SURPRISE!

I'm sure none of you were expecting this (just as no one ever expects the Spanish Inquisition, as it should be). So here you go, a present for you all, belated, from Santa Hack. And, luckiest of all, this one's a little longer than the usual Everlong chappie.

Enjoy! :D

Disclaimer: Not mine, not now, not ever.

More Of A Note Than Anything:

Chinese Cubans: or, alternately, Cuban Chinese, depending on how you want to classify. So they do exist. I have met them, and they had a fairly substantial presence on the island, usually as the proprietors of laundromats, bakeries or restaurants, from what my grandparents have told me. So yeah. Just in case anyone was wondering if I pulled this one out of my ass, I totally didn't, lol.

Everlong

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Chapter the Fourth

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"Oh come the fuck on!" Saitou snarled.

Beside her father, Misao rolled her eyes and shook her head.

Her dad's friend Susumu Yamazaki had done them a huge favor and gotten her a very last minute appointment with a dentist friend who worked in his building. Unfortunately, the time of the appointment was cutting it a little too close to when Misao got out of school, and since there was some insurance paperwork to muddle through, her father wanted to be around for it, so he'd had to cancel his afternoon class, pick her up from school, and drive them to the building, which was close to downtown.

The snow wasn't helping her father's temper any.

"We don't really need to get me a new dentist, Dad," she said, holding onto the door console a little more tightly as her father maneuvered around someone he considered too slow.

"The hell we don't," he muttered. "That dentist is a charlatan. Asshole filled two cavities I know for a fact you didn't have, and charged me an arm and a leg for it."

"Dad, who says 'charlatan' anymore?" Misao asked, exasperated. "What are you, like a billion years old or something?"

"Quiet."

"I'm serious," Misao said. "I mean, say 'con,' or even 'con artist'. 'Charlatan' hasn't been relevant since like…1760."

"Misao, now is not the time to lecture me on updating my lame vocabulary," Saitou snapped.

"At least I finally got you to admit you're lame. Too bad I'm about to die in a gruesome car wreck," she muttered.

"You're not dying today," Saitou said. "This car wouldn't dare spin out on me. I'll put two .45s into it."

"I still can't believe they let you buy a gun," she said, glancing over at him. "Didn't Uncle Souji and Uncle Shin say you were the one of them most likely to snap and shave off all your hair, climb a bell tower and shoot student nurses?"

"It was 'lay waste to a college campus,' for the record, and Souji and Shinpachi are way more screwed up than I am," Saitou said, sending her a black look.

Misao had some doubts about that, mostly because neither Souji nor Shinpachi had been married to Yaso like her father had, but she knew better than to say so. Her mother wasn't really a bad person, but the woman was hell on the nerves, and she had really done a number on Saitou's. Misao barely recognized the wild man from her father's friends' stories as her staid, taciturn parent. There was mellow, and there was catatonic, and some days Saitou seemed more like the latter had happened to him than the former.

They finally made it to the building, and Saitou dropped her off at the entrance and told her to go up and get the ball rolling while he found a parking space. She dutifully found Dr. Wong's suite number on the directory by the elevators, then rode up to the third floor and walked down the hall until she found it.

The waiting room was nice and bright, very neat and clean. The chairs were comfy looking, and the magazines were staggered in neat rows over the top of the table so that all of the titles were clearly visible. Misao walked over to the counter absently, trying to see what the frames on the walls held.

"Hi there, can I help you?" the woman behind the counter asked with a smile, and when Misao looked at her and saw her shirt print, she grinned; she had kittens on her scrubs top.

"Yeah, I'm new here? Misao Saitou," she said, leaning on the counter.

"Oh! So you're the boss' favor," the woman said in amusement. "Dr. Wong said Dr. Yamazaki had been driving him crazy about getting you in today."

Misao blushed. "He's my dad's friend," she said. "And he's been my doctor since I was born."

The woman smiled. "It's okay," she said, leaning closer. "Dr. Yamazaki lets Dr. Wong win when they go golfing."

Misao smiled, and the woman returned it. She was a young woman, also Japanese, with a very pretty face and very fine features. She gathered together a few sheets of paper, slid them into a clipboard, and then presented that and a pen to Misao.

"Just fill those out for us, please, Misao. Have you got your dental insurance card?"

"My dad does," she said. "He's parking the car. He'll probably be up here in like five minutes."

"Okay, well tell your dad that we'll need that when he comes in, okay?" the woman asked, and Misao nodded. "All right, you have a seat and fill those out, and we'll be with you in a minute or two."

"Okay."

Misao chose a seat close to the counter and started filling out the patient information sheet. She was idly listening to the conversation going on beyond the counter as she wrote, and she didn't pay attention until she heard a very familiar woman's voice:

"Hey Omasu, did that new patient walk in yet?"

"Yup," the woman behind the counter said. "Just now. She's filling out the paperwork. Dad's on the way with the insurance card."

Misao stood up and peeked into the office beyond the counter, and saw a woman with dark hair and familiar almond-shaped blue eyes standing in the hallway. There was a mask over her face and gloves on her hands, and she was in light blue scrubs, but Misao knew her immediately.

"Tokio!" she said, delighted.

Tokio looked at her, gave a start, and then grinned behind her mask before she pulled it down.

"Misao! I didn't know you were the boss' favor. What a nice surprise."

"For real," Misao said, grinning. "I didn't know you worked so close to downtown."

"You two know each other, I guess?" Omasu asked, amused.

"Omasu, this is Kaoru's super best friend, Misao," Tokio said.

"Oh!" Omasu said, laughing. "You're Misao! Kao talks about you all the time. Koshi calls you two the terrible twins."

"Omasu is Koshijirou's girlfriend," Tokio patiently explained when Misao looked lost.

"Oh wow, awkward," Misao blurted before she could stop herself.

Omasu and Tokio burst out laughing, and Misao, blushing, smiled faintly.

"Not as awkward as you'd think," Omasu said.

"I give her top secret information on how to get her way with Koshijirou," Tokio said mischievously. "He hates it."

Misao laughed a little. "So you're the spy, huh? I guess Mr. Kamiya doesn't get you angry too often, Omasu, when you have a secret weapon like Tokio."

"He knows better," Omasu agreed with a grin.

"Well I'll get you set up," Tokio said. "I'll come for you."

"Okay. Hey, you can finally meet Dad!" Misao said brightly. "He's parking the car, he should be here in a few minutes."

"So I'll finally get to meet the mysterious Mr. Saitou, huh?" Tokio asked, amused. "Does he really breathe fire and turn people to stone with a single glare?"

Misao snorted. "Kaoru reads way too much Western mythology," she said, and Tokio laughed.

"I'd love to meet your dad, hon," Tokio said. "See you in a few."

"Okay!"

Misao settled down to hurry through the paperwork. Saitou opened the door two minutes after Tokio had gone back to set up for Misao's cleaning and check-up, looking cold and irritated.

"Well, we'll have to hike through waist-high snow drifts to get to the car, but it's parked," he said, shutting the door.

"Okay. Hey, they need your insurance card," Misao said.

He was already taking out his wallet to take out the card. "Did you finish filling everything out?"

"Uh-huh."

"Good," he said, walking to the counter. "Hi, I'm Misao's father. You need my insurance card?"

"Yes sir, Mr. Saitou," Omasu said with her smile firmly in place.

"Here," he said, holding it out to her. "Anything else?"

"Nope, we just need the card. I'll make a copy for our file, and give it right back. You can have a seat, if you like," she added.

"Right," Saitou said, going to where Misao sat and taking the seat beside her. "Let me see," he said, holding out a hand.

"I got everything," she insisted, but she gave him the clipboard.

His gaze went over the paperwork, and he frowned when he saw that she'd checked off that she'd had cavities.

"You did not have cavities," he said, looking at her.

"The fillings in my mouth say different, Dad," she said.

He snorted. "I want Wong to take x-rays. They can tell if the fillings needed to be done or not, and if I was scammed I'm suing that—"

"Dad."

Saitou sent her an annoyed look; she elbowed him, and he rolled his eyes and handed the clipboard back to her. She took it and laid it on her lap very primly, and he leaned back in his chair and sighed.

"Hey, guess what?" she asked after a pause.

"What?"

"Kaoru's mom works here. Tokio. Isn't that crazy?"

"Absolutely," he agreed with zero interest, and Misao frowned.

"Dad, do not make me regret being related to you," she said flatly, and he sent her a threatening look.

"Watch it," he said.

"Mr. Saitou?" Omasu called, and he held out a hand for the clipboard, still giving her that look. Misao made a face but gave it to him, and he rose and went back to the counter.

"Here's your card, sir," Omasu said with a smile.

She and Saitou exchanged the card for the paperwork, and she told him it wouldn't be more than a few more minutes. He nodded and sat back down next to Misao with a sigh.

"And after this, the airport," he muttered, taking off his glasses and rubbing a hand over his face.

"But after that, Grandma's hot chocolate and cookies," Misao said, and Saitou smiled faintly.

"This is true," he said, sitting back and slinging an affectionate arm around her. "She was excited when she heard you'd be there not just for Thanksgiving this year, but for your birthday."

"Excited enough to make a pumpkin praline torte?" she asked hopefully, and he chuckled and tugged on her braid.

"Two," he confided, "one to eat there and one to take home."

"Grandma is awesome," Misao said with a happy sigh, and Saitou chuckled again.

"Yeah, we always thought so," he said, leaning his head back against the wall.

Misao watched her father for a moment, then leaned her head against his shoulder. After a moment, his hand settled on top of her head and ruffled her bangs, and Misao grinned.

Her father wasn't really demonstrative—that was just his nature, and she'd realized that as a child when she'd seen him with her aunt and uncle, and realized he was standoffish with everyone—but he'd gotten better about it as the years had passed. Misao treasured her father's hopelessly awkward affection. He wasn't sentimental by any stretch of the imagination, but he'd kept every birthday and Father's Day card she'd ever given him, every picture and letter she'd drawn or written for him, every odd and lopsided art project crafted painstakingly for him, and for a man who didn't really value sentiment that meant something.

They sat that way for several moments in silence, until the door leading into the office beyond the counter opened to reveal a smiling Tokio.

"We're ready for you, hon," she said, and Misao bounded up from her seat, then turned to her father.

"Dad, this is—Dad?" she asked, her smile dying at the pole axed expression on Saitou's face.

"Professor?" Tokio asked, and Misao's eyebrows reached for the ceiling.

She looked back at Tokio and saw her staring at Saitou, looking like someone had hit her over the head with whatever had clipped her father.

"Do you guys know each other?" Misao asked, looking between her parent and her best friend's mother as she began making certain connections.

Saitou abruptly got to his feet and strode to the door, opened it and stalked out, the door slamming shut behind him.

And Misao, staring after him in shock, was more surprised by the embarrassed flush on his cheekbones that she'd caught as he passed her than by his leaving without a word.

Tokio flinched when the door shut.

It really is a small world, isn't it? she thought, a little dumbly, her gaze moving to Misao, who was still staring at the door.

There was no way she ever would have connected her coffee shop buddy to Misao's father. There was zero familial resemblance. There was nothing of the lanky, angular man with the chilly amber eyes who had become her sort of friend in the girl before her, at least nothing physical. Apparently, Misao's father had something of a temper, and Misao was well-known for hers. The acerbic tongue, she thought suddenly, was something else she'd inherited from him. But these were inside things, personality things, and unless one knew both parties, it was impossible to pinpoint what had come from whom.

She still felt stupid. The man was the father of her kid's best friend, for crying out loud. She should have met him before now, known him, not of him. But it had never happened; Misao didn't go to Open House Night at school, and she wasn't in any of the performance clubs or organizations. She was in the Honor Society, and on the Newspaper as a staff writer, but that was it. The Honor Society banquet for Kaoru and Misao wouldn't happen for another year, until all their community service hours were in, and Kaoru wasn't on the paper. Birthday parties in the more traditional sense had stopped when Kaoru had started middle school; parents dropped their kids off at the house, and picked them up later when the party was over, most times never getting out of their cars unless the families had been friends for years. And lately, the kids went out to eat dinner, away from the adults. Kaoru and Misao had become friends right about the time that things had started changing, and it had just never occurred to Tokio that she ought to make an effort to know who Misao's parents were, not when Misao was over at her house more than Kaoru was at Misao's.

But the really mortifying thing was that he'd asked her out to dinner, and she had accepted.

She had never felt so stupid in her life, not even when Koshijirou's mother had done her worst belittling.

Misao turned back to Tokio, looking confused.

"I missed something," she said, and Tokio sighed and held out a hand.

"You and me both, kid," she said with a rueful smile. "Come on. He'll be back in a little bit."

Misao sighed, then walked to Tokio, who slid an arm around her and gave her a squeeze.

"So that's your dad, huh?" she asked as they walked back toward where Tokio had set everything up.

"Yeah," Misao muttered with a touch of despair.

"He's very normal looking, for a dragon," Tokio mused mischievously, and Misao burst out laughing.

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Oh gods in the heavens and the hells.

Saitou swore under his breath and knocked his head against the wall by the elevators, furious and embarrassed and paralyzed with indecision.

"What are the fucking odds?" he muttered, slamming his forehead into the wall hard enough to see stars, and he leaned his head against the wall with a whimper of distress.

It was so humiliating to find out that Hot Lips—and that nickname was suddenly mortifying and so horribly inappropriate—was the mother of his daughter's best friend. It was even more humiliating that he had never connected the mother to the daughter: Kaoru was a carbon copy of her mother. To be fair, Saitou had no real interest in Kaoru past knowing that the girl was a nice kid who had been raised well. Having deduced that information from the way Kaoru acted the few times she'd been around him, he had promptly lost interest in knowing anything else about her. It was the same way he evaluated all of Misao's friends—the ones she brought to the house, anyway—and it was a system that worked for them. He had never thought about changing it, and though his daughter had occasionally bemoaned his reclusiveness, Misao didn't seem to mind it over-much.

Then again, he had never accidentally asked any of his daughter's friends' mothers out for dinner, either.

At the reminder of his indiscretion—however unintended—Saitou groaned. This was so completely inappropriate, and totally unacceptable. The only option left to him was to cancel their…well, date, he finally admitted. Because there were just some things he wasn't comfortable discussing with his daughter, and the realities of his dating life was one of those things.

And it was going to be awkward and embarrassing, and even if it took a very respectably quick-and-painless three minutes it was going to be positively agonizing, but there was no way he was going to go out to dinner with the mother of his daughter's best friend—that way lay madness and further embarrassment should things take a bad turn.

It figures, he thought more than a little bitterly, that the first woman I ask out in years ends up being off-limits.

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Tokio managed to put Misao's dad—and that was a much safer way of thinking of him than she had been—from her mind while she did Misao's cleaning and X-rays. Misao herself was quite helpful in that regard, regaling Tokio with stories from her day at school and an update on Kamatari's love life whenever she could speak. The girl was inordinately cheerful, even for her, and Tokio had an idea it had a lot to do with realizing it was Tokio that her father was taking to dinner. Tokio, however, had some doubts that dinner was still a go.

The man's reaction to her identity did not bode well.

And really, Tokio reluctantly admitted as she moodily watched Dr. Wong conduct Misao's check up, it was sort of inappropriate, wasn't it? After all, Kaoru and Misao were best friends, and it would be really weird if any relationship that were to come of this dinner should go south further down the road. And Tokio had always made it a point to never date any of the single parents at her children's schools, so as to avoid awkwardness and scenes. And maybe that seemed premature—who knew, the man might be a bore over dinner, and she would have worried over nothing—but Tokio wasn't willing to bank on a chance, not in this.

High school was hard enough without adding complications from your mother's love life to the mix.

It really sucked, though. She liked the Professor—Misao's dad, she mentally corrected—a lot. He was a little on the morose side, but he cheered up some while they talked, and what little she knew of him, she had liked immensely. It was important to her to really, honestly like the person she had a relationship with, important to her that they could be friends as well as lovers.

So much for that.

"Tokio, can you grab Mr. Saitou and have him meet us in my office?" Dr. Wong asked, bringing her out of her head.

Antonio Wong was a Chinese Cuban who was fluent in Spanish, Chinese and English. Tokio had been working for him since she'd gotten her dental hygienist's certificate, and over the years, they had become good friends; he had cheerfully taught her how to speak Spanish—"Actually, you might say it's strictly Cuban, because if you try talking to another speaker they probably wouldn't get half of it," he had joked once—and they practiced their Mandarin with each other daily. He had been the first in his family to get a university degree, and he had been the first to flee Cuba the first chance he got. Over the years, Tokio had met other relatives who had come to the U.S. via questionable means; two of his cousins helped Wong with the books when tax season rolled around, since they had been accountants in Cuba, and a third was working for Tokio's family.

Currently, he was watching her rather speculatively, and she knew he was going to grill her about what was wrong as soon as he was done with Misao.

Tokio wasn't looking forward to it.

"Sure thing," she said with a smile she didn't feel, and she left them to head back to the waiting room.

When she opened the door and poked her head out, she immediately saw Misao's dad sitting in a chair, leaning forward with his hands clasped between his legs as he glared at his shoes. When the door opened, he looked up, and then flushed when he saw her. Tokio felt her own face heat and tried to ignore it as much as possible.

Gods in hell, this was so humiliating…

"Mr. Saitou, Dr. Wong wants to talk to you in his office," she said, hiding behind professionalism because it was all she had left to save her from this terrible awkwardness.

His eyes darted to the receptionist's desk, then back to her, and Tokio felt a moment of foreboding.

"We need to speak," he said quietly.

"Dr. Wong is waiting—" she said.

"Now would be best," he emphasized, and she gathered he didn't want to talk to her in front of Misao.

Not that she could blame him, really, but she so totally didn't want to have this super-embarrassing conversation now, at work of all places…

"Okay," she murmured, stepping out into the waiting room and shutting the door leading into the office proper behind her.

He rose, went to the outer door and opened it for her, and she walked by him, knowing Omasu was going to definitely pump her for information as soon as work was done for the day.

They walked a ways down the hall in stifling silence, and then Misao's dad turned to her and abruptly said, "Dinner is completely inappropriate and a terrible idea."

Even though she had been thinking the exact same thing, Tokio was blindsided by the way he dove right in, and it apparently showed on her face because he grimaced.

"Shit," he muttered, running a hand over his face. "I'm sorry, I was going to be a lot less of an asshole about this—"

"It's okay," Tokio said, holding up a hand. "I agree, you just surprised me."

"Good," he said, looking relieved, and Tokio had an urge to kick him really hard all of a sudden for being so relieved, but she ignored the impulse.

No need to make things any worse, after all.

"So dinner's off, then," he said.

"Looks like," she said, looking down the hallway. "Probably in our best interests to just make sure it stays off, permanently."

"Absolutely," he agreed.

"Okay then," she said.

There was a long, suffocating stretch of uncomfortable silence, and Tokio mourned, for a moment, the death of the once easy and comfortable pseudo-friendship they had built up over the last six months.

They were never going to be able to be normal around each other ever again.

"Well, Misao's dad, Dr. Wong is waiting for you," she said finally, tugging at the hem of her scrubs blouse. "She had a good checkup, he just wanted to talk to you."

"Right, good," he said lamely. "Okay. Thanks…Kaoru's mom."

Tokio jerked her head once, then turned on her heel and walked back to the suite, Misao's dad a few steps behind her. They walked back into the office silently, and Tokio took him to Dr. Wong's office door, knocked, then poked her head in.

"That was a while," he noted when she appeared, and she smiled thinly at him.

"Misao's dad was on the phone," she lied. "He's here now, though. Ready for him?"

"Absolutely," Dr. Wong said with a smile as he stood, and Tokio nodded, then moved away from the door and waved Misao's dad in without looking at him.

He walked in and she shut the door behind him, then beat a hasty retreat to the bathroom, because she felt her eyes tearing up and she didn't want to be caught crying by Omasu, or worse, Misao and her father.

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There was no sign of Kaoru's mom when they left Dr. Wong's office, and Saitou felt bad. He hadn't meant to be so blunt with her, but he hadn't been able to help himself; it was rare for him to feel so out of his depth, and it had made him more abrupt than usual, but that was hardly an acceptable excuse.

She had looked just as uncomfortable and mortified, after all, and she had managed not to be a bitch.

He paid the woman at the front desk, who eyed him curiously; he ignored her gaze, settled his bill and filled out the post card Wong's office was going to send the next time Misao was due for a checkup, and then he and Misao left…though not before Misao, who had been obvious in her attempts to look for Kaoru's mom, finally gave up and said to the girl at the desk, "Hey, Omasu, can you tell Tokio I said bye?"

"Sure thing, hon," Omasu said with a smile and a nod, and Misao smiled faintly back before saying her goodbye to the woman and heading out the door he was holding open for her.

"Dad, I didn't know you knew Tokio!" Misao exclaimed excitedly as soon as the door was shut, and Saitou rounded on her.

"Not. Another. Word," he snapped, and Misao's enthusiasm died immediately. "Do you hear me? Not one more word."

"Okay," she said in a subdued voice, gaze dropping to the floor, and Saitou sighed and scrubbed both hands over his face.

"Goddammit," he muttered. "I'm sorry, Misao, okay? This is just not a good time."

She peeked up at him through her bangs, then nodded and toed the linoleum flooring.

"Okay."

Saitou watched the top of his daughter's head and decided that today was apparently what Misao had once called an "Ogre Day."

He definitely felt like one, at any rate.

They trudged back to the car silently, and Saitou might have enjoyed the unusual quiet if it hadn't been because he had snapped at Misao. Which wasn't such an odd occurrence, really, except that he had no business turning on her the way he had. What had happened with Kaoru's mother was very much his fault, and taking out his sense of frustrated embarrassment on Misao wasn't fair.

And all of his dealings with his daughter had always been, if nothing else, fair.

"Dad?" Misao asked once the heater had finally warmed up some, and they were carefully pulling out of the parking lot.

"Yes?"

"…can I ask you one question?"

Saitou looked over at Misao out of the corner of his eye. She was watching him through her bangs, green eyes solemn, face as serious as it had been the day he and Yaso had told her they were getting divorced.

"One question," he said with a nod. His tone conveyed that one question was all he would answer or tolerate.

"Is Tokio who you're gonna go to dinner with?"

He was absently glad she had refrained from calling it a date, although he knew that was entirely due to the reaction he had had in the hallway outside Wong's office.

"Was," he corrected flatly.

Misao's eyes went huge. "Was?" she repeated. "Dad, did you—?"

"One question, Misao," he said with a glare, and she huffed and sent him a look he interpreted as her being upset at him before she began ignoring him in favor of looking out the window.

And since that was fine by him, Saitou did absolutely nothing to end the silence in the car between them.

For Misao's part, she was irritated and appalled at her father, mostly because she knew what he was like when he was angry or worse, flustered (not that she had seen the latter very much; the only time she could recall in recent memory was when she had had her first period at thirteen, and he had looked equal parts horrified and embarrassed to have to deal with it. Thankfully the experience hadn't been scarring for either of them…she didn't think, anyway).

When Hajime Saitou was off-kilter, he had a tendency to act like a huge jerk. It was one of his worst qualities, and Misao had been nagging him about it for years, not that it had made a discernible difference in his behavior that she could see. But Misao was pretty used to her father reacting that way, so she could (and did) ignore it when it happened. But poor Tokio probably hadn't known what had hit her, and she knew it had probably been pretty ugly if he was still so out of sorts.

Misao wished she had been able to see Tokio before they had left, but she probably hadn't wanted to see them, or more accurately her father, again. Kaoru's mother had never been anything but nice to her, and it was mortifying to think that her father might have chapped the older woman's ass with his bad temper because he had been embarrassed.

She stewed at her father for a good fifteen minutes before she snuck a peek at him from the corner of her eye. He still looked angry, and embarrassed, and Misao suddenly felt bad for him. Saitou wasn't a bad guy, he just didn't have especially good people skills; it was the one thing Misao and her mother could agree on. He was a fabulous professor, respected and admired (and probably feared) by his students, but he was comfortable in a classroom. He wasn't comfortable one on one with strangers unless they were colleagues or students, and Tokio was neither. For Saitou to have agreed to dinner with her meant he was comfortable with her in a way he wasn't usually with people he didn't know very well.

It was just really unfortunate that Tokio happened to be Kaoru's mother, because now her father was going to treat her like a leper, assuming he ever even saw her again, and Misao would lay down money that if he did see her again, it would be an accident.

"Hey Dad?" she asked, leaning over to lay her head on his arm. "I'm sorry."

He let out a grunt, but the air seemed suddenly less stifling, and Misao resolved not to bring up the subject of his broken date with Tokio ever again.

…to him, anyway: she was definitely going to have to blow up Kaoru's phone to see if her friend had known about this development, and if so, why she had not immediately informed Misao.

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Tokio stayed in the bathroom for twenty minutes, feeling like an idiot for getting so upset, but unable to help it. She had rarely been so embarrassed that her only response was to cry, but it had happened a few times over the years, usually because of Koshijirou's mother.

Misato Kamiya had hated her for a daughter-in-law and wife to her first born son, and she had made no attempt to keep it from anyone. Nothing Tokio had done was ever good enough for her mother-in-law, and she had spent more than one holiday locked in the guest bathroom at her in-law's, crying after being humiliated in front of her husband's family. Koshijirou had gotten into a few fights with his mother, and it had taken his threatening to never darken his parents' doorway with his family ever again if Misato didn't stop humiliating his wife for the abuse to lessen.

But only lessen.

Eventually, Tokio had built up enough of a resistance to Misato's disapproval that the old bat didn't send her running to cry somewhere in private.

This was a new level of humiliating, however, one that was new and entirely unpleasant, and part of it was because Misao had figured out what was going on.

She liked her daughter's best friend, and over the years had adopted her as another daughter, so this was like being outted in front of one of her kids. The fact that she had almost had dinner with the father of said pseudo-daughter, without knowing who she had agreed to go out with, just added a whole other level of mortification.

Once she was sure Misao and her father were gone, Tokio cleaned up as best she could, splashed water on her face and wiped it before she left the bathroom…

…and found Wong leaning against the opposite wall, arms crossed over his chest, expression expectant.

Tokio groaned.

"Oh come on," she whined. "Really?"

"You act way awkward with a parent—which never happens—and you disappear for the whole meeting, and then I find you in the bathroom for twenty minutes? And when you come out you look like the devil? You come on, Tokio, what did you think was going to happen?" Wong replied, not unkindly.

"It's nothing," Tokio said wearily, pushed her hair back from her forehead.

"Is Dad an old boyfriend or something?" Wong asked. "If they ever come back, Omasu can deal with him—"

"He's not an old boyfriend," Tokio said in exasperation. "He's not an old anything, he's just some guy I met at the coffee shop I go to in the mornings, and I didn't realize who he was until today, and it was weird and awkward and that's all you're getting out of me, so don't bother," she added with a hard look her boss' way.

Wong eyed her from under lowered brows for several minutes, then sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Okay," he said. "But if you don't want to deal with him—"

"I'm capable of acting like an adult," Tokio said. "Omasu won't have to deal with him."

Assuming, of course, Misao comes back to this office ever again.

"All right. If you're sure."

The great thing about Wong was also the worst thing about him: he was a worrier. And in addition to being her boss, he was also a good friend, which only doubled his propensity for worrying about her.

"I'm sure." she said with a smile, and he sent her a half smile even though she could see he still had his doubts. "Are we done for the day?"

"We're done," he said. "Go home. And Happy Thanksgiving."

"Happy Thanksgiving," Tokio returned with a genuine smile.

Omasu didn't say anything when she saw Tokio again, only helped her pick up the office along with the other hygienist, Okon. Between the three of them, they finished quickly, and quite soon everyone was heading out of the building toward the parking lot. A few snowflakes were falling, just a light dusting, and Tokio watched them drift down to earth with a sigh; if the snow kept up, she planned to sit by a window with a cup of either coffee or hot chocolate and soak up the silence when she got home, assuming her kids would allow it.

Probably not.

"Hey," Omasu said from beside her, and Tokio glanced over. "Want to talk about it?"

"No," Tokio said.

"I promise not to say a word to Koshi," Omasu said, holding up a hand. "Scout's honor."

"That's only for Boy Scouts," Tokio said, although she smiled a little.

Omasu looked offended. "Anything boys can do we can do better," she replied haughtily, and Tokio's smile grew.

"I appreciate it, but I'd really rather not talk about it, Omasu," she said with a sigh. "It's already embarrassing enough as it is."

"Did he say something?" Omasu asked suspiciously. "Should I tell Koshi? You know he'd beat him up in a heartbeat, even if the other guy is bigger."

"Yes I know, and for the love of all things holy, please don't tell him anything. Enough people already know, as far as I'm concerned." Tokio let out a weary sigh and scrubbed her hands over her face. "Oh God, Omasu, I'm so embarrassed."

Omasu smiled gently, looped arms with the older woman and tugged her toward her car.

"Come on," she said, glad she could finally repay a kindness from three years ago, although she was upset that Tokio was so upset.

Omasu had made a better impression than Tokio had on Misato when she had finally met Koshijirou's domineering mother, but she had still fallen quite short of being the perfect woman for Misato's son. Omasu had been mortified and humiliated when Misato had chided her for what she referred to as Omasu's "deplorable Japanese," and made no secret of the fact that Omasu's friendship with Tokio made her suspect.

Tokio had been at the gathering, and when Misato had finally become too abusive, Tokio had calmly stepped in, taken charge of Omasu and the two of them had left the Kamiya matriarch's home. Tokio had taken her to the coffee shop she frequented before work every morning, bought her a cup of green tea and a scone, and then let Omasu vent…for the next hour and a half.

"How the hell do you put up with her?" Omasu finally asked, and Tokio smiled kindly.

"I love Koshi," she said simply. "She's a good mother in her own way, and she loves him and he loves her back. So I put up with her because he loves her, and I love him. And now you have to decide if you love Koshi enough to do the same."

"She's so mean," Omasu said with a sniffle.

"She used to be meaner," Tokio said with a shrug. "The kids take the edge off a little. She likes you better than me, though, so that's a point in your favor."

"How do you figure she likes me at all?" Omasu asked with a huff, wiping her eyes.

"You're Japanese," Tokio said, bitterness tingeing her tone ever so slightly, and Omasu wouldn't realize what it was until years had passed. "Born here, but Mom and Pop came straight over from the island, and you still communicate with your relatives back home. You're as close to a nice Japanese girl as Misato's going to find, short of flying to Japan and picking one out herself." Tokio snorted and rolled her eyes. "And I'm sure the thought's occurred to her, probably every day of the eight years Koshi and I were married. I thought she was going to have a coronary when we told her we were getting married. She threw us out of the house, and we ended up living with my parents for a while, since they were the only set willing to help us. They helped us get our own place, and Dad bought our house for us and helped us make the mortgage payments until we could do it on our own. Trust me, there's no way she hates you the way she hates me."

Omasu stared at Tokio, wide-eyed.

"I didn't know that," she murmured.

"Koshi doesn't like talking about it," Tokio said, shrugging again. "I don't blame him, really: his mother didn't come off very well, even if it was her own fault. We didn't talk to her until after Sano was born. That helped a little. She really does love the kids. Hates that they have anything to do with me, but she does love them. It's a point in the old battleax's favor."

"How can you even stand her?" Omasu asked, appalled.

"I told you, I love Koshi. He was my friend before we were married, and I was lucky enough to keep him as a friend after we weren't married anymore. Plus, I've had years of practice dealing with Misato. She used to make me cry every time we came over for holidays, until I stopped letting it bother me. Koshi talked to her, and that helped too. He's probably giving her hell as we speak—I don't know if you know this, kiddo, but that lovable idiot's crazy about you," Tokio teased, and Omasu let out a watery laugh.

"I'm crazy about him too," she admitted, long past the point of being uncomfortable with talking to her boyfriend's ex-wife about said boyfriend (although it had been plenty weird in the beginning).

"So are you willing to overlook his unfortunate mother?" Tokio asked, smiling, and Omasu smiled back.

"I guess," she said, though she quailed a little inside at the idea of seeing Misato again.

"Atta girl," Tokio said with a nod, patting her arm. "Remember, it isn't just her forcing herself on you—it's also you forcing yourself on her. Just in the beginning. It'll ease up eventually."

"Promise?"

"I'm pretty sure," Tokio hedged. "Not wise to bet against Misato. She might make sure it goes the other way, purely out of spite."

Omasu groaned and dropped her head to the tabletop.

"Shit," she mumbled, making Tokio laugh.

And Misato had (finally) eased up on Omasu, for which she was glad. The older woman seemed determined, however, to heap as much venom on Tokio as she could every time she saw her former daughter-in-law, and Omasu couldn't understand it. Tokio had tried explaining it once, but the reason—the Anglo and Chinese blood in her mother's background—had just seemed so idiotic Omasu had had a hard time believing that could possibly be it.

Tokio had only smiled gently and said, "You were born and raised here, and your parents are from a different generation."

The drive to the coffee shop was quiet, and they didn't break that silence until they were settled at a table in the corner that gave the illusion of privacy.

"Tell me all the gory details," Omasu said. "No judgment."

So Tokio did, looking mortified and sad. When she had finished, they sat quietly for a moment, and then Omasu said, "That was a shitty way to handle it, on his part."

Tokio's lips formed a wobbly smile that disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, and Omasu felt bad for her friend; Koshi had told her how much Tokio had liked this man, and he had been excited for her, hoping that this one went somewhere.

And because but for Tokio's meddling and insistence, Omasu herself would be in the same boat, she had hoped the same.

"Well, it's his loss, then," Omasu said with a sniff.

"It sucks, but that's not the embarrassing part," Tokio said, and Omasu stared at her like she'd grown a second head.

"There's something more embarrassing than his acting like you're undateable?" she asked slowly, and Tokio flushed.

"He's Misao's father," Tokio whined. "And I never knew that until today!"

"Yeah, well, apparently you weren't missing much," Omasu said, rolling her eyes.

"We're talking about the father of my daughter's best friend," Tokio said miserably, scrubbing her hands over her face. "I should have known this man. I should have known who he was from the second the girls became friends. What kind of mother am I that I don't even know the father of my daughter's best friend?"

"Tokio, no one would call Child Protective Services on you for not knowing Misao's dad," Omasu said dryly. At Tokio's pointed look, Omasu sighed irritably. "Fine, no one who didn't hate your guts would call Child Protective Services, but Misato doesn't count, not for the purposes of this conversation."

"I'm sure she'll have plenty to say about it when she hears," Tokio muttered.

"No one is going to tell her," Omasu said.

"No one will have to, she'll just know," Tokio said with a distasteful look on her face. "She always knows when I've fucked up."

"Honey, this isn't that bad," Omasu said, reaching over and taking her hand to squeeze it. "On a scale of one to ten, this is maybe a four. Accidentally flashing your thong ranks way higher."

"That happened to you, not me," Tokio pointed out. "Of course you'd think it would rank higher."

Omasu sent her an exasperated look, and Tokio relented:

"Okay, fine, that was way more embarrassing. Especially since it happened in church."

"And the priest said God stays out of matters of lingerie and I should make a note of keeping my lingerie out of matters of God," Omasu muttered, and Tokio snorted and ducked her head to laugh into her lap.

Omasu ignored the fact that her friend was laughing at her, and just decided to be glad that Tokio was feeling better.

"See?" she couldn't resist saying. "This too shall pass."

Tokio sighed. "I guess," she said gloomily. "I just…"

"You just?" Omasu prompted, intrigued.

"I liked him," Tokio said, sending Omasu a helpless look. "Like, I liked talking to him. It never felt forced or weird, you know? And I just know that's how it's going to be from now on."

"It only has to be as awkward as you make it," Omasu said, shrugging, but Tokio just sighed and shook her head.

"I'm not the only person who found it awkward," she said. "And I'm not sure he's willing to pretend that nothing happened. Or if he is, it isn't the same way I'm willing to."

It was quiet for a moment, and then Omasu said, "Look, don't borrow trouble, yeah? Just let it lay for now, and deal with it when the time comes."

"I love it when I get my own advice back," Tokio said dryly, and Omasu grinned.

"It's your fault for giving such good advice," she said, and Tokio smiled back at her.

And if it was a smile still tinged with apprehension, well, Omasu decided to leave it alone; there was only so much one could do in one night over tea, after all.

XoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoX

Tokio felt exhausted when she walked through the kitchen door, in a way she hadn't felt since she had first started working full-time and had been struggling, in the beginning, to balance a new job with her other full-time job as Mom.

She wasn't expecting to be greeted at the door by Kaoru and Yahiko, so it was a nice surprise—or it was until Kaoru immediately asked, "Are you dating Misao's dad?"

Today will never end, Tokio thought despairingly.

"Can I close the door before we get into this, Kaoru?" she asked wearily.

"Are you crazy, Mom? How could you date Mr. Saitou?" Kaoru said, her voice an octave higher than usual, which always happened when she was anxious or excited or upset.

Apparently not, Tokio decided, frowning.

She looked at Yahiko, who was eyeing her warily. Her youngest tended to be the least open to the idea of Tokio dating anyone, and she figured that somewhere deep down inside, he harbored hopes that his parents would reconcile and get back together. Which Tokio had always found odd, since Yahiko had never known his family that way, the way Sano and Kaoru had, had never known a time when Koshijirou lived at the house with them and Tokio was a stay-at-home mom who went on all the school field trips and was an active member of the PTA.

Tokio ignored Kaoru while she set her purse down and shrugged out of her coat and scarf and took off her gloves. She eased her boots off, set them on the rack by the door, then turned to face her daughter.

"—the most embarrassing thing you could do to me—" Kaoru was saying, and Tokio suddenly reached the limit of her ability to deal with this day.

"That's enough, Kaoru," she said, not quite snapping, but her voice was uncharacteristically sharp.

Kaoru's eyes went wide, and Yahiko took a wary step backwards.

"Mom—" Kaoru began.

"No," Tokio said. "We're not discussing this. I am not dating Misao's father, and we're not talking about this anymore. I'm going upstairs, I'm taking a shower, and then I'm going to bed."

"You don't want dinner?" Yahiko asked, surprised.

"All I want is for today to be over, and the sooner I go to sleep, the sooner that'll happen," Tokio said, walking past her children and to the kitchen stairs.

Yahiko and Kaoru watched her disappear up them, heard her walk to her bedroom and then shut the door firmly—a clear sign that their mother didn't want to be disturbed, since she never closed her door. Yahiko looked at his sister, frowning.

"Nice going, Kaoru," he said, and Kaoru glared back at him.

"Shut up," she said, though her cheeks flushed guiltily.

"You made Mom mad," Yahiko threw back. "And Sano's coming home tonight and she isn't even gonna wait up for him because you made her mad."

"She was already mad!" Kaoru snapped.

"Well you made her more mad!" Yahiko snapped back, and Kaoru flinched, then sent the stairs a guilty look.

"Yeah I did," she said finally, and Yahiko made an annoyed sound under his breath, then went over to the Crock Pot Tokio had set earlier that morning before driving him to school.

He grabbed a bowl and portioned out some of the beef stew from the Crock Pot, then covered it and set it in the refrigerator, just in case their mother got hungry later; once Sano got home, the considerable amount left in the Crock Pot was going to end up in his older brother's belly, and Yahiko didn't want Tokio to not get a chance to eat because of Sano's bottomless pit stomach.

Then, throwing his sister one last reproachful look, he turned and stomped up the stairs, resolved to go to Sano's room and wait for his older brother to get home so he could tell him what Kaoru had done.

Because while he didn't like the idea of having to share his mother with some guy, he liked the idea of her feeling bad even less, and he knew Sano would agree with him.