I don't own Death Note or xxxHOLiC.

A mother knows some things.

Sachiko is like all parents; she forever harbours a desperate need to protect her children from whatever could torment them, but when she doesn't know what adversaries her children are facing, what problems they are encountering, there is little she can do.

She doesn't know when she starts to pick up on these little changes and she doesn't even know how, as they're all so subtle, but she can tell her son has changed somehow. He's still the courteous, helpful and ever-smiling Light she's raised him to be but something about his every action has become so forced and contrived that Sachiko begins to wonder if perhaps, as a mother, she should retreat and give him space. She has never known her son to experience what other parents call teenage phases—he's always been this way, always so sweet and polite—but she also keeps in mind that Light is not an ordinary boy and even if something were wrong, he'd conceal it from her effortlessly. At first some of these things are on a scale so small that they're invisible to her keen eyes but they grow and manifest in such a way that she can't ignore them anymore. They're glaring problems right in front of her and as a mother, she is aware that she doesn't do something now, she'll regret it later.

She innocently comments one evening at dinner—to which Soichirou isn't present once again while Sayu is jabbering on about some boy in her English class—about Light's lack of appetite. Sayu's head whips around at that comment and Light's miniscule portions of rice become all the more evident when compared with Sachiko's and Sayu's. "Onii-chan should eat more," Sayu shakes her head. "You're making me look like a glutton otherwise," she pouts as Light nonchalantly reaches over for more rice and remarks that Sayu really is a glutton, which Sayu is quick to respond to. Sachiko finds a smile on her lips at the sight of the familiar banter, even though her husband's absence had irked her earlier. As she continues to watch the verbal exchange between Light and Sayu, she shakes her head and neglects to reprimand them for their fighting—she may have been mistaken about there being something wrong with Light.

Her opinion changes in a few months, however, when she notices her son's distinct loss of weight. Light's always been on the thinner end, but she can tell this is not normal and it isn't the product of regular stress. Light's never been stressed about anything, he's never complained about his schoolwork and regardless of the difficulty, he effortlessly obtains the perfect score. This isn't a school problems, her gut insists but as she brings it up with her husband, he laughs and calls her paranoid, patting her cheek and assuring her that Light was probably dealing with a crush or something similar.

His opinion changes as well as Light's attitude grows stranger with the passing of time, however—Light becomes thinner and wan, and Sachiko stares at the painful way in which he picks at his food. She tries to rectify whatever is amiss as the maternal instinct in her guides her to—she cooks his favourite meals, she tries to rope him into keeping her company whilst Soichiro is away, she showers him with more praise than normal and acknowledges every little achievement of his that she might have overlooked in the past but nothing seems to work and Sachiko is more worried than frustrated by the time Light's high school graduation nears. Light still remembers how to smile, but it's not that radiant one that she knows is genuine; it's frozen and fits into its choreographed spot on his face, so obviously painted on that Sachiko wishes she could teach him to smile properly and widely again. That's all she even wants, to see that candid smile from him again.

The grocery store holds a special on fish that day and Sachiko decides she'll make fish for lunch tomorrow. She walks home quickly, her arms filled with bags of groceries, leaving her defenceless as her skirt flaps slightly in the wind. There are people around her laughing heartily, drawing their clothes tighter around them as the autumn wind continues to blow fiercely. She bows her head and walks, unheeding of the people around her when something catches her attention. She's walked down this street countless times in the past and she's never felt this way before; there's something visually lopsided about the scene around her. She casts a quick glance to her side and scowls as her gaze lands on a house—she's certain this particular house has never been here before, in fact, she quite clearly remembers that it's always been a bare plot of land and yet … yet this absolutely stunning, traditional house is present where that barren plot of land was once upon a time and Sachiko is sure her memory isn't playing tricks on her this time.

She admires the house for a few moments—it's beautiful, what with the sloping, black-tiled roof and the quaint little well at the side. Before she can blink, her legs are moving of their own accord, dragging her closer and closer with every footstep against the gravel-lined path to the entrance of the house she was unabashedly staring at mere moments ago. She cannot stop, for some reason—it feels like there's a hand clasping her own, insistently pulling her towards this house and she simply cannot command her feet to stop. Her hand jolts upwards and knocks as soon as she is in front of the door; at this point, she is mortified for how impulsively she has behaved and she begins to think of apologies as the door creaks open, revealing a bespectacled boy around Light's age who welcomes her and guides her in. He's dressed strangely, in a white apron and with his hair tied back. The scent of miso lingers on him as if he's been cooking and he is sweating as well.

"I, oh, I—"

"You must be here to see Yuuko-san," the boy states, cutting Sachiko off. "She's in there," he gestures to a pair of closed, wooden doors with an intricate pattern embossed onto the front.

Her legs move once again without her commanding them to, clapping forward in a right-first-then-left pattern against the polished floor. A woman is sprawled out on the sofa, her brilliantly-patterned kimono hanging loosely around her slender, though buxom frame. Settled between her lips is a pipe through which tendrils of smoke escape. Yuuko—presumably—gestures for her to enter, a smile slowly creeping across her face; it's not lewd which is a trait Sachiko would associate with this woman, nor is it caring or welcoming … it feels vaguely calculated, but also secretive and Sachiko finds herself increasingly on edge as she steps closer to Yuuko.

"How may I help you?" Yuuko asks crisply, removing the pipe from her mouth and sitting up. She predicts what Sachiko will say, however and answers it for her first. "There must be something you want; there is no other reason you would be able to see this shop or you would have come here. I can grant you a wish, provided you pay the required price and your request is within my abilities."

Sachiko is dumbstruck; this cannot exist outside a fairy tale but … but she is sure she is awake and she is also sure she did not mishear what Yuuko said. She blinks rapidly, in both an attempt to clear her thoughts and to piece together a sensible response, but underneath the scrutiny she is putting Yuuko's claims to, she knows that she is not averse to what Yuuko is suggesting; regardless of what the price may be and as ludicrous as this entire situation is, if it is for the sake of her son's happiness, there is nothing too great or too expensive for her.

"I want my son to be happy," she answers carefully, unaware of how needy she sounds.

"Do you know what happiness is, Yagami-san?" Yuuko peers intently into Sachiko's eyes, asking a question Sachiko does not fully know the answer to. What Sachiko does know is that happiness is that familiar gleam of motivation in her son's eyes, that pure smile shining once again and she will stop at nothing to retrieve it; it does not even strike her as odd that Yuuko knows her name, though she did not introduce herself. "What if the price is too great for you to pay?"

"No price is too great," Sachiko assures her and the deal is made.

"You will give me your own happiness in return, bit by bit, in that case," Yuuko lays down the rules as she begins granting Sachiko's wish.

—-

There is no coincidence in this world, only the inevitable. In a week, Light transforms into the son she once knew—he seems so happy all of a sudden that Sachiko is almost too scared to believe that it's a permanent change, but she's oh-so grateful to Yuuko for bringing this change about. She is overjoyed to the extent where she forgets what she is paying in exchange for his happiness. She watches him bustle about, grinning once again and actually taking interest in what he does. He's still as occupied as he was earlier, but it appears to be a lot healthier now than it had been in the past—why, he ranks number one in the To-oh entrance examination and he talks about helping his father with the Kira investigation; her heart swells with pride as she hears these things.

The process is slow, but sure. Months tick by and Sachiko becomes enveloped by solitude—neither Light, nor Soichiro begin to show up for dinner because they're so caught up in the Kira investigation and Sayu is withdrawing as well, no longer the overly-bubbly teen she was. Of course, Sayu isn't withdrawing in the same way Light is, she just prefers the company of her friends to her mother's and Sachiko understands that. She spends most nights dusting the living room or reading a book, but they're both pathetic replacements for spending time with her family. The silence was refreshing initially, because she finally received some quality time to herself, but now it's tiresome and wearing her down.

The loneliness doesn't fade with time, oh no, it grows worse; Sayu is abducted and though she returns safe and sound, her silence makes Sachiko feels like she had lost a daughter and has been given a statue as compensation. Her husband passes away in what the NPA defines as an unfortunate accident but Light gives her the details. A negotiation gone awry. It's like a stab to her stomach, leaving her staggering and pained as she sews together the remnants of her life. She has her children, her beloved children; Light will protect her, Sayu still has a pulse … she has her children to live for and with that thought in mind, Sachiko plods forward, staunchly refusing to give up.

Yet nothing changes; Sayu barely speaks to her, resorting to shaking or nodding her head or pointing to things when she wants something. Light doesn't stop by home either and in the rare occasion Sachiko can catch him on the phone, he gives her hushed and hurried responses, speaking with her only for a couple of minutes before hanging up because he has work to do. Sayu has chosen to not leave her room and as dedicated a mother as Sachiko is, there is only so much she can take—both as a woman and as a mother. The silence is overwhelming and terrifying, the worry has returned (this time for both her children) and the fear that she could lose her family any day, just like she lost her husband, never leaves her.

Light's death is both unexpected and quite obviously, heartbreaking. She finds out about it in a phone call and rushes to the morgue instantly, leaving Sayu in charge of the house. Though she has made only minimal improvement, Sayu has become a little more responsible and can probably handle a simple task like watching the house. In the event that it really is Light on that table in the morgue, then Sachiko does not want Sayu to see shouldn't have to be traumatised any further and Sachiko hopes that it isn't her son and is a misunderstanding.

She rushes into the small room, jaw slackening at the sight of a slim, clearly male, bundle tactlessly hidden under a white blanket. She inches closer to the table, heart thundering in agony and fear and collapses as the doctor pulls back the blanket. She knows that face—that very handsome face; his auburn hair is messy, his eyes are shut, his face is blank but not peaceful as if he's sleeping. The very slight pursing of his lips, the almost indiscernible frown on his forehead frozen in place on his dead face tells her that he was in pain as he passed away. Sachiko stares in shock and disbelief for several terse moments as she tries to reject what is in front of her before shrill and agonised wails leave her throat. She buries her face in the side of his body and cries, wishing her tears could resurrect him, or at least that by some miracle he would smile again or joke with Sayu again in that soft, tenor voice—

—some realisations are too sad to digest and this is one of them; she can't let go of him yet, but she will have to bury him and say goodbye. She will never have seen his wedding nor congratulated him on promotions at work nor held his children in her arms. Parents are not meant to outlive their children, after all.

What is happiness? A thing of the past for Yagami Sachiko.

Comments and critique are more than welcome! I don't feel like this is the best I can do, but I'm in a bit of a brainfreeze phase now as well ... can't think of how to improve this either ...