[Fruits Basket] Haru/Rin, #12

Title: The Living, Not the Telling
Author: Ysabet MacFarlane (ba087@chebucto.ns.ca)
Pairing: Sohma Hatsuharu and Sohma Isuzu (Rin)
Fandom: Fruits Basket
Theme: #12 (in a good mood)
Disclaimer: Fruits Basket belongs to Takaya Natsuki and Hakusensha;
English-language versions by FUNimation (anime) and Tokyopop (manga). This piece
of fiction is in no way approved or endorsed by any of the copyright holders.
Please support the original work!
Notes: Set eight years post-series, with spoilers through vol. 23. This is part
of my overall post-series work, but stands alone; I don't expect to write
anything else set nearly this long after the end of the series. Title from Tom
McRae's "Alphabet of Hurricanes".

**********
"But I can't seem to change the way
This story wants to play
Life is in the living
Not the telling anyway"

--Tom McRae, "Alphabet of Hurricanes" (currently unrecorded/unreleased)
**********

[June 2009]

"Still think it's gonna rain today?" Haru's voice startled Rin out of a vague
reverie as he sat beside her, half-sprawling over the bench. There was no need
to worry about depriving anyone else of a place to sit; it was the fourth
consecutive day of overcast skies and oppressive humidity, and most people--most
sensible people, in Rin's opinion--were safely indoors, not at zoos looking at
animals that were as uncomfortable with the weather as she was. But "sensible"
had never been a word readily applied to her husband, and if he felt like
spending his birthday at a zoo, so be it.

"Yes." The twinge in her ribs wasn't severe enough to be more than an annoyance,
but it was a fairly accurate barometer. Haru pretended to find it useful, which
would have been irritating if it weren't so obviously a sidelong way of asking
how she felt. She twisted her hair up off her neck, wishing she'd brought
something to secure it. "Soon, I hope."

"Good."

"Is she ready to look at something else yet?"

"Nope." It had become habit to talk without looking at each other in public,
keeping their attention divided. Their daughter had inherited an echo of Rin's
unnatural ability to break into a dizzying sprint from a complete standstill,
which meant either keeping her very close at hand (Haru's job) or being ready to
bolt after her (Rin's job, which had required adjusting to boots with chunkier
heels than she'd been used to). "She really likes them."

"I can see that." Seika was barely an inch away from the fence, just barely
obeying Haru's instruction to not touch it, staring raptly at the animals
beyond.

In the blink of an eye she'd spun around and started back towards them in a
headlong rush. Rin instinctively started to move when her daughter did, and was
brought up short after only a step, wincing as if she'd hit a wall. Seika didn't
seem to notice, flying straight into Haru's arms when Rin didn't bend down for
her.

Scrambling up onto his lap, Seika wriggled around to look at her. "Mama!"

"Hmm?" The bench was reassuringly solid as she sank back down, wishing she could
keep edging away from the fence. Twenty feet wasn't enough distance. Maybe if
they were back over the hill, out of sight... "What is it?"

"Come see the horsies!"

Haru's hand closed over hers, a quick, questioning pressure; she replied with a
minute shake of her head. No amount of four-year-old enthusiasm could drown out
the wordless _shove_ that only she could feel. She addressed Seika instead of
Haru, not looking at either of them. "They don't really like me, so I'll stay
here and wait for you, all right?"

"But--"

"Mama doesn't want to make the horsies sad, okay?" Haru swung Seika under one
arm as he got up, making her squeal and giggle. "Let's go say goodbye to them."
He leaned over and kissed Rin's cheek, whispering, "We'll be right back,
promise."

Seika demanded a kiss of her own as he carried her back to the fence; Rin tried
to focus on the easy way Haru kissed the top of her head, and the sound of their
conversation--offered the choice between rhinoceroses and storks, Seika was
making a determined argument for circling back to the koalas--but she could feel
the horses' attention on her even with the distance between them.

*Go away.* No words--there had never been words, exactly, but now there was no
approximation of it, only an intense dislike that was somehow both fierce and
utterly impersonal.

"I _am_ going away," she said under her breath, as if they were listening. "She
just wants to look at you, and she's got nothing to do with us. And then I'll
leave." She briefly allowed herself to wonder if the horses knew her scent in
some way, and if they would recognize it on her daughter.

*GO.*

*Fine!* She got up too quickly, made herself pause to catch her breath and
balance, to call out. "Haru, I'm going on ahead."

He nodded acknowledgement, and she--didn't--run. Past the border of the horses'
enclosure, still so far away; past their neighbors, which she didn't stop to
identify; down the gradual slope that eventually put solid earth between her and
the accusation she would never be able to answer. None of them could. Birds,
Tohru had said, still scattered at Kureno's approach. Rin wondered if he'd heard
a note of birdsong in the nearly twenty years he'd been uncursed.

"I'm not a traitor," she said anyway, as the skies opened overhead. Heavy, warm
rain spattered on her face and bare limbs, the worst of the humidity already
starting to skim off in the wind. "I'm just human." *Or as close as I'm ever
going to be.*

Approaching footsteps made her turn. "Mama should be friends with the horsies,"
Seika was saying excitedly as they came into earshot. Rin waited for them,
keeping her head tilted back until they were close enough to touch. "Mama, they
talked to me!"

"They came over to the fence and nickered at her," Haru clarified, seeing the
bewildered alarm in her eyes as she stiffened. He shifted Seika to one hip and
pulled Rin against his other side, resting his cheek on her head. "You okay?"

"Mm hmm." The rain was coming down harder. With no one around to see, Rin let
herself rest against him, cupping a hand over Seika's eyes to keep the rain off
her face. "We should get her inside, or you'll have a sick little girl for your
birthday present."

Haru nodded. "What d'you think, kiddo? Want to go indoors and see the bugs?"

"Eewww," Seika said cheerfully.

Haru took it as a yes.

**********

"She's asleep, actually," Kagura said that evening, when Haru called to let her
know that he and Rin were on their way to pick Seika up. "They wore themselves
out playing, and she's been out like a light for an hour. Want to just let her
sleep over?"

"Hang on a sec." He muted his cell to check with Rin, and frowned at the faint
crease in her forehead as she nodded agreement. "You don't have to say yes. We
can go get her."

"I don't want to disturb her."

"It's not like she has any trouble getting back to sleep."

"I know. But she likes being over there." She shot a quick look at his phone.
"If you don't mind her staying, just say it's fine."

Haru went back to the call. "Hey, Kagura-nee, that's fine. If she wakes up she
can call us." They quickly arranged for him to get Seika after breakfast, and
said goodbye.

Rin started walking as soon as he was finished, stepping out into the rain
without showing any sign of looking for a cab. "How many times are you planning
on getting drenched today?" he asked, falling into step beside her. Her hand was
cool when he took it.

"We're not that far from home, and I'm planning on taking a bath as soon as we
get there." It was a more practical reply than he'd expected from the tense way
her shoulders were set, and he let it go. The rain soaked through his shirt
almost at once, and Rin was wet to the skin by the time they got home--more
because of her dress' low cut than the fabric--but the rain was almost as warm
as it had been during the day, and the bath was warmer still.

**********
"How do you say to a child in the night
'Nothing's all black, but then nothing's all white'?
How do you say it will all be all right
When you know that it mightn't be true?"

--Stephen Sondheim, "Children Will Listen" (Into the Woods)
**********

Much later, as Rin was carefully combing her hair out, Haru lifted his head from
her lap and reached up to lace his fingers behind her neck. "You're not worrying
'cause she didn't call, are you?"

She worked a last tangle loose and set the comb aside. "_You're_ the one who's
going to feel guilty and read her an extra story tomorrow night, not me."

"Then--" he kissed her forehead and mouth in quick succession as she lay back
down "--is it because of the horses?"

"Haru..." Her skin was still achingly sensitive from the way he'd been touching
her, taking full advantage of the unusually complete privacy. "Do you really
want to talk about this on your bir--"

"It's not my birthday anymore," he said, nodding at the clock. "It's over. I
turned twenty six, I had a fun day, and I want to know what's on your mind." He
kissed her again, slower. "Are you too tired to talk?"

"No," she admitted. "Do you think she noticed, earlier?"

"That the horses freaked you out? Not really. She's used to you getting all
quiet, sweetheart." The look he gave her was faintly apologetic.

"She shouldn't have to be."

"Maybe not, but it's not like you can just change who you are. You went off in
your own head for a little while, and she didn't really get why, and she still
had a great time."

"Because you distracted her. She's such a daddy's girl," Rin grumbled, but the
knot in her throat loosened.

He hugged her closer instead of pointing out that she was stating the obvious.
He and Seika adored each other in a way that sometimes made Rin's heart ache,
but at other times it was all that kept her from despairing over the certainty
that she was the weakness in the wall between Seika and the Sohma legacy of
silent, tormented children.

The irony of it wasn't lost on her: Haru's spectacular temper had mellowed
considerably since his early adolescence, but the maids and old aunts had eyed
him with silent suspicion when Seika was born. In practice, his near-bottomless
patience and affection were a painful contrast to Rin's waking nightmares of
having learned her own parents' lessons too well.

"But you're her mom," he said now, as he switched off the lamp. "You're not
gonna lose her."

"Maybe not now." She shivered, tugging him with her when she rolled onto her
back. The weight of his body was protective and comforting, something solid to
hide behind. "What are we going to tell her?"

Haru propped himself up on his elbows, letting her breathe while he stroked his
thumb along her jaw, thinking about the question as if she'd never asked it
before. "Probably nothing. We could tell her about it every day for her whole
life and she'd never understand. She might ask about the stuff you paint
sometime, but..." He shrugged.

"It feels like lying to her."

"It is, kind of. But you already decided not to tell her about other things."

"That's different," she whispered, shutting her eyes to block out the imperfect
darkness of the room.

"I know. But she's a heck of a lot more likely to ask why we never let her meet
her grandparents than why we can't go near some animals." He smoothed her hair
over the pillow, curling a lock of it around a finger. "I don't think anyone
ever really knows their parents, even if they want to."

Rin suppressed her immediate reaction--*And how would _we_ know?*--and gave it a
moment's thought. "I guess not." A tiny shudder went through her; she pulled him
the rest of the way onto her, burying her fingers in his hair. "My mother still
wants to see her," she breathed against his ear, as if someone might be
listening.

"How do you know?" he asked, just as quietly.

"She was talking to Satsuki-san. Hiro told me." Haru swore under his breath,
sounding more frustrated than angry; his head was heavy on her cheekbone. "She
doesn't understand why we won't let her, and--and--"

"She hurt you, too. She didn't just let your father do it."

"Why can't I just _hate_ her?" Her throat was too tight, closing on the words.

"I hate them enough for both of us," Haru said. The air of menace that had once
accompanied any discussion of her parents had faded over the years, worn down by
the understanding that she was never going to let him hurt them back, but the
lack of overt threat did little to blunt his loathing. "So you don't have to,
love." His voice softened, and he lifted himself off her, sitting back on his
heels. He cupped his hands around her face and kissed her, slow and deep, when
she sat up. "All you have to do is not let them hurt you any more." He kept
exploring her mouth, alternating whispers and kisses. "You're going to be fine.
Seika's going to be fine. Her mom's one of the strongest people I know."

The earnest look in his eyes drew out a tremulous smile. "Haru--"

"She's so much like you," he said. "I know you don't see it, but I remember what
you were like when you were a kid."

"Gure-nii says the same thing."

"He'd know."

It didn't quite knock the breath out of her anymore, thinking of Shigure and the
way her childhood adoration of him had been scraped to the bone. It almost
didn't hurt to see the way he watched her daughter, or the careful way he
obliged her by never speaking to Seika unless approached. And yet-- "I don't
think I should talk about him tonight."

"Okay." Haru gave her another kiss, examining her thoughtfully. "I think you
need ice cream."

"You think I what?" She craned her head around to see the clock. "It's one in
the morning."

"It's one in the morning, and we're both wide awake, and there's mochi ice cream
in the freezer. We saved the lychee for you." He pushed himself off the futon
and held his hands out to her. "Come on. You'll feel better."

"I married a lunatic," she said, shaking her head as he pulled her up, but she
followed him out of the bedroom, padding barefoot through the living room.

"And I married a woman who doesn't think of ice cream therapy on her own," he
countered. "I think we're even."

In the kitchen she caught his wrist to stop him, then slid her arms around his
waist, resting her cheek between his shoulder blades. "They didn't mind her
being there? The horses?"

"They didn't mind." He squeezed her hands and turned in the circle of her arms,
returning the embrace. "They came and looked her over, that's all. I don't know
if it was because of you, but I wish you'd could've seen the look on her face.
She was so happy."

*I wish I could have, too.* Another small price she'd never imagined paying, but
a bearable one. The alternative was Haru being unable to hold their daughter,
and it was unthinkable. "And you really had a good birthday?" she asked.

"Uh huh." He started to reach for the freezer handle, and let his hand drop back
to her waist when she didn't let go. "I really did," he said softly. "And
tomorrow's gonna be a good day too." He ran out of things to say and simply held
her instead, warming her against the cool night air.