent, like people were looking right through him and he wasn't really solid. It was a distant despair, but it hung over him menacingly, somewhere just on the verge of swallowing him up. He wanted to scream-to affirm his existence. He wanted to break things. He wanted his razor.

Ken was putting on his slippers when he first noticed something was amiss. His father's shoes were here along with a pair he didn't recognize. And a pair of guest slippers were missing as well. His father was never, ever home this time of day, let alone home with company. He hoisted his book bag onto his shoulder with a grimace and ducked his head so that his long hair fell into his face and hid his eyes. He really didn't feel like putting on an act right now.

"Ken, dear?"

"Yes, Mother." The boy moved up the hallway quickly, craving the sanctuary of his darkened room. He waved as he breezed past the living room where his parents and their guest were sitting.

"Ken, come in here."

Ken stopped and stiffened. He had never heard his father sound like that-never. Not even when Osamu died or when Ken had come back. He sounded hard, cold . . . He sounded like Ken did.

He dropped his book bag in the hallway and turned around, the insubstantial vague feeling melting into a ball of dread that settled heavy in the pit of his stomach. He walked back into the living room slowly, a shuffle replacing his normal flowing walk. He peered up through a curtain of hair and felt his joints freeze up when he saw his father's face. Ichijouji Tsuyoshi's expression was tight and unnatural as though his flesh had been stretched taunt over the bones.

Ken stopped in the doorway and his gaze flickered to his mother. Rika looked pale and her hands were shaking. Her eyes were bloodshot and her nose was red as though she had been crying. Her breath was coming in shaky gulps. An olive-skinned woman was sitting on the couch next to her. The woman had a severe demeanor, white business suit, and black hair pulled up into a tight bun. Ken scowled.

Doctor Hanamura Moriko.

He hated that woman with a passion and was vaguely aware that she reciprocated the feeling. She was always meddling and poking her nose where she didn't belong. Even when he had been a child she had been there-always telling him what to do. Always keeping him away from everyone. Alone.

"No, Ken-kun. Your brother is busy."

"Mama isn't feeling too well today, Ken-kun."

"Why don't you go out and play, Ken-kun?"

"Wait until your father gets home, Ken-kun."

Her presence had been a suffocating constant after Osamu died. Whenever his father was at work there she was: an active barrier between him and his mother. Always telling him she knew how he felt. Always telling him that talking helped. Always prying to know whether he had any friends other than Osamu and why had he been so sick lately and how did he feel today . . . It was sickening.

Ken tensed and shifted towards the door, unwittingly assuming the air of a startled animal. "Father . . .?"

Tsuyoshi leaned forward and steepled his hands in front of his face, hiding behind them. His dark brown eyes locked onto his son. "Come in here, Ken."

The boy obeyed, giving Moriko a wide berth. "Yes?"

"Sit."

Ken hesitated. "Father, I have to-"

The man stood up so quickly it startled Ken and he grabbed the front of the boy's shirt, dragging him close. He didn't yell though; it would have been better if he had. Instead, he only jerked the teen close and hissed in his face, making him shy back. "The only thing you have to do is sit down!"

"Ichijouji-san . . . Please." Moriko stood up and placed a restraining hand on the man's arm. "You're not helping."

Ken waited for his father to jerk away from her or snap at her. Their enmity bordered on legendary in the Ichijouji household and stemmed back to some unknown incident from high school. Tsuyoshi did neither.

Instead Ken's father released him and the boy immediately jerked back, his eyes wide and surprised. Hanamura reached toward him, but he pulled away. A demand was lodged in his throat, but his muscles were painfully contracted and he swallowed it.

The doctor smiled gently. The expression looked foreign and synthetic on her face. "Hello, Ken."

The boy's features seemed to dance for a moment, emotions running rampant on his face before it smoothed over into his customary mask. Hanamura and his father were not supposed to be tolerating each other. As far as Ken knew it the first time the two had even been in the same room for more than three minutes without exchanging veiled insults.

Ken was not fond of change. "Good afternoon, Hanamura-sensei." He straightened his clothes, smoothed his hair and stood straight up, a plastic smile pasted across his face. "Is there something I can do for you?"

Hanamura smiled and Ken's fingers twitched. He had a sudden, extremely powerful urge to hurt her. Badly.

The woman stood and mimicked his motions slightly, brushing her imaginary fly away hair from her face. "Actually, Ken-kun, I'm here to help you."

Ken narrowed his eyes. "Help me?"

The woman nodded and cast Ken's father a sharp glance. The man sat back down and she turned back to Ken. "Yes. To help all of you." She gestured to one of the armchairs. "Please . . . won't you sit down?"

He warily settled into the chair and crossed his legs. He didn't know what was going on and he hated that. Not only did he have to worry about . . . everything, but now his parents were acting strange and he wasn't sure how to handle himself. On top of that, there was this . . . woman . . . here sitting as though she belonged here and saying she wanted to "help" him. He barely resisted the urge to sneer at her. Help him all the way to the nearest mental institute, no doubt. Hanamura had been trying to get into Ken's head ever since Osamu died. He had no intention of playing this game with her today.

His eyes flickered to his father, but the man was scowling at the floor. Something like panic blossomed in his stomach and he ruthlessly quashed it and smoothed his face into his customary cold mask. "Please forgive me for being forward, but what exactly do you mean when you say 'help,' Hanamura-sensei?"

She smiled again and sat back down on the couch. "You are a bright boy, Ken, so I will not attempt to play games with you. Things must be very difficult on you, are they not? Since your brother died, I know that-"

The boy's eyes darkened and he sunk further back in the chair. "I fail to see what relevance my brother's death has on the matter at hand."

Out of the corner of his eye, Ken saw his father tense and he stiffened a bit.

Hanamura's smile tightened and for a moment she looked as though she was going to laugh. The boy shifted uncomfortably as she turned to Rika. "Perhaps you should tell him, Rika-chan."

The petite woman twisted slightly in her seat, unused to being put on the spot. Seeing his mother's discomfort, Ken narrowed his eyes at Moriko. He already didn't like her, and she wasn't racking up any additional points by picking on his mother.

Rika leaned forward suddenly, a pleading expression on her face. "I really didn't mean to, but . . ." She looked at the floor, her obvious distress unnerving everyone except for Hanamura. "Ken . . . Baby, why didn't you just tell us . . .?"

The teen frowned. "Tell you?"

Tell her what? They couldn't possibly have figured out the truth about his disappearance and Wormmon was far too discreet to be caught, so he immediately discounted the Digital World. His grades? No. He always did well in school just to avoid this sort of thing.

He looked to his father for help, but none was forthcoming. He turned back to his mother. "Mother . . . What are you talking about?"

His father reached under the table and pulled out a box that had been hidden from view. He half-threw, half-placed it on the table and settled back in his chair. His dark eyes seemed to burn into Ken as he pointed at the box.

Ken barely resisted the urge to cringe from an invisible blow as he suddenly flashed back to Osamu. His brother would look at him just like that . . . always right before . . .

"You can't just go around touching other peoples' things, Ken!! It's too late! Now I can never trust you again!"

"Look at it."

He swallowed hard as his father's voice dug into the heavy silence. His mother started crying.

"Father-"

"Look at it."

Moriko's eyes seemed to burn and she made no move to intervene again. Ken felt a sharp stab of anger move through him as the air of expectation thickened into something heavy that made it difficult for him to breathe. So his father wanted to play chicken with him?

The teen suddenly found his dull and tiresome family unbearable-how dare that act like they give a damn after all this time! What right did they have to suddenly change their long-established behavior patterns? And to do it now!! It was intolerable! They didn't have any clue what he was going through and they were doing this now. And now Hanamura Mariko . . . this had to be her fault. She must have done something to cause this.

The rational part of Ken's mind rebelled against this theory, but he ignored it. Ken was rapidly becoming an expert at ignoring inconvenient circumstances-especially when some part of him was the circumstance.

Violet eyes hardened and he leaned forward and gently touched the lid from the box. For some reason his mind flashed to the old yellowed stairwell leading down from the roof and for a second he imagined himself standing on the roof with this box. He pictured himself turning it upside down and dozens and dozens of knives falling out of the box. They all fell point down and impaled hundreds of dwarfish, misshapen people on the ground. All the people had his face.

He stood and jerked the lid off the box, violently and dumped the contents out of the coffee table. He wanted this over with. He wanted to get away from the cannibalistic-looking Hanamura and his mother's wet, bleeding eyes and go to his room where he could hold Wormmon and let the little insect whisper to him and convince him he wasn't a bad person and that everything would be okay and somebody loved him. There were several loud thuds as the contents of the box hit the table.

Ken watched dully as several books and something that looked like brown fur tumbled through the air to bite into the soft, finished wood of the table. Several tiny pieces of paper were next, fluttered down like deformed snow. After the loud clatter of falling objects the silence that followed was impressive. Everyone seemed to be holding his or her breath, waiting to see who would break the peace first and say something that would only lead to an argument. There wasn't really anything that could be said that could ease the tension.

The objects lay scattered on the table like a twisted jigsaw puzzle of an equally twisted life. Ken's eyes watched the light shine playfully off the shiny golden words emblazed on the cover of one of the books before they flickered to the other books. He recognized all these books now and knew why had been selected for placement in this box. Mein Kampf. The Prince. The Art of War. The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich. Guerilla Warfare. The History of Torture and Execution.

He stopped and his eyes flickered to his father's hard face. These were only things that a good little Kaiser should know. One of the picture pieces caught his eye, though. He almost laughed out loud when he realized what it was. It was a picture of himself. It had been decapitated.

Hundreds of mangled pictures of Ken lay on the table, their pieces scattered and twisted. He had taken them from magazines, newspapers, screenshots, web pages, year books, photo albums, portfolios, and anywhere else he had happened to see an image of himself smirking at him from something, and taken them all back to the room and mauled them in the darkness. Some of them had just had the heads chopped off, but some of them also had intricate cuts that had obviously taken hours of work and immense concentration. The most disconcerting thing, however, every single photo had had the eyes meticulously sliced out.

Ken gently brushed a stray strand of hair out of his eyes, pausing to allow his long fingers to linger in his indigo tresses. He wondered what they found more alarming: the Nazi paraphernalia or the pictures. Either way, he had the strangest urge to start giggling. They were such idiots. And here he had gotten himself all worked up over nothing.

Idiots.

His mother's stifled sobs were loud and awkward and he settled back down in the chair. He wanted nothing more than to cross his arms and legs, but firmly kept them open and in front of him. Anything else would have been viewed as defensive body language and he wasn't at all certain that he had anything to be defensive about. This prying in his room bit however was going to have to be stopped . . .

He turned back to his mother and felt a brief stab of something close to glee at the anguished expression her face. It served her right. She really needed to stop being so nosey. At least she hadn't found anything truly damning. "Tell you what?" he inquired calmly. This conversation had suddenly returned to being boring again.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw his father lean forward and wondered what had him so upset. Normally his father acted like Ken was a cobra in the nursery, but now he looked furious.

Moriko smiled thinly in what could have passed as a comforting manner had her audience been different. "These pictures . . . You did this? You do this to yourself?"

Ken blinked once in a slow cat-like manner as though considering whether or not to answer her question. "They're only pictures."

Rika visibly slumped at her son's emotionless response. For a brief instant he had shown a bit of his old spark, even if it was only in anger, but now he had returned to the same flat voice, the same empty flat eyes, the same . . . living death. She wondered where all the life in him had gone. She even missed his rages, the fabulous tantrums that he would throw if she so much as stare him too long. It had begun exactly nine months after Osamu had died and steadily escalated until his disappearance.

He would throw things; even hit her should she come too close. "Stop hovering! Why are always looking at me? Just go away!"

Go away!

She could feel more tears building up in her eyes. She had cried more tears than she knew what to do with today. She didn't know where they all came from or how they could possibly be more.

Hanamura settled back into her chair a bit, making herself more comfortable. "And the animal . . .?"

Ken's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Animal?" His thoughts began to race feverishly. Wormmon? Did they find you? Where are you? The thought was enough to make his blood run cold. He blinked and barely resisted the urge to leap across the room and throttle this smug-looking woman in front of him. "What animal?"

Moriko obligingly rose and pushed aside some of the books. A small squirrel lay on the table: most likely an adolescent. Its tail and ears had been cut off and its eyes and mouth were stitched shut.

Ken looked up at Moriko and lifted an eyebrow. "It's a squirrel. Do you need me to identify anymore backyard animals for you?"

"I suggest you stop being defensive and sit down, Ken-kun." Moriko smiled thinly. "You could be in a great deal of trouble."

Ken remained standing. "For what? I didn't do anything."

"Did you mutilate that squirrel?"

"No." The boy shrugged and crossed his arms. He tilted his head slightly to the side. "I bought it. From a little shop downtown on one of my forays with Tanuki." He smirked. "If you don't believe me, call the Rat. He was there."

His smile broadened at the look on Moriko's face. This was almost worth the trouble. Almost.

Ken walked over to the table by the door and picked up the phone. "In fact, let's do that right now." He dialed the number. "Moshi mosh, Tanuki-san. Yes, this is Ken. I'm fine, sir. And you? Yes. Is Minokichi-kun there? Thank you." He turned and smiled sweetly at the adult while he waited for the white-haired boy to answer the phone.

"Sup, mon Capitain?"

"Rat, I need you speak to a friend of my mother's for a moment. Thanks."

He walked over to the doctor and handed her the cordless phone. "Here he is."

Moriko's eyes narrowed and she drew her lips into a smile thin line. Her footsteps were heavy as she walked across the room and took the phone from Ken. "Moshi moshi. Yes. Actually . . . Tanuki-san, I have a question about a squirrel. Yes, a squirrel."

Ken crossed his eyes and smirked and Moriko's eyes flickered over to Rika as she listened to the boy on the other end of the phone. The woman was wringing her hands again.

Moriko frowned faintly. "Mmmm-hmm. Ken-kun's mother discovered it in-Yes. That's it. You did? He did? Do you know when? Yes. I see . . . Yes. Thank you, Tanuki-san." She hung up and turned back to Ken's family.

Her eyes flickered slightly. "Tanuki-san confirmed Ken's story-"

"It's not a story," the boy interrupted. "It's what happened."

The corner of the doctor's mouth twitched. "I . . . apologize, Ken-kun."

"Of course you do," he muttered in disgust.

"Do you think that I'm patronizing you, Ken-kun?"

The "Ken-kun" most likely came out more condescending than she intended it to.

Ken balked. "I think that you think you're cleverer than I am and are trying to get me to paint myself into a corner."

"So you think that you're smarter than me?"

Ken's shoulders rose and fell with a deep sigh as though he were talking to particularly dull child. "I never said that. I said that you think that you can manipulate me. Or my mother." He sneered. "As evidenced by this ridiculous farce with The Squirrel."

"Farce? You think that I manipulate your mother? Like you?"

For a moment everything was silent and then Ken slowly shifted sideways, cocking his head slightly to the side and tilting it back at an unnatural angle so that his hair fell into his eyes. "And what," he murmured in a lazy voice, "makes you think I do that?"

"Experience." Hanamura smiled, a tense cold expression. "Or rather I should say professional instinct."

"Ahhhhh . . ." Ken smirked ferally. "So they called you here to be my shrink now?"

"The proper term is psychiatrist, Ken-kun."

His eyes flashed. "And here I thought that mother was the only crazy one in the family."

"Actually, Ken you and your mother have a great deal in common."

"I somehow doubt that."

Rika shifted anxiously, her eyes darting from her child to the doctor to her husband and then back to Ken. Ken and Hanamura seemed to be having some sort of silent battle that everyone else was excluded from and Tsuyoshi was glaring at her like her wanted to lunge across the room and throttle her.

He had demanded to be present when "that woman" came over. Rika had had to call and tell him after she called the office. She simply had to. Tsuyoshi usually decided on things like this and the very idea that she had gone behind his back . . . But she was afraid. And now he was glaring at her like that . . . Her husband had never so much as been in a name calling fight, let alone hit someone, but for some reason Rika shrunk back from that look. Tsuyoshi had changed. She had changed. Everyone had changed and, while Rika wasn't sure how or why, she had a feeling that it wasn't for the better.

Ken broke the silence. He straightened up in his chair and looked slightly bored. "She called you here?" he asked without looking away.

"Your mother is worried about you, Ken-"

"I don't know why," he interrupted. "It isn't like I've done anything wrong." The boy looked away from the doctor and to his mother. His eyes hardened and it somehow seemed like he was freezing over from the inside out. "I wish you would stop interfering. Did it ever occur to you that maybe I don't need you mucking about in my life all the time?"

Rika wilted visibly. Hanamura looked furious and Tsuyoshi remained eerily quiet, apparently waiting for her to answer.

Ken's eyes narrowed dangerously when she didn't say anything and he pushed himself to his feet. He bowed slightly to the doctor. "I apologize for wasting your time, Hanamura-sensei, but I have quite a bit of work to do. If you'll excuse me."

He walked out of the room stiffly, ignoring the hard look he knew was being leveled at his back by the irritating Hanamura woman. To think . . . they actually called her of all people on him . . . He could feel a lovely migraine coming on and his joints were beginning to ache.

Ridiculous. Ridiculous!! What did they take him for?

He closed and locked his door behind him and sighed heavily.

"Ken-chan?"

The boy peered up in the dim light at his bed.

"Ken-chan?" Wormmon puttered over to the edge of the bed and Ken leaned back against the door. "What's wrong, Ken-chan? You look pale."

The human closed his eyes and shrugged in an attempt to loosen some of the tension in his shoulders. "Long day. Mother was in here snooping, wasn't she?"

The digimon nodded. "She was just putting away clothes and then she knocked something down in the closet and started acting weird." The little creature puffed his chest out proudly. "I hid in the corner. She never even knew I was here."

Ken nodded and said nothing. Wormmon deflated a bit. Normally when he told Ken where he had been and what his mother had been doing, the boy would hold him or give him a treat. This sudden lack of interest was odd and worried the virus.

"What happened today, Ken-chan? I heard yelling."

The boy shook his head rapidly and his hair whipped around his head with the motion. He pushed himself off the door and began to pace to the length of the room. "What do you know about Yagami Taichi?"

Wormmon blinked in confusion. "Yagami Taichi? Isn't he one of the Chosen? He was par-"

With a sigh, Ken waved a hand, cutting Wormmon off. "No. Never mind." He stopped pacing and looked up as though something had just occurred to him. Wormmon resisted the urge to shy back from the child's piercing stare. "It's not safe for you here. I should send you back."

Wormmon stiffened. "No. You need me here, Ken-chan and-"

"And if dear Mother and that frigid bitch start snooping, they will find you eventually and what then? I can't risk losing you to that woman."

"What woman?" Wormmon's tail pincers clicked worriedly. "There's a woman?"

Ken nodded again and walked over to the wall across from the foot of the bed. He reached up and gingerly touched the frame of a photograph hanging on the wall, one of only three pictures in the room and the only thing hanging on his walls. It was a photo of him and Osamu. He had been a little bit over a year old and Osamu had been around six or so. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he ran a finger tenderly over the smooth glass.

The smile faded and he turned around to look up at his partner. "They called a therapist . . . An old friend of mother's actually," he said softly. "This . . . will only get worse now." His face twisted slightly and he looked away from Wormmon to the floor. His hair fell across his eyes, hiding his expression. "If they found you, Wormmon . . . If they took you . . ." he trailed off and the possibilities hung heavily in the air.

"But Ken-chan-"

The boy shook his head and turned away, unwilling to hear anything more on the issue. Wormmon made a small noise of disgust and burrowed into the covers slightly, hurt and upset. Why did everything have to be so difficult all the time? His eyes flickered back to his boy and softened with concern. Something bad's coming. I know it is . . .

Ken closed his eyes and sighed heavily, his slim frame leaning back against the wall. He knew Wormmon was watching him and it made him tired; feeling made him tired. And there were all these people around him today trying to goad him into this and that. He knocked his head against the wall behind him.

Thump

What stupid little people. He was bone weary of them all.

Thump

His anger simmered beneath his skin, building in his joints, clogging his elbows and wrists and knees and ankles until he felt stiff and uncomfortably. It was a physical thing. A slow moving tar just below his skin that made his body ache where his hair stood on end.

Thump

It didn't hurt. It made him want to do something, though.

Thump

Something drastic.

Thump

Something reckless.

Thump

Something so completely unexpected . . .

Ken's hands suddenly flew to his head and he slightly hunched over just in time to stop himself from slamming his head back into the wall again. He stayed like that for an instant as though he were afraid that if he stood up he'd start banging his head again. He had been doing that quite a bit lately. Perhaps he should stop.

"Ken-chan . . .?"

Flat violet eyes stared up at a pair of mournful blue ones. Ken uncurled and pulled away from the wall, looking slightly awkward and uncertain. Wormmon seemed to frown, his liquid eyes somehow looking larger than they really were.

The digimon waddled his way over the covers to the very edge of the edge of the bed. "I wish you wouldn't do things like that. It hurts me when you do things like. It's not good for you, Ken-chan."

The boy sighed and walked over to lift the little creature up off the bed. "I suppose."

He carried Wormmon over to his desk, set him down, and began rummaging around for the chocolates he stored up just for the little virus. The digimon watched his hands attentively as they emerged triumphant with the foil wrapped bars. The human broke one of the bars into pieces and held one out to the digimon. It was gone in a snap.

"If you want," the virus type managed around a mandible full of Hershey's, "I'll go back. But you have to visit me." He swallowed and turned his best puppy-dog eyes onto his partner. "You'll visit me, won't you, Ken-chan?"

Ken laughed softly and brushed his hair out of his face. He held out another piece of chocolate. "It's only when I'm away. If Mother saw you, who knows what she would do. She seems to have taken to snooping again."

Wormmon grunted as he chewed. Talking to Ken about his family was like talking to a brick wall. Especially when it involved his mother or brother.

Ken smiled as he watched his digimon eat. The chocolate would put Wormmon to sleep and then he could get to business. Thank god she hadn't found his razors. She probably would have resurrected the entire Nihon Kaigun and held him hostage until he "confessed." At least that might have been more entertaining than that idiot Hanamura woman's clumsy attempts to pick his brain. He fed Wormmon some another piece of chocolate.

What stupid little people. All of them.

God, how he hated them all.

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"Moriko . . ."

The woman shook her head and her face looked pained. "Rika, what more do you want me to do? You cannot help him if he does not wish to be helped. All I can tell you is to keep an eye on him; it's highly possible, likely even, that he's becoming self-destructive. This behavior will not fix itself and will only escalate as time goes by. Try to get him to trust you, to let you in. The more social bonds he has, the less likely he is to do something rash. Right now he thinks that he's alone in the world. Prove him wrong."

"But he's just so hard to talk to." Rika was almost wringing her hands. "He . . . he frightens me . . ."

The doctor nodded. "I understand that, Rika-chan. Believe me . . . I know how . . . difficult Ken has been. I see a lot more than you think. But for now . . . They're only pictures . . ."

Tsuyoshi stared at the table. His voice was flat and cold. "And the . . . animal . . . Moriko-san? Was he lying? Surely you have some long, drawn out explanation for that? Perhaps it's all Rika's fault? Blame the mother; that's been successful for you people in the past, right?"

Rika flinched as though she had been struck and Moriko's eyes flashed. Her friend reached out and gripped her arm with something approaching desperation.

"It is my fault, isn't it?"

"It's nobody's fault, Rika-chan!" she snapped in irritation. Her dark eyes flickered to Tsuyoshi pointedly. "Or at least not yours. And I am not a Freudian. Ken . . ." she bit her lip, knowing the response she'd get before the words even left her mouth. "I strongly encourage you to get him psychiatric help." She hesitated when she saw Rika's eyes begin to tear up dangerously, but then forged ahead. "Ken . . . does not seem feel things properly. If-and I stress the if-if he was lying . . . The killing and mutilation of small animals is very often a warning sign of psychopathy or sociopathy . . . He lacks the ability to empathize with others and-"

"No, no!" Rika interrupted. "He's not like that on purpose, he just doesn't know better. He doesn't understand some things sometimes and-"

"Rika-chan," the psychiatrist interrupted gently, "I have known Ken all his life and given the level of manipulation I've seen him demonstrate and the fact that he seems to have quite a sadistic streak in him, it's clear to me that he understands the emotions his words and actions evoke perfectly. He does it because he enjoys it, Rika, and because he just doesn't care. You said it yourself: your baby is gone."

Rika wilted a bit. "But a psychiatrist . . .? Don't you think that that's a bit much?"

The other woman barely repressed the urge to reach over and slap her friend. "Ken needs help, Rika-chan," she said intensely. "And if he does not get that help he could become a serious danger to both himself and others if he is not already." She leaned forward intently. Tsuyoshi, she knew, would not budge on this issue, but perhaps Rika . . . "Please," she whispered. "You called me here because you love your son. Please get him the help he needs."

Tsuyoshi stood. "I'm sorry to have taken up your time, Moriko-san, but I think that you should go now. My wife and I need to talk."

The doctor looked up at him and then nodded reluctantly. Rika stood and escorted her to the door. Tsuyoshi stood and picked up the newspaper from under the table. He was furious. He was furious with Hanamura for coming here. He was furious with Rika for calling her. He was furious with Ken for causing this, and he was furious with himself for reasons that he couldn't even begin to fathom. He felt small, powerless, isolated and alone. He felt more like an inconvenience than a man or father. He felt . . . terrified-choked and incompetent.

Rika entered the sitting room and began to clean up the mess on the table. She wasn't sure what to do with it. She certainly had no intention of returning them to Ken, but something inside her rebelled against throwing them away. A chill struck her as a shadow fell over her. She looked up and shivered at the expression in her husband's eyes. They looked like Ken's eyes.

"You shouldn't have called her here."

Rika lowered her eyes to the ground and he stood over her for a moment more, whether that was because he wanted to say something more or merely wished to frighten her, she didn't know, but when he left she exhaled sharply. The mutilated pictures fluttered into the box as she cleaned the table. Occasionally they brushed the side of the cardboard and noise they made was like a hundred tiny sighs, sad and powerless releases that accomplished nothing.

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Chapter Seven:

Forked Tongues

Starbucks rules the world, and Japanese post-war modern architecture and Christianity are put to the test. Also, Yamato acts and Tanuki reacts-both with interesting results.

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