Fruits Basket Fan Fiction ❯ In Pursuit of Happiness ❯ Stage 2: When someone pushes you down… just get up… and push back ( Chapter 2 )

Disclaimer: Fruits Basket belongs to Takaya Natsuki-sensei and Hana to Yume comics. This fic is done only for the glorification of FURUBA! This storyline is entirely an original introspective on a theory of mine. It's not a part of the FURUBA canon, but its been bothering me! So I had to write it. ^_^.

October 3, 2002

In Pursuit of Happiness

Step 2: When someone pushes you down… just get up… and push back

By Ina-chan

I last remember my father as a tall, dark-haired man with medium built. He looked nothing like Ni-san... or me. Back then, he also had a tan because he just finished working on a project somewhere in the United States. I think it was Florida or California or something. I honestly don't remember. That was almost five years ago… just before I started junior high school.

A lot of things can happen in five years. But still… five years is not really that long a time for the significant change I see in my father now. He's still tall… but his dark hair was now specked with grays and silver. He's a little bit thinner… actually he looked kind of sallow. Like he just recovered from an illness. His face looked puffy, and there were noticeable dark circles under his eyes.

"You look healthy," he finally said after ten more minutes of staring at each other after I settled on my seat

I nodded, "And you look… tired."

"Well now…" He laughed. His laugh was low and rumbling. It reminded me a lot like distant thunder, "I just got off from a 25-hour flight from Vancouver this morning. It doesn't really do much good for your beauty sleep."

"And you're going to New Zealand as soon as tonight?" I couldn't help but frown at that. It seemed rather strange that a flight from Vancouver to New Zealand will stop over at Japan.

"It can't be helped, I'm supposed to see a proposal for a project there two days from now," he replied with a small smile as if reading my thoughts, "But I specifically made a detour home because I wanted to see my children before that. If I choose to accept it, God knows when I'll find the time and opportunity."

My father builds or designs buildings… I think. He's done several structures here in Japan, but most of his works are big projects overseas. It takes between several months to several years to finish. When I was little, he told me that he does it because likes big challenges. The harder it is, the longer it takes, the better. Now that I'm older, I've come to understand that it was all just an excuse. You see, my father has perfected a feat that I've been failing to accomplish for years. The art of successfully "running away."

"That's nice of you…but…" I started hesitantly, "…you look ill."

"I'm just tired. Nothing 24 hours of uninterrupted sleep can't fix," came his not so reassuring reply as he took a long drag from his cigarette

I tried to keep my face as impassive as possible, but I couldn't suppress the cough that erupted from my mouth as the tendrils of smoke started to irritate my throat.

"Oh shit, you're the one with the lung problem," My father muttered under his breath as he immediately ground out the light of his cigarette on his overflowing ashtray, before reaching out for me across the table, "Sorry about that kiddo. You okay? You want water or something? Do you have your medication with you?"

That's another one of my father's quirks. For some strange reason, he keeps interchanging Ni-san and me. He keeps making these annoying loud verbal self-reminders like `the older one's the strange one', `this is the one that doesn't talk much', or `that's the one that almost gave me a heart attack'.

"I'm fine," I coughed, waving his hand away, "Its just irritation from the smoke."

"Excuse me, can I have some water here please?" He called out, snapping his fingers rudely to the server across the room, totally ignoring me. Yet another one of his annoying mannerisms, "I can't believe I forgot how sensitive you are to these things. I remember one time when you were two-years-old, I just lit one, LIT ONE. And you started going into spasms like you were going to hack your lungs out and die. Your mother tried to skin me alive. "

"I'm fine," I stressed loudly to him. Not that it would do any good. I gave the server a polite smile as she came to our table to give me my glass of water anyway

"Well, since this nice young lady is here already, you want to order something? Something to eat? Something to drink?"

"No, I'm okay," I mumbled as I cradled the glass of water, "Water's fine…"

"I know... hot chocolate milk. I remember when you were four, you used to wake up in the middle of the night and ask for hot chocolate milk," He ranted on, continuing to ignore me, "One hot chocolate milk please."

I simply blinked. I don't recall of ever having even a vague memory of fondness for hot chocolate milk as a child. In fact, I'm not a big fan of milk, period. I had a nagging feeling that he was mixing up his sons again. Not like there's anything that can be done to stop him.

Seeing him now, I'm reminded once again whose Ni-san took after. It's not very comforting to realize that. At least with Ni-san, you can pummel him to submission if he won't shut up. I just buried my face in my left hand and tried to ward off a headache developing in the vicinity of my left temple. I guess my thoughts were clearly reflected on my face as I caught the server giving me a small sympathetic smile before running off to get my father's order.

"I had lunch with your brother earlier, by the way," He continued without breaking his pace, "He seems to be doing well too."

"Mmmm." At this point, it seemed pointless to talk in coherent sentences since none will be able to get through anyway.

"Originally, I wanted to pick you up so the three of us can hang out together."

"….mmm…" I blanched at the thought. Somehow, throwing myself from the observation deck of the Tokyo Tower seemed more palatable than sitting together with my father and my brother at the same time.

"But your brother reminded me that in Japan, you had school on Saturdays. I can't believe I've forgotten that. It only seemed like yesterday that I was in still in highschool."

"Nnnn?" Somehow, I couldn't get myself to believe it. Ni-san actually saved me?

"To be quite honest, I was actually surprised to find out that you were going to that school. A co-education school to boot! Your brother even said that you're the incoming student council president. Did you know that your brother was student council president too? It's a pleasing sight to see you following your brother's footsteps."

"……" I quickly gulped my glass of water. Maybe if I drank it fast enough, I'll end up drowning so I can put an end to my misery.

"By the way, how did you like the package I sent you?"

"Mmmm…" I mumbled

"What?" He asked as he leaned forward to hear me better

I froze, with my glass still on my lips, like a frightened deer caught in the headlights of an incoming car at the sudden realization that my father was actually expecting me to give a coherent answer to his question. I managed to gulp the water in my mouth before attempting to speak, "Package?"

"Yes… I sent you a package a few weeks ago just in case I didn't manage to make it for this trip… I suppose, it should have arrived some time last week…" My father stated slowly and patiently

"Oh," I replied dumbly, "It's probably still in the Main House. I'm sure Haru will bring it to Shigure's house as soon as he can."

"Haru? Shigure's house?" He said, bewilderment clearly evident on his face, "Doesn't your mother let you take your own mail?"

"Father…" I started in that same slow manner, "… I don't live with Mother anymore."

"Since when?"

"Since spring… two years ago… before I started senior high school…"

"So… you're not living inside the Main House compound with your mother because you're now living `outside' in Shigure-kun's house with Shigure-kun?"

"…and Kyou…" I added a little more quietly

"Kyou!?" My father leaned forward as if trying to make sure he heard what I said right

"…and Hondrmmm trmmmsnnn…" I mumbled, purposely putting the glass back to my lips, not really wanting to go into an in-depth discussion to why there's female outsider living in the same roof I was living in

"Who?" He asked, though his tone sounded more like a demand than a request

As if on cue, the server returned with a mug of hot chocolate milk. I couldn't help but flash the server with a grateful smile at the much-needed distraction. In turn, she turned into a deep shade of red before turning around with a soft giggle.

"I thought you had lunch with Ni-san today. Didn't he tell you everything?" I began again, trying to derail the conversation to another direction, at the same time forcing a mouthful of chocolate milk in my mouth, trying not to gag. Any excuse not to talk is good right now.

"No he didn't. You know how unpredictable your brother is. Thirty minutes after he arrived, he suddenly fell into this very convincing impersonation of a person who suddenly forgot how to speak."

With those words, I found my prayer to drown on something suddenly answered as some of the chocolate milk in my mouth painfully made its way down my windpipe… the bit that managed not to escape through my nose, that is…

"Excuse me! Can we have table napkins here please!" SNAP, SNAP, SNAP…

I covered my mouth as I tried to cough out the rest of that nasty liquid out of my lungs just as the server returned with a container of paper table napkins at hand. Somehow, the image of Ni-san suddenly becoming mute as he sat opposite to Father was something my mind found very hard to imagine. Then again, even Ni-san must have his limits when facing someone like Father. I couldn't help but take a quick glance at my watch. 25 minutes… At this rate, I would actually last longer than Ni-san. I actually found myself caught between feeling smug and mortified at the idea that I have been tolerating Father this long.

"And Akito-san willingly agreed to all of this?" My father asked, as soon as my coughing fit ceased.

"Well…<cough> He didn't really have a <cough> choice in the matter."

"Why is that?"

"Because Hatori pushed hard for it <cough> for health and safety reasons after my... <cough> accident."

"Accident!?" Though his tone sounded more like a `Tell me everything now, you don't have a choice, and nothing can save you' kind of tone.

"I… kind of… almost… drowned… in the bath…" I mumbled hesitatingly, almost inaudibly

"You almost drowned in the bath. How can a person almost drown in the bath."

"It was full of water…"

"Yes, I'm aware of that."

"…and I fell."

"Aaaah… yes. You fell. How can I forget your favourite excuse?" My father intoned, raised his hands to rub his eyes. For some reason, he suddenly looked even more tired, wearier, and much older. He crossed his arms and leaned back on his seat before turning back to me, "So how did you fall?"

I gave my father an incredulous look, "How many ways can a person fall in the bath?"

"Well, in YOUR vocabulary… there are two main categories. `It's solely your fault' kind of fall, or `Your mother helped' kind of fall."

"My fault," I muttered as I buried my face in my hands I don't really want to talk about this.

"Was it really?"

"Yes." Yes, really, really, REALLY. Oh God, please make him drop this.

"How DID it happen."

"I don't remember." Why is he pushing this now? I REALLY don't want to talk about this.

"Try."

"I had some pain so I took some of Mother's pain-killers…" I clasped my hands together and leaned back on my seat, unconsciously trying to acquire as much physical distance between the two of us as possible, "Then I started to feel sick… and I thought a bath would make me feel better. I think I fainted and I fell." There I said it, are you satisfied?

"How much did you take?"

"I don't know… I don't remember… a couple…" Oh, come on… I already told you what you wanted. Stop. Please…

"Well then, give me an approximation of `a couple'"

"A full bottle."

"Shit," My father stared at me in shock for a good three minutes before he started rummaging through his pockets for his package of cigarettes. I just watched him go through the motions wordlessly. But just as he was about to light a stick, he suddenly seemed to realize which of his two sons was sitting in front of him and automatically returned the stick into the package, "I think a beer would be good right now. I want a beer. I'm getting a beer. Do you want one?"

"I'm underage."

"Shit, that's right. It's the other one who can drink," He muttered clearly under his breath before raising his arm again to do that annoying snapping, "Excuse me! One beer here please!"

"Are you all right?"

"No, I'm not alright," He stated blandly as he turned his attention back to me, "First of all, when you were having these… problems. Why didn't you make an effort to call me? You have my phone number and you know that you can talk to me. Lastly, when did this happen again? Two years ago? So why am I just hearing this for the first time now?"

Simply by his saying those words, that tiny ember of anger I felt earlier that afternoon was fanned into a full-fledged furious fire. How dare he imply that his ignorance was my fault? I wasn't the one who was busy gallivanting all over the world because the responsibilities of having an angry wife and two mentally unbalanced cursed children was too much to handle. I was the one who was abandoned here. How dare he indulge at the luxury of feeling betrayed?

"What?"

"What `what'?" What does he want now?

"You have that look on your face. The one your mother makes when she's scheming an elaborate plan to murder me in my sleep. Just drop it and tell me exactly what's going on in your mind."

"You want to know exactly what's in my mind? Fine, I'll tell you," I stated blandly as I pulled myself forward and leaned on the table, "First of all… I don't have your phone number. MOTHER has your phone number. And at that time, trying to track you down from God-knows-where was not really the top priority in my mind. Lastly, maybe… MAYBE… if you actually make an effort to maintain regular contact with your family, it might actually help in relaying information to you about your children faster. I don't know, that's just a wild theory of mine."

"Fair enough," My father stated quietly

"Sometimes I even wonder if you really are my father."

"Now, that is going two far. Stating what's in your mind and insulting me are two different things."

"Well, what do you want me to think? You come in and out of our lives, acting like a `father' at your own time and convenience. Did you honestly think that the idea won't cross my mind eventually?"

My father studied my face, letting the silence linger between us for a few moments before raising his left hand to rub his left temple, "Shit, you found out about it."

What? "What?"

Of course, the server decided to come and deliver my father's order at this exact moment. My mind felt totally numb as it tried to process the words I thought his say earlier while I watched him watching me as he took a swig from his bottle of beer.

"Father… What exactly did you mean?" I began cautiously, not trusting my voice, "Are you my father?"

He simply stared back at me with a blank impassive expression on his face.

Oh, my god. He's not answering. Why isn't he answering? It's a simple yes or no question, why the hell is he not answering? Oh, my god… Oh My God… OHMYGOD!!!

"Oh, my god… you don't know, do you." I leaned back on my chair and covered my mouth with both hands, suddenly feeling very ill at the revelation. "You don't know and you never bothered to find out…"

He took another swig from his bottle, before speaking. His impassive expression not faltering even a little bit, "You see kid, a paternity test is a double-edged sword. What do you think will happen if the results turn out negative? The whole world will know that your mother has been sleeping around and the Souma Family's precious jyuunishi mouse is a bastard. If it's positive, it'll just confirm that you received half of your genes from one of the two worst possible parents in the world. When you grow older and have children of your own, your genetics will dictate that you'll either become just like mother or just like me."

I looked away and turned my attention to the café's windows. Watching the people passing by numbly, as I let my father's words sink into my fogging brain. I quickly glanced at my watch. 45 minutes. It took my father fifteen minutes longer to turn my brain cells into dead and numb mush than my brother's. I couldn't help but wonder what exactly that signified. Somehow, my mind idly wondered if Ni-san felt exactly what I was feeling now with his own encounter with Father a few hours ago.

"So do you want one? We can go ahead and get a paternity test now if that will make you feel better. We don't even have to tell your mother. Heaven forbid if she finds out. It'll be like a father-son secret outing."

Once again, I slowly turned to give my father a silent incredulous glare. Why can't he just shut up? Why is he doing this to me? He's enjoying this, isn't he? He enjoys cutting people up, watching them bleed, and then rub salt into their wounds. My inner child is currently in the middle of throwing a major temper tantrum and wanted me to scream all of that to him. Of course, my more restrained mouth said things differently, "Will it change anything?"

"Probably not," My father said honestly with a shrug

"Then what's the point," I muttered in self-defeat as I made myself ready to wallow in despair and self-pity

My father watched me, sipping his beer, letting several minutes of silence lay heavily between us. Before he leaned forward on the table and motioned me to come closer. I let out a long sigh as I complied with his request and leaned close enough until we were within whispering distance.

"Your mother…" He began in a quiet stage whisper, "…is the master of guilt manipulation. So, don't you even dare to EVER use that guilt crap with me because I can think of a million and one ways to get back at you in an instant!" The volume in his voice gradually rose to that of a low dangerous and very angry tone. Without warning, he stressed his point by flicking his finger right between my eyes. HARD.

"Itte!!" I cried out in pain as I instinctively shrank back and nursed my forehead

"You still have a lot more bowls of rice to eat before you can out-insult me," He continued more calmly as he settled back to his own seat, "For the record, your mother may be a world-class bitch, but she's a decent and honest woman. I have never, even at one fleeting moment in my life, ever doubted her honour. So even if the target of your insults is me, I won't tolerate any insult of any form that questions her virtue. Remember that, young man. In the future, if I hear you insulting your mother again… or from ANYONE that you did such a thing, I will fly over immediately to personally kick your ass. Do you understand?"

I made a silent nod as a strong wave of feelings that was somewhat something between relief and shame threatened to constrict my throat.

"DO YOU UNDERSTAND!" My father stated louder, demanding a proper answer

"Yes, sir," I forced the words from my throat. It only made the painful lump lodged in it to throb, causing my eyes to water. My fingers immediately rose to cover my eyes. I'm not going to cry in front of him. I refuse to cry in front of him. There is no way I am going to cry in front of him.

From the corner of my eye, I could sense my father smile softly as he watched my wretched form. He's such a goddamn sadist.

"Besides," My father continued in a lighter tone as he picked up the almost empty bottle of beer in his hand and swirled its remaining contents absently, "There's no man alive who will be able to stand her."

And a goddamn hypocrite.

"She's bitchier than a shrew and more frigid in bed than a---"

"STOP IT! Don't say anything else! This is inappropriate talk! I am not hearing any of this!" I closed my eyes and my hands automatically went to my ears. He DID NOT say that. I DID NOT hear him say that. Oh God! I can't believe he actually said that!!!

"What?" He gave me a genuine bewildered look

I gave him the most scathing glare that I can muster, "Any decent human being will NEVER discuss his sexual problems with his wife to their 17-year-old son."

My father let out a hearty loud rumble of amusement, "My God! I never imagined that one of my sons would actually turn into such a prude. You're exactly just like your mother."

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG GGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH HHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

"Stop banging your head on the table, kiddo. It's embarrassing. Now you're acting exactly like your brother…"

I pushed myself up from my seat and gathered my things, "I'm going home."

"Okay," My father said as he fumbled through his pockets for his wallet, "Give me a second to pay and I'll call a cab and take you home…"

I dug my hands into my pants pockets and my fingers curled around instinctively on the ballpoint pen it found inside of it. I suddenly had this vision of my father and myself at the back seat of a taxi, and me stabbing him repeatedly with an extra fine ballpoint tip, 90 yen (excluding tax), black BIC pen. "No, I'm fine. I can go home by myself."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm very VERY sure."

"Then take this at least," My father stood up and reached out to hand me a small white business card, "That one has my e-mail… My cell phone's in there too. You can reach me through those. It doesn't matter wherever I am in the world. I might not answer all the time… you know… sleeping, board meeting, or washroom... But it has voice mail… and I… always return my calls. You're welcome to call me anytime. For anything."

I could only nod in agreement. For the first time in the entire afternoon, I was actually genuinely speechless.

We stood awkwardly before each other, not really sure how to say our goodbyes. So my father finally settled with reaching out to ruffle my hair like he used to do when I was little before nudging my shoulder clumsily to get me on my way, "Go. It's going to be dark soon."

With one last wordless nod, I walked across the room and opened the door, letting the fresher air from outside to billow against my face.

"Yuki," My father called out to me before my foot took a step outside, "Say hi to your mother for me."

I turned around and gave him a long bland look, "Tell her yourself, you yellow-bellied old goat."

The sound of the chimes on the café door along with my father's low hearty laughter were the last sounds I heard as I closed the door behind me and made my way home.

To be concluded…

AUTHOR'S SQUAWK:

<sweatdrops> Yeah… I actually intended this to be an angst-filled chapter. But when I started writing it, I just didn't have the heart to turn Yuki's father into a monster. I mean, as horrible as their childhood was revealed in the manga, both Ayame and Yuki turned out into good and caring boys, despite their eccentricities. Any parent can't possibly be all that bad if their kids turned out that way. And I actually wanted to portray their father as a nice balance of Ayame and Yuki's personality quirks. I like how he turned out.

Okay… other stuff… about schools… Unlike most North American or North American-based standards of schooling… Japan has 6-day school weeks. I'm not sure about elementary school… but Junior Highschool (grade 7 - 9) and Senior Highschool (grade 10-12) have Saturday classes. But I believe they have shorter school hours in certain days than North American schools, and have more time for extra-curricular activities after school. The department of education has a standardized schedule of what lessons each year level will learn throughout the country, and basically provide a generic exam given approximately at the same time in all the schools nationwide. You also don't get to choose which class you go into or which teacher to teach you. And they use a "block section" system (we have this in Manila as well). Meaning, you are assigned to a single block section each year, and all the kids in that section will be your classmates for the entire year. Your section will be assigned a specific homeroom where all your classes will be held (with the exemption of P.E., labs, Home Economics, and Workshop). It's actually your teachers who end up moving from room to room to teach, instead of the students. I was so used to this system, that when I first came to school in Canada, I got so hopelessly lost and confused (compounded by my zero sense of direction) and embarrassed so badly that I almost quit school the first day.

Yuki's "accident" is actually a reference to an older fic that I wrote called "Storm Beneath Still Waters". That one was a pretty heavy Yuki angst. I was somewhat pleased to see it revisited in a lighter note in this one.

Anywayz… I better stop before my babble becomes as long as the fic.

Ja!

Ina-chan