Love Hina Fan Fiction ❯ Fallout ❯ Fallout: Sister Complex ( Chapter 5 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

The girls move into the Hinata district with their children, occupying different apartments in town. Consequences follow in the prim and proper world of appearances.

Anime/Manga: Love Hina Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Supernatural / Romance / Drama / Comedy | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 10.25.2006 | Pages: 4 | Words: 3.5K | Visits: 1.1K | Status: Work In Progress

Fallout

Chapter 5

Sister Complex

“Thanks for all your help, Keitaro,” said Mutsumi, bowing to her beloved after he finished carrying the last box and piece of furniture into her small apartment over a flowershop. They'd been at it for hours in the late summer heat. He blushed, scratching the back of his head with one hand.

“It's the least I could do for you, Mutsumi. I've always cared about you and couldn't leave you alone to do this. Moving is hard work. I'm just glad you did this today. Tomorrow I have classes to teach again.”

“Yes, very lucky,” she agreed, mentally noting the date.

“Papa?” asked Keitaro Junior.

“Yes, son?” he asked, turning his attention to his young son.

“Read me a story?” he requested. Mutsumi smiled.

“Sure, which one would you like?”

“The one about you and mommy on the raft,” he said.

“Ah, that one. Do you want it from the very beginning? In the sandbox?” he teased, watching Mutsumi blush now.

“I'll bring you some barley tea,” said Mutsumi, rushing away. He watched her swaying hips, fingering the ring on his left hand. Every time he saw her, he was reminded of how passionate and free she was. He'd promised Kitsune no more affairs. It was a tough one to keep, though.

“It all began on a cloudy day, a little boy and two little girls in a sand box in this very town, 20 years ago….”

“Miss Maehara, I've been trying to reach you all afternoon. There's some photographer...,” began her assistant. Shinobu ground her teeth.

“What!? Can't you see I'm busy in preproduction for the next show?” she snarled. The assistant blanched. Shinobu winced inside.

“Sorry, Aimi was it? What's this about a photographer?” she asked. Aimi laid out the details. Shinobu's eyebrows rose.

“I see. So its come to that. You're new on my staff. Go to the safe and retrieve the packet marked Keitaro Flambee,” she ordered. Aimi raised her own eyebrow but did as she was told. Shinobu excused the editor and director and sat down in front of her computer, something she rarely used for more than interoffice memos and a little internet research. Shortly, an email was fired off to Grandma Hina, oddly more net saavy than the young woman was. Aimi returned with the envelope.

“What is this?” Aimi asked. Shinobu opened the packet, removing pages of legal documents, contracts, a CDROM, more documents and an outline.

“Battle plans. A battle I've been waiting to fight. Contact the names on this list. Tell them I want a meeting, an exclusive if they're willing to pay the price set here,” she said, writing a number with several zeros behind it. Aimi supressed a yelp of shock at the figure on the paper.

“Ma'am, am I going to regret working for you today?” asked the assistant.

“Perhaps. There are no certainties but Death and Taxes,” said Shinobu, looking out the window, cellphone in her hand, finger resting on a speed dial. “Please excuse me, and close the door on your way out, Aimi.”

“Yes, Ma'am.” As she left she heard a voice on the other end of the line, an adult male, surprised.

“Hello Keitaro,” she said. Aimi was surprised, as Shinobu's son was a small piping little boy. Not a man. The door shut and the rest was lost to history.

“Keitaro, thanks for meeting with me,” said a carefully reserved Kanako. Her usual enthusiasm was restrained by experience with how it scared her brother away.

“You're welcome, Kanako. I'm glad to spend time with my Sister,” he emphasized. “As siblings should. I really like how you've fixed up the Inn. It's much nicer than when I ran the place. Of course, you probably don't have to deal with people flying through the walls every day like I did. Mostly me.”

“That would be true, yes. I've worked very hard fixing all that damage, managing the budget, and drawing in customers like once visited the Hinata Sou,” she said carefully.

“I've had to hire employees, develop a business plan, clean toilets, handle sick days, and deal with unhappy customers from time to time. Managing an inn would be a lot easier with reliable help, like yours, like we promised,” she reminded him.

“Kanako, that was a long time ago. I'm not that little boy anymore,” he finally said, getting her point.

“Why did you keep your promise to her but not to me?” she asked sharply. Keitaro sighed, looking at his fragile sister, proud as ever.

“You've always been strong, Kanako. I've always admired you for that. You have been around the world with Grandma Hina, seen even more than I have. The trouble is you have an unhealthy interest in me. You're my Sister, Kanako. My sister. My little sister whom I love. I can't make love to you. It would feel wrong on every level. I know we're not related by blood, Kanako. But you're my sister. Can't that be enough?” he pleaded.

“I want your baby. Like the others. I want your child,” she demanded, cold as ice.

“You scare me when you act like this, Sister,” he finally said after staring a good long time. Keitaro rose and walked down the steps away from his sister. She wept quietly, another failed meeting up in smoke, a victim of her obsession.

“Thank you Keitaro,” smiled Motoko, vibrant and happy in cutoffs and an old teeshirt. They'd moved her in today, various bits of expensive art into an apartment above an empty storefront near the rail station.

“Are you sure this place is okay?” he asked. The view of the river on the other side of the street wasn't bad but it was a small apartment and nowhere near as fancy as her place in downtown Tokyo.

“In every way, beloved,” she said, seizing him forcefully and kissing him with all the passion she'd been restraining for weeks.

Keitaro stumbled out sometime later, smelling of what he'd just done, sore in interesting places and now certain that she was pregnant after all, like he'd thought. Kitsune would be furious.

“It will be fine, Amalla. You've got heirs and things are well in hand here. I want to spend time around Keitaro. And the kids will benefit from spending time around regular people. They can't do that safely here,” added Kaolla.

“But what about your baby?” asked Amalla, rubbing her own swollen belly in sympathy.

“I would like him to be there for this one. I want him to hold our newborn child, just like with the others,” said Kaolla. Amalla raised an eyebrow. “Maybe I just love him too much to let go.”

“Well, at least you're being honest,” Amalla laughed. “No blowing up Tokyo again.”

“Don't worry so much. I've got too much invested there to blow it up again,” Kaolla chortled.

“I only wish you were joking about that,” sighed Amalla.

“Come along babies. Its time to go see Daddy,” she announced. The kids nodded approval, anxious to be off.

“I will never understand her,” sighed Amalla. Her husband returned from meetings caught only the end of her sentence.

“Did I miss her going?” he asked, disappointed.

“Naturally. Come on. We have a State Dinner to get ready for,” she reminded.

“Yes Dear,” Lamba Lu sighed.

“Aoyama Motoko, you've represented this firm for the last year in good standing, correct?” demanded the old male partner, Suzuku. The other partners were arrayed before her on the opposite side of the table. She was alone, standing. No seat offered. It was a hostile meeting by its very design.

“I handle important international clients to our benefit, yes,” she agreed.

“In good standing?” asked Suzuku again, emphasizing by repetition. Motoko's jaw firmed up, sword hilt swinging forward.

“As bound by the honor of my clan. Do you have a clan, Suzuku?” she accused, knowing the answer. He shook his head no, annoyed.

“The Firm recently received a packet of information of a troubling nature. It concerns you.” He passed over a plain vanilla envelop full of pictures of her and Kaolla Su at the family reunion two weeks before. Pictures of them hugging, holding children, more of her exiting aircraft in Molmol. Pictures of Keitaro with her in Molmol. Pictures of Kaolla in traditional garb, which was skimpy by Japanese standards. And it was a hot day. Their implication was clear, even though it was baseless.

“And you play golf with your clients. I go to our apartment reunion. Have you forgotten just how long and well I've known the Su family?”

“Based on these pictures, I trust you'll spare me the details,” snorted Suzuku. The rest of the board laughed harshly, toadies.

“Certain activities threaten the stability of the firm's reputation and we do not wish to be associated with any scandal. For this reason we are terminating our association with you, Aoyama.”

“Really? How droll,” she replied, amused. “I haven't actually gained very much being here, and I'll take my client with me.”

“The Su Technology contracts are binding to our firm,” reminded Suzuku, grinning like a shark.

“That's where you're wrong. There's an escape clause, section 20, page 6, paragraph 4, line 15. In the event of loss of preferred representation, all contracts are void, to be renegotiated with said representation. Namely Me. The contracts are binding to me, not to you. You lose. And I didn't even have to draw my sword.”

“That prop?” snorted Kensai, another toadie. “That may work in a courtroom or impress clients, but you're a woman. What would you know of swords?” Motoko's eyes narrowed, regarding a solid mahogany pillar with a vase atop it. She whipped out the Hinata blade, slashed it through the air and sheathed it in less than the blink of an eye. She extended her left hand. The pillar dropped at an angle and she caught the valuable vase before the wood fell over, revealing the freshly cut wood.

“If you'd ever come to my office you'd know I won the Women's Kendo Nationals twice, and placed four times. That's why you're a toadie and a fool. I'll collect my things, and my legal secretary.”

“Do you really think you can keep doing business in Tokyo, Aoyama?” threatened Suzuku.

“I'm busy. I don't have time to deal with your bankruptcy proceedings. I've got contracts to renegotiate. And Kaolla likes her bananas,” said Motoko over her shoulder as she strode out of the room.

“Is what she said true?” asked Kensai.

“The Firm is fine. It has dozens of international clients,” dismissed Suzuku airily.

“Really. And how many of them are just retainers? Without new business, the firm will need to reorganize. And it seems you've just lost us our biggest client, Suzuku,” threatened Shitachi, the senior partner. Suzuku paled.

Motoko exited the building whistling merrily, a small cart with boxes of her trophies and copies of the contracts she'd setup with Su on a CDROM, the remainder on a melted hardrive in her computer, their servers fragged into molten goo. It was a good day.