A/N: Yeah…I have no business starting yet another project.

Oh well.

Title is (again) inspired by the fabulous Foo Fighters, in this case my favorite Foo song of all time. I think it pretty well encapsulates my idea of Saitou and Tokio in this particular incarnation (and possibly in other incarnations).

This is an idea I've been mulling over for some time (read: at least a year). Because it's holiday themed in these first few chapters, and as we are currently running "The Great Holiday Gamut," I felt like posting it. So, there's the rationale behind that.

As usual, your thoughts, comments and what-have-you are greatly appreciated.

That said, I sign off with: Happy Thanksgiving!

Disclaimer: Not mine, not now, not ever.

Everlong

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Chapter the First

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Misao Saitou was the utter and complete opposite of both of her parents. Her father was, in her own words, an uptight hard-ass, and her mother was, also in her own words, an uptight and very easily irritable workaholic.

So when they got divorced when she was ten, she wasn't really that surprised.

In fact, she was relieved, because that meant the fighting would stop.

Or not.

"I'm aware of that fact, Yaso," her father, Hajime, snapped into the phone while he was making breakfast.

Misao watched him from the counter solemnly. Now sixteen, she and her father very rarely agreed on anything. He was strict with her, and sometimes, Misao wished he was a little less anal retentive. But at least he wasn't as high-strung and inconstant as her mother—Misao always got the feeling her mother didn't know what to do with her. At least her father had definite ideas on how he wanted to bring her up, his heavy-handedness aside.

The truth was, despite her complaints about him, she was glad she lived with him. She always felt neglected when she had to see her mother, like she was only tolerated, never really wanted. Her father might have been hard on her a lot of the time, but he had his moments when he was actually pretty cool, and she had never once felt like an imposition.

"Your fuck-up is not my emergency!" Saitou said, and Misao sighed and wearily held her chin up with her fist.

Like Dad really needs to be even more stressed out, she thought, a little irritably.

He had recently been promoted to the position of Dean of the College of Law at the local university, and it hadn't been a smooth transition for him. There had been a lot of budget cuts right after he'd taken the position, and he'd had to fight tooth and nail for every penny the college had gotten, on top of adjusting to the new demands on him. (Misao hadn't been all that surprised when she'd heard that the College of Law had been able to get a fairly substantial amount, all things considered, from the new budget—her father was relentless when he wanted something. There was a reason people called him the Wolf.) He'd been on edge a lot during that time, with the result that Misao had found being in the same house with him unbearable. She'd spent a lot of time at her best friend Kaoru's house to avoid him. He'd gotten a little better now that the budget talks were over, but he still had to deal with a lot of unhappy people within his college, and that meant he was still a little tense.

Today they'd been having a rare good day; it was the first Sunday in a long time when he wasn't so inundated with work problems that they were able to go back to their usual Sunday routine, which had consisted of sleeping late, a pancake breakfast and going through the Sunday paper together. Her favorite part was doing the crossword with him—Saitou's knowledge of the obscure and unusual continually amazed her, even now.

That had been shot all to hell when her mother had called.

Sometimes, Misao wondered how her parents had ever tolerated each other long enough to have her—it seemed to her that she'd never seen or heard them do anything but fight. It frankly mystified her that they had ever looked at each other and thought marriage was a good idea.

"Fine, then," Saitou said, and then viciously pressed the off button on the phone before setting it down on the counter a little harder than he needed to.

Misao watched him quietly. He was scowling, thin lips in a really ferocious frown. She hated it when he scowled; it made all the lines in his face deeper, made him look old, and he wasn't really—he'd only turned forty-two at the beginning of this year.

The gray touching his temples didn't help. Those were new, though—they'd started showing up about the time he'd been named Dean.

"Your mother can't take you this weekend coming up," he said.

That made the third weekend she'd missed.

Misao didn't mind at all.

"That's okay," Misao said, shrugging. "I told you I don't really like staying with Mom, anyway."

"Doesn't matter," he said.

"What's the matter, Dad, are you sick of me?" she teased, grinning, hoping to get him back into his former good mood.

"That's not why I'm annoyed," he muttered irritably. "She wants you for New Year's instead of Thanksgiving this year."

At that, the grin on Misao's face faded.

Since her parents' divorce, she had always spent Christmas and New Year's with her father, and Thanksgiving with her mother. She had been perfectly fine with this arrangement, especially because her father's birthday was New Year's Day. She loved being the first person to be able to wish him a happy birthday, a silly thing leftover from childhood that still amused him to no end. She was also happy he didn't have to spend his birthday alone—her father didn't have a lot of friends, and the few he did he saw infrequently. He wasn't really a sociable guy, which was evidenced by the fact that he didn't mind spending his birthday with his daughter, and no one else, for company.

"No," Misao said.

He sighed.

"Misao—" he began wearily.

"No! I never spend New Year's with her! Why would she even think about—"

"You can ask her the next time you talk to her," Saitou interrupted. "She didn't deign to tell me why, she only said she'd be willing to trade Thanksgiving for New Year's."

"I don't want to spend New Year's with her," Misao muttered churlishly, folding her arms across her chest and glaring at the countertop.

"Stop that," he ordered. "Don't talk like that about your mother, Misao."

"It's your birthday, though," she said, voice small and worried.

He shrugged.

"What's one birthday?" he asked. "I'm just irritated she didn't tell me about this sooner—Thanksgiving's this week."

Which was an odd thing to say, unless you knew Grandma Saitou. Grandma Saitou expected her children to RSVP for Thanksgiving well in advance so that she'd be able to set her table accordingly. When Misao had been a kid, and gone to her Grandma Saitou's every other Thanksgiving, she had always been amazed by how beautiful everything looked; it had looked like something out of a magazine, even the kids' table (Grandma Saitou had always decked it out as nicely as she did the grown ups' table, the only difference being that everything the kids used was plastic—pretty plastic, mind, but plastic all the same). Her father's side of the family was huge, which was the only reason Grandma Saitou insisted on knowing exactly who was coming and who wasn't—she spent days in preparation for a Thanksgiving dinner that on average fed twenty people.

Grandma Saitou's having to magically produce two extra place settings and food for at least two helpings for those settings wasn't what was on Misao's mind, though—it was the fact that, for the first time in seventeen years, her father was going to be completely alone on his birthday. Because New Year's was always just the two of them, sitting in the living room watching the ball drop; it was always sparkling apple cider (no champagne, no matter how much she begged) in a couple of wine glasses that he kept solely for that occasion; it was always a little cake she'd bought for him by saving up her allowance or, more recently, putting money aside from the part time job she'd finally been able to talk him into letting her get; it was always her singing him happy birthday and then insisting that he make a wish, and him dutifully humoring her before he blew out the candles and thanked her. And she knew her father, creature of habit that he was, wouldn't go out just because she wasn't there with him this time. He'd sit in the living room by himself with his lone glass of sparkling apple cider keeping him company to watch the ball drop, and that knowledge made her heart plummet into her stomach.

"It's one birthday, Misao," he said. "I'll live."

Misao watched him.

"Promise you'll go somewhere for New Year's and not just stay home?" she asked.

He sent her a flat look.

"Dad."

"All right Weasel, fine, I promise."

"Daaad! Don't call me that! I am not a weasel!"

As usual, he completely ignored her, and Misao huffed.

"So when are you telling Mom she can take me away from you on New Year's?" she asked after a pause.

"I not going to, you are—and don't say it like that," he added. "You're the one who decided it, not her."

Misao's jaw dropped. "You didn't tell me it was my choice! I changed my mind, I don't want to."

"Too late, that was a time-sensitive offer that expired exactly one minute ago," he replied.

"Daaad! Noooo! Please!"

"Call your mother and let her know," he said. "She mentioned she hasn't talked to you in a while."

"Wow, you mean she actually noticed?" Misao asked sarcastically.

"I'll burn your pancakes and I won't share mine if you keep acting like a brat," he said mildly.

"You're mean," she muttered, slipping off the stool and going over to grab the phone.

"So I hear," he said dryly as she passed him, going into the living room and plopping down on the couch.

Saitou was always trying to get her to talk to her mother more, but Misao wasn't interested because most of the time, Yaso wasn't either—this was the same woman, after all, who sometimes went months without seeing her daughter because she kept cancelling her weekends with her. She talked about girl type things with Kaoru's mom anyway, so it wasn't like she was lacking in maternal guidance or anything.

With a sigh, Misao dialed her mother's cell phone and glumly waited for her to pick up. She almost got away with not having to talk to her, but Yaso picked up just before her voicemail would have come on, and Misao grimaced:

"What, Hajime?" Yaso snapped.

"It's me, Mom," she said dully.

"Oh hi honey!" Yaso said, voice going from annoyed to cheerful. "How are you?"

"Fine."

"How's school?"

"Fine."

"Got a boyfriend yet?"

"No." She didn't mention that she had an enormous crush on Aoshi Shinomori—the absolutely gorgeous grandson of one of Grandpa Saitou's friends that she saw every year at Christmas—mostly because she had never shared this kind of information with her mother.

"No doubt due to your father," Yaso said, sounding amused, but Misao caught the sharp undertone and frowned.

This was another reason she disliked talking to her mother—for whatever reason, Yaso always took these little digs at him. Misao was almost positive that it was because she preferred her father over her mother, and her mother knew it.

"I don't want a boyfriend, actually," Misao said, lying through her teeth—she was one of the few girls in her grade that didn't currently have a boyfriend, and the only one (to her knowledge, at any rate) who had never had one, period, and she desperately wanted to not be a lonely loser. "I'd rather concentrate on school."

"Well, that's all well and good, honey, but you only get to do high school once, you know."

"I know."

You only tell me every time I talk to you.

"So, did your father tell you about New Year's?"

"Yeah."

"And?"

"…I guess I could stay with you for New Year's."

"Well you don't sound very enthusiastic," Yaso complained, and Misao rolled her eyes.

"I'm tired, sorry," she said. "I was at Kaoru's late last night."

"You really want to stay with me for New Year's?"

"Yes, Mom."

"Oh, good! I was hoping you would. We'll be going to New York."

Misao blinked.

"New York?" she repeated. "We're going to New York? Like, we'll be in Times Square?"

"Yup! Doesn't that sound like fun?" Yaso asked cheerfully.

Yeah, it kinda did. The only thing missing would be…

Dad.

"Sounds awesome," Misao said, frowning, as her gaze shot to the kitchen; she could just make out her father before the stove, eyeing the pancakes so they didn't burn.

Her mother attempted to start conversation, but Misao wasn't interested, and after fifteen minutes, Yaso realized that and let her go.

"Tell your father I'll talk to him later about New Year's," she said, sounding irritated—Misao knew it was because she'd spent most of their phone conversation not paying attention.

"Okay. 'Bye Mom."

Yaso sighed. "'Bye Misao."

Misao pressed the off button, then leaned her head back and frowned thoughtfully, gnawing on her bottom lip.

She considered her mother's plans for New Year's and decided they were suspect. Misao didn't take vacations with her mother—they only went to go visit her mother's brothers in the next county over, two men who loathed her father (a feeling which was entirely mutual). In fact, when summer came around and she spent a month with her mother, she actually spent a great deal of that month with her uncles, who took her to water and theme parks, which was as close to a real vacation as she got. Yaso occasionally joined them; most of the time she was working.

So it was highly suspicious that her mother wanted to take her to New York for New Year's.

"Weasel," Saitou called. "Pancakes."

"I'm not a weasel!" Misao irritably shot back, sitting up to glare at him over the back of the couch.

"I'm eating them all and not leaving you any," he said, his threat all the more sinister given the mild tone of his voice.

"I'm comin'," Misao muttered, vaulting herself over the back of the couch the way he hated, just to be contrary.

A trait she had inherited from him, in spades.

He was sitting at the counter with his coffee and the paper when she arrived, reading glasses perched at the edge of his nose. That was something else that was new (well, new-ish; he'd had to get them a year ago when he could no longer put off needing them and had had to give in to the march of time), and it annoyed him to no end. Misao told him he looked even more professorly with them, which he had not found nearly as amusing as she had.

Her breakfast sat at the seat she'd vacated, with a glass of orange juice and a glass of milk. Her stack of pancakes was considerably taller than his.

Misao plopped into her seat, then nudged him gently.

"Arts, please," she said, and he picked up a neatly folded sheaf of newsprint she hadn't noticed and wordlessly handed it to her, still reading.

"Thanks," she said, taking it and shaking it out and then folding it just so, before attacking her pancakes with syrup and fork and knife.

They read quietly over breakfast. Once they'd finished eating, their plates went into the sink with lots of water, Saitou poured himself a second cup of coffee, and they moved to the living room to sit (or sprawl, in Misao's case) on the couch to do the crossword.

"Mom wants to take me to New York for New Year's," she told him while they were staring at the crossword.

"Does she?" he asked, voice quiet and thoughtful.

Misao rolled her eyes. "Dad, did you hear me?"

"Yes I did. I'm also attempting to figure out fifteen down."

"Don't you think that's weird?" Misao whined.

"I think it's weird that you're complaining about it," he muttered, taking the pen from her.

"I fill them in," she said, snatching it back.

"Then do your job," he said.

"I didn't hear any answers," she said, raising both eyebrows.

"I'll shave those eyebrows off," he said, pinning her with his Dad Glare, made all the more effective because his eyes were amber.

Luckily she was (mostly) inured to its potency from years of exposure.

"What are you, fifteen?" she asked, pouting at him.

"No, and speaking of which, 15 down is Orca," he said.

"It is?"

"'1977 movie with the tagline "Terror just beneath the surface"'," he read. "Orca came out the summer of 1977, and it has four letters."

"You remember that? Man you're old, Dad," she asked, and he sent her a dark look.

"Your turn," he said pointedly, and Misao shrugged and filled in his answer for 15 down, then went to her next clue.

She read it, then smirked and scribbled in her answer:

"Of course," Saitou muttered when he saw "Ritchie" appear in 10 across' boxes. "Why am I not surprised you didn't have to think about that one at all?"

"You like Snatch, Dad," she pointed out.

"I also like dags," he said dryly, and she snorted.

"And ze Germans?" she asked, and he reached over and roughly ruffled her hair.

"Especially ze Germans," he said. "What's next?"

"Uh…'2000 Jennifer Lopez thriller', seven letters," Misao said, then looked up at her father.

Saitou was looking off, brow wrinkled in concentration.

"Is she the one with the tiny skeleton husband?" he asked, and Misao burst out laughing.

"Yes," she said.

"Hn." His eyes narrowed, and Misao knew he was consulting the vast store of useless information he had filed away in his head—it was the one thing he was good for, so he liked to joke. "The Cell."

"It's cool that you can do that, but also really creepy," Misao said, filling in his answer.

"Then my job is done," he said, giving her braid a tug. "I thought you were going to chop all your hair off."

She sent him an odd look.

"You were ranting about how much of a pain in the ass long hair is last week," he said.

"You heard that?" she asked, unable to keep from being amazed even though it was something she really ought to have been used to by now; Hajime Saitou missed nothing, even the most inane.

"Yes. Contrary to popular belief, you've not yet deafened me with your frequent bellowing," he said, flipping her braid. "I expect you to any day now, however."

She hadn't thought her father, locked away in his study, could hear her and Kaoru in the kitchen. She had been especially irritated with her hair that day, and had told Kaoru that she was going to hack it all off.

"I'm not that loud," she said petulantly.

"No, not at all," he said, insincerity in his tone.

"Mean," she said, reaching up to tug on one of his crazy bangs.

"Yes—your turn." he said, gesturing to the crossword with his nose.

Misao went back to the crossword with a faint smile.

Apparently, she wasn't the only one who'd missed their Sunday morning routine.

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The day wasn't nearly as peaceful in the Kamiya household.

Kaoru Kamiya had started her day to the sound of her little brother Yahiko pounding on her door, ordering her to get up before he grabbed his water gun and took dire measures. When she'd finally dragged herself out of bed and properly threatened her brother for even thinking of using his water gun on her, she thumped downstairs and to the kitchen, and found her mother Tokio and older brother Sanosuke at the stove, arguing over how to cook breakfast.

"You're awake?" Kaoru asked, staring at her brother incredulously.

"Wow, nice hair, Kao," Sano said with a grin when he turned toward her.

Kaoru glared at him, then sent him a smug, victorious look when Tokio, with a meaningful look at her very tall son's very messy hair, said,

"Sano, sweetheart, you really can't say anything."

Suitably cheerful, Kaoru bounded over to her mother, wrapped her arms around the older woman's waist from behind, and squeezed.

"Morning Mommy," she said cheerfully.

"Good morning baby," Tokio said, wiggling around to throw an arm around her daughter. "How'd you sleep?"

"Awesome, until that booger woke me up." Kaoru said churlishly.

"Dreaming of Kenshin?" Sano asked slyly, and Kaoru glared at him.

She hadn't, as a matter of fact (she remembered herrings and an orchestra, but no amethyst-eyed redheads with impeccable politesse), but it irritated her that Sano should bring up her not-so-secret crush, who also happened to be his best friend.

"You're leaving this afternoon, right?" she asked pointedly, and Sano sent her a completely contrived wounded look.

"Baby sister, that hurts," he said, hand over his heart.

"Whatever," Kaoru muttered, and Tokio laughed.

"I'm glad you're here, Kao," she said. "We need a tie-breaker: Sano says waffles, I say omelets. Your call."

Kaoru's eyes lit up:

"Waffles," she said. "You haven't made waffles in forever!"

"Baby sister has redeemed herself!" Sano declared, fist pumping into the air. "Waf-fles, waf-fles, waf-fles, waf-fles!"

Kaoru and her mother rolled their eyes, and then Tokio rubbed a hand up and down Kaoru's shoulder.

"Waffles it is, then," she said. "Sano, you're helping me."

Sano's celebrating cut short when he sent his mother an almost betrayed look, but it quickly morphed into understanding when he glanced at Kaoru, and Kaoru flushed.

She knew her mother had told Sano he was helping more for "punishment" than anything (because if Sano could get away with not lifting a finger, he considered the day successful), but the fact of the matter was, even if she hadn't been punishing her son, she wouldn't have asked Kaoru for help. Sano could actually cook, he was just lazy—Kaoru, on the other hand, was the Kiss of Death in a kitchen, and she had been since she could remember.

"I could help," Kaoru said, looking at her mother.

Tokio sent her a surprised look.

"Oh?" she asked.

"Yeah," Kaoru said, silently praying her mother wouldn't ask questions.

Tokio cocked her head and eyed her, then shrugged.

"Okay," she said, giving her a squeeze.

"Mom, you remember Kaoru can burn water in a pan, right?" Sano asked, and Kaoru sent him a black look and smacked his arm. "Ow," he said, looking down at her, one eyebrow raised.

"Liar, that didn't hurt and you know it," Kaoru muttered.

"It stung a little," Sano protested. "Like a mosquito bite."

"You suck," Kaoru muttered.

"All right, Sano, you're on Table and Yahiko-wrangling Duty, then," Tokio said, moving toward the pantry to get the dry ingredients for the waffles.

"Mooom," Sano whined.

"If you're not helping me cook, you're helping me somehow." Tokio singsonged.

"You had children for the child labor, didn't you?" Sano asked.

"Oh no, I've been found out," Tokio said dryly.

"That's illegal," Sano said.

"But child labor is so cheap," Tokio replied.

"I'm nineteen," Sano said, suddenly brightening. "I'm not a kid anymore."

"In body, perhaps, dear heart, but not in mind," Tokio said smoothly, and Kaoru let out a snort of laughter.

"Low blow!" Sano complained.

"I'll try to aim higher, hon," Tokio promised, and Sano pouted, then stuck his nose up into the air and marched out of the kitchen, stopping only to grab napkins as he went.

"You forgot the silverware!" Kaoru yelled after him.

"The napkins have to be folded first!" Sano yelled back.

Kaoru rolled her eyes.

"My brother is useless," she muttered, and Tokio laughed, returning to her daughter's side with the dry components.

"He's just a boy, hon," she said, setting everything down. "And sometimes boys are dumb, just like sometimes girls are silly. Can you get the wet stuff from the fridge, please?"

"What do you need?" Kaoru asked, already going over to the refrigerator.

"Eggs, butter and buttermilk." Tokio said, already digging through the cabinets for the old waffle iron, humming cheerfully.

Kaoru had fond memories of watching her parents make breakfast on Sunday mornings, as it had always been the one day both of them had off from their respective jobs. For a long time, when she and Sano had been younger, Sunday mornings had been waffle days, and they had sat at the counter and watched their parents prepare breakfast, laughing and joking the whole time. She'd been surprised and hurt when her parents had gotten divorced when she was eight, but she was luckier than her best friend Misao; her parents got along very well and were good friends, whereas Misao's parents barely seemed able to stand each other.

"Is Daddy coming over for breakfast today?" Kaoru asked.

"I dunno. You wanna call him and ask?" Tokio offered, pausing in her search for the waffle iron.

"Okay," Kaoru said, setting down the egg carton and the butter dish before grabbing the phone and dialing her father's house phone.

He answered after two rings:

"Hello?"

"Hi Daddy!" Kaoru said, smiling.

"Hi princess!" Koshijirou said cheerfully. "How's my girl?"

"Okay. I just wanted to know if you were gonna come over for breakfast today. Mom's making waffles."

"Oooo, Mom makes killer waffles," Koshijirou said. "I'm there. I'll be over in twenty, okay?"

"Okay! See you soon!"

"'Bye princess."

"'Bye!" She hung up and bounded over to the refrigerator to grab the buttermilk. "Daddy said he'd be over in twenty minutes," she told her mother.

"Tell Sano so he can set a place for Dad," Tokio said, having finally found the waffle iron and managed to heft it up on the counter.

Kaoru left the wet ingredients on the counter for her mother, then went out into the dining room. She found Sano sitting at the table, tongue peeking out of the corner of his mouth in concentration as he carefully folded the napkins into…well, something, she supposed.

"What are you doing?" she asked, frowning.

"Origami napkins," Sano answered.

Kaoru rolled her eyes.

"Dad's coming for breakfast, so Mom says to set a place for him," she said, deciding not to make commentary about the "origami napkins."

Sano looked up, surprised but pleased.

"Dad's coming? Sweet! I didn't think I'd be able to see him this time." he said.

"You're gonna see him on Thanksgiving," she pointed out.

"Yeah, but I haven't seen him in like…two months or something. He's been working overtime. You and Yahiko are lucky," he added. "Whenever you guys wanna see him, you can. I have to drive four hours if I wanna see him."

Kaoru supposed he had a point; Sano was going to college several miles away. He came down whenever he could, and most weekends he was home so it was like he'd never left at all, but he hadn't been able to come back as often recently. It was something that disappointed Kaoru and Yahiko considerably, most recently when he hadn't been able to come down for Halloween—they had planned to go out trick or treating together, with Misao and their friend Kamatari Honjou; Kenshin, and Sano's other friends Katsuhiko Tsukioka and Chou Sawagejou (though Kaoru sometimes wondered whether the latter could even be considered a friend, given how often he and Sano fought); and Yahiko's friend and sometimes rival Yutarou Tsukayama. But at the last minute Sano had had to cancel the trip down: two of the people in his study group had dropped the ball and he and Kenshin had instead spent Halloween night with the other responsible members of their group trying to fill in the gaps before Monday's (very important) exam.

What had made it even worse was that everyone had spent a lot of money on their costumes, and the group had had a theme; the result was that the theme had been incomplete, and Kenshin and Sano had essentially wasted their money on costumes they had ended up not even being able to use.

It had been, everyone later agreed, one of the more disappointing Halloweens in recent memory.

"Is he still dating that chick?" Sano asked, cocking his head to one side.

"What chick?" Kaoru asked blankly, before the question actually processed: "Oh, you mean Omasu! Yeah, still. They got a cat, I think. Or they're getting a cat. I forgot which it was."

Sano rolled his eyes, then called out:

"Mom! Did Dad and Omasu get a cat?"

"Yes!" Tokio yelled back. "Last week! They named it Shiro, I think!"

Sano sent Kaoru a dry look.

"That's how you get shit done," he said.

"If you're a savage, I suppose," she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Watch it, or I won't bring Kenshin down with me anymore," he warned, wagging a finger at her.

"Shut up!" she snarled, and he grinned and reached out and gave her messy ponytail a light tug.

"I think it's cute," he said.

"Whatever," she said, blushing dully.

As much as he teased her about it, though, Kaoru knew Sano would never tell Kenshin about her massive crush on him. Her brother was nice like that.

Kaoru returned to the kitchen to help her mother with the waffles, and Sano went back for the silverware and plates and glasses, then went hunting for Yahiko. The last of the first batch of waffles had just gone into the oven to keep warm when someone started knocking at the back door, and Kaoru went to open it and found her father there, bundled up against the cool air.

"Hi princess!" Koshijirou said, reaching for her and wrapping her in a bear hug.

"Hi Daddy!" Kaoru said, squeezing her father back, then moving aside to let him in.

"Hi Mom," Koshijirou said to Tokio with a grin as he shrugged out of his jacket and scarf and hung them by the door.

"Hi Dad," Tokio replied, smiling. "How's Omasu? Why didn't she come?"

"She's got a nasty case of the flu, so she's stuck in bed," he answered, taking his cap off and placing it on top of his scarf, then going to Tokio's side and kissing her cheek. "Shiro is keeping her company."

"Ah, I see," Tokio said, amused. "Good thing he's around."

"He's a pretty decent hot pack, believe it or not," Koshijirou said, grabbing a cup from the cabinet and going to the coffee maker. "Where're the boys?"

"I think Sano went to find Yahiko," Tokio said.

"'Find'?" Koshijirou looked amused. "The house isn't that big, hon."

Tokio smirked.

"Yahiko can be resourceful at hiding himself," she said.

"That right?" Koshijirou set his mug down, then cupped his hands around his mouth. "Guys! I'm here!"

There was a pause, and then two sets of footsteps began pounding on the floorboards on the second floor, getting closer and closer. The footsteps then pounded down the kitchen stairs, and Yahiko and Sano burst into the kitchen, Yahiko barreling straight into his father.

"Dad!" he yelled.

"Hey there!" Koshijirou said, laughing, as he grabbed his youngest son and swung him up. "I was beginning to think only Kao and Mom still loved me."

"No, we just love you best," Kaoru said smugly, grinning; Tokio laughed and went back to the waffle iron.

As soon as Tokio had made enough waffles for everyone to have seconds, the five of them moved to the dining room. When Koshijirou saw the table, he laughed and said,

"I see Sano set the table."

There were little mangled origami napkins at each place setting.

"They're supposed to be cranes," Sano said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck and grinning.

"They're very nice," Tokio assured him with a smile.

"For retarded cranes," Yahiko said, then yelped when his mother smacked the back of his head. "They're nice," he amended, rubbing the back of his head and wincing.

Kaoru snorted.

Just another typical Sunday in the Kamiya household.