where have all your children gone? (GetBackers, Ginji/Makube)

[gisho.livejournal.com]

Title: where have all your children gone
Author: gisho
Wordcount: ~4300
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Spoilers though the manga ending, nonexplicit sex
Prompt: GetBackers, Ginji/Makube: tender sex - "my heavy heart sings deep down under"
A/N: I'm so sorry. I know it was probably a typo in the prompt. But my brain would not let go.




Amano Ginji was sixteen when she met him for the first time. She'd heard about him for years, of course - his adoring mother would go off at the least provocation, and her co-workers had just learned to put up with it. Dr. Amano was every inch the scientist when she tried, but every inch the mother when given an opening. Makube had watched Evangelion and the contrast always made her think of the three computers, the three aspects of their creator - scientist, mother, woman. If there was a woman in Dr. Amano, she'd never seen it. Their friendship was as scientists first, and mothers second, and women not at all.

It was as a mother, then, that she was invited to come witness his very first kendo tournament. "Maybe you could bring your son," Amano told her, eyes bright and hopeful. "I bet he'd like it. I bet they'd get along just great. Ginji gets along with everyone, you know - he just has to smile and they're eating out his hand. Me especially, but I'm his mother so it's allowed, don't you think?"

"Well, it's a useful talent," Makube said. She did not bring her son.

Ginji came out from the locker room afterwards flush with pride - he'd taken second - and his hair sticking up every which way, and greeted his mother with a hug. He was so full of life she could believe he was a charmer, and he smiled like the sun coming out. He hugged her, too, a little awkwardly around the shoulders, and cheerfully told her how much his mother had said about her, how pleased he was to meet her. He smelled like sweat and soap and his body was trim and masculine, and the feeling was one she had forgotten existed.

*

He invited himself over, more or less ("Oh, are you busy? Good! I'll come see you, then. I'll bring cookies!") and talked for hours, while she sipped tea and smiled and occasionally murmured a thoughtful remark. She asked if his mother had put him up to it. Ginji looked a little annoyed. "Of course it was her idea," he declared. "She's worried about you. But she says worrying in people's faces doesn't do any good. And I barely know you, so I'm not worried, so I can come over and cheer you up."

"And eat my scones."

"They're good scones," he said firmly, and she let it go at that.

Ginji asked if he could meet her son, the one his mother couldn't have told him about, because Makube didn't talk about him as a rule. Age ten, pale, quiet. It was the best euphemism she could muster. He was sitting on the floor with a book in front of him and a notepad on his knee, and rocking softly back and forth, paying them no attention at all.

To her amazement, Ginji went in and knelt beside the boy, asking softly what he was reading. To even more amazement, her son looked up and blinked, and then he slowly lifted the book. He didn't say anything, of course. He never spoke to strangers.

Ginji looked up guiltily when she stepped into the room. "Oh! Uh, I didn't mean - "

"Of course not." She knelt beside the two of them, carefully balanced. Her finger was twisting in her hair - a childish habit, she knew, but she'd never been quite able to break it. "I don't mind. He'll be okay once he gets used to it." She rested one hand on each of their shoulders and squeezed gently. Ginji grinned, a little uncertain, and her son twitched and was still.

*

They made a regular date of it, after a bit. Every Thursday afternoon. It was good to have someone to talk too. Work was tiring, and she had little else to do but worry. It was impossible to worry with Ginji around. She tried to talk about her work, which was good exercise, since she had to break it down into small words and avoid all the classified parts. She didn't avoid them too carefully; he was Dr. Amano's son, he must know most of what was going on.

"Sorry," he said once, blushing, when her third attempt at breaking something down into manageable bits had failed. "I'm not that smart, really. Not like you and Mama are. It's pretty amazing. I could never be a scientist in a million years. I can barely pass science class." He blushed.

She sighed internally. "You're not stupid, Ginji. Just a bit hyperactive. You'd do fine if you learned to concentrate."

"Mama says that too. But I never can." He wilted.

Makube couldn't help but feel sympathy; she patted him on the shoulder. "It won't be a problem anyway if you're not going into science. Have you picked out what you want to do with your life yet?"

"Uh-huh! I want to be a teacher. I get on great with kids, and it's ... it's really important, isn't it? It's good. I want to make the world a better place." He was beaming, and she felt herself smile helplessly in response. "I know it's nothing fancy, there are lots of teachers, but there are lots of children too so it all works out."

"What grade? Elementary?"

"Probably." He nodded. "Hey, what school does your son go to? Just curious," he hastily added at her blank stare. "I've never seen any school things in his room, or a uniform or anything."

He didn't mean anything by it. She took a deep breath before she answered. "It's a speciality school. You won't have heard of it."

"Oh." He shuffled his feet, but thankfully he seemed to get the idea that she didn't want to talk about it. "Hey, you busy next Sunday? I know Mama is," he added sheepishly. "Some work thing."

"Not my department," she said, carefully not adding apparently. Some meeting they didn't want her to know about? It wasn't as if they could keep her out. Even the frightening old German lady couldn't keep secrets from Makube long. "I don't have plans. Why?"

He was blushing, just a little. "There's a festival - I was wondering if you wanted to go. Just a little one, up near our house. I mean. You're good company and all."

"What, you don't have any friends to invite?"

"Well," he muttered, "they've all sort of paired off. It's stupid. All the girls say they like me and then they go get somebody else for a boyfriend. I wish I had a girlfriend. A nice one. Who made good cake." He ran a hand through his hair and grinned sheepishly at her. "So, how bout it? You on?"

It was just a few hours; that wouldn't be bad. "Alright," she said, and reached out to brush the stray hairs out of his face. Not really a chore that needed doing, but he looked so adorable she couldn't help herself. She could see why Dr. Amano loved her son so much; he was so easy to love. So personable, so warm-hearted - so very eager to change the world. The inverse of her own.

They kissed for the first time at the festival. She let Ginji walk her home afterwards, so late the sky was as dark as it ever was in Tokyo, and they held hands most of the way.

The next day at work Dr. Amano cornered her in the hall, in a way that could not possible be accidental. She expected a dressing-down, but she just got a long look. Then Amano said softly, "You be good to him, alright?"

"Oh, I will," Makube told her. "No worries."

*

She should feel at least a little guilty, taking up with a boy half her age - less than - but she couldn't quite manage it. Ginji was so happy. So gleeful, and so gigglingly proud of his girlfriend, like she was still in school just like him - not that she couldn't pass for a high-schooler if she needed to. She'd never looked her age. They made a well-matched couple, if you didn't look too closely. He was a little taller and good deal more enthusiastic, and he dragged her everywhere, tried to immerse her in culture and keep her from holing up in her apartment all the time.

He tried to convince her to bring her son. She refused, and tried to tell herself that leaving him alone once in a while would do him no harm. In truth, he was less likely than many children to come to harm, left home alone. If she told him to stay in his room and do quiet things, he would. She made sure to be home by his bedtime, and tuck him in. One day she arrived home to find her son's door already closed, with a note on it, on his neat, careful handwriting, stating that he had gone to bed early, and tucked himself in, and that he wanted this to be the normal state of affairs from now on. Very well, she thought. So be it.

Ginji introduced her to his friends, although only as a friend of his mother's, from work. They welcomed her and she tried not to wince from the memory of her own lonely, miserable school years. Ginji's friends were a mixed bunch, but mostly they were quite like him.

She took him home one night, made sure her son was asleep or pretending to be, then introduced him to the wonders of sex.

It felt strange to her - stranger to her than him, she judged; he was a growing boy and must have had ideas, but for the past twelve years she had locked that part of herself down, ignored it steadfastly and told herself it was no further use. But something in him and woken feelings she thought long frozen. She kissed him, and invited him to undress her, which he did with puppyish eagerness; all her defences were stripped from her with her clothing, or might as well have been. It didn't help that when he was done he stared at her for a few seconds and then blurted out, "You're really beautiful, you know that?" She hadn't. No one had ever called her beautiful before.

She tugged him until he overbalanced and fell on top of her, and they both laughed for far longer than it should have been funny.

Afterwards he dozed, wrapping her up in his strong arms. He snored a little, which was endearing in its way. She felt safe here, and comfortable, and she felt horribly guilty, because she knew it wouldn't work, not for long, and he'd be so upset when she said it was over. Like kicking a puppy.

Dr. Amano didn't complain, at least, when Ginji started spending the night with her every now and then. She spoke to Makube just as she always had, with the cautious warmth of a colleague and distant friend. When Ginji turned seventeen she threw a party. Makube showed up, but she left early; the enthusiastic welcome of his friends was no easier to bear the second time.

*

Ginji took to bringing her food at some point; she barely noticed when but before long every Thursday evening began with a glad cry of "I've got mochi!" or "The corner store had a special on hom bow!" or "You have got to try this new ice cream flavor! Quick, open up so I can stick in in the freezer before it melts!" She hadn't really noticed the summer coming on. When they made love now their bodes stuck together with sweat, and she felt as if she could melt away into his body like a scoop of ice cream, licked slowly to bits. It wasn't an unpleasant feeling. She clung to it.

She was so glad he'd woken up those parts of her again.

"Ginji," she whispered late at night, barely audible over the hum of her bedroom fan. "Ginji, I never did thank you properly, did I? You've been so good to me. Better than I deserve. I feel like I'm just using you, and - "

His finger on her lips surprised her and she swallowed the end of her sentence. "Shh," he said. "I like this. It's good for both of us. You make me happy. Just because it's not loud doesn't mean it's not true."

"Oh, Ginji."

*

Autumn that year was long and damp. Ginji showed up on her doorstep one Thursday as usual, lugging a backpack. He took it to her son's room. She trailed behind, curious. Ginji knocked, and her son opened the door after a few seconds. There was a neat assemblage of blocks in the middle of the floor, in the shape of a tower.

"Here," Ginji said proudly, and fished in his backpack. After a moment he produced a stuffed rabbit. Makube blinked. It was white, and dressed in a neat little waistcoat. "I know you like Alice in Wonderland, your copy's all worn to bits. So here's a white rabbit for you."

Her son blinked.

"It's a thank-you gift. For helping me with my algebra homework. Go on, it's alright." Ginji held out the little rabbit and smiled desperately.

Her son took it, and tilted his head to stare at the floor.

"That means 'thank you,' she whispered in Ginji's ear. "Come on, let's leave him alone for a bit."

They were curled up together on the sofa a while later when Ginji said, "Um. I've been your boyfriend for a while now - "

"Mmm?" She was a little bit busy. He felt good.

"I was wondering. Mama and I were going to go up to Hokkaido and ski but work got busy and she had to cancel and I thought maybe you could come instead."

She thought about it for a bit. It would mean leaving her son, but then, if she were absent from work for a while - What could Dr. Amano possibly be doing that she hadn't heard about? Had they changed their protocols? Started asking in person? She'd have to update her bugs. Great, what a moment to have a paranoid fit. Her hand was shaking and Ginji was looking at her in shock. "Thank you," she said, her voice sounding to her ears like it was coming from a very long way off, "but I couldn't possibly. I can't ski, anyway. You should ask one of your friends from school."

"Alright," he said, and sounded only a little disappointed.

*

The strange German lady (she had a name and Makube knew it, but in her head the old woman would forever be 'the strange German lady') showed up the next day, and took Dr. Teshimine out to lunch. Makube watched them restlessly. She couldn't bug every restaurant in the city. She sat at her desk and pretended to code for a while with her headphones on, flipping through the director's rooms. After a while she got up and found Dr. Amano, and hustled her out. "I want to talk to you about Ginji," she said grimly.

When they were sitting outside under a tree Dr. Amano looked at her, pale and hands twisting in her coat. "What is it? Is something the matter with Ginji?"

"No. He's fine. I want to know about what Dr. Teshimine is up to and how much he's told you. Does the phrase 'wine of fearful wrath' mean anything to you?"

"It's from the Bible, isn't it? Revelations - "

"Amano." She put her hand on the other woman's shoulder, and Dr. Amano flinched away. "I'm on your side," Makube continued implacably. "You're my friend. I don't think they mean the best for you. But I do. Won't you trust me?"

Dr. Amano looked away and rubbed her eyes. "I suppose I have to, don't I? I have to trust someone or I'll blow up," she continued, voice soft and quavery. The misty rain clung to her skin, and she looked like a washed-out ghost.

*

With his birthday for an excuse, she bought her son a computer. At the same time she started bringing her work home. He had started sleeping with the rabbit, she noticed. All the toys she had bought him in his early youth were piled pristine on top the bookshelf, but the damn rabbit was in his arms every night. It didn't seem fair. She wanted to cry, but the noise might have woken him up.

Copies of everything went on spare flash drives. Who knew when it might be necessary? The drives were carefully hidden in her box of sweaters, where they would be out of the way. Where she could get to them easily.

Ginji made her warm nourishing soups and commented on how sick she looked, nd how she should really get more sleep.

*

It was the beginning of February before there was a truly sunny day again. They went walking in the park. Ginji stopped at one point to shimmy up a tree and get back a little girl's frisbee. Makube watched from below, feeling very out of place in her neat dress and heels. When he slid back down, a littel scraped up with leaves in her hair, the girl thanked him and hugged his kees before she ran back to her bemused mother. Makube sighed and tried to brush the leaves out of his hair.

They wound up sitting next to a pond, where a few brave ducks were already out looking for food. She let her hand sneak onto his knee. "We'll have to come back here when it's properly summer," she began.

"Uh-huh. If I'm in town. I'll try to be, though." He shuffled his feet.

"Oh, you're going somewhere else for college?" She blinked. Somehow she had been unable to imagine him leaving his mother that long. "Where are you applying for?"

"I'm not," he said, and smiled sideways. "Taking a year off first. I dunno. I just don't want to get so wound up in trying to be someone that I forget to do it now, you know?" She knew it wasn't meant as a personal slight, but it still hurt. Scientist, mother - how much woman was there left, apart from the woman she was for him? "So, I don't know. I kinda want to try things out. See the world, maybe. Make new friends." He turned to her and looked very earnestly into her eyes. "I'm not breaking up with you, though. You're still my girlfriend and I still want you to be happy."

"Oh, Ginji," she whispered, and something inside her cracked very neatly down the middle. "You shouldn't - I'm not the kind of woman you need. Really."

"You're doing just fine." He kissed her on the cheek. "These things don't always work out the obvious way, you know? Two people can look like the most different people in the world, and still fit together just fine. Wonderful. As long as they love each other, everything will be fine." He ruffled her hair and she found herself blushing like a schoolgirl. "So don't worry, okay? You've got enough to worry about."

Makube went home thinking of Valentine's chocolates.

She remembered that conversation later, because it happened just a few days before the end of the bad weather. The end of everything.

*

It would have been a school day, and they would have all been in bed long ago in preparation for an early start. Her mind kept bouncing back on that and protesting, and she had a splitting headache, which wasn't fair or relevant because Amano was leaning on her, gasping with sobs, and there were wet, ashy sstreaks down the front of her white dress, and all she could think was that she hoped she had really remembered to send a text message to her son, because if she hadn't he would be hysterical when she didn't get home, would have been hysterical now for most of an hour, and the neighbours would complain, because he tried so hard to be quiet but it just leaked out around the edges and he could do nothing but bash his fists against the wall and scream, and she wanted to bash her fists against the wall and scream but instead she just kept rocking her friend back and forth and saying 'Sorry', because she couldn't say 'everything will be alright', because it wouldn't be.

It wasn't fair, Amano kept saying, over and over, and in the dry, sarcastic part of her mind that floated over the mess Makube was inclined to agree.

There were a lot of people bustling about. An ambulance had been called for the two girls who'd been trapped in the back bedroom and seared their lungs with smoke. Amano had watched them being taken away with the most empty, guilty eyes. Their parents had gone too. Half their house was a pile of blackened timber, but that was going to be the least of their worries. Amano kept rubbing her eyes. Makube didn't ask her if she'd gotten smoke in them. Of course she had. She coughed from time to time, tiny wet coughs as much from tears as honest irritation of the throat. The fire had been put out before it reached her house. One helpful neighbor who had arrived late on the scene had pointed this out. He'd been so surpised when the fire chief had slugged him on the jaw. She kept staring at the mess and taking half-steps toward it, like she was going to plunge into the blaze and find him, pull him out. The fire was out now. It had been for half an hour and the street was black and blue and grey again, lit by nothing but streetlights. There was one body left in the blackened mess, but finding it would have to wait for daylight. He'd tried so hard. He'd gotten the girls out. He would have said that was the important thing.

After a while Makube managed to steer them into a taxi, and homeward, and up the stairs to her apartment. There was no noise. If her son had gone hysterical, he had gotten over it. She drew a bath while Dr. Amano sat shivering on the counter, and then fixed tea. By three in the morning Amano had stopped shaking and gone into numb staring at the opposite wall, and Makube put her to bed, then sat at her kitchen counter and stared out the window until the sky turned pink and orange with dawn. It was going to be a beautiful day.

There was a noise behind her. She turned, expecting her son, but it was Amano, wrapped in Makube's too-small bathrobe and her arms wrapped around herself. "Look," she began. "It's all patterns, isn't it? Everything. History, physics, the human mind. All patterns. You're good at patterns."

She couldn't think of anything to say, so she nodded.

*

Her son held the stuffed rabbit between his hands. She put her hands on his shoulders, and looked straight at him. "Look at me," she said. "Do you understand?"

He looked up and blinked slowly twice, the signal that he did.

"This is important. Remember it. Everything can be predicted, if it can be made into an accurate mathematical model. Everything. The human mind can be modeled. The world can be modeled. If something can be modeled, the model can be changed, and the effect of the change predicted." If she could have changed her son, she thought, she would have. She would make the models in his mind better, until he could play on people's feelings as easily as playing a violin. She would open up the whole world to him. Why should he not have it? She would trade his mute gestures for the tongue of an angel and the words of a prophet, and his clear vision ... that she would keep. She pulled a flash drive out of her pocket and pressed it into his hand. "There's information on this. There's a statement of purpose. I wrote it. I think you can fulfil it. Will you try?"

He blinked slowly twice, and whispered, "Mother."

"Thank you."

He would not answer her knock to go the school the next morning, and she left for work with her mind churning, only remembering to call the school with an excuse two train stations away. In the end he took six weeks. Inspiration beats heavy-hearted determination, every time.

*

Dr. Amano had begun wearing thick glasses. They didn't suit her, and she still blinked owlishly at people. Maybe she'd lost her contacts, or maybe her vision was getting worse. Makube didn't ask. She just pulled here away after lunch one day, and said, "We're going on a trip this weekend. Just the two of us."

"Just the two of us?"

"Oh yes. You know," she said carefully, "I miss Ginji too. But it does no good to keep on hurting, does it?" She smiled a little. She had been told it was a charming smile, charming and childish, especially with her curly hair and slender body to back it up. Amano only looked bleak. "We should do something useful with our grief. And I need to ask you something."

"What's that?" Amano brushed a strand of hair behind her ear and tried to muster an expression of brave resolution.

"If something happened to me. You'd take care of my son. Wouldn't you? I don't like to think of leaving him behind."

There was a long silence between them. Makube took Amano's hand.

Finally Amano took her hand. "I think," she said, "we should take that weekend early. We have a lot to talk about." Her fingers tightened around the flash drive Makube had pressed into her fingers. "Somewhere we won't be overheard."

Comments

[amethyst-hunter.livejournal.com]

Neat 'what-if' on their beginnings. I liked the bit on concentration, because I can relate to that and Ginji's frustration with it (one word: ADD). Nice fic. :)

[gisho.livejournal.com]

Aww! Glad you enjoyed, even if it was a very weird approach. (Was it your prompt?)

[amethyst-hunter.livejournal.com]

Nope, 'fraid it wasn't. (I have yet to submit any prompts - I'm relatively new to this community. ^^; )