Still Raining

Still Raining
Sequel to: On the Street of Dreams
Written by: chochowilliams
Disclaimer: I do not own Gravitation or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Summary: Ayaka is used to getting what she wants and what she wants now is Eiri. She’ll do whatever it takes to make him hers. Anything.
Chapter Summary: The results are in and Tohma gathers the troops.
Warning: fantasy, angst, drama, romance, m-preg, language, M/M, hentai, Ryuichi/Tatsuha, Eiri/Shuichi
Inserts: --
A/N: I have a feeling this story is drawing to a close. Not sure how soon though. Just to let you know, I’m not going to go through the entirety of Shu’s pregnancy. I’m not even sure if I’ll have him give birth. We’ll see. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this next chapter. Thank you to kaname-luvr, fan girl 666, selina, sarah83654123, Namikaze naruko14 for your reviews.

-- 20 --20 -- 20 -- 20 --

Last Time

This had to be the most boring assignment she had ever had the privilege of being part of. Ms Ayaka Usami was a boring woman. Very.

Dull.

Mind numbing.

Tiresome.

Unexciting.

Monotonous.

Repetitive.

Whichever verb was used, it all amounted to the same definition. Uninteresting. As in stimulating no interest or enthusiasm.

Yawning, Shiho stretched her arms over her head. Sighing, she flopped onto her back against the warm grass. Setting the binoculars besides her, she folded her arms behind her head and crossing one leg over the other, let her eyes flutter closed.

Well, this chick wasn’t all bad. Boring was actually turning out to be a good thing. She could finally catch up on her sleep.

-- 20 --20 -- 20 -- 20 --

Chapter 20: Please Don’t Say It

Monday- Seguchi Residence - Tokyo Midtown Residence - Tokyo, Japan

When her husband decided to come home to have lunch with her, Mika knew something was going on. He either usually forgot to eat because he was so busy or he grabbed something quick out of the vending machines in the commissary at the studio. It turned out she was right, not that she ever doubted it. She usually was. Her husband, it seemed, was going to be late getting home.

“Oh?”

Tohma, using his chopsticks, shoveled some rice into his mouth. “I have to go to Kyoto this evening. There‘s this band I was invited to check out, so I’m not sure-”

The ringing of his cellphone interrupted him.

Mika glanced over her shoulder at her husband’s sleek blackberry that was dancing across the sleek surface of the bar overlooking the stove and then back at her husband.

Picking his white linen napkin from his lap, Tohma dabbed at his mouth before setting it down on the table besides his plate. “Excuse me, dear,” he said to his wife before pushing away from the table.

“Of course,” Mika said with a nod. She watched her husband waltz towards his phone.

As the phone continued to buzz in his hand, its shrill ring filling the otherwise silence of the kitchen, Tohma frowned at what was displayed on the LCD screen. Private. There was only one thing he detested more than having his busy schedule interrupted with mindless drivel and that was receiving a call from someone who refused to be identified by caller ID. He had half a mind to press “ignore”, but decided against it. It could very well end up being from the very people he has been waiting to hear from.

Then again, it could be a telemarketer.

Either way, what was supposed to be a nice quiet lunch with his wife was ruined.

He answered the phone mid-ring. “Hello?”

“Yes. Hello. I’m looking for Mr. Tohma Seguchi.”

“Speaking.”

“Mr. Seguchi. Hello. This is Takashi Iba from DNA Diagnostic.”

“Ah! Mr. Iba. Hello, sir. Tell me you have some good news for me.” It was best to get right to the point instead of focusing on tedious pleasantries. He was a very busy man with very little time for mindless chitchat that he had no interest in.

“Yes, sir. We have the results of the paternity test you requested. In fact, they are in my hands as we speak.”

That was fast, Tohma thought in surprise, though his unchanging expression gave no hint to the excitement and pleasure flowing through him. Three working days. That was how long he was told it would usually take to receive the results. This meant normally, since blood samples were drawn on Friday evening, results should not have been known until at least Wednesday, but here it is Monday and the results were already known. Efficiency. That was what he liked.

“Excellent.”

Even though the DNA Diagnostic Center was a world-renowned institution with a reputation as being the best, this was a very serious matter involving members of his own family and he had to make sure that everything had gone smoothly and by the book and that nobody had taken any short cuts. There could be no screw-ups, no mistakes. He would tolerate nothing short of perfection.

“Do you trust the results?”

“Of course, as I performed the test myself.”

That surprised Tohma even more than having the results back several days earlier than expected. “Even better. Now, how soon can you have the results delivered?”

“It depends on how soon you want them.”

“As soon as possible.”

“In that case, they can be at your office within the hour. I will personally deliver them myself.”

“Excellent! I look forward to finally meeting you, Mr. Iba.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Well,” he said, ending the call, “that was unexpected.” Most welcome, but unanticipated still the same.

Mika had been listening to her husband’s end of the conversation and had some inkling as to what was going on, but she wanted to be certain that she was not just leaping to conclusions. “Tohma? What’s going on? Who was that?”

“That, my dear,” Tohma explained as his fingers flew over the keypad of his cellphone, “was Takashi Iba from the DNA Diagnostic Center and it appears as if…” He held the phone to his ear. “…there’s suddenly been a change of plans.”

She’d figured as much.

Mika glanced at the now cold food she had painstakingly prepared in preparation for a quiet meal with her husband. It was rare that they were able to synchronize their schedules so that they could eat together. Instead of going out like they normally would, she had actually decided to cook. It was something she rarely did. She was no Iron Chef, but she enjoyed cooking. Now it had all gone to waste.

“Yes, I do apologize, but something has come up,” Tohma was speaking softly into the phone as he strode out of the kitchen and down the hall out of sight.

“Guess it’ll be leftovers,” Mika announced unhappily, “and dinner for one,” she continued after hearing the distant sound of the front door opening and closing. She sighed.

-- 20 --20 -- 20 -- 20 --

Black Dragon Compound - Kita-ku, Kyoto, Japan

The dispute with Hong Kong had been settled rather quickly, for which he was extremely thankful. He had more important business matters to attend to, like dealing with the PSIA, without having to deal with the bunch of chimps that thought they could run Hong Kong. Actually, a group of chimps probably could do a better job.

According to the manifesto, the shipment in dispute had indeed arrived just as he had been claiming all along, albeit a bit behind schedule due to rough seas. In fact, the ship had only just reached port the night before, meaning, of course, that the container was still on board the ship and had yet to be unloaded. This was something that could have been easily confirmed, but apparently, it was just as he had suspected. Hong Kong had been trying to pull the wool over his eyes.

To say relations between the two were now strained would be putting it lightly, not that that was any big loss. It wasn’t as if they were his only customers, his most loyal, or his biggest spenders.

The PSIA, Public Safety Intelligence Agency, was breathing down his neck about alleged criminal activity they believed was taking place, but couldn‘t prove. It was quite amusing actually, like watching your rival fumbling around lost in a maze in the middle of a moonless night while he had a map and a flashlight.

They may not be able to prove anything, but they “knew”. Oh, yes they did. Years of experience as well as good ole fashioned common sense screamed that one did not become part of the Yakuza because one was a good businessman. Luckily, the DA’s office, as well as Grand Juries, need something a little more concrete than gut instincts. Otherwise, he would have been lynched long ago.

Apparently, the PSIA were starting to become impatient, or so says his source with the department. Not that they could be blamed. After all, spending millions of tax dollars in order to place him and his known associates under surveillance, wiretapping his phones, bugging his home, raiding his businesses- including those with no ties to organized crime- and interviewing supposed eyewitnesses, they have yet to turn up any leads. Since they had absolutely nothing, the PSIA have taken to harassing and intimidating his men into confessing or slipping up and even promising leniency if they were to cooperate and become a witness for the state. All that got them in the end, though, was slapped with another lawsuit for police brutality.

That pleased Kizou greatly. Why? Wouldn’t this cause the PSIA to become more determined to bring him down? Well, yes. Yes, it would, but it also would cause them to become sloppy. One little slipup was all it would take. One little crack in their otherwise perfect sting operation and his team of lawyers and attorneys would whip out their crowbars and pry it wide open and the PSIA would be left with nothing but their regret.

If that wasn’t bad enough, there’d been a surprise inspection the other day while he had been dealing with the Hong Kong mess. The Health Inspectors claimed all five of his restaurants, including the one within his luxury hotel downtown and the ones at his gambling and casino halls, had all failed. That was nothing short of a load of crap. He knew that every single one of his businesses, whether legitimate or not, was kept up to code and was so squeaky clean you could eat off the floor without fear of catching some sort of contagion. His mole within the department had inexplicably gone missing at about the same time. While his lieutenant was looking into the matter of the missing spy, he had his contingent of lawyers and attorneys looking into the so-called failed inspections.

Then there was a bunch of little upstarts trying to stir things up. That wasn’t something he was worried about though. It could be easily dealt with.

What could be a problem was the territorial dispute between the Cyclones and the E Street Gang. They were bitter rivals. Have been since their formations. There was no rhyme or reason for their contention for one another. It wasn’t light banter meant to rile each other up before the big game. This wasn’t a friendly competition to see who would come up on top this year. Oh, no. Theirs was a pure, unadulterated hatred for one another. The Cyclones detested the E Street Gang purely because they existed and vice versa. The territory in dispute was contested just because. He wasn’t about to take sides because both groups worked for him and the territory they were fighting over- just because they could- in actuality belonged to him. There were no claims to be had. Besides, he was tired of dealing with their childish antics.

“They have the option of getting their shit in order,” he’d told his inner circle at the last meeting.

“Or?” someone had asked.

“Or nothing. They get their shit together or there’s not going to be any shit to get together.”

Kizou scrubbed his hands over his face, his stubble grazing against his palms.

At a knock, Kizou called for whoever it was-most likely Narata- to enter.

“Sir?”

Kizou dropped his hand and peered down the length of his body towards the open bedroom door. Narata stood there looking as if he had been up for hours. He wasn’t sure if his aide had actually been up for that long- God only knows why- or if Narata was just a morning person. It actually reminded him of Shuichi. The boy could get three hours of sleep and yet would be as hyperactive and high as a kite. What he would give to be able to bottle that. It would make him a fortune. He’d come close, but the uppers were no substitution for the actual thing. “Yeah?”

“Phone. It’s Tohma Seguchi.”

All vestiges of sleep vanished. Now wide-awake, Kizou flung back the sheet and practically leapt out of bed, tugging on a black silk kimono as he made his way to his office like a man possessed.

Was this it?

He pushed open the door of his office, not evening registering the resounding thud as it slammed against the wall. “Mr. Seguchi,” he panted into the phone. That was when he realized just how out of breath he was.

“How soon can you be in Tokyo?” Tohma asked without any preamble.

Kizou felt his heart skip a beat or three. His mouth went dry. Weak kneed, he dropped like a lead balloon into the chair that was fortunately behind him otherwise he would have ended up on the floor. How undignified that would have been. “Is it…?”

“The results of the paternity test will be arriving in my office within the next hour.”

This was it. This was it. This was freaking it! “I…” For once, he was at a loss as what to say. Was it possible to be excited and nervous at the same time? He could not remember a time when he was more nervous then he was at that moment. It felt as if elephants were doing the samba in his stomach. Not a pleasant feeling. However, the reasoning behind the build up of nerves was.

Kizou shook himself. Why was he so nervous? There was no reason to be. The truth was on his side.

What truth would that be? asked a nagging voice in the back of his mind.

The truth was grinning at him from besides the last family photo taken before his little brother was killed. The side-by-side comparison was not only eerie with how similar little Takanori’s appearance was to his late brother, but it was unmistakable. Unless there was some sort of family secret that he has yet to be privy to, then it was undeniable. There was no possible way that Taki Aizawa was the biological father to Takanori Uesugi.

A surge of pride washed over him. His back was straighter, shoulders back, head held high.

He blinked aside the mysterious sting in his eyes.

After clearing his throat of an equally mysterious lump, Kizou said, “I have to make a few phone calls and shuffle some things around, but I can be there in a few hours.” His voice came out strong. Good.

“See you then.”

With a shaking hand, Kizou replaced the receiver in its cradle and collapsed back into his chair.

“Sir?”

Kizou started at the voice. Pushing himself from the chair, he addressed Narata who was standing on the other side of the desk, “See what you can do about clearing my schedule for the rest of the day. I need to go to Tokyo.”

“Yes, sir,” Narata said promptly. He watched his boss as he strode out of the office and vanished down the hall in the direction of his bedroom.

-- 20 --20 -- 20 -- 20 --

Shindou-Uesugi Residence - Koishikawa Park Tower - Chiyoda-ku, Tokyo, Japan

Who was the one more likely to be suffering from some sort of psychosis? The one running through the house screaming at the top of his lungs or the one who allowed said party to move back into the house. Tough call.

As much as he may complain- okay, more like bitch…incessantly- about the migraine inducing rituals that he was subjected to on a daily basis, waking up in the morning to a bed that had gone cold and a house quieter than a graveyard at midnight was what Hell must be like. At times, though, the urge to take a nap in a gas oven or bang his head against railroad tracks while a train whizzed by was overwhelming. It was something he never wanted to experience again. Not ever again.

However, it didn’t stop him from having momentary regrets. It was his right as a father of a two-year-old and husband to a pop star. He could regret if he wanted.

Trying his damnedest to ignore the chaos going on outside his office, Eiri returned his attention to the manuscript in his hands.

The working title was Killer Asylum.

Under the pseudonym Eiri Yuki, he’d written fourteen novels, three short stories and even the script for the movie based on his first novel, The Decision (1).

All of his published work, such as The Decision, were stories about faith, love, tragedy and or fate. It’s what was popular when he first started out as a serious writer. Whether they were “romantic suspense” or “science fiction police procedurals with an emphasis on crime solving but with an overall reoccurring theme of developing a relationship between the couple”, these types of stories were what sold. It was what was in demand. Therefore, it was what all the publishers were looking for. Were you the next Nicholas Spark or Nora Roberts?

However, those types of stories were not his forte nor were they his passion. He preferred to delve into the criminal mind, write about the why they do what they do and how can they be stopped from doing it again. Dark. Gory. Gothic. Where villains were villains, evil and sadistic and who frighten you into keeping the light on at night. Where the heroes and heroines were brave and resourceful and, like their reality counterparts, sometimes did not get their man. There might even be a little romance to little the mood at times, but it definitely would not be the main focus.

Killer Asylum was that type of story. It also happened to be the first manuscript he’d been satisfied enough with to send out to various publishing companies. He’d been hoping someone would consider it for publication. Unfortunately, there had been very little interest and the demand had just not been there.

“A well written piece. It’s obvious you have talent. Unfortunately…”

There was the “but” of it all. There was always a “but”.

“…we are not seeking submissions in this genre at this time.”

It was turned down repeatedly. It left him so dejected that one point, he‘d actually considered giving up.

Instead, he’d put his darker side that thought in the realm of reality where things did not always end in happily ever after to delve into the light side where knights on white steeds slew evil stepmothers and rode off into the sunset with the fair maiden.

Here he was an international bestselling author. It wasn’t what he’d wanted when he started out, but figured it wouldn’t hurt either. What he hadn’t counted on, though, was finding that success as a romance writer. It was the very genre he’d always thought of as an irrational foray into the imaginative imaginations of homemakers. He wasn’t sure if it technically fulfilled the definition of what irony was, but it felt ironic.

A romance writer for God’s sake!

He did not have a romantic bone in his body. All you have to do was ask Shuichi. He’d tell you. He was so damn successful…Well, he had no idea why people liked the trash he wrote. Nine out of ten times, there wasn’t an “and they happily ever after” type of ending, there was more gore and death than a war movie. He couldn’t put away his “darker side” completely apparently.

Whatever.

But one good thing came from it: he had developed the Midas touch, or so claims his publishers and since everything turned to gold, maybe it was time to broaden the horizon, go back to his roots.

He’d spoken with his agent, Kanna Mizuki, about doing just that. She immediately jumped on board. Why not? It certainly could not hurt. It would expand his readership. She ran the idea by his publishers, but they had not been as sure or as eager, but seeing he was who he was, they were willing to give him a chance. Now all he had to do was decide whether to use his given name or use a different pseudonym.

A squeal tore his attention from his manuscript to the closed door of his study and brought a smile to his lips.

He returned to the pages in front of him.

“Gas,” said Briggs. “Had to be gas…”

“Bullshit!” roared Turner. “That was no goddamn gas explosion. You think I don’t know plastic when I fuckin’ hear it?”

He stopped yelling and turned pale.

There was no way in hell those boys could have blown themselves up. No fuckin’ way in hell.

His mind was still in turmoil from the feedback and the explosion. They’d blown the plug with no problem. Hadn’t they? Of course they had. He precisely remembered them doing so. Then Long had gone up the hole. Then… (2)

The- relative- quietness that had fallen over the household suddenly- baka and baka junior had probably decided it time for a snake break…again- was shattered by the ringing of the phone.

“Eiri?” came the shout.

Eiri sighed. “Yeah,” he called back. Marking his place, he set the manuscript- that he apparently was never going to get through in this lifetime- aside and reached behind him for the phone. “Hello?”

“Eiri-kun?”

Eiri tensed. Immediately, his guard was up. “Are they in?”

“Within the hour,” Tohma said.

Despite the fact that he was speaking to his brother-in-law on the telephone, Eiri began nodding. Suddenly, he was nervous and he wasn’t even sure why. It wasn’t as if it affected him in any way. No matter what the results ended up being, whether Taki Aizawa fathered little Takanori- he shuddered at the thought- or if it was, by some miracle, Rique Kizou, little Takanori was his son, maybe not by blood, but certainly by right of adoption and he had absolutely no plans of that ever changing. No little piece of paper was going to convince him differently. Shuichi has been telling him repeatedly that was the case and Eiri intended to hold his husband to that.

“We’ll be there.” Oh, most assuredly, if for nothing more than to tell whoever the father turned out to be that he had no plans of going anywhere.

-- 20 --20 -- 20 -- 20 --

Sakuma-Uesugi Residence - Chiyoda-ku, Tokyo, Japan

“Really? That was fast.”

From the dining table where he was reading the paper, Ryuichi turned around as much as he could without having to stand up and physically straddle the chair. In the kitchen, Tatsuha was speaking on the cordless phone. Where he would be pacing back and forth, Tatsuha remained fixed to a single spot. With his free arm- the hand not holding the phone to his ear- gripping his hip, Tatsuha was leaning back against the counter. His legs were stretched out in front of him, one ankle crossed over the other.

“The president himself, huh? That’s some preferential treatment.”

Ryuichi frowned. Just who was Tatsuha speaking with?

“Blackmail. Of course!”

Was it Tohma?

It wasn’t so odd- anymore at least- that his mind would make an automatic leap from “blackmail” to “Tohma”, but having grown up with the man, he’d long ago become accustomed to how the wheels and cogs in Tohma’s brain moved and how his brain functioned. It was almost as if Tohma was operating on a completely different wavelength then the rest of humanity. When it came to Tohma, nothing that man did could surprise him any longer. Tohma Seguchi would do whatever it took to protect those he cared about. Anything. While many people claim they would do the same, Tohma actually made good on his threats and promises. It was what made even the Yakuza afraid to mess with him.

“Oh? Then what would you call it?”

It had to be Tohma. Who else could blackmail someone into doing something without actually coming right out and blackmailing them?

Nobody messed with Tohma Seguchi. Well, nobody messed with him and lived to tell the tale.

Tatsuha threw his back and laughed.

Ryuichi had always been of a mind that this trait his long time friend harbored would eventually backfire, but so far, it has done no such thing. In fact, it was what has propelled Tohma forward, kept him from giving up even when the odds were against him.

Some people were given a helping hand, but others, like Tohma, had to help themselves and that was exactly what Tohma did.

The more his empire grew, the more power he had at his disposal, which in turn helped to grow his empire. It was a never-ending loop. He had reminded his best friend that even the Roman Empire fell.

That was where Tohma’s ingenious cunning came in.

“I can take care of my own,” was what Tohma once told him.

As Shuichi was under the protection of Tohma Seguchi, nobody would be able to touch him or his son. And if the outcome of the paternity test revealed that Taki Aizawa was not the biological father of little Takanori, it would undoubtedly mean an alliance between Tohma and the Black Dragons- for there was only one other person who could be the father, or at least according to Shuichi. In turn, this would make them and their leader, Rique Kizou, nearly untouchable. No one was going to want to mess with the only son and heir of the leader of the Black Dragons if it meant going up against Tohma Seguchi. Except for the PSIA, but that was another matter- but knowing Tohma, he probably had connections within the police department he could use.

Tatsuha turned sober suddenly. “You think they’ll show up?”

The Aizawas. That had to be who Tatsuha was speaking of now. This could not be easy on the elderly couple. They already lost their only son and now it seems as if they might be losing their grandson.

Turning back around, Ryuichi folded the newspaper and set it aside. Pushing up out of the chair, he walked into the kitchen.

Tatsuha looked up at him as he entered, smiled briefly, and then returned his attention back to the phone. “Yeah,” Tatsuha was saying. “We’ll be there.” He looked up and met Ryuichi’s light brown eyes.

Ryuichi nodded. Of course they’ll be there. They were family after all and family always supported one another.

-- 20 --20 -- 20 -- 20 --

NG Productions - Executives Offices - Chiyoda-ku, Tokyo, Japan

Tohma had barely sat down when his phone on his desk buzzed.

“Mr. Seguchi,” spoke the soft female voice over the intercom.

“Yes, Nana?”

Nanako Horie was his new secretary. Fresh out of college. She took over for Hairi who retired last month.

“I just received a call from the lobby, sir. It seems there’s a Mr. Takashi Iba here to see you?”

Tohma was struck momentarily dumbstruck. “Ah, yes.” That certainly was fast. These people at DNA Diagnostic did not do anything half cocked. “I was expecting him. Have them send him up.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And Nana?”

“Sir?”

“Send him in immediately when he arrives.”

“Of course, sir.”

Tohma sat back, his long, slender fingers steepled before him.

His gaze wandered to the black phone sitting on his desk. There was one more call he had to make and it might turn up to be the hardest one yet.

-- 20 --20 -- 20 -- 20 --

A sharp, but brief rap on the office door stirred him from his contemplations. His manicured nails ceased their drilling on the arms of the chairs. Dropping his other hand from where it was absently fondling his chin, Tohma spun the chair away from the amazing view of Tokyo and called out sharply, “Yes?”

The door swung open silently and a familiar burgundy head popped in. “Sir? Mr. Iba is here to see you?” It was more question than statement. Fear laced her otherwise steady voice. Dark eyes were wide with that same fright. In all, she appeared as if expecting a vicious bulldog to jump out at her from some shadow-hidden corner only she could see and attack her.

Should he feel pity towards this poor, young girl? Probably. After all, he did have a tendency to snap at her quite often. It was a wonder she’d stayed on for as long as she had. It was not as if she were incompetent. Far from it. She was very knowledgeable. And not just about secretarial duties either, but about the music business as well. He had to wonder if she had aspirations of eventually taking over the company from him one day.

He respected her far more than he did anyone else. Mostly because, even though she seemed a little on edge with his ever changing moods, she dealt with his almost OCD behavior professionally. She took everything in stride.

Eager to please and eager to learn, she knew when to keep her mouth shut- just smile and nod- and also when he needed to be reigned in.

What would he do without her?

“Ah! Yes. Show him in please, Nana.”

A look of relief replaced the tension within her. “Yes, sir,” she said with a smile.

Nana disappeared from view briefly. The door swung shut behind her, muffing her already soft voice. Not long after, a man swept into the office with an air of confidence and authority about him. Behind him, Nana reappeared.

“That’ll be all for now, Nana, thank you, but I’m expecting Mr. Shindou, Mr. Sakuma, Mr. Kizou and my brothers-in-law. Show them in when they arrive.”

“Yes, sir,” she said with a nod. She retreated, shutting the door behind her.

Tohma swung his gaze to the man standing before him.

Takashi Iba.

Tohma pushed the chair away from the desk and stood up. “Mr. Iba.” He inclined his head in greeting. “Welcome.”

With a black briefcase clutched in his right hand, Takashi Iba returned his greeting with a deep bow of his own. “Mr. Seguchi.”

Tohma took the opportunity to study him.

It was difficult to judge the age of the president of DNA Diagnostic. Hair as dark as raven’s feathers was slicked back from a high forehead and pulled into a neat ponytail at the nape of the neck. With the absence of any visible wrinkles and with dark chocolate eyes, sharp and alert, that seemed to be studying him in turn, Tohma guessed him to be at least forty. But the gray flecks within the otherwise black hair had him second-guessing himself. Either Takashi Iba looked young for his age or he was going prematurely gray.

Whichever it was, Takashi Iba was dressed professionally in a navy blue three-piece suit. Under the vest was a light dusty rose button down shirt. Not many men could wear pink and get away with it- except for Shuichi and Eri, but they were a different story all together.

“Please,” Tohma indicated the chairs before the man. “Have a seat.”

“Thank you.” Unbuttoning his suit jacket with one hand, Takashi sat down in one of the two chairs indicated.

Tohma settled back into his seat, folding his hands neatly on top of the desk.

Setting the briefcase onto his lap, Takashi Iba rolled both set of dials into their proper 3-sequence alignment. Once he had it, the two latches securing the briefcase closed, sprang up. Lifting open the briefcase, he reached inside for the only contents: a large business sized envelope with the logo and address of the DNA Diagnostic Center stamped into the upper left hand corner.

“Those are the results?” Tohma inquired.

“Yes, sir, they are.”

Tohma reached out for them, which Takashi Iba gladly handed over.

Fighting the urge to tear open the envelope as if he were a child with an expectation of discovering cash inside of a birthday card, Tohma carefully slit open the top of the envelope with an antique silver letter open he always kept on his desk. It’d been a gift from his now deceased grandmother. He pulled out a single sheet of paper. Placing the envelope aside, his malachite green eyes scanned the document.

Takashi Iba fiddled nervously in the chair as the silence grew.

“Are you one-hundred percent sure about these?” came the question. Tohma glanced at the other man over the paper.

It was a sheet of paper, only a single sheet of paper that could be bought at any drug store or office store or large department store in any country on the planet and yet it was suddenly transformed into something much more than that with the addition of the black text.

Takashi Iba nodded. “Yes, sir. I am.” Tohma Seguchi’s expression gave nothing away. He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. Was he happy with the results of the paternity test or not? It was like trying to get the time of day from the Mona Lisa.

Tohma sat back with a barely audible sigh. Either way, someone was going to be going home unhappy.

His gaze traveled back to the phone. “If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Iba, there’s a phone call I have to make.”

“Of course.” Takashi Iba stood with briefcase in hand, bowed, and exited the office.

Once the door was shut, Tohma sat forward. His hand hesitated briefly over the phone.

This was not going to be easy.

-- 21 -- 21 -- 21 -- 21--

Aizawa Residence - Kyoto, Japan

The phone was ringing as Oharu Aizawa stepped into the house. Setting down her grocery bags, she stepped out of her shoes and into house slippers before padding softly, and without hurry, to the extension on the sideboard sitting along the wall opposite the front door. “Hello?”

“Mrs. Aizawa?”

“Speaking.”

“This is Tohma Seguchi.”

Suddenly her heart was racing. It was making it difficult to catch her breath. “Oh! Yes! Yes! Hello, Mr. Seguchi. What can I do for you?” she asked with false cheerfulness. It sounded forced even to her.

There was a pause and then, “I wanted to let you know that the results of the paternity test have arrived.”

Oharu was an avid reader and had read more than once about characters that suddenly “went still” when caught unawares, but she never thought she would experienced something similar and here it had happened twice. First when she learned of her only child’s death and now.

She forgot how to breathe. Her pulse started racing. She could feel the rapid thumping of her heart in her chest. Her hold on the phone tightened; her grip slippery with the onset of sweat.

“Is that right?” she stuttered in a breathy whisper.

She didn’t want to hear what he had to say. She didn’t want to know what the outcome of the paternity test was. She didn’t care. She didn’t. She didn’t.

Her throat closed around a mysterious lump.

Please don’t say it. Please don‘t say it, she chanted.

A stray tear rolled down her cheek.

There was another pause. “Mrs. Aizawa…Oharu.” Tohma spoke hesitatingly. “I think you should sit down.”

That was all that needed to be said. A sob rose up within her and escaped into the silence of the foyer before she could stop it. Her vision blurred behind a veil of tears. She started shaking her head in denial and couldn’t stop. She couldn’t stop. She wouldn’t. If she did, it would be true and she did not want it to be true. It couldn’t be. It just couldn’t. She refused to believe it. She wouldn’t believe it.

“I am so sorry,” were the soft words spoken into her ear.

When her legs gave out, she staggered backwards and hit the wall. It knocked another sob out of her. The phone tumbled out of her hands and clattered to the floor, but she didn’t notice. Nor did she hear the voice calling out to her. She slid down the wall and collapsed into a heap onto the floor, sobbing quietly.

--TO BE CONTINUED--

(1) Parody of The Choice. The Journal parodies The Notebook and The Final Refrain parodies The Last Song. All are books by Nicholas Sparks. None of which I have read. I’m not a fan, but he’s the only male author I know of whom writes romance so I base Eiri off him.

(2) Excerpt from “Killer Asylum”, novel written by my dad

A/N: I was going to have the last two scenes at the beginning of the next chapter, but knew that would garner me a whole bunch of whining and I really don’t want to deal with anymore whining, so there you go.

Anyway, if you’re interested in “Killer Asylum”(I‘ve read it & loved it), you can actually go online to Amazon and buy it for less than fifteen US dollars (you may be able to buy it on other sites as well). It started life out as a movie script, but my dad ended up converting it into a story and self-publishing it (meaning: no publishing house, no agent, no editor, no beta), so pls excuse any spelling/grammar mistakes you may find (hey authors like Laurell K Hamilton had TONS her last several releases and she has editors). He even dedicated it to my sisters, my brother and me.

Review!