Until we Meet Again
Until we Meet Again
A DNA2 #FanFiction
By Bridget Engman Wilde
wildeman@psn.net
DNA2 characters are the property of Masakazu Katsura, not me. What I do with them here is my own fault.
The door was of white plastic, smudged with the gray ingrained dirt of years. She stared at the nameplate for a long moment, her stomach quivering like a mouse. Over her shoulder, the bag holding her carefully researched file felt like lead, no, heavier than lead... what was the next element up the periodic table? Well, lead would do for now; her mind was just not working right. Best to just get on with it. She reached up a trembling hand and pressed the doorbell.
The buzz was surprisingly harsh, even through the door, and she jumped despite herself. And to think it had taken her more than a year to calm down even this much. She clung to the comforting weight of the bag, felt it anchoring her to the floor, and sucked in a huge gasp of air.
Inside, she could hear the muffled thuds of footsteps, the rustling of papers, a mid-range voice saying "Just a moment..." The door opened, and she stopped breathing.
The man was not so much taller than her, back slightly stooped under a faintly creased tan jacket. His hair spiked like a shock of corn, white as snow, poking down over piercing gray eyes. She wasn't sure why it surprised her that he had a moustache, broomlike and neatly combed down to fringe his upper lip, but she was glad for it; it was something different in a face that was painfully familiar, and it gave her the composure she needed to hold out her hand and smile.
"Mr. Momonari?"
"Well, hello there." His voice was just a shade lower than she remembered, as if it had deepened with maturity and then lightened again with age. "You must be the young lady from the university."
"Yes... Yes, I am. May I come in?"
"Please."
She glanced quickly around as she slipped off her shoes. The room was fairly sparse, furnished in an old-fashioned style - a low table with seat cushions on opposite sides, a small corner kitchenette with a few compact appliances, a vidscreen mounted in the corner. She imagined that it was identical to all the other rooms on this floor, all the other rooms in the high-rise retirement home, and the thought made her shiver.
"Would you like some tea, mis... I'm sorry, I've forgotten your name."
"It's Karin. Karin Aoi. I'd love some tea, thanks."
"Karin. That's a pretty name. Well, you just have a seat, right down there." He crossed behind her to the kitchenette, walking slowly but steadily. She let her bag thunk down on the floor, kneeling awkwardly by the table, staring fixedly at the worn grain of the wood, trying not to listen too closely to the irregular noises behind her.
"So." The tea was before her, steam rising lazily from the narrow ceramic cup. "I've been wondering since we spoke on the phone..." He seated himself heavily opposite her, wrinkled hands warming around his own cup. "Why is it that an old fellow like me would be of interest to a college student? I mean, it's not like I have an especially noteworthy life..."
"Well, you see, it's like this..." Karin took a fortifying swig of her tea before launching into her carefully rehearsed story. "In my Modern World History class, we've been discussing the impact of time travel technology on history. It's one of those difficult subjects to study, you know, because once history has been changed, the present changes as well, and nobody remembers the old past except for the agents who were involved and the memory banks of the time machine computers. So we can know, intellectually, that the past was once different, but we can't remember."
"I suppose that makes sense..." he said slowly. "Go on."
"Well, Ju... sir. Because of this effect, the public is not generally informed of the details of time missions, both because of the sensitivity of some issues, and because of the confusion it would cause. I'm sure you've read some of what is released..."
"Oh, yes. Wasn't there a recent mission having to do with the population...? I think I read about that one in the Asahi..."
"Yes, that was the most recent one. In fact, that's what my project is about. You see, in order to appreciate the ramifications of time travel, we students have been provided selections from the time machine memory banks from this last mission. No sensitive details, of course - those are classified - but public biographical notes which differ in some regards from the present data. The project is meant to impress upon us the myriad ways in which time travel can change, not only major events, but such minor things as the life of one person. One of the most important steps is to interview one of these people, so that we can have the human perspective on our research."
"So... my life was changed by this last time travel mission?" His voice sounded enthused, boyish; she rushed on.
"Most everybody's has been. I'm sorry, but I can't tell you the details of how yours has changed; it might affect the results. Is that all right with you?"
"I suppose so..." He shrugged one shoulder. "Although I'd appreciate it if you'd tell me something after the interview's over."
"Of course, sir."
"And you can call me Junta." He smiled, a wide, wry grin that called up images of Junta the boy. "It's not often I hear that name nowadays."
"Of course... Junta." She felt herself turning red and ducked her head, rummaging in her bag for her clipboard. "Well." She fidgeted with her pen. "I suppose we should start with a few basic questions. Your age is...?"
"Isn't that in your file?"
"Well, yes, but it's something of a formality. Getting it right from the horse's mouth, so to speak."
"I'm eighty-one."
"Marital status?" She tapped her pen on the edge of the clipboard.
He paused briefly. "Widowed."
"I'm sorry," she said in an embarrassed tone of voice, though of course she had known this, too. "And your wife's name was...?"
"Ami. Her maiden name was Kuramoto."
"Ami Kuramoto.... Okay, children?"
"None."
"None?"
"None."
"And... do you have any other living relatives?"
"No."
"Okaaaaay..." She flipped over a page on her clipboard. "Now we get to the interesting questions." She smiled apologetically. "What can you tell me about the year 1997?"
"That's quite long ago..."
"It would have been your junior year of high school."
"Oh, yes... I remember that year. Unfortunately..." He rubbed the back of his neck. "...The thing I remember most about that year is that I don't remember much. There's a whole section of the beginning of the school year that's always been a complete blank, even just after it happened. Ami would never tell me what had happened, either. She'd just say that I had lost myself somewhere, but she was glad I was back."
"You had already met your wife?"
"Yes... we had known each other since we were kids, lived across the street from each other. Though she wasn't my wife yet."
"Of course not." She laughed, trying to disguise the tinge of bitterness in her voice. "So you don't remember anything else?"
"Well... it was a strange year. Apparently I blacked out on some interesting happenings; I used to get some strange looks from people as I walked down the hall, so I guess I was involved somehow. Maybe it was so traumatic I couldn't remember... But things got back to normal after a while." He had gotten a faraway look in his eyes, but he shook himself and focused on Karin again. "Is that the year it happened?"
She jerked slightly. "The year what happened?"
"The year of the time mission."
"Um... yes. I'm sorry, I can't reveal more than that; I really don't know much more."
"Okay. Next question?"
"Um.... When did you propose to your wife?"
"Right after graduation. We had started going out, oh, the end of junior year."
"So soon..." she said softly.
"Well, we had known each other for a long time. We weren't that young anymore."
"Oh, that's not what I meant, I... Well. The next question is, uh, what career did you select to follow?"
"I was a watchmaker. Family business."
She grinned at him despite herself. "Then you must know all there is to know about time."
"Pretty much." His laugh was like grass rustling softly in the breeze. Not that there was any grass anymore, at least in the city, but she remembered the fields she had seen once, the ancient rawness of nature, and that was part of him too, this old man sitting before her.
As the laughter faded into a reflective sip of tea, Karin looked down at the aimless squiggles on the clipboard, rollercoasters and hearts and jagged spikes. "Did your wife work?"
"When we were younger, yes. And I suppose even after that, she was always doing something. Helping her family with the restaurant, or minding the watch shop for me. She had a lot of free time, since we had no children. I think she wanted them, and I suppose I did too, but I guess it wasn't meant to be." He trailed off, his eyes fixing on the wall behind her.
Karin tried to speak, but for some reason her tongue would not move, it was numb, and all she could do was smile weakly, apologetically.
She had to leave, she decided. The air was hot and thick around her, and she knew that one year had not been long enough, no amount of time would ever be long enough. But as she gathered herself, pulled her strength inwards in an effort to rise, her voice came alive, though she still could not feel her tongue as it shaped the words.
"Were you happy?"
His eyes shivered into focus on her face. "What?"
She swallowed, unable to back down now. Her muscles tightened, her hands clenching about her teacup as she licked suddenly dry lips. "Were you happy?" she repeated, voice strengthening. "With your life, with your career, your wife..." She stared at him, mesmerized by the way his lower lip tensed in thought. Then his lip twisted in that grin, the grin she remembered, the grin she... the grin she...
"Yes." His voice was sure, confident. "Yes. I was happy. Even now... even now, I remember everything, almost. And I was happy. That kind of happiness... it's rare."
"Rarer than diamonds," she said in a small voice.
"Yes. You wouldn't think so, would you?"
She stood, clipboard dangling from her limp fingers. "Thank you, Mr. Momonari. I don't have any more questions."
"You don't?" He seemed genuinely disappointed, the corners of his mouth turning down slightly. She stared at his moustache.
"No, I have all the information I need." She bowed, then shook his hand briskly. "It was a pleasure talking to you. Goodbye... Junta."
She was almost to the door when his voice stopped her.
"You promised to tell me how my life had changed." That familiar note of challenge was in his voice, and one side of her mouth twitched in what was almost a smile. She looked over her shoulder at him, alone by the table, but not entirely bereft.
"You lived," she said simply. "In the other past, you died many years ago."
"Oh." He looked thoughtful, then his grin reappeared under his even fringe of moustache. "Then I suppose I'm glad the past changed."
"So am I," she said, and meant it. Her hand was on the latch when she heard his voice again.
"You know..." His voice was higher now, younger, yet distant. She closed her eyes, not turning yet. He went on. "You remind me of something. Someone, actually. Sort of."
"Yes?"
"But I can't quite recall where... Oh. I used to..." He stopped. "You will forgive this as the vague fancies of an old man, won't you?"
"Of course."
"I... I used to dream about a girl who looked a lot like you. The face, and the hair at least. She always had the saddest eyes..."
There was silence. Time passed. At last, she grinned recklessly back over her shoulder. "Maybe she wished she wasn't a dream."
"Maybe." Their eyes met, and she turned away. "Good luck on your paper," he said as she turned the knob in her hand. "Maybe you could come visit again sometime? I've enjoyed the company."
"I'll try," she said softly. "Goodbye."
The door was open, and she was out, gulping in the stale scent of the corridor, the hard floor and the stairs thudding like a heartbeat beneath her heels. Then she was outside, deep gasps of acrid city air wracking her as she leaned weakly against the wall, eyes closed firmly against the curious stares of the overcrowded streets.
"You do realize that this is all against the regulations."
Karin opened her eyes to the stiff mohawk and gleaming glasses of Yokomori, standing before her with his hands stuck in his pockets, trenchcoat swept back by his arms.
"I know," she said at last, noticing that her face was wet. "But I had to see him just one more time, after I found out he was still alive. I had to know it was worth it."
"Of course it was worth it," he said sharply. "You have been a great help to the government..."
"Two hundred people," she bit out. "I nearly killed myself, nearly killed him... I lost him for good, to decrease the population of the world by two hundred people. Hell, if I'd never gone back, then there wouldn't have been that whole mess with Mori and his psychic soldiers..."
Yokomori could say nothing to that, and she felt his eyes on her as she regarded her feet, the pebbles that littered the street beneath them. Finally, he sighed. "Well then, I suppose I should be asking you if your questions were answered. Have you decided for yourself if it was worth the price?"
She thought of the look in Junta's eyes as he reminisced about his wife, about his youth. The way his mouth twisted into that dear grin of his. The light in his eyes as he told her of his happiness. More precious than a diamond, he'd agreed. Visions of young Junta, the glittering Megaplayboy, but even more so the grinning, immature, yet somehow admirable young man. She watched her toes shifting in the gravel, heard the laughter of high school students drifting above the clamor of the streets.
"Yes," she said at last, scrubbing at her cheeks. "It was worth it."
"Well then." Yokomori fell silent, hovering at her side as Karin began to work her way through the crowds. When the looming high rise was barely visible behind a neon department store sign, he coughed. "So... does this mean you're ready to go back to work?"
"Work?" She stuck out her tongue, suddenly feeling light. If she tried, she could leap like a rabbit, up to the top of that sign, or maybe higher. There were clouds in the sky, the same grey as Junta's eyes. Maybe she could reach them... She smiled. "How much are you willing to pay me? After all, I am an experienced time agent... The only experienced one around, even!..." The End. Whew! Hope you liked my first DNA^2 fanfic. I am working on another DNA fic, in addition to my ongoing Ranma fics -- the next one will be significantly longer, as it deals with Karin and Junta's son Jun, and the alternate future he lives in... Going to be long, all right, and plenty angsty :) Of course, if you haven't read the manga, you'll be a wee bit confused -- as I recall, Jun doesn't exist in the anime version. But hey, I like the manga better anyhow. As always, comments and criticism are welcome.
bengman
