Digimon Fan Fiction ❯ Crazy (One Night In Vegas) ❯ Crazy (One Night In Vegas) ( Chapter 1 )

Mimi has an interesting definition of "taking one's mind off things", Yamato thinks. Not that it isn't effective, mind, but it's certainly out of the ordinary.

"Yamato!" she calls from across Fremont Street, where they've been trawling for an hour or so now, laughing when he hesitates. They are both gloriously drunk, vodka has been their shared poison. The colours blur in their eyes, just enough to become beautiful.

Las Vegas is so...bright. And alive. And deliciously sinful. He doesn't want to admit that he's enjoying himself; that would be a point to her. It's nearing to ten pm, but the city is awake and shining brighter than the sun, still.

Mimi fits in here like a diamond solitaire on a band of gold, she takes the light and reflects it back to him. She sparkles, and he grins and runs clear across the street, heedless of the traffic.

"You are enjoying yourself," she chuckles. There are splashes of gold in her caramel-coloured eyes, the luminance of the city has soaked into her body.

"I didn't say anything like that," he responds, but he's still grinning like a little kid.

"You don't have to say anything, Yamato," she giggles, and he's suddenly reminded very sharply of her as a ten, thirteen, sixteen-year-old. She reaches out and tucks a stray lock of hair behind his ear, with the casual sort of affection that is her trademark. Her fingertips graze the shell of his ear gently. "Do you feel better?"

Yes, he thinks, but the night is young and so is he, so he answers, "Not quite."

Mimi takes this as a challenge, of course, just as he wanted. She twines her fingers with his and pulls him along with her once again. "Well, then. Let's remedy that."

The divorce had been hard on him, to say the very least. He'd wanted it to work, desperately so -- but Sora's patience had worn thin and he was tired, too. He was too frightened to admit to himself even now, that they'd probably not been in love with each other for a long, long time...maybe even before Yuuko was born. He felt an incredible amount of guilt over that. And then Hiro had come along two short years later, and, well. They had to try and make it work, didn't they? For their kids.

It didn't work. And Ishida Yamato found himself becoming a statistic again.

"Oh, bullshit," Mimi had said fiercely, when they were on the phone a few days earlier. "Bull-goddamn-shit, Yamato. You both tried so hard. So hard. I don't want to hear you say that ever again."

"I screwed up," he'd replied, bleakly.

"Did you? Who's to say you screwed up? This is life. As far as I know, there isn't some rule book that tells you whether you won or lost in whatever."

"Mimi...the kids..."

"Don't you dare!" she barked. Yamato could picture her in her apartment, feet apart and hand on her right hip, her brow furrowed. "Don't you start beating yourself up over that. Let me ask you, were there any screaming fights? Custody hiss-spits? Thrown crockery?"

"Well, no--"

"Then they're going to be okay. Yes, they're bound to be upset. But you two -- I know you both too well. You'd never hurt them the way...um."

"The way my parents hurt Takeru and I?" he asked coolly.

"I'm sorry, Yamato," she sighed. "That was out of line. I apologise."

It was his turn to sigh. He ran his free hand over his face and collapsed into the sofa, cradling the cordless phone between his shoulder and his ear. "No, I'm sorry. I'm just...I did not want this to happen, Mimi. Not in my wildest dreams did I think it would happen."

"Life surprises people sometimes," Mimi replied, her voice curiously soft. "I've had surprises of my own, you know. Jyaki was one of them."

Jyaki was what she called her son when she was speaking in Japanese. Jacky "Jyaki" Barton was born to Mimi Tachikawa and Michael Barton, friends since their early teenage years and friends with benefits since they were legally able to be so. Jacky was a surprise that had popped up most unexpectedly just before Mimi's twenty-fifth birthday. He was adored by both his parents, who remained the closest of friends and nothing more, and toted by the paparazzi to be an up-and-coming star -- how could he not be, with parents like his? (Michael was following in his father's footsteps, making his name as an actor, and Mimi's name was on the lips of every record producer Stateside...and more than a few in Japan.)

"I wish I had with Sora what you have with Michael," Yamato murmured. "I don't think we can go back to being friends, now."

"We were never in love, Yamato," Mimi said, gently. "That was the difference. We're friends because we never let our emotions cross that boundary. You and Sora had something very special that we'll never have, you know."

"And it's fallen to pieces. I was so careful, but--" He couldn't help the knot that formed in his throat at that thought.

"That's life," she said, her voice still kind. "That's just life, hon. It doesn't matter how careful you are."

"I know." He paused, then, awkwardly, "Mimi, I'm, ah...I'm sorry for burdening you with..."

"Oh, pfft," she replied. "It's not a problem. You know what you need? A distraction. Something to take your mind off all this."

"I was thinking a criminal amount of booze, or at least a consignment of very hard drugs."

"Ha! I wasn't. Are you free over the weekend?"

"Huh? Yes, I am. Why?"

"Come on over here."

"What?" he raised an eyebrow. "You're in Las Vegas right now, aren't you?"

"Yep! I have a photo shoot on Friday, but for the rest of the time, I'm free. Jyaki's with Michael back in New York, so I'm all on my lonesome. Come over and keep me company for the weekend."

He was flabbergasted. She's mad. I can't just...up and go! "Mimi, I can't just--"

"I'll pay for your fare and everything. God knows I've got enough money to burn. I want to do something really rockstar. That'd blow the socks off that little Avril twerp." Her giggle was infectious, but Yamato was gaping, now.

"Tachikawa, you can't just -- I mean --"

"Why not?"

"Because, because...because!"

"Yamato," she laughed. "I'm free. You're free. Money is not an object. You need a distraction. Sin City is the best distraction in the world. Don't make me talk you into it." She paused. "Come and live for a while, you."

But she did, and he is here, now -- he didn't even have the time to wallow in jet lag. Mimi had met him at the airport, resplendant in her pink cowgirl hat, and whirled him around in a dizzy spiral of light and sparkles and her softscent perfume. And as she takes him from one end of Vegas to the other, nothing seems to matter -- not the divorce, not the semi-permanent sadness in his heart, not the fact that he will undoubtedly get the raw end of the stick when it comes to gaining custody of the two most important people in his life. He is vibrantly alive, he can feel it in every cell in his body.

From one of the casinos or the theatres or maybe just a parked limousine comes a song, a steady beat and a bassline. The melody is muffled by excessive bass, or perhaps just by the alcohol in their bloodstreams, but Mimi's face lights up in delight and she claps her hands, before taking Yamato's.

"I love this song so much!"

"Oh, it's one of yours?"

"You!" she laughs merrily. "You're terrible to me!"

"You make it easy, so it's your fault." He feels like his heart is dancing with the music, thudding, whirling.

"You can apologise for that by dancing with me," she smiles, all dimples and mischief and glittering brown eyes. She puts her hand on his arm, and he puts his on the small of her back.

"I can't dance," he admits, fighting the ridiculous giggle that threatens to burst out of him.

"That's crap, and you know it. I saw you before the Teen-age Wolves broke up, you know. Wiggling your hips like you were Elvis himself. You have rhythm, Mr. Ishida. Show me it!" She spins out from him, he spins her back. Laughing like two children -- which is what they are, in this moment -- they half-waltz, half-stumble their way down Fremont, heading for the Strip, giggling to each other in their native tongue, only attracting the occasional perplexed stare. Most onlookers simply smile at the attractive blond in the leather jacket and his honey-shining partner in the cowboy hat.

This is Vegas. This isn't out of the ordinary at all. And those two are definitely in love, aren't they? *

The rest of the night is blurred -- they dance into another bar, down another drink or two (the barman recognises Mimi and the drinks are free), and dance out again...or they would have, if they had the coordination to do so. By now it's running (and just quietly, Yamato was definitely skipping at a few points) and laughing hysterically at tiny little things -- the way Mimi can't keep her hat on her head anymore, how Yamato's hair won't stay out of his eyes, how the lights catch on Mimi's earrings and flicker in their eyes, how the leather of Yamato's jacket is cool, but on the inside the lining is as warm as his skin. It's all beautiful. It's all funny. It's all a secret to everyone, but especially to them, and it's precious.

I am so alive. I'm not a statistic. I'm a firework. And she's the flame.

Sometime during the night, Yamato feels a rush of something awfully like love towards the woman he is holding in his arms, who is looking up at him with adoring eyes, pure affection. And her skin is so soft and her lips are gentle against his and her hands are slender and pretty, just like his. She's beautiful. She is so damn beautiful. Why didn't he see this before? Well, he knew she was beautiful, but he didn't know she was...beautiful. Not like this.

"We need..." she whispers against his earlobe -- her hands against his chest, his clasped at the small of her back -- "We need...to go back. To the MGM."

"MGM?"

"Our hotel, Yamato. We have a room there. We. I. You and me. I think. I can hardly stand up."

"I'll hold you up."

"Yamato--"

"Yes. Back to the hotel. Mimi..."

"Hm?"

"Mimi...I think I'm drunk."

"Oh. That's okay. Because me too. Me, I am also drunk."

"It's all okay."

"Yes. Yes. It's all wonderful. You're wonderful, Yamato."

"And you're goddamn beautiful." *

When he wakes up, the sun is in his eyes and it is pure poison.

"Damn," he tries to say, but what escapes is a croak of pain and indignance. Next to him, there is a muffled groan.

Oh. Mimi. Oh. What did we...

But she is still clothed, and to his surprise, so is he. He sits up slowly and carefully, avoiding any sudden movement lest his aching head explodes, and finds that the sheets on the king-sized bed weren't even thrown back. They seemed to have simply fallen into the room and collapsed on the bed sometime during the night.

Mimi murmurs in her sleep, and turns over slightly, moving her face into the shaft of sunlight falling in through the window. Yamato blinks at the candy-coloured smudges around her mouth, before realising it's her own smeared lipstick. He brings his fingers to his own lips and stares at them -- the same pink colour stains his fingertips.

I suppose, ah, we got close...

He's confused. Why isn't he freaking out over this?

She stirs, stretching her left arm across her eyes. Her shirt rides up, he is gifted with a glimpse of pearly skin and her pierced navel, the pink gem catch the morning light. "Yamato?"

"Good...good morning," he says, blushing.

"Good morning...oh God, my head--" she winces as she sits up.

"You too, huh?"

"Oh, Yamato, I'm sorry. I'm a devil when it comes to drinking. If I have one, I think I can handle a million." She smiles ruefully at him, bleary-eyed. She brushes her dishivelled hair out of her eyes.

"I'm not much better," he admits, smiling back. He reaches out and tucks the errant honey-brown locks behind her ears, much like she did with him the night before. It's her turn to blush, which just makes him blush again.

"Mimi--" he begins, at the same time she says, "Yamato--"

"You first," he chuckles. She looks unsure -- an un-Mimi-like expression -- and bites her lip.

"Do you...remember what we did?"

"Last night?" She nods slowly. "Ah...not...really. Flashes here and there, but nothing...not really, no. I think we--"

"Because..." she trails off. He raises a quizzical eyebrow.

"Do you remember something...did I do something...improper?"

She pauses for a moment, just staring at him, before her face melts into a smile and she's laughing again -- hoarsely, but still laughing. "Oh, Yamato. What am I going to do with you?"

I can think of a few things, his mind involuntarily supplies, to his shock.

"So I didn't?" he asks.

"No. But..."

"Mimi, what?"

"We, uh...we kissed a lot, I do remember that." -- and he ends up blushing yet again -- "Oh, and, uh...you're married to me...that was the other thing..."

When he successfully remembers how to breathe, he chokes out, "What?!"

With a strange sort of calm, Mimi digs into the back pocket of her jeans and produces -- sure enough -- a wedding certificate from A Little White Wedding Chapel for Yamato and Mimi Ishida, and two Polaroid pictures of the pair of them: gazing raptly (and drunkenly) into each other's eyes, and sharing a newlywed kiss.

When Yamato remembers how to speak, what escapes his mouth is not what he intended.

"You look absolutely gorgeous in that last photo."

"Kissing you?" she asks, a question that would almost be sly if she wasn't suddenly looking as vulnerable as a newly-blossomed flower, all wide dark eyes and bitten lip.

"Yes -- I mean, no -- I mean...I mean...I don't even know." He shakes his head and winces when his brain throws a violent throb of pain at him for doing so. "Oh. Well. Wow."

"I'm sorry," she says, and her voice is very, very tiny. She clasps her hands around her knees, tucks them beneath her chin and won't meet his eyes. He notices the ring on her left finger -- it looks like a diamond solitaire in white gold, but is probably a cubic zirconia in sterling silver.

He put that there.

"Don't be," he murmurs, staring at the ring as if mesmerised. Maybe he is.

"We were drunk," she says. "We can get it annulled. Hell, Britney Spears did the same thing. So it--"

"Maybe..." he rasps. "Maybe we should...wait."

She frowns slightly. "Yamato?"

"I mean...of course, if you want to, go ahead. I don't want to...but...Mimi, maybe we should..."

I spent the last ten years of my life playing by the book, not living. I did it that way because I was so frightened of becoming another statistic, and I became one anyway. But last night, I wasn't a statistic. I was...I don't even know whatI was, but I bet Tachikawa Mimi knows.

I bet she can show me.

"I don't want to get divorced twice in the same year." His words rush out, stumble and trip over each other clumsily, and his heart is pounding so hard he's sure she can hear it, sitting across from him.

"Yamato," she breathes. Despite being frightened enough to pass out, he raises his eyes to her face, dazedly. She is gazing at him as if she's never seen him before...no, she's looking at him like she's seen him a thousand, million times before, each time more special than the last. "Yamato, don't be crazy."

"I can't help it. You have that effect on people."

Her eyes are filling with tears, and she is trembling with emotion. "We're not in love."

"No," he admits. "But..."

"But?"

"...we could be."

She is silent, her hands are shaking, her eyes glimmering wet. She just looks at him.

Say something, please. Mimi...

"I think you're right," she whispers, and reaches across the bed, twining her fingers with his.

His heart is going to explode.

"I really think we could be."