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completed: 07/27/2002
"Your mother called." Takeru paused in the entrance way to his and Iori's apartment, surprised at the blunt words. Iori was usually more polite than this. "Oh? What about?" "She was cleaning and found some old things of yours," Iori said, watching Takeru toe off his shoes. He stood leaning against the wall in front of Takeru, arms folded, eyes narrowed. "She wants to know if you still want them." "I'll go over tomorrow after classes, then," Takeru said, cautiously. Something had annoyed Iori and Takeru doubted it was his mother. "Anything else?" "Yes," said Iori, "Hikari called. She says she wants to see you. She has something --" His expression and tone became sharp. "-- important to talk to you about." Ah. That explained that. Who else but Hikari could get Iori so riled up? "Oh," Takeru said softly. He walked past Iori into the living room and let his book bag fall off his shoulder. It landed heavily next to the couch, weighed down by all his books and papers. "Getting kind of overdue, wasn't she?" Iori continued, following up hard on Takeru's heels. "Been what, five months this time? Really good record for Hikari. Gee, I almost thought that she wasn't going to beg you to take her back." He was practically sneering at this point. Nothing like resentment to make the normally courteous twenty-one year-old turn nasty. "Please, Iori-kun, not now," Takeru moaned. He dropped onto the couch and covered his face. "I've told you before, I'm not taking her back. This last time was just that; the last time." They'd been playing the break-up-and-get-back-together game for years now, almost since they started dating back in high school. He no longer remember when it first started or even all the reasons behind the break-ups. Some may have been justified, others not. Many had been her call, some were his. He'd lain awake more than one night, digging through his memories of their relationship, the good times and the bad, analyzing them for answers on what to do next. Whether he should stay or go, return to her or refuse her. It was strange how, for all that work, he'd ended up losing sight of what he truly wanted. It was a vicious cycle, so familiar he'd been unable to break it. Until now. They were done for real. Iori sat down in the armchair across from him, his angry expression not wavering. Takeru had no right to expect sympathy from him. Iori had believed in him twice before, only to have that trust shattered when Takeru starting dating Hikari again. "I wonder what the excuse will be this time," Iori mused sarcastically, "Has she finally discovered the truth and realized that you're the only one for her? Or was she hurt by her other boyfriend and badly needs your comfort? Maybe she's ---" "I'm going out," Takeru said, standing up. It was bad enough that he had to face his ex-girlfriend again. Justified or not, he didn't want to get ragged on by his best friend in the meantime. "No, you just got home." Iori stopped him with a raised hand. "I'll go. It'll give you a chance to make your phone calls." Without looking back, Iori walked stiffly out of the living room and into the hall. Moments later, the door opened and slammed closed. Takeru fell back on the couch and hung his head. "Damnit." He hated fighting with Iori. It was like kicking a puppy. A particularly snappy, sharp toothed puppy, but a puppy nonetheless. He frowned, thinking about Iori's animosity to Hikari. It was sad really. They used to be good friends. Of course we all were, weren't we? The whole gang, all twelve of us...always together. Not anymore, I guess. Come to think of it, he hardly saw most of his childhood friends anymore. Iori and Hikari were the big exceptions. He still kept contact with his brother, of course, and Daisuke and Ken (who were practically married) had spent every holiday with them since Daisuke's parents had thrown him out for being gay. Miyako visited occasionally, but that was because she and Iori will still close, not from any effort on Takeru's part. Taichi he hadn't seen since the last break up with Hikari, and Jyou, Koushiro, Sora, and Mimi may as well have dropped off the face of the earth for all he knew. Well, what else did he expect? They all had their own lives, just like he did. It wasn't like primary school or junior high anymore, where they had all the time in the world to spend together. It made sense. Still, it was still kind of disturbing to think about, that he'd grown so distant from people who'd been so important. Takeru shook off his regret and settled in to make phone calls.
The subway station was packed when Takeru stepped off the train, full of teenagers and young families enjoying the day off. He moved through the crowd with the ease of experience, making his way to the less congested surface streets. The sun was high, reflecting hotly off the cement and buildings, and glinting in the windows of passing cars. Takeru hummed to himself as he walked, not paying attention to what was going on around him. Last night he'd set up a 'get together' with Hikari tomorrow -- which hadn't been his original plan and he'd gone to bed in a dismal mood as a result. It was always harder to keep his distance when they met in person. This morning, however, he had woken up confidant in his ability to stick to his convictions. Something big and heavy rammed into Takeru as he rounded a corner, knocking him back a few feet. "Hey!" "Ow! Why don't you watch where you're going?!" A black-haired boy in a blue jacket sat on the pavement where he'd fallen, legs akimbo and angry fist shaking in the air. He didn't look much older than twelve, with short, out-of-control hair and really big brown eyes. A sense of nostalgia rolled over Takeru and he smiled. "Sorry about that. Are you okay?" "Yeah, I'm fine," the kid grumbled. He got to his feet using one arm. He held some sort of red-furred stuffed animal against his chest with the other. Takeru thought the boy looked kind of old for toys like that, but who was he to say? "Jinsuko-kun!" called a red headed girl from across the street, "Come on!" Without looking back, the kid dashed off after his companion, soon getting lost in another crowd. Takeru chuckled and continued his interrupted journey to his mother's apartment. The rest of the trip continued without incident. His mother was delighted to see him and he was equally happy to see her. They spent some time talking about this and that. She told him about her recent trip to London (she had started traveling not long after he'd moved out) and he talked about his classes at the university and his job at the student store, and of course basketball. There were subjects that they didn't talk about, like the fact that she was no longer on speaking terms with Yamato or her recent health issues, or the incident that nearly got him thrown out of school. Hikari's name didn't come up at all. It was over an hour later when he remembered his original reason for visiting. "Mama-san, Iori said you had something for me?" "Oh, right." Natsuko set down her teacup and clapped her hands. "I found these old boxes when I was cleaning out the closet in your room. They had all these drawings and notes from when you were a kid." "Really?" Takeru asked, interested now. "Yes." She smiled, dimples showing. "I hope you don't mind, but I looked at a few of them. You were writing some sort of fantasy story, with monsters and children saving the world. It was so clever! I was amazed that I hadn't seen them before." The last said with some reproach. Takeru frowned. "I never wrote any story like that." But her words seemed to spark something, giving him a sense of familiarity. "Well, it's certainly in your handwriting," she said, "I don't see how it could be anyone else's. Come, let's look. I left them in your bedroom." She stood up, with some difficulty he noticed, and proceeded him to his old bedroom. With all of his stuff gone, the room had, to him at least, a cold, impersonal feeling. Natsuko hadn't done much more with it than use it as a guest room. Two battered, cardboard boxes sat side-by-side in front of the bed. "They certainly don't look familiar," Takeru said slowly, falling to his knees in front of them. Natsuko sat on the bed and watch him curiously. A strange tingling feeling started in his fingertips when he touched the boxes. Takeru decided he was imagining things and pulled off the lid one on the right. Color covered paper greeted him, he lifted up the first one on top and held it up to the light. Drawn inexpertly in orange crayon was a plumb, stubby legged creature with bat-wing ears and a big smile. Patamon. It was like a bucket of ice water had been poured over him. A myriad of images and memories flashed through his mind; of Patamon, of the Digital World, of their times together. My very best friend, my digimon, he thought wildly, staring at the picture, almost a part of me! When was the last time I thought about Patamon? Years ago. No, it was worse than that---he'd forgotten about Patamon completely. And not just Patamon either, all his adventures in the Digital World had faded from his mind. Even now he could barely recall all that had happened. But how? How could I have forgotten any of it? "Takeru-chan?" his mother asked worriedly, "What's the matter?" He blinked up at her, realizing that he had been silent for several minutes. "Mama-san," he started, and coughed to clear his tight throat, "Mama, its Patamon." He held up the drawing for her to see. "Oh, so that's what he's called," she said, leaning forward to get a better look, "I saw it earlier, but it wasn't labeled like the others. He's very cute!" Numbness rolled through him. "Mama-san, you have to remember Patamon! And Gabumon too, and the other Digimon!" He knew that he was sounding desperate now in the face of her obvious confusion. She shook her head, frowning at him. "Takeru-chan, I told you I don't remember that story. If you told me about it before it's slipped my mind by now." "It's not a story! It really happened!" he cried, "Don't you remember how Vamdemon tried to take over the real world and all the Bakemon..." He trailed off, realizing that he wasn't getting anywhere with her. She had a wide-eyed, startled expression, with a line of concern drawn done her forehead. She seemed wary and he realized he'd frightened her. He was starting to feel frightened himself. He remembered---but was he remembering real events or some vivid dream his child-self had decided to write and draw about? The images were too vague and uncertain for him to be sure. "Sweetheart, are you feeling okay?" She reached out and gently brushed back his bangs. "I know you've been stressed with school and all..." "I'm fine, kaasan," he said quickly, covering the box again. "I'm sorry, I was just surprised. I'd forgotten all about...this story." He finished with some effort. She relaxed, her face softening back into a smile. "Well, like a said, its quite good. In fact, you've got enough material in there for a couple books!" She stood up slowly, waving him off when he made an effort to help her. "You'll have to change some things, though. All the characters are named and modeled after your brother and your friends." He forced a laugh, feeling horribly uncomfortable. "Yes, that would be rather, um, inappropriate." Natsuko smiled affectionately and patted his arm. "Don't let it bother you, honey. Considering how young you were, its no surprise that you put your friends into these adventures." "Yeah, heh. Actually, mama-san, I should get going," he said, glancing quickly at the wall clock. Luckily for his conscience, it *was* getting around time for him to leave. "Oh," she said, obviously disappointed, "Well, I won't keep you. Will you be able to get those home without too much trouble?" "I think so." He lifted one to weigh it and winced. "Maybe I could borrow your handcart?" "Sure!" Natsuko chirped, brightening, "If nothing else, it will give me an excuse to get you to visit again!" "Mama-san, you just have to ask..." he began. She only laughed and kissed his cheek.
A light was on in the hallway when he got home. Since he hadn't left it on when he went to school, Iori must be around. He toed off his shoes and dragged the handcart with its precious cargo into the main room. It was empty. So, Iori was either in bed or still avoiding him. Either way, he wouldn't want to talk to Takeru. The blond felt a rush of disappointment. He badly wanted to talk to someone about this so badly and it had to one of the old gang. No, more than just 'the old gang', he thought was some amazement, we were something more, something special-- the Chosen Children. But do they even remember? No, if they did, they wouldn't have let us all...drift apart like this. With any luck, they'll remember when I show them the pictures. And if they still didn't have a clue what he was talking about... Then I might as well just check myself into the nut house and save them the time.
Takeru got himself a soda and sat down at the table, getting ready to empty the box with the Patamon picture. He had seriously considered calling one of the other Chosen Children to talk about this, but had decided he should get all his own memories straight first. Somewhere in these boxes may lay the clue of what was real and what wasn't. Besides, the only ones he could call were Daisuke, Ken, Hikari, or his brother. Hikari was obviously out of the question and Yamato, Daisuke, and Ken would be pissed at being disturbed so late on a work night. He was on his own. The first foray into his past yielded more childishly drawn Digimon pictures. These were, like his mother had told him, carefully labeled. Most were of the Chosen Children Digimon in various evolutionary forms, others were of the random Digimon they had encountered. Those drawings had either 'good' or 'bad' written on them. One was a crudely done picture of Devimon. It had the kanji for 'evil' written in thick, permanent marker. "No, Angemon!" Takeru shuddered and set that one aside, face down. Underneath the pictures were a stack of notebooks, some more battered and scrawled on than others. He opened up the first one that came to hand. The handwriting was in badly smeared pencil, but still legible. The date in the corner indicated that it had been written only months after their defeat of Apocalypmon, the real end of their first journey in the Digital World. The first sentence read 'I don't want to forget any of this, so I'm going to write it down.' Good thing you did, kid, Takeru thought at his younger self, or we'd both be in trouble. He braced the notebook on the edge of the table and began skimming through it. The grammar was terrible, the spelling only slightly better. The storytelling was frequently inconsistent---he sometimes spent pages trying to describe a single aspect of the Digital World, only to sum up some pivotal event or battle in a paragraph. But despite that, it was better than he would expect of nine-year-old. Even if it was himself. As he read, something else happened; his memories became more clear. The scent and feel and sound of the Digital World returned to him as he sat there, making his throat tight with longing. Remembered pain and sadness, discovery and joy, fear and anger echoed out from the smudged pages. When he came across the single sentence that described the defeat of Devimon--'Angemon died destroying Devimon.'--Takeru felt the stirring of an old and long buried hatred. The tale of the original eight Chosen lasted for three notebooks. By the time he was done, Takeru was shaking all over with emotion, almost overwhelmed with the most profound sense of loneliness he'd ever felt. He missed Patamon so much. It was like a part of him had been torn away. Maybe it was better that I forgot, he thought painfully, staring at the third notebook, lying face down on the table. Maybe this was why I forgot...because I knew I'd never see him again... But, that's just what he'd thought all the other times he'd been separated from Patamon, and that had never been true before. The Digital World hadn't been sealed from them this time. They'd just sort of...what? He remembered the final battle against Bilial Vamdemon, remembered going back to the real world with the other Chosen and then... Life returned to normal. Whoa, wait, it can't have been that simple. I remember that we still got to the Digital World after that. I know Nuriko and her group kept visiting. Something else must have happened that stopped us from going. With renewed determination, Takeru dove back into the box. More notebooks detailed further adventures in the Digital World. The ones set during their battle against the Digital Kaiser were different from the previous lot in the sense that he wrote them while the events were happening. Consequently, they were longer and more detailed, not to mention better written. He flipped rapidly through the Kaiser 'saga' with very little reading. He'd have to face Ken at Christmas in a few months, it would be better if he didn't completely relive all the things Ken did while caught in the thrall of the Black Seed. The last notebook in the box ended after their third encounter with Archnemon and Mummymon. The top of the next box revealed a series of computer printouts. It was apparent from the first glance that they weren't his work. Detailed maps of the Digital World, schematics for the Kaiser's floating fortress, the rudimentary design of the Dark Towers. Takeru held the pile of papers in both hands and tried to remember---
He winced away from the memory. What he held in his hands had been the mildest of the information stored on those disks. The stack was set aside along with the other stuff and turned his attention instead to the notebooks. He ignored the first handful of them, aiming for the one at the bottom, presumably the most recent. It turned out to be a blue notebook, somewhat less battered than the rest, with fewer doodles on the cover. Below lay, not the bottom of the box, but two shoeboxes tucked tightly next to each other. Leaving them alone for now, he pulled out the book and quickly leafed through to the last few pages. The fifth to last page told of the passing of Owikawa, when he became pure energy in order to protect the Digital World forever. After that was a scant description of the celebration that followed--a really wild party, as he recalled--including some brief details on the new Chosen; Nuriko and the other former Black Seed children, and a bewildering list of names of the International Chosen. The very last line was 'Our work is done, we can finally rest. Thank goodness for that.' Takeru stared at the page in front of him in silence, only distantly aware that his neck and shoulders were taunt and aching and that his eyes burned. Looking through the remaining blank pages yielded nothing. Whatever had happened to make them forget the Digital World and their Partner Digimon had not been important enough to write down. So we just forgot? No explanation, no reason behind it? It doesn't seem possible. Takeru sighed and put the book with the others, rubbing the back of his neck. Now he wanted to talk with Iori more than ever. For that matter, he wanted to talk to all the Chosen Children. He missed them. He checked the time and wasn't too surprised to see that it was well after midnight. Just one last thing and then I'll go to bed. Holding the shoeboxes created that same tingly feeling he got earlier. The lids had been taped down and he spent some time tearing it off before finally getting them off. Inside the first shoebox lay his D-3. Takeru caught his breath, gently cradling it in his fingers. It was colder than he remembered, though it weighed and felt the same. Solid, undeniable proof that everything he remembered, everything he'd read, was true. Well, at least that question was answered. The other shoebox held his D-Terminal. Trying to activate them produced no results. Both devices, his only physical link to the Digital World, lay dead in his hands. Saddened, frustrated, and tired beyond words, Takeru left the confusion of his past behind and stumbled to his bedroom. He fell into bed, fully clothed and clutching Digivice and D-Terminal in either hand and was asleep as soon as his body landed.
Wispy white clouds drifted across a pernaturally blue sky, their feathery edges pixilated into a faint rainbow of different colors. The grass beneath his hands didn't feel real, the texture different from what he associated with grass, but it was nice and comfortable to lean back on all the same. Weight pressed against his shoulder, so familiar and welcome that he didn't even notice it at first. "So, all of you is here this time, huh?" A high-pitched voice wondered, as wide blue eyes blinked at him. Takeru curled up one arm and began lightly scratching Patamon between the ears. "I kept on getting lost," he explained, breathing in the scent of distant flowers. "That's because you put so much stuff in the way!" the chubby digimon exclaimed, crawling up to stand on his chest. Takeru went cross-eyed trying to keep eye contact. "I've missed you," he whispered, eyes pricking with tears. "Me too. I cried when you didn't come back, Takeru! You said you'd always come back!" Patamon said and sniffed. "It was too hard without the others to help me break through," the young man protested. Everything began to get more fuzzy and indistinct. "You're leaving again," Patamon said mournfully and Takeru wrapped his arms around the digimon in a tight hug. "I'll get back this time, I promise. I marked the way, so I won't ever lose it again."
Takeru started awake at the sound of his alarm. Early morning light seeped in through the uncovered window. His hands hurt and he realized that his was still holding tightly to his Digivices. "What the hell was that," he demanded thickly, feeling grimy and sweaty from having slept in his clothes. He pushed himself up to his knees, blinking blearily about the room. It felt too real to have been a dream. He could still feel the grass against his back, Patamon's fur sliding under his fingers, the wind on his face. Had he visited the Digital World in his sleep? And, remembering what Patamon told him, had he done it before? Really freaking weird, he decided, dropping the D-Terminal so he could shut off his alarm. He scrubbed the sleep out of his eyes and looked down at his D-3, still mildly amazed that he had it again. He froze and stared at it for several minutes before what he was seeing finally clicked. The formerly dead Digivice was active and glowing, the little screen telling him that his digimon was alive and well.
Iori was at the table when Takeru finally staggered out of his room, looking at the papers and notebooks that had been left scattered last night. Takeru stopped a few feet from the table, tensely waiting for some reaction from his friend. I swear to god, if he tells me what an interesting story I've written, I'm going to scream. A few moments passed before Iori noticed he was there. "Good morning Takeru-san," he said, lifting his gaze from the notebook he was reading, "Did you have a nice visit with Patamon last night?" "Grrrggggg?" Takeru demanded. Then, since he felt Iori hadn't understood him the first time, he repeated himself with more feeling. "Oh, I'm sorry," Iori said, standing up. He located a mug, filled it with tea, and brought it to the blond. Takeru took it gratefully and downed almost half of it in one swallow. The rush of heat and caffeine worked quickly to clear away the morning fuzziness. He took a few breaths to calm himself and stared accusingly at Iori. "How did you know about my--" He hesitated calling it a dream. "Armadimon told me you were there," Iori said, slightly apologetic now. He should be, considering that bombshell he just dropped. Takeru fell into the nearest chair. "But...you...you were in the Digital World last night? H-how?." "Not physically," Iori said, waving his hands in denial, "Really, I was just sharing a dream with Amardimon. I can't get to the Digital World physically, not by myself." His voice became regretful. "Because it was sealed--" Takeru started, hands tight around his mug. "No." Iori shook his head. "Only the entrance that Black WarGreymon sealed, the rest of it is, in theory, still accessible. Ken-san and Mimi-san get there just fine---" Ken and Mimi? What was this, some kind of conspiracy? Takeru liked it better when he thought everyone else had forgotten like he did "--but I can't. I just couldn't master the trick of it." Iori sighed sadly and picked up one of the map printouts, examining it with obvious longing. "It was too hard without the others to help me break through," "Iori-kun, you used open portals just fine on your own," Takeru said, trying to shake the grip the...dream? vision?...still had on him. "I did," the brown-haired man agreed, settling down on a chair, "When there was evil in the Digital World and I was needed there." Iori stopped and looked thoughtfully at Takeru, "Think back to the time after the defeat of Bileil Vamdemon. Remember what happened with our Digimon?" "They couldn't live in our world any more, didn't have enough energy," Takeru said, head spinning has old memories surfaced, "So they went back to stay in their world. We tried to visit, but it was hard. Only the D-3s could open portals and then they stopped working after a few months. Koushiro-san said it was because the evil was gone and we weren't needed in the Digital World anymore." Iori nodded. "The defense system going off-line." "But that doesn't explain why Ken-kun and Mimi-san can still get there." Takeru braced his elbows on the table and sighed deeply. "What's so special about them anyways?" "Ken-san has always been something of a wild card among the Chosen Children. Rather like you and Hikari- san ." Iori gave his friend a level look when Takeru protested that statement. "Your abilities are different from ours and that's a fact. Ken-san never forgot about the Digital World, he couldn't. When reaching it became progressively more difficult, he simply found other ways to do it." That made sense. Takeru could remember how devastated Ken had been when he found out that Wormmon could no longer live with him in the real world. "And Mimi-san?" Iori lifted his hands helplessly. "Who knows." "Okay, I'll buy that," Takeru snorted in amusement, "But that doesn't explain why we--or at least I--forgot about the most important events in my entire life." Iori paused, seeming to get his thoughts in order. "When we were fighting to protect it, the Digital World was all we thought about," he said, "How are we going to win the next battle, what are we going to do next, what kind of villains will we have to face? But then it was safe and the Digimon were gone and we didn't have to concern ourselves with it at all. We could be normal kids again and worry about normal things. "And that's when the trouble started," he continued, leaning closer to Takeru, "That's when even the D-3s wouldn't open portals. It seemed like the Digital World was lost to us forever. At first, we still talked about it, still hung out together, and celebrated our victories. But we no longer really cared. Other things had become more important." "I kept on getting lost," "That's because you put so much stuff in the way!" "Our group started losing its cohesion. Separate interests took us in different directions. We spent less and less time together, even in small groups. And without friends who shared similar experiences to reminisce with, the memories faded until it was like nothing had happened at all." They sat in silence for a long while, the sun rising and filling the room with golden light. Takeru played with his now empty mug, thoughts and memories turning over in his head. Iori picked up the notebook he'd been reading and returned to it. Takeru noticed it was one of the earliest. "How did you remember?" Takeru asked softly. "I didn't," Iori said, not looking up, "I forgot, too. It was Ken and Daisuke who reminded me. By accident, I should add, when I was visiting them three years ago. Apparently 'when's our next trip to the Digital World?' is the question of the day in that house. I dug up my D-3 a few days later and started sharing dreams with Armadimon right after." "So why didn't you tell me?" Takeru tried to keep the hurt and accusation out of his voice, but didn't succeed very well. "I figured it wasn't my place," Iori said, with an apologetic wince, "You'd suffered losing Patamon and you were happy not remembering. Who was I to interfere? I decided that you would either remember on your own or you wouldn't." Whatever Takeru might have said to that was stopped when his alarm began chiming "11 o'clock, meeting with Hikari in one hour, 11 o'clock, meeting with Hikari in one hour" in its flat, synthesized voice. "Shit!" Takeru growled, jumping out of his chair. Iori's face twisted and he lifted the notebook to hide behind it. Sparing him only a glance, Takeru set the conversation aside for the time being and went to get ready.
Cigarette smoke wreathed around Hikari's head, settling heavily in her orange hair. The dye job changed monthly. The smoking was almost a year old and one of the main reasons behind their most recent break-up. He couldn't stand the cigarettes and she couldn't stand his disapproval. They sat at a round table in a fairly crowded corner cafe, studiously avoiding each other's eyes. They'd been there for half an hour. Hikari had talked for a long time, mostly about herself, how lonely she was, how sorry she was about leaving him. Her pain was genuine and hard to listen to. Hikari took a drink of her soda, licking the drops off her lips, sunlight glinting off the metal stud in her tongue. The tongue ring and the tattoo on her lower back were five years old, part of an exercise in rebellion when she turned eighteen. He'd been there when she got them, covering his eyes because he was unable to look, but still amazed and delighted by her daring. H really missed her. "You won't be able to support that habit for much longer," he said without thinking as she took another drag off her cigarette, "If that bill to make them illegal goes through." Hikari raised an eyebrow and blew out her mouthful of smoke. Thankfully not at him. "Then I'll quit. You'd like that," she said. "Yes, I would," he responded quickly. He wasn't going to hide his dislike of the habit, not like he had when she first started. Nor was she going to make him feel guilty for disliking it. Hikari smiled sadly. "I've really missed you Takeru. Missed talking to you. I'd like...I'd like to be friends again." "We tried that before," Takeru said. "And I broke your heart I again, I know. And I'm sorry, I can't tell you how much, but I can't change the past." She looked at him seriously, gently touching his hand. "Only the future." Takeru moved his hand away uncomfortably. Same song, different tune. It would be so easy to say yes. To welcome her light and joy back into his life. He never could stand to see Hikari in pain-- and that was always my downfall, wasn't it? She'd hurt me and then I'd hurt her, which only hurt me more. We were killing each other. "I'm lonely Takeru," she said softly, tapping ash off the end of her cigarette, "I hardly see my family anymore. My parents are always busy and Taichi's vanished into the ether with his new wife--" Taichi got married? Wow, thanks for the invite former leader and my brother's best friend. What happened to us? "--My only friends are from work and they're only casual friends. I haven't had a really close friend in a long time." Takeru looked away from her, out onto the other tables at the cafe. It was a popular place and fairly crowded. A bunch of school age kids were there, enjoying their day off. A short burst of wild black hair caught Takeru's attention. He focused and recognized the boy that ran into him yesterday--Jinsuko or something. As Takeru watched, he carefully placed a tattered backpack on one of the tables. The backpack started bouncing. Jinsuko freaked out and jumped the pack, holding it in place as he checked frantically to see if anyone had noticed. He didn't see Takeru watching him, which was good. The poor kid looked downright paranoid and he handled the bag as if it carried the most precious thing in the world. Three days ago, Takeru would have simply thought he had one of those games that moved around to help you 'experience' the action better, and dismissed the whole incident out of his mind. Today, it touched some chord in him, sending him back to his first encounter with the boy. ...he had some sort of red stuffed animal clutched to his chest. Yeah, red and spherical, with fluffy ears and blue stripes, and huge brown eyes that blinked on their own--- Takeru sucked in a breath, his eyes going round. A wild, wonderful feeling surged through him. Of course the Digital World would need Chosen Children again. The evil had been defeated but not destroyed. Both worlds would always need protectors. Feeling strangely light, Takeru turned back to Hikari, who'd stubbed out her cigarette and was starting a new one. "Hikari-san, do you remember Tailmon?" Hikari froze, lighter halfway to the cigarette hanging from her mouth. Her eyes flickered and grew wider. He could almost see the memories rising to the surface. She took out the cigarette, unlit. "Yeah, I do. Of course I remember Tailmon." And she smiled with remembered happiness. In that moment she was not the young woman who parental neglect had sent on a vain life-long search to get the attention she'd been denied, but Hikari. The girl who tightly held his hand as the plummeted through Digital skies while Piedmon watch on; who shivered in arms when faced with the horror of the Dark Ocean; who sat proudly astride Nefertimon, strong yet so vulnerable. His childhood friend, not seen for such a long time. Then, it was gone and she was as she had been since junior high. Lost. "But what does it matter? That time is over. Tailmon is gone, the Digital World is sealed." The cigarette finished the journey to her mouth and she lit it, taking a deep pull before releasing the smoke in a grimy gray cloud. "Besides, it was all kid games anyways. We're adults now and this is the real world." Takeru looked at her seriously for a long while, studying the shape of her face, the lay of her makeup, the chocolate brown roots showing as the orange grew out, the way she tapped her lower lip with a sliver painted nail and frowned at him in confusion. "No," he said finally, firmly, "This is just the world we chose to acknowledge." He reached into his pocket and pulled out the small black address book Iori had tossed at him on his way out the door. He slid it across the table to Hikari. "In here are the addresses and phone numbers for Miyako, Mimi, Ken and Daisuke, and Yamato-niichan. I'm sure any one of them would be thrilled to hear from you." While she looked on in incomprehension, he stood up and put money for their drinks on the table. He leaned over and gave her a quick, perfectly chaste kiss on the cheek. "If you're alone on New Years, don't hesitate to come spend it with us. Between the four of us we have a pretty good party going on. I'm sure I'll be able to convince Iori-kun to put aside his grudge by then." He straightened up and smiled at her, albeit sadly. "Good-bye Hikari-san." He turned to leave. A hand on his wrist stopped him. "Hey you," she said, smiling with equal sadness, "Take care of yourself, okay?" The hurt was still there, but so was understanding. "You too," he said and she released him. He didn't leave right away, but made a detour to where Jinsuko sat, now accompanied by the red-haired girl from the other day. She appeared to be older than him, dressed in the white peasant shirt and skirts that were popular a decade ago. She too had a bulging backpack set on the table. The girl noticed his approach first and elbowed Jinsuko. "Hello, remember me?" Takeru asked politely as he stopped in front of their table. The boy nodded cautiously, wondering if he was incriminating himself. "I'm sorry to disturb you, but I was wondering if I could ask a favor of you." "Uhm, what kind of favor?" Jinsuko said, even more wary now. Takeru wondered what he was thinking. Hopefully not something like 'Oh great, I ran into a pervert! Police!' Takeru smiled as disarmingly as he could. "If you happen to meet a Patamon in the Digital World, will you tell him Takeru sends his love?" he asked. Jinsuko's eyes went wide as platters and the girl squeaked. "Aaah! You--you're--" he cried, pointing an incredulous finger. His backpack suddenly flopped open, revealing a round red-and-blue striped face, goggling in the exact same manner as its partner. "Chosen Child!" cried the infant digimon. Jinsuko yelped and yanked the bag back into place. "They've told us about you. The digimon, I mean," the girl spoke up, "The original Chosen Children..." she trailed off, awed. "Wow, you're old," Jinsuko said. The girl slapped him across the back of the head. "Ow! Hey!" Takeru laughed and impulsively, ruffled the boy's hair. "You take care of that little one," he said, looking back and forth between them, " And each other. Good luck." Are you ever going to need it. "Thank you Takeru-san!" they chorused together. Takeru waved and took his leave of them. As he walked away, he could hear Jinsuko saying, "I can't wait to tell the others! They're going to be so jealous!"
Old, doodle-covered notebooks sat in neat piles on either side of the computer. Takeru regarded them thoughtfully, then placed the newer ones back into the boxes for later. His D-3 sat in front of one of the piles. He'd tried to open a portal earlier, with no success, but he felt hopeful enough to try again. Right now he had something else he needed to do. "I marked the way, so I won't ever lose it again." Just writing it down for himself hadn't been enough. It had been too easy for him to set them aside the first time and there was nothing stopping him from doing it again. Expect making the information so public he couldn't avoid it if he wanted too. "Mama-san did tell me it would make a great story," he said aloud. If nothing else, it could turn out to be helpful for the newest generation of Chosen Children. And maybe, just maybe, it might spark the memories of the former Chosen. You can't find what you've lost if you've forgotten about it. Filled with purpose, Takeru sat down at the computer, opened a document file, and began to type. End.
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