It’s not as though he hasn’t seen her profoundly upset before.
In the time that they’ve known each other, he’s seen every emotional extreme the human body can possibly withstand. Face-cracking joy, heart-wrenching despair, anger that rivals the fire of hell (and knows those well), and darkness so bleak he feared she’d wander off a cliff in the dark. Of course, he’s had several lifetimes to see all that, and he’s been irrevocably linked to nearly all of them. Sometimes it makes him proud and sometimes it makes him violently ill, but there it is.
And there she is, sitting outside the door to his flat, sunshine head tipped back and leaning against the door, her legs drawn close to her torso, her arms wrapped around her knees like a protective barrier. She’s quiet and so still a passerby might think she’s fallen asleep. But he can tell by the set of her mouth and the occasional flutter of her eyelashes that this isn’t so. A passerby would miss a great deal about her.
A passerby couldn’t feel her heart breaking from the other end of the hall, but he can. It’s so clear to him in an instant that it feels like a religious epiphany, awe-inspiring and terrible in its clarity and profound in its meaning. It’s clear enough to make him want to wage wars and draw blood, but still somehow hold her closer than he physically can until death and decay make him fall away from her. Although even then, he knows he won’t leave her alone.
But then, it’s not as though he hasn’t seen her profoundly upset before.
Really, it’s the fact that she seems so subdued in her sadness that shakes him. Where Aino Minako is concerned, even apathy can’t be felt halfway. And nothing can ever, ever be felt in silence.
Yet there she is.
After processing all of this in his head, Takehiko allows himself to exhale. He walks forward, extricating his hands from the pockets of his trench coat and then sliding it off his shoulders. He wraps it around her body, which seems so much smaller than it usually does, knowing that she’s chilled without being told. Then he sits beside her, long legs stretching out and almost covering with the width of the hallway, and he reaches up, brushing a lock of hair out of her face, needing the physical contact but sensing the need to keep his distance.
“Hey,” she says quietly. The whisper sounds rough; she’s been crying.
“Hello,” he returns, his voice low and soft. “You could have called.”
Her eyes open into slits for a moment, and he sees a tiny spark of surprise register in her eyebrows. It relaxes when she remembers: she’s easily read, and he reads easily. “I broke my phone,” she tells him.
His lips tighten, and his eyebrows move together. In another situation, he’d remind her that in an age before stored numbers in cell phones, there was such a thing as memorization or pen and paper. He can imagine her laughing at this ridiculousness he has proposed, as if he’s told her to shrink down to microscopic size and retrieve the number from out his ear. If she’s in a gambling mood, she might challenge him to recite her number and Mamoru’s and everyone else they are mutually acquainted with, and then he’ll watch her growing dismay as he’s able to cite every one of them, except, unfortunately, for Akihito’s. He can never remember if the last digit is a five or a two. This will be her triumph, his point will be forgotten, and she will laud her victory loudly and incessantly until he finds a rather unconventional way to keep her quiet (about phones anyway).
But none of that is happening now, and he can’t allow himself to get too caught up in happier situations that aren’t going to happen. “How’d you manage that?”
“Threw it against the wall.”
“I see,” he remarks, briefly wondering about what else she might have broken in her apartment. A quick glance at her hands reveals a few minor scratches, and he has a feeling he’s going to ask Daisuke if he wants to clean an apartment for some extra cash. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, reaching around to stroke her hair. He’s not sure if it’s the right move, but it’s hard to stop now that he’s started. He has a fascination with it; sometimes he doesn’t even realize that it’s between his fingers until she starts giggling or someone tells them to get a room.
“Have to talk about it, don’t I?” she remarks, her voice flat. “Otherwise I hold onto it for too long and something explodes.”
He smiles a little, just enough so that she doesn’t mistake it for taking the situation – whatever it may be – lightly. “Well, your phone would argue that it’s too late for that.”
Air comes rushing out her nose and her facial muscles twitch, but she doesn’t really laugh and she doesn’t really smile. “As would half a dozen picture frames and a teapot.”
Takehiko nods, and decides Daisuke will definitely be getting that phone call. “Did Artemis survive the fallout?”
“He’s with Luna at Usagi’s,” she explains quickly. “I locked him out of the apartment so he can’t step on any broken glass.”
“He’s going to wonder where you are,” he points out, unable to let this go by without comment. It’s less of an admonishment, however, and more a precaution. Any time Minako stays out late at night or fails to be home exactly when she predicts, Takehiko usually has to deal with Artemis getting into his apartment, leaping onto his chest, and demanding to know what he’s done with her. The punishment is worst, of course, when Minako is actually at his apartment, and he doesn’t think either of them ought to deal with that at this precise moment.
“Usagi will keep him busy,” Minako says with absolute certainty, leading Takehiko to believe that the two women have spoken. He finds that odd, knowing that Minako likely doesn’t know her phone number either and knowing that the apartment she shares with Mamoru isn’t on the way to his. Going to see her about Artemis would be far more effort than the act was actually worth.
Takehiko decides to bring the conversation around to where it should be. “You realize of course that you haven’t talked about it yet.” His fingers brush against the back of her neck. He can feel the top of her spine.
Minako sighs, her head tipping back again. “I was hoping you wouldn’t notice.”
He sets his lips into a thin line, swallowing hard. His stomach feels heavier than lead and his arms itch to wrap themselves around her, but he knows it’s too soon for that yet. He hasn’t had to be this careful before, not since she’s normal a glutton for physical contact, and his body isn’t responding to the distance well. “Minako, talk to me.”
She scarcely lets a second go by before shooting her gaze in his direction, lake-blue eyes crashing into his own. “What do you think about kids?”
He stares, blinking several times. It amazes him, how she continues to find new ways to shock him where almost everyone else fails. “In general?”
“Having them,” she clarifies. He expects her to blush, like she does when her mother “subtly” brings up the subject at the monthly dinners, but the color of her face remains neutral.
He has several sinking suspicions, all linked to possibilities that at least on some level terrify him. For once, he decides not to try to draw conclusions before she just tells him what’s going on. “Kids are great,” he says, smiling a bit and praying that it does something to reassure her. “I think I might like having them…” He trails off, leaving off the intended “eventually.”
“Are you good with them?” she asks, eyes narrowing.
His heart has now managed to twist itself into the most complicated sailing knot in existence. “They take awhile to warm up to me.” He pauses. “I’ve made kids cry before just by looking at them. It can be problematic.”
She passes up the opportunity to make a plethora of jokes. “I’m horrible with kids,” she confesses. “They get on my nerves; I don’t have the patience. And I hate that they can’t talk at first. You never know what’s wrong with them, but they just keep crying and crying… It’s all they can do except eat and… you know. They can’t move around – can’t even hold up their own heads.” She shudders and draws her knees closer. “When Usagi finally gets pregnant, everyone else is going to want to hold Chibi-Usa immediately, but I’m not going to touch her. I’d never forgive myself if I did something wrong or drop her.” She closes her eyes tightly. “When Usagi told me she and Mamoru were trying to get pregnant, I had nightmares where I was holding her and just… let go.” She swallows and becomes frighteningly pale. “And her head just bursts open and there’s so much blood and Usagi’s screaming and I--”
Now he can’t stop himself. He reaches for her and pulls her close, wrapping his arms around her so tightly that he hears her breath hitch. He loosens his grip, but not by much, and holds on, finding peace in the way she still fits between his arms, like she’s always belonged. Finally, he feels her fingers clutch at his shirt and her head moves slightly so that her cheek is resting on his neck, her breath hot and ragged on his skin.
“It’ll be okay,” he says, daring himself to make assumptions. “We’ll figure this out. It’ll--"
“No, no it won’t. It won’t be okay,” she insists, her voice cracking and making his stomach lurch.
He nods and readjusts his hold on her. “Yes, it will. I mean… we’re not the first people this has happened to, right?” He presses her lips to the top of her head and whispers fiercely. “But I am not going anywhere, do you hear me? I would never, ever do that to you and…” He trails off because he has no idea how he can start thinking of Minako as two people.
She goes completely rigid in his arms, and he panics, thinking she’s about to be sick or that he’s said something horribly, disgustingly wrong, and he had no idea where to backtrack. She pushes him away, her eyes overflowing with grief mixed with guilt and a thousand other things he has no time to identify. “Oh, no. Oh, no no no. I did it wrong.” She slaps her hand against her forehead hard enough that it’s bound to leave a mark. “I’m such an idiot, starting like that! I just… I didn’t know how to tell you, and now you think--”
He reaches forward again, knowing that there will be no way to stop her now unless he physically intervenes. He cups her face in his hands and turns her face toward him. She almost draws back because of the look he knows must be on his face; she’s told him before that even now, sometimes his intensity makes her balk. But she holds her ground, staring at him through tears he can’t stand to see.
“Minako,” he starts quietly, smoothing his palms over her cheeks. “It’s all right. Whatever it is, it’s all right… Just tell me. At your own pace of course, but tell me.” He pauses, swallowing again. “Please.”
She relaxes between his palms, not entirely, but enough. She tips her head to one side. “I’m not pregnant.”
He has no idea how to react to that – not in the sense of reassuring her and not privately. He wishes the fear would go away after this revelation, but now it’s only gotten worse. If she isn’t pregnant, what else could be wrong? “Okay,” he says neutrally.
“I’m so sorry I…” she trails off, biting her lip. She takes a deep breath and continues. “I didn’t tell you this, but… last month, I missed a few pills.”
He doesn’t have to ask which ones she’s talking about. “You didn’t tell me?”
“There was nothing either of us could do about it,” she explains in a way that makes him guess that this part, at least, was rehearsed. “It was over and done with, and we’d… Well, we always use protection anyway, so I didn’t think it would make much of a difference. But I knew you’d worry about it, and you’re so busy with school, that I didn’t want to put useless burdens on you. Besides, the women in my family are notorious for having difficult pregnancies. My mother couldn’t have babies after me, and none of my aunts have ever managed to get pregnant. My doctor said I was probably the same way, so I… decided it was a non-issue.”
He continues to be unsure of himself, and he hates it because it’s unfamiliar territory. On the one hand, he’s hurt that she kept all that from him, even a little angry where the pills are concerned, but on the other hand, she’s right about him worrying. He would worry, and he wouldn’t mind it, but he knows she would. “You could have told me.”
“I should have told you,” Minako corrects, and it’s clear that he hasn’t influenced this opinion at all. “But I didn’t, and… anyway.” She sniffs, tossing her hair a bit. “After that whole mess, I realized that I was a few days late. But I didn’t think anything of it because of the pills, not even when two days turned into two weeks. I just thought my hormones were messing everything up, and it would sort itself out. I didn’t start to get concerned until I started getting sick a few mornings, but even then I thought, ‘No way. That can’t be what’s going on.’
“But then one morning, there was blood. A lot of it.” She quivers, ducking her head and refusing to look him in the eye. “And I had cramps, the worst since I was a girl and had to go on the damn thing. Something was wrong. I knew it. I didn’t know what, but I…”
Minako sighs, her fingers curling up and crinkling her skirt between her hands. “I called Usagi because I wanted to see her doctor. I would have seen mine, but she’s pregnant and on bed rest.” Minako can’t seem to help but roll her eyes at the absurdity of this: a doctor having any sort of medical issue. “Anyway, she seemed concerned too, so we went, and the doctor said that I didn’t have cancer or anything scary like that…
“Just that I’d probably had a miscarriage.”
And at last, he knows. Even if he hadn’t heard the words, her voice would have been enough to tell him. The drop in volume and pitch, and the sudden shame is more than enough to confirm this. He knows he can never really understand what all of that means for her, but he registers the loss as well. He hangs his head, clenching his jaw and inhaling harshly. “Minako…” he begins, but his voice is so hushed that she doesn’t hear.
“Casually, he tells me this,” Minako continues, as suddenly bitter as the start of an earthquake. She sniffs loudly, and he feels her muscles tighten beneath his hands again. “Like it isn’t a big deal.” She laughs suddenly, but he doesn’t mistake that for a sign of recovery. “Of course, it isn’t to him. He’s not the one who screwed up.”
He’s not exactly well read on the subject, but he knows enough to try to put a stop to that immediately. “Minako, it wasn’t your fault.”
She finally looks him, her eyes scoffing at these words. “Of course it is,” she insists, speaking as though confirming a textbook fact. “Miscarriages happen because something is wrong with the ba—with it.” She breathes sharply. “And really, how could something not be wrong with it? I spend most of my day twisting my body into ridiculous contortions that no one should ever force themselves to be in. I drink. I hang out in smoky clubs and bars. And let’s not forget genetics--"
“Minako--" he starts, knowing she wasn’t going to let him finish.
“I spent my teenage years getting kicked in the stomach and tossed into walls!” she yells at him, and even though she doesn’t mean it that way, he takes it personally, unable to forget that he was one of those people. “If they looked, they’d probably find I’m all twisted up inside, and that’s why it died! Because of my mother and monsters and me, Takehiko, because of me!”
She’s finally letting the tears rush out from behind her eyelids like twin waterfalls surging down her skin. It’s sobbing that comes from the bottoms of her feet and makes everything shake so violently it hurts to hold her, but he does it anyway. She gasping and crying and sometimes screaming in his arms, but he never, ever leaves her and he’s never felt more certain that he’s never going to.
Eventually, he carries her into the apartment because a neighbor peaks out and helplessly points inside, referencing the howling child Minako has woken up from a nap. He’s lucky that Minako doesn’t hear it, but hurries her into the living room nonetheless. Then he sits on the couch and keeps a steady grip, sometimes speaking words of comfort he knows will do nothing and sometimes sitting helplessly longing for the power to change this. It takes awhile, but the crying eventually subsides, and he has never been more grateful for dry eyes.
“But you know what the worst part is?” she whispers hours later, curled up on his lap and clinging to his damp shirt.
He continues to stroke her hair even though his arm is starting to hurt. “What?” he asks, filling the room with the sound of his query.
“The first thing I felt was relief,” she admits, her voice strangely devoid. “The first thing I thought was, ‘Oh, thank God. Thank God I’m free of that burden.’” She pulls himself closer to him even though it isn’t really possible. “That could have been my child, and that’s how I grieve.”
Takehiko shakes his head and kisses her temple. “No, Minako. This is it,” he tells her ardently, hating himself for his inability to do more than this. “This is how you grieve.”
She doesn’t say anything more after that. Neither of them do. There’s more to be said, more to be done, but they both know it’s going to take time.
And sometimes, it’s going to take silence.
