A/N

Hi there.

It's been a messy few weeks. I've switched living quarters and haven't had internet access or time to sink into the apathy that felt so inviting after the American election. There have been people contacting me to tell me that my stories are a speck of light in these depressing times, and you know - that helped me get my mind and feelings together somewhat. I don't like the feeling of not being able to do anything about something that troubles me - which is pretty much the case right now and for the next four years. But if me escaping into the happier realm of imagination can provide a few minutes of escape for others then, well, that is something I can do?

This one-shot was requested by AnimeHails, I believe. It's just the kind of nice, comforting fantasyscape I want to stroll around in right now.

Good vibes to everyone out there, and especially to American readers. You can do this. Your country has a long history of people fighting for what's right and winning. Give future generations some beautiful, inspiring fights to read about in their history books.

/ Dimwit

Contains references to ch 89 of TEotB.

I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.

True Cross Academy is a gaudy thing, as spectacular as it is eccentric – maybe a little haughty about it, too. Maybe even a lot.

True Cross Town is not much like the academy it was built around. It refuses no one, judges no one, rather choosing to believe that there is a place to fit every person. In that sense, the town and its academy are quite alike: a grand mosaic, a place composed of smaller places. Some of them invite you in, like vendors proudly offering to show you their wares: others shroud themselves in privacy, shutting out all but the select few they choose to reveal themselves to. There is, no doubt, a place for every person.

True Cross has a lake, high up in the forested zone. A hill is no place for a lake, usually, but this is one that likes to surprise. It is a bit on the mischievous side, and quite reserved: the kind of place that… invites the unexpected.

"Wow – Kinzo was right, it is perfect!"

"Whaaat? I was the one who told you about this place!"

"After your brother told you about it." The discussion was settled by a tall young man who wore his scowl with practiced ease.

"There's mulberry trees!" There's a bright blonde head among them, and a smile just as bright on the face of the girl it belongs to. "Rin, can you make mulberry cake?"

"Ueh? I– I've never really baked much, just cooked."

"I know how", offered a girl with brown hair and gentle face. "We could bake it together?" The others' beaming is approval enough. "Izumo and I can bring some ingredients from our dorm and then we could all help out!"

All together seven teenagers entered the lake clearing with towels and chatter and rustling in the tall, unkempt grass. Chatter and laughter came with them, and before long there was splashing and yelling too, as they all ended up in the lake one way or another. Quite the mix, they were, of different tempers, sizes, and aspirations. But isn't that the embodiment of youth? A time of growing and of searching for that size and temper and aspiration that is just right for you.

It was only a matter of time before the lake showed its mischievous side.

"Wha…? How long has she been there?" the boy named Rin blurt out.

Quite a while – perhaps. And perhaps she had just arrived, seating herself below the aspen tree under cover of their boisterous, noisy games.

"Eww some creepy old lady is peeping at us while we bathe?!" wailed the boy whose older brother held more credit than he did.

"And you have any right to talk?!" He scowled more than ever, that tall one with all the metal in his ears.

"Hey, lady!" Rin waved heartily. "Wanna have picnic with us?"

"Ya wanna have picnic with a creepy ol' lady who's been watchin' ya bathe?" she shouted back with a smile in her voice.

The tall one grabbed his friend by the neck and dunked his head below the water surface in a deep bow.

"Renzo is sorry he's an idiot, please forgive him!"

The laughter was a young woman's, rich in fire and mischief. Her movements were a young woman's, too, when she laid her staff and satchel down and they all sat down around the feast. Perhaps she was young, too: none of them could tell. Life had worked her hard, had worked her tough, like driftwood shaped by sun and salt and sea into that special kind of beauty time can't touch; grey but vibrant, weatherworn but strong.

They ate and talked, and at some point Paku mustered up the courage to ask what was in that satchel.

True Cross Academy is a gaudy thing; real treasures don't need that kind of boasting. Real treasures draw their value from the hands that make them and the hands that receive them.

"Oooh the combs are so cute!" Paku's eyes shone brighter with every ornamental piece the wrinkled hands delivered from the satchel. "Shiemi, that one with the flowers for your hair…"

"Your mom would love those oven mitts, Bon", said the boy with glasses a mite too big for his petite frame.

"She would… I just don't know if she would use them. She wouldn't want to ruin the embroidery."

"Don'tcha worry 'bout the embroidery", she assured them with a crooked smile. "I wouldn't make things that couldn't be used."

Real treasures are made with love, kept with love, and every single thing she lifts out on the blanket is a treasure. There are charms and brooches, shawls and jewellery, and there is one thing that Rin can't take his eyes from.

"These are almost like the ones the old man had." Rin scooped up the string up for inspection: a cord for glasses with painted beads strung on it. Not quite like the old man's, but enough to evoke the sweet feeling only good memories can give. "Maybe I should get one for Yukio?"

"He looked up to Father Fujimoto a lot", Shiemi chimed in. "I… think he might appreciate it. Yuki keeps his feelings inside, so if he… If he had something outside that could remind him of his father maybe he could let go inside."

Rin turned the beads in his hands. They weren't his father's, yet his fingers knew the weight of a treasure when they felt it.

"How much do these cost?"

"A man o' taste, I see. Those don't come cheap, son." The glint in her eye was not the kind you want to see in anyone you're about to trade with. "They'll cost you a story."

"A… story?"

"A story", she confirmed with a grin. "'Bout that old man o' yours."

Rin looked no less confused by the request. He was about to ask why… but somehow that was not the thing to do.

"Umm… There was a playground dad always used to take us to, my brother and I", he began. "It had a slide and some swings and a couple of spring riders that I think were meant to be horses but they looked more like pigs.

"We could play there for hours. One time dad said we had to go home or supper wouldn't get done on time, so we did, but Yukio and I – Yukio's my brother – wanted to play more. So when nobody was looking I lifted Yukio up so he could turn the door handle and we snuck out. We just couldn't find the playground", he chuckled and scratched the back of his head self-consciously. "After a while we couldn't find our way back home either. It was getting dark and Yukio was crying when this old lady saw us and asked what was wrong. Turned out we had walked quite far. She took us home to her place and gave us cookies while she phoned the monastery where we lived, then they called up dad on his cell, and in ten minutes he was there to pick us up." Rin snorted out a hearty laugh. "We didn't have any car: he'd been biking up and down every street in True Cross Town for an hour, looking for us. His cassock was bundled up in the bike basket and his shirt was soaked through with sweat, and this old lady…" He had to take a break to laugh properly. "This lady who'd been so sweet and kind to us completely slaughters him for being an irresponsible father, like how could he leave two toddlers without supervision like that, does he have any idea what could have happened if we had been found by someone other than a nice old lady, a mother would never have let anything like this happen to her children, and so on. He didn't get a word in edgewise – and dad could really hold his own in a shouting match." Holding the memory in mind, Rin's smile softened around the edges. "It doesn't sound so amazing when you tell it like this but it was. It's the only time I've ever seen dad get told off like that. By this tiny little old lady no less."

No one at the picnic prompted him, but the story had lodged something in his throat that made him continue. His fingers rolled the glasses string like a rosary, counting beads as he related memory after memory, anecdote after anecdote about attempts at making birthday cakes, crayon drawings on the wallpaper, and that one time Rin beat up a kid in school because he said their dad wore a dress. It felt good – to remember. To share. And as he spoke it dawned on him that the price she'd asked wasn't a strange one at all: a treasure of memories for a treasure of crafts.

"Did you know my old man?" he asked, at the end of the long line of memories.

She had – she must have. When he asked there came a wistful look into her eyes, as of someone gazing at the past not knowing whether to be sad or happy about it.

"No. I don't believe I did." Whatever her eyes had seen they returned to the present with a smile, and she reached forward to gently ruffle his hair. "But he found a family, and fer that I'm glad; I know he is, too."

The response was as confusing as it was intriguing.

"Who are you…?"

"Okazaki Kasumi. Doesn't tell ya anything, does it? Doesn't need to." She glanced at the lake, and her smile widened. "I used ta come ta this lake with yer dad when we were young. Used ta make up names and stories fer it – he ate it up every time." The old woman chuckled softly to herself. "He could be quite the idiot, yer dad."

And she told them stories, crafted with the same care and expertise as the handicrafts on the picnic blanket. The shenanigans of a young Fujimoto Shiro filled their ears and hearts, filled the air with laughter and cast soft ripples over the water: ripples of things that happened long ago, as memories tread gently 'cross the surface of that hidden lake.

It is indeed a place for unexpected things.