Archive of Our Own ^beta

Julie Sakuma Dmitriyevich had forgotten what it was like being a father.

He would have said that those memories were buried, lost forever at the moment the first scattering of dirt from the gravekeeper's shovel landed on the too-small casket. He would have said it, and would have meant it, too.

And he would have been wrong. Kizuna had known it, when Julie had hunted him down and demanded a fight to the death. Despite their complicated history together, best friends were best friends, and sometimes your best friend knew you better than you knew yourself. Even if Kizuna's too-knowing devil-may-care smirk suggested that 'sometimes' was really all the time.

"Julie!" a now-familiar voice called, causing his lips to twitch in amusement. After all, sometimes your inconsiderate best friend, as if worried you might believe that nonsense about having forgotten how to be a father, left you his precocious young daughter.

Julie looked up, letting his smile break free as he watched Ai Astin charge forward across the rough terrain surrounding their little camp. Some protective instinct made him want to call out, to tell her to slow down, but since he doubted it'd do any good, he said nothing. When Ai’s toe caught on a rock and tripped Julie felt his heart jump into his throat, and he started to stand. When Ai looked up, though, her face filled with chagrin, clearly more embarrassed at having been observed crashing inelegantly to the ground than actually injured, he snorted in amusement. Julie shook his head, reminding himself, once again, that children were resilient, and that Ai was more resilient than most.

"There's a lake on the other side of the next hill!" Ai exclaimed once she skidded to a halt in front of him, no sign that she even remembered tripping.

"A lake, huh?" Julie looked up, glancing past Ai's shoulder to where Scar was following along, her steps much more carefully measured. It might have been just his imagination, but Julie thought that the usual polite gravekeeper's smile she wore was just a bit brighter than was usual as she gazed down at the sleeping baby cradled in her arms.

"Yes!" Ai enthused. "A lake! There was so much water! And some ducks. Not that I've seen ducks before, but Scar said that that's what they were."

"Then ducks they must have been." Julie nodded firmly, taking a moment to smile to himself while his head was bent. "You didn't happen to catch any for dinner?" he asked, trying to make it seem like a serious question despite the fact that they very clearly hadn't brought anything back with them.

Ai gave Julie a look, head tilted slightly downward and eyes narrowed. "They were in the middle of the water, Julie." She sounded like she was lecturing him on the most basic of subjects. "I can't swim well enough to sneak up on a flock of ducks, you know."

Julie tried a disappointed sigh, but Ai's expression said that she wasn't buying it. "Well," he said, "if we don't have any ducks, I guess it's fried onions and bacon for dinner. Again."

"Yay!" Ai's sudden, predictable enthusiasm brought an answering smile to Julie's face. "You make the best fried onions and bacon!"

"You've never had anyone else's," Julie pointed out, rolling his eyes in amusement.

"I don't see what that has to do with anything," Ai declared, aiming that serious look of hers at him for a moment. Then she grinned again. "Can I help cut the onions? I think it's neat how they make your eyes all tingly!"

Julie barked a laugh and waved her over. "I suppose you can help," he said with mock reluctance. "Just remember--"

"Pay attention; cut food, not fingers," Ai chorused, voice sing-songing over his oft-repeated reminder. She beamed at him again.

Even with her easy assurance, Julie watched Ai out of the corner of his eye as she peeled and cut the onions. She laughed, tears coursing down her cheeks, when he gruffly told her, for the dozenth time, that her eyes only burned more if she rubbed at them with onion juice all over her hands.

"I can't help it!" she giggled. Then, more seriously, she explained, "If I don't rub them, the tears get in the way, and then I can't see to cut them properly."

"But then you just get more tears," Julie chuckled, shaking his head.

"That's alright," Ai cheerfully returned, "a few tears are good for you, you know."

Julie paused for a moment, wondering once again if Ai realized how wise beyond her years she sometimes seemed. Then he smiled. "You know, you're right. As long as you don't make the onions too salty."

"I won't!" she promised. "And tomorrow you're going to show me how to fix that van we found, right?"

"Sure, if you want to learn." It was only after he said it that some part of him remembered speaking those exact words, and smiling that exact smile, years ago, when his daughter demanded that he teach her how to start a campfire.

And just like that time, a young girl beamed up at him. "Of course!"

Julie Sakuma Dmitriyevich had forgotten what it was like to care for a baby.

It wasn't that Celica was a particularly fussy baby. Generally speaking, she was quite sweet-tempered. But since Ai had disappeared behind the gates of Goran Academy, Julie had been dashing around from place to place reaching out to old contacts and calling in favors. He, Scar, and the baby had basically just been living out of the van during all the scrambling, and the lack of routine meant that Celica often woke at odd hours cranky and in need of attention.

Scar was new to motherhood, and Julie tried to offer her tips and advice when he could. Not that he was some incredibly-knowledgeable expert on babies, but he'd raised one more than the gravekeeper had, so that probably counted for something.

All in all, she seemed to be shaping up to be quite a good mother. A bit hesitant, unsure what to do and cautious about making any mistakes, but Julie knew from experience that that was perfectly natural. His lip twitched, remembering the first time his wife had held out their newborn daughter, insisting that he hold her. He'd hesitated, thinking that she was so tiny that she might break at his touch. His wife had laughed and rolled her eyes, telling him that he’d get used to it. And he had. Come to miss it, eventually, once she grew too old to cradle in his arms.

Julie had been doing his best to offer half-remembered advice from dealing with his own daughter all those years ago. How to hold her, ways of figuring out which upset crying sounds indicated which needs, and little tricks for soothing her back to sleep in the middle of the night. Scar was attentive during these lessons, seeming to soak in everything he had to offer with ease.

Sometimes, though, especially in the early hours of the morning, Julie would wake to Celica's crying and blink groggily as he looked around to see if Scar had heard it, too, and he'd see her simply standing there, decidedly not moving to pick up her daughter. The first time he'd seen it, Julie had thought she was just too tired from all the late-night crying to respond immediately, but then he'd noticed how stiffly she stood. Back straight, shoulders tensed, and hands curled tightly into trembling fists.

On those occasions, he got up and lifted Celica into his arms, murmuring softly. He'd take her for a slow, steady walk, talking about the world around them until the baby began to burble happily, soothed by the motion and the warmth and the calm sound of his voice. Then he would smile down at her, continuing his walking and talking as the happy noises faded into steady breathing.

Something at the back of his brain worried about Scar's behavior. He knew first-hand that being a new parent was stressful, and that it took time to adjust (and to some degree he was learning those lessons all over again--after all, it had been over a decade since he'd last done any of this), but it didn't feel like Scar was adjusting. In fact, it seemed like whatever it was that was going on with her was getting worse as she answered more and more of Celica's crying with that too-tense stance of hers, firmly staring off toward the horizon. Like a spring wound too tight, in danger of snapping at any moment.

But it was only the back of his brain that worried, as the majority of his attention was focused on getting Ai back, and what little he had left was poured into caring for Celica during those times that Scar seemed unable to. While the things you were supposed to do to care for a baby seemed to be coming back to him, Julie found himself having to relearn just how stressful the task was.

Babies didn't really have a sense of appropriate timing. They cried whenever they wanted something with no thought as to whether it could wait, or whether you were in the middle of something. Being snatched from slumber most nights was bad enough, but even during your waking hours those cries frequently interrupted whatever you were doing. He didn't hold the interruptions against Celica--after all she was just a baby, and was doing what babies did. That didn't mean that the already high stress levels of trying to find a way to get Ai out of Goran Academy weren't ratcheting even higher each day.

Julie eventually found his breaking point. They were driving toward a small town where an old friend who might be able to pull some strings with the government had agreed to meet, when Celica woke from a nap and began crying. After a minute, Julie realized that Scar was in one of her moods again, shoulders hunched forward in her seat, jaw clenched and eyes closed. Julie turned his eyes back to the road, but another uninterrupted minute of crying had him pulling over to a stop. He glanced over his shoulder, then stepped out of the van, slamming the door behind him. He just couldn't take it anymore.

As he stalked down the road away from the van, Julie didn't really have a plan. He realized that if someone had asked him if he just needed to clear his head, or if he was leaving Scar and Celica behind as he continued on his journey, he wouldn't have had an answer. Then someone did ask him. It was an imaginary question, of course, as they were alone out on the road, but he could hear the words in Ai's earnest voice. What was he doing? Those words didn't judge, they simply wondered.

So it was imaginary words that halted his angry stride, pulling him up short. A couple of deep breaths, eyes closed, still hearing the crying of the baby, were enough to remind Julie of two things. First, Ai could take care of herself. Not forever, perhaps, but she was tough and clever and those naive eyes of hers seemed to see much that others missed. He did need to get her out of the trap she'd fallen into, but an hour or two of delay shouldn't be the end of the world. Second, Celica most certainly couldn't take care of herself. Babies weren't being inconsiderate when they demanded your attention while you had other things to do. They were just being babies.

A minute of slow, deep breaths gave Julie enough of a sense of calm to turn around and walk back to the van. He slid the side door open and reached in, long arms lifting Celica and cradling her against his chest. He murmured softly as he began a slow circuit around the van, bouncing her and talking about whatever came to mind. After the third measured trip he was reminded of something else he'd forgotten about caring for a baby.

Babies were too simple to keep many feelings inside them at once. They tended to exchange one for another completely, the new supplanting the old without leaving a trace. And as the soft sound of his voice, and the warmth of being held against his chest soothed away whatever was bothering Celica, another emotion rushed in to fill the space left behind. Julie glanced down as she burbled and nearly missed a step at what he saw. Happiness in its purest form. Bright, clear eyes stared up at him with a smile that stopped his breath for a moment. It was a smile he'd first seen on his daughter's face when she was newborn, and the years had made the memory fade around the edges. Now it was back with knife-edge clarity, that old rush of emotions swirling within his chest.

Julie stood there, almost frozen, as he simply smiled back at her. It was apparently enough for Celica, as she burbled happily for a few more minutes, then drifted off to sleep again.

It was more than enough for Julie as he carefully laid her back down in the van. It took him longer to drift off to sleep himself, as his mind seemed aswirl with old memories that he hadn't dredged up in forever: memories of his daughter. Sleep did eventually find him, though, and when it did, it brought with it dreams of smiles.

Julie Sakuma Dmitriyevich had forgotten what it was like to fall in love.

He told himself that that was why he hadn't noticed for so long. It might even have been true, at least partially.

The door creaked slightly as he came in from working in the front yard, and he made a mental note to take a look at it in the morning. The waning rays of sunlight came in through the windows, little patches of soft orange seeming to lay over the room like a blanket, creating a sense of stillness broken only by the slow, rhythmic movements of Scar in a rocking chair. Celica was cradled in her arms, sleeping soundly. Julie found himself smiling at that, and Scar's lips turned upward in an answering smile.

"Are you finished for the day?" she asked softly.

It wasn’t all that long ago that the question would have surprised Julie. Not the contents of it, but that it was asked at all. Gravekeepers, by and large, didn't really have a sense of curiosity, not even the polite form of it. These days, however, Julie simply smiled and nodded. "I was thinking I might start dinner. I imagine Ai will be home soon enough."

Scar shifted slightly in her chair, careful not to disturb the baby. "Would you like me to help?" she offered. "She has been asleep for nearly half an hour already." Scar smiled slightly as she looked down at Celica, "so she will probably stay that way if I put her in the crib."

Julie started to tell her that he'd be fine on his own. After all, he was enough of a cook that it was the truth.

Something stopped him, though, and moved by something he couldn't quite identify, he smiled. "That would be great," he answered. "Thank you."

With the effortless grace that Julie had always assumed was simply part of being a gravekeeper, but was beginning to suspect might just be part of Scar herself, she stood up. The movement was smooth enough that Celica didn't even stir.

"If you go ahead and begin, I will join you shortly," Scar offered, walking toward the bedroom where the crib was.

He nodded, then turned toward the kitchen. Two long strides took him to the doorway, but he paused, taking a moment to look over his shoulder at Scar's retreating form. A small, unconscious smile flitted across his features before he turned back, donned an apron, and began gathering ingredients from the pantry.

Cooking had always been a soothing, meditative activity for Julie, so he wasn't fully aware of how much time passed before a soft sound at the doorway pulled his attention to Scar. It wasn't the sound of a footstep, merely a shifting of weight causing one of the floorboards to creak. He glanced back at her just in time to catch that soft smile of hers.

Not the gravekeeper's smile, courteous and distant, but Scar's.

Before he had time to consider that thought, she stepped forward. "What would you like me to do?" she asked.

"Could you make the base for a roux while I cook some chicken?" he suggested.

A simple nod answered his request. "I will use some onions," she decided after a moment, the announcement surprising Julie slightly. Scar didn't generally engage in unnecessary conversation--no gravekeeper did. As he put the chicken in a pot with some carrots and celery then set it all to boil, Julie watched her out of the corner of his eye.

Scar's movements were precise and deliberate, the knife she held dicing unhurriedly through an onion. Julie noticed that there were tears in her eyes. He realized that he hadn’t know she reacted the same way Ai did to onions 'making her eyes all tingly', as Ai would put it. That thought started to bring a smile to his face when something struck him that startled him into stillness: Scar was smiling again.

Julie didn't really understand much about what gravekeepers were, or where they came from. He rather doubted that the gravekeepers themselves did. They just, well, they just were. But Scar's smile wasn't a gravekeeper's smile.

Not that polite, but empty expression that they all seemed to wear instinctively. No, Scar's smile was human. Soft enough that others might not notice that it was distinctly hers, but with little subtleties that Julie found himself lost in from time to time.

It was a smile that left Julie a little bit in awe because he knew how hard she had to fight for it. How each morning she woke up and had to decide all over again that she was more than whatever it was that drove the gravekeepers forward in their unending duty to put the deceased to rest. He could see it sometimes, the way it tugged at her, urging her to walk away. The need to carry out a duty she'd never chosen, but that was imprinted deep into her bones. But she'd always fought it down. Not always easily, or without struggle, but she was still here with them, and that smile was a bit more hers each time she did.

Recently, whenever Julie saw that smile, her smile, he'd begun to wonder if the way she chose her own humanity every morning was the bravest thing he'd seen anyone do. Certainly braver than anything he'd ever done himself.

Scar continued calmly completing the task she'd been set, oblivious to Julie's meditation on her struggle, but when a momentary stillness settled over the room, Julie started from his reverie. "I believe that I am done," she announced, turning to up at him. One of her slim-fingered hands, lightly dusted in flour, reached up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear, leaving a little streak of white behind on her cheek.

Julie was struck momentarily dumb. Had Scar always been so beautiful?

Silence dragged out far longer than most people would be comfortable with as he stared at her, trying to come to grips with a sudden realization.

Scar's amethyst eyes stared back at him, seemingly unperturbed, but when she spoke again there was the tiniest hint of anxiety in her voice. "Is it not what you wanted?"

A grin tugged at the corner of Julie's mouth, and after a moment he stopped fighting it, letting the expression suffuse his face. "No," he said, shaking his head softly, as his brain finally sorted a coherent thought out of the torrent that had threatened to overwhelm him. "It is exactly what I want."

Scar smiled her little smile, the corners of her eyes crinkling ever so slightly. "I'm glad."