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The night before…
Night had fallen on the gently rolling hills of Tokyo's outskirts. The quiet peace, such a marked contrast to the constant bustle of central Tokyo, was something Momoko had always appreciated. The outward serenity, however, masked a disquiet that still plagued her, felt all the more keenly when she saw the source of that disquiet roaming the inside of the clan's compound in the middle of the night.
She had understood clearly, the day she was pledged to the Takamachi's most promising heir, that her life would forever be entwined in the clan's business, that the outside world would never take precedence over everything that happened in the compound, and in the family it housed.
This was what she accepted. Up until the day traditions and power struggles, had her precious, precocious and proudly defiant child's name struck from the clan's register.
Her husband had been quiet since the day news of their lost child being back in Japan had reached them. It had been more than half a decade that their branch had solidified support and claimed the clan seat with no further, credible challenge. All four of the remaining family had understood why the youngest had chosen this, the most mature and difficult choice, but none had ever truly accepted it.
Least of all, Momoko. She knew what it felt like to be an outsider. To be found worthless in the weighing, judging eyes of others. People who smiled and bowed politely in deference to her position. Who later turned around to hiss venom out the side of their mouths. She endured it for the love of the man now sitting by the window of their bedroom, enjoying a few puffs of the gift their blonde guest had presented to him not three days ago.
Her baby, so fragile in the hospital bed with hardly a part of her left untouched by her terrible accident, had borne the same that Momoko had. Except that she'd done it alone, without the protection of marriage, or even a clan-approved fiancé. Her immediate family was powerless to shield her, the pressure to yield under the threat of complete expulsion hanging over all their heads like a guillotine's blade, poised and ready, the rope bowstring taut.
So her youngest had done what none of the elders in her own family had been able to. She recovered, trained, honed herself to a razor's sharpness, and had fought her way past the inner sanctum, through the clan's most elite guards. With all who challenged her lying disabled but not dead, she had limped, bleeding from a multitude of wounds, down the hallowed and musty halls of the holy shrine.
Inside, she found the clan's sacred register and with her own hand, tore out the page her name had been written on. The flowing calligraphy lay on the floor in bloodied pieces, sliced in mid-air by the girl's own red-coated tanto. Takamachi Nanoha was now a ghost, dead to the clan.
In one decisive move, she had freed her father from the shackles of his love and loyalty to her, freed him of the censure and shame of her preferences, and Momoko's family would henceforth be lesser by one.
The bee's nest her child had kicked exploded in an uproar. There was no one who could dispute what she had done, however. By her actions, she had proven herself unbeatable. No warrior in the clan could challenge what she had done, she had made that abundantly clear. Even in her defiance, she had chosen the path of least shame to those she had defeated, rendering those she'd defeated no chance to rise once more to impede her progress into the sanctuary.
Momoko firmly believed the clan's loss was far greater than any of those old farts would ever realise in their limited, remaining lifetime. The most gifted shinobi since the founding of the clan was now lost to them, as plain as the pieces of parchment littering the shrine's holy of holies. All because her child had chosen to love another of her gender.
The worst irony was the one she loved didn't love her back. There was no justice in this world. Not unless Momoko made it with her own two hands.
"Shi-chan," drawing close to her husband's solidly warm form, Momoko slipped her arms around his middle.
"Hmm?" Inscrutable, the man had been gazing out over the gardens below. It was past one in the morning, and the familiar figure of their youngest child was there, wandering through paths the girl could trace in her sleep. Sleep that clearly continued to elude her, even after all of these years. To the side they could see the bodyguard tasked with their child's safety, keeping watch. She was not the only one.
From the window of the building's other annex, the couple could see the blonde guest, watching their girl. The moon cast everything in shades of silver and black, but the shimmering crimson of the fair child's eyes were vivid, affixed upon the aimlessly shuffling form.
"I want Na-chan to be happy." Momoko held her breath, for her words said far more than what she had so simply stated. She wanted to defy clan traditions. She wanted to upend centuries of custom. She wanted their youngest to find love. Love with another woman, as the child had so stubbornly informed them over ten years ago. That she could never love another unless they too, were a woman.
It would've been so easy if she had returned the soft regard the Scyra's heir had shown her. Typically, her child had chosen the path of flame and fire, willing to burn her family ties for the Nakajima's heiress instead. For a time, it seemed the lavender-haired beauty returned her fiery regard, but the Nakajima's embers had sputtered in less than a year, doused in the sobering waters of her own family's pressures and demands.
That deadened, lifeless look in her child's eyes was something Momoko would never forget. There was hope that the Scrya heir would be able to leverage their long friendship to bring a spark back into that gaze so much like Momoko's own. But then the accident happened, and those eyes had never regained their light. In all the too-short visits over the years, Nanoha's eyes had remained flat and guarded, wary of any further devastation to a heart that could take no more.
Then that night a mere two weeks back, her child had returned. Descending upon the clan compound like a vengeful goddess with eyes burning everything they touched. Those flames had been rekindled and roared to the heavens, the heat palpably beating at any who stood close to her prodigal child. It was impossible not to be pulled along, sucked into the vortex of emotions held in check by the slimmest of margins. She had slipped into her role with impossible ease, doing everything right, taking all the punishment to protect, to save, to atone.
Shiro chewed thoughtfully on the mouthpiece of his pipe. It had taken him a long, long time to reconcile with the fact that his spiritual successor viewed women in that way. If she had been his firstborn and male, life would have been so much easier, but he suspected the lack of a crucible would have also made all of them that much softer.
The kami had other ideas, and gifted him with women in his family that had more courage and steel than the rest of his clan combined. Arrogance and entitlement had rotted the core of their proud lineage, and as the youngest son Shiro thought he understood what drove his own youngest to perfection. He had been lucky and found it in the woman wrapped snugly around him.
Luck that did not seem to be his child's friend.
He couldn't blame the Nakajima heiress. Their vassals had been just as horrified as he, when word of his child's dalliances with Ginga had come to light. Perhaps a discreet arrangement could have been made, spurred by Momoko's persuasions behind closed doors. An arrangement that would preserve family honour, save face and appease elders living with one foot in the grave.
Of course his child had refused. Could he have expected any less from the seed of Momoko's fires and his steel? Crucially, it was the other family that had accepted. With that acceptance, came the end of his child's youth. He had believed with time, the childish hurts would fade, but neither time, nor luck, would be on their side.
The death of the Scyra heir had sent shockwaves throughout their insular world. All the blame, all the pointed fingers, all the sin, were laid easily at his youngest's feet, and instead of disputing the spurious claims, she had borne it all with far more strength and grace than he could have ever asked for. In her eyes, so similar to his beloved's, he could see that she believed every venomous accusation.
He had never been one for words, and was at a loss for how to deal with a child grown up too soon, from a doll to a hollow suit of armour, and always attached to puppet strings he himself could not escape from. All he could do was accede to her requests for training. Day in, day out, if she was not buried in books or occupied with school activities, she was in the dojo.
Little had he known what the child had been planning. There had been no indications, only a constant drive to push beyond every limit he'd set for her. Until the day dawned when she had left him panting and face down on the floor, the sharp edge of her knee digging into the back of his neck. Mortification melted into heart-bursting pride that this, THIS was his child.
"Why are you giving me quarter? Finish it!" He'd snarled into the dojo floor, trembling under a weight that only needed a little push to snap his spine. She could have stripped away his birthright, claimed his status and bedded whatever female she had wanted then.
"Because I love you, Tou-chan." A slight breeze and an escaped tear by his face pressed into the mat, now slowly disappearing into porous rubber, was all the indication she had ever been there.
It was the last time he had heard her call him that. The last time she felt she had the right to do so. With her swords, she severed the strings on her family and in the process, herself from their lives. Everyone blamed themselves, him most of all. For being too weak, too indecisive, too soft. Being appointed clan head years after was a hollow victory, for nothing could replace the joy their flower, their Nanohana, had brought to their lives.
His pipe dipped as he lipped at it, releasing another puff of blue-grey smoke into the still air. Turning, he reciprocated his wife's hug. "I'll get the clan register." He felt Momoko's arms tighten around him. He had lost a child to near-death. Perhaps he could use similar to redeem her back.
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Present day…
Nanoha eyed her old man. He was up to something, she could tell. Returning from her morning walk outside, he had met her at the entrance with her older brother. "The dojo needs cleaning. Come after breakfast." Neither his nor her brother's expressions gave anything away. It was just as well. It was a Sunday and she knew Fate would be out and about the compound. The dojo was as good a place to hide from her as any.
Nanoha hadn't been back to the place since she had last tested herself against her father a decade ago, when she had known she was finally ready to do what she had to. The place looked and smelt the same save for a square of flooring that appeared newer than the rest. Inhaling deeply of familiar, nostalgic scents, she was pleased to feel the absence of any sharp pains. Soon. Soon, she would be able to extricate herself from this hell. There would be no rest for her here, under the pretence of still being a part of the clan.
She felt sorry for Rein. The poor woman was stuck guarding an insomniac though she had made no complaint whatsoever. Nanoha planned to speak with Hayate to adjust the terms of the contract so both women would be assigned to Fate. What need did this washed up shinobi have for a bodyguard?
The morning passed in silence while the trio worked. Rein continued to shadow the far from recovered executive, lending a supporting hand here and there when the woman pushed herself beyond what her body could endure.
Fate glanced away when she had arrived with a tray of freshly fried gyoza, sent by Momoko to deliver the snack to the hardworking trio in the dojo. Nanoha had been attempting to get a pole up to the rafters, a damp cloth attached to the end, to clean out the cobwebs in the ceiling. She had lost her footing then and her bodyguard had stepped in, steadying the woman by clasping her waist in her hands to hold her up.
The executive had just been thanking the woman when Fate had showed up with the food, her own lavender-haired bodyguard following close after. Knowing full well how it must have looked to the blonde and Ginga, Nanoha had made no move to extricate herself from Rein's grasp right away and actually threw her bodyguard a smoky glance before stepping back. Rein seemed to be taking the little pantomime in good humour, allowing her fingers to linger over her client's waist before releasing her, red eyes twinkling mutely at the whole situation.
The men appeared oblivious to the undercurrents in the room, merely settling down to partake of the meal with bowed thanks to Fate. Bowing as well, Nanoha joined her father and brother, speaking only of what was left to be done to complete the process of cleaning the dojo.
"Feito-san, a moment, if you will." Fate had been readying to depart when Shiro raised his voice to address her.
"Hai, Shiro-san?"
"May I trouble you to return here with Momo-chan and Mi-chan after you have cleaned up in the kitchens?"
Puzzled, Fate nodded, "Certainly. I will let them know."
"Oh, they know. Please follow my wife's directions." Now Nanoha was eyeing him, blue gaze equal parts puzzlement and suspicion. Shiro offered no further explanations, however, and Kyoya was occupied with the gyoza in his mouth. "Rein, come have some." Nanoha invited the bodyguard to join, which the woman accepted with good grace.
Feeling completely left out, Fate trudged her way back to the kitchen, sharing Shiro's request with the two older Takamachi women. Neither appeared caught off-guard and most of the kitchen had already been tidied. The remaining gyoza had been stored in the freezer to be taken out as and when more were needed for meals.
Bundled off into the baths by Momoko and Miyuki, Fate wondered what the occasion was. All Momoko said was, "Have gift for guest-chan in her room. Please ask Ginga-san for help."
With that, the two women departed from the baths, leaving Fate to find her way back to her own room where she found a beautiful black kimono laid out on the bed. The under-robes alternated between red and yellow, and the kimono itself displayed fine embroidery in gold thread, depicting koi fish swimming amidst swirling gold eddies of water.
No expense had been spared, manifested in the material that held the unmistakable shimmer of silk. Even the straps of the brand new geta placed at the foot of her bed matched the clothing. Staring at the unexpected finery, baffled by the stiff sash or obi, coloured a brilliant red whose shade was similar to her eyes, Fate gave Ginga a helpless look.
Ginga had given a low whistle to see the expensive garments laid out for the gaijin. Her measuring eye could tell it had been tailored for the tall woman's height and if she had to guess, she would have said it was Miyuki's sharp eye for distance and length that had measured out the princess' approximate dimensions for the artisans. Smiling at the blonde's silent plea, she stepped in to give the woman a hand.
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"What are you up to, old man?" Nanoha's growl was as low as it was menacing.
Unconcerned by his youngest's demeanour, Shiro dipped his gyoza into the little dish of sauce they had come with, "Merely addressing something that is overdue."
Eyes of flint stared down the executive's father, "I don't appreciate you dragging Fate-san into whatever stupid plans you have…"
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Shiro held up a hand hardened by decades of weapons work, "She is a guest of the clan. It is only polite to invite her."
"If you so much as harm or embarrass her…" Nanoha left the very real threat hanging.
"Be at ease, Na-chan. There is nothing for you to worry about." Kyoya finally cut in reassuringly. "Come on, eat up. It'll be your turn in the baths soon."
"My turn? Wha…mmph!" Kyoya stuck a gyoza into Nanoha's mouth to stop her questions, amazed that she had fallen for his ploy at all. She really lost all sense of herself when the gaijin was involved, Kyoya thought, amused.
Left with no option but to chew and swallow, Nanoha's sharp gaze never ceased glaring at the two men. "All the world's a stage, Nanoha. Perhaps it's best to see what role Fate has been given before passing judgement." Rein's words made complete sense, more so since she was playing along with the little farce Nanoha had constructed. Shoulders falling, the executive humphed, irritably adjusting the sling on her shoulder.
"Just bear in mind that neither I, nor Fate-san, owe a thing to the clan." Both men remained silent.
Nanoha returned to her room to find her clothes already laid out for her. The formal kimono boasted the brightest whites and richest blues, with the luxurious fabrics woven in an intricate diamond pattern for the white kimono, and an alternating chequered pattern for the blue hakama. It was a formal kimono for men. The under-robes were in matching white and blue, save for the innermost layer which was a vibrant crimson.
"The hell is my family up to…" Nanoha muttered, eyeing the new tabi socks rolled into new geta with straps matching the colour of the hakama. She was planning to bid the clan farewell and supposed today was as good as any to offer up her thanks for their providing Fate and herself a place while she recovered.
"Rein, if I could trouble you…"
It took a moment to remember how to walk in geta and she had no qualms in utilising her shinai to aid in her movements still. 'Four to the chest and they expect me to wear this stupid nonsense…'
With Rein's help getting dressed, Nanoha had tucked her arm into the innermost layer of her kimono, leaving the sleeve of her left arm empty and foregoing the need for her sling. Ducking through the shoji doors, she saw the rest of her family already there. Arrayed in a semicircle with her father in the middle and mother to his right, they too wore formal kimonos. Miyuki sat at Momoko's elbow, and Kyoya at Shiro's.
What caused her to almost stumble, however, was the sight of Fate, seated in seiza like the rest near the back of the room, facing the Takamachis. She was resplendent in a formal black and gold kimono, her golden tresses twisted up into a bun and adorned with matching hair ornaments of onyx and yellow tourmaline. Nanoha felt her heart skip a beat, enthralled by the vision of contrasting alabaster skin cocooned in the deepest blacks and golds that matched her hair. It was only the mechanical forward motions of her feet that kept her moving to the cushion placed before the Takamachi clan members, when all she really wanted to do was to drink in the sight of the most important person in her life.
Fate had no idea what was going on, only that her hosts had requested for her presence. Manners demanded that she accede to the request and whatever else was asked of her. It had taken Ginga a full hour to help prepare her and the blonde had been grateful that her bodyguard was familiar with the more traditional aspects of Japanese customs. Arriving after Nanoha's immediate family, she had seated herself where she was asked to sit, Ginga sitting a pace behind and to the left of her.
A cushion had been placed over a square of floor mat that matched the rest of the dojo's floor, its position directly facing the head of the clan. All present waited patiently and soon, the shuffled walk and muted tap of a shinai on flagstones heralded the arrival of the final participant.
The blonde had been studying her hosts. Years of court intrigue had sharpened her ability to read those around her. Every person she faced seemed tense, but not worried, as if they were all holding their breath until something could happen. That was aside from Momoko who appeared serene, almost… joyful. She caught Fate looking at her and smiled warmly at the blonde, further assuring the outsider that she was welcome.
When Nanoha stepped in, the rest of the room faded into obscurity from Fate's view. The woman was dressed as Shiro and Kyoya were, only missing the outer jacket that both men wore. The insignias on their outer jackets bore the family crest, a design Fate had seen scattered around the clan compound in liberal measure, including above the main door of the clan home. What Nanoha lacked, she made up for in the intricate, subtle patterns of the silk she had donned.
Her white kimono was deceptively simple, appearing patternless, until the woman moved and the shifting shafts of gold streaming in through the high glass windows near the roof's edge revealed interlocking diamond weaves embossed into the fabric. Her stiff hakama was no different. Its deep blue shades evoked the endless depths of Nanoha's eyes, the weave a contrast in chequers that glimmered as she made her stately way to the seat obviously set aside for her.
Her thick, auburn tresses had been secured to the nape of her neck with a silken white ribbon of the same material as her kimono, and she exuded an air of nobility that superseded the bluest bloods Fate had ever witnessed in all her time at court. How the woman had managed to meld her beauty to a look that could only be called handsome was a mystery Fate would have willingly spent a lifetime studying.
Momoko surreptitiously studied the three women who were not her daughter while Nanoha took her time entering, then lowering herself into a seiza before her family. Their guest's doe eyes were as wide as she could make them, the blonde's breathing arresting for long moments from the sight of her youngest child. The woman was undoubtedly admiring what she could perceive, and from the way her mouth had dropped open slightly, she very much liked what she was seeing.
The Nakajima heiress looked not much different from their guest, and Momoko could see deep seated regret in the woman's verdant gaze. Many forgot that she had been but a child herself when family obligations had come crashing down onto her youthful relationship with Momoko's youngest. The matriarch spared a moment to grieve for what could have been and all the time lost. Perhaps she would've have had grandbabies running around the courtyard now, had things been handled differently back then.
Nanoha's own bodyguard had settled into place beside her subordinate. She was the only one not floored by her child, perhaps because she was Nanoha's bodyguard and had helped dressed the executive. She appeared older, wiser, and far less volatile than either Fate or Ginga and a gleam appeared in Momoko's eye, worrying Nanoha who had caught that speculative look on her mother's face. 'Would Na-chan be open to having multiple wives?' Momoko wondered wickedly.
Upon his youngest's arrival and seating, Shiro began without preamble.
"Ginga-san, if you would be so kind as to translate for Fate-san, please." Nodding, the lavender-haired bodyguard slid over the practice mats, closer to the blonde.
Expression stern, Shiro addressed the woman in front of him. "Ten years ago, you went against all convention, sacrificing your family, your home and your reputation." Nanoha's back stiffened and her blue eyes turned flinty. 'This was what the family wanted Fate to witness?!' She cast a glance at her mother, who seemed completely at peace with the inclusion of an outsider in these proceedings. It was time for Nanoha to pay the piper, she was certain of it.
Shiro continued, the gravel of his voice deliberate and unyielding, "Ten years ago, you excised what was rightfully yours with your own sword. Ten years ago, you walked the path of blood and fire to commit spiritual seppuku."
Ritual suicide. Ginga's whispered translation sent shivers down Fate's spine. If she shared the same age as Nanoha, this meant her father was speaking of things that happened when she'd been eighteen. What profile of her boss she could see showed a jaw clenched tight, the faint sound of teeth grinding while her sins were laid bare before a complete outsider. Three, if they counted Rein and Ginga, and surely they did.
"The Takamachi clan has suffered greatly since that time. A time of barren loss. A time of despair. A time when a festering wound would not heal. Where no amount of mystical waters could console."
As one, the four Takamachis placed their hands on the floor before them and bowed low, foreheads to the mat. Expecting the worst, perhaps even the call for real seppuku, Nanoha stared speechless at her family. Lacking the ability to formulate an appropriate response, the woman remained frozen stiff where she sat, ticking seconds passing into a full, agonising minute before the family rose as one from their ultimate genuflection.
"Nanoha, you have paid every price no one asked of you, to ransom this worthless clan's honour. There is little we can offer to balance the scales tilted so heavily in your favour. It is our hope, with this small gesture, to begin reparations unto you, for all that was unjustly taken."
Momoko then moved to bring forth the clan's elaborately carved ink stone, a relic of the Sengoku period. Ink had already been ground into the stone and diluted with water to the proper consistency. Kyoya then drew forth a long box made of wood, its surface polished to a sheen from centuries of use. Cracking open the box, he presented the ornate clan brush, topped with the finest carved jade to his father. From within his kimono Shiro pulled out a wood-bound book, pages secured by auspicious red-dyed silk.
Nanoha's posture jerked impossibly straighter in shock when she recognised the clan register, its outside still stained with blood. Her blood. The three clan outsiders were spellbound by the sombre ceremony, observing the executive's usually impenetrable expression being openly stunned by what was playing out before her disbelieving eyes.
Miyuki came forth to help hold the tome open for her father. Holding back the sleeve of his writing hand so it wouldn't stain in the ink, Shiro solemnly picked up the brush and laid it tip forward into the shallow pool of liquid ebony. Rolling the bristles to better absorb the ink, he dabbed the excess away and with the brush held vertical over the first blank page Miyuki had turned to, he took a deep breath to prepare himself.
"Chichi ue!" Honoured Father! Finding her voice at last, Nanoha reached forth her hand, closing over his to stop him, heedless of the aches in bones still unhealed. Their hands trembled in tandem, a tremble that slipped into the auburn-haired woman's voice - a voice kept low and intense, tight with vexation and confusion, "Would you undo everything I have fought for? In front of witnesses?!"
"IYE~!" NO! The stone of her father's face softened with his voice, "Na-chan. My precious, beloved, beautiful Na-chan. You have won everything you have fought for. By your intent, your actions, and your blood. With this, you will be my heir and no one, not one person, shall be able to contest your place in the clan, or in our hearts. Do you not recognise that upon which you sit? It was on this very mat that you defeated me in fair combat." His other hand clasped itself over the one she had over his. "Please, let this old fool try to make up for his past mistakes."
He cast bright eyes over the other women gathered. "These women all hold you in high regard, and will attest to the clan's welcoming of its lost sheep back into the fold." His eyes glittered with fierce pride, "Yet you are no sheep, but a phoenix, risen from her ashes. Come, release me, and be released."
Confounded by her father's words, his emotions, Nanoha fell back heavily onto her heels, hand dropping to her side. Meeting his wife's eyes, hers brilliant with unshed tears, they nodded to one another and with practised strokes, Shiro scribed his daughter's name back into the clan's registry. As was custom, her name was written to the right of the page, leaving space to the side for the scribing of a spouse's, or multiple spouses', names.
Recognising the significance of the glaringly empty spaces, Ginga's running translations ceased momentarily, the woman staring first at Shiro, then at Momoko. Gravely, Shiro handed the brush back to his son and held up the tome to display the page fully to all those present. Swallowing, the lavender-haired woman whispered to Fate, "By leaving such significant emptiness by Nanoha-sama's name, her clan has accepted that she will one day take a spouse… Or m-multiple spouses. It is not uncommon for clan h-heads to do so." Fate blushed heavily at the implications of that.
Presenting the tome at last to her sister, Miyuki knelt to await the final gesture. Nanoha looked at her older sister. "Your dominant hand," she calmly reminded her baby sister. Licking lips gone dry, the future head of the clan gripped the left edge of her kimono and slowly dragged the many thick layers over and down her bare shoulder.
Exposing a chest bound by strips of cloth and nothing more, the Takamachi heir-apparent carefully raised her left hand out of where it had been tucked against her side. Even white incisors bit a small wound into the tip of her thumb and once enough blood had seeped out, she pressed her crimson-coated digit onto the fine paper next to where her name had been inked. The still-healing wound in her shoulder looked raw and exposed, akin to the soul that had been laid bare in this unexpected ceremony.
Offering her sister a silk scrap with which to stem the bleeding of her thumb, Miyuki returned the tome to their father who inspected Nanoha's thumbprint. Accepting the mark, he waited for Miyuki to retake her place by Momoko and as one, they bowed again to the new heir of the Takamachi clan. Mirroring their bow though she kept her left arm tight to her side, Nanoha bowed back, the shuddering of emotions too great to contain obvious on her exposed body.
"This humble servant accepts the Takamachi clan's mercy." Nanoha's alto was husky, disbelief threading through words she never thought she would say again, "Tou-chan, Kaa-chan, Kyo-chan, Mi-chan… Tadaima kaerimashita~." I have just returned home safely.
Finally breaking with protocol, Momoko rushed forward to gather up her baby in her arms, "Oh, Nacchi, okaeri nasai~!" Miyuki joined in the tearful hugs, both women mindful of Nanoha's continued fragility. Exchanging forearm shakes with the men of her family, Nanoha turned to the witnesses to address them.
Her smile was contained but radiant, eyes gleaming like sapphires. The constant air of unrest that had unconsciously clung to the executive had been lifted, replaced with a measure of peace not previously observed in the restless woman. Placing her right hand on the floor, she bowed low and long to the three women, her forehead kissing the ground.
"This humble servant thanks the honoured guests for their presence," she intoned formally in english, voice rough with suppressed emotion.
Easily picking up on what was expected, Fate bowed with Rein and Ginga, "The honour is ours." It was difficult to breathe. Nanoha seemed transformed to Fate, and perhaps she was. It was clear the loss of her clan was felt keenly by the woman, though she had hidden it well the whole time the blonde could remember. Years had been shed from the auburn-haired woman's countenance, and she regarded the three outsiders with a fresh serenity that made Fate's heart swell with unearned pride for her. Family meant everything to Nanoha. What a complete contrast with Fate's own situation.
The dishevelled arrangement of Nanoha's kimono was sending Fate to places that were entirely inappropriate for this venue, forcing her to keep her gaze downcast for fear of staring, or worse. Ginga displayed no such compunctions and approached the Takamachi heir, "Omedetou gozaimasu, Ojou-sama. May I?" Congratulations, My Lady. Her whisper was hesitant, unsure of her welcome. In this moment, she was not a contracted bodyguard, but a vassal of the Takamachi clan, offering service to the heir.
"Onegai shimasu, Ginga-san." If you would please.
Blinking hard at the undeserved grace being shown to her, Ginga carefully tucked Nanoha's left arm back to her side with trembling hands. Slowly, she drew layer after layer of the woman's formal ensemble back over her bare shoulder, until the outermost layer was once more settled over the executive's form. It was impossible to fully close the garment without re-tying the sash, and this left Nanoha's chest bandages visible. It was enough that her aching shoulder was warm again, however, and Nanoha simply nodded thanks to her vassal.
Rising from his seiza, Shiro tucked the clan's tome under one arm, "I will return this to the clan shrine. Shall we head out for lunch to celebrate? Rein-san, Ginga-san, I will ask some clan members to provide escort, so do please join us as guests. Momo-chan, do we have kimonos they can borrow?"
"Hai, surely I will find them something pretty." Ginga continued to translate for a grateful Fate.
Momoko led the bodyguards away in search of something for them to wear, and Kyoya accompanied Shiro to the clan shrine. This left Fate and Miyuki with Nanoha. Helping Nanoha up to make their way to the car lots at the back of the compound, Miyuki ruffled her sister's fringe, grinning, "It's good to have you back, Na-chan. We've all missed you."
Uncertain how to process the familial love being shown so openly, Nanoha ducked her head, expression bashful. A curl of tenderness twined its way into Fate's heart, the blonde genuinely happy for her boss. Laying a soft hand on the executive's, she stopped the woman, "Wait. Miyuki-san, could you teach me how to re-tie this for Nanoha-san?"
"Certainly!" Nanoha eyed her elder sister, thinking she was agreeing far too readily. Still, she did need help straightening her kimono if she wished to be presentable in public. If only it wasn't Fate helping… Firmly wrestling her libido into submission, she held her good arm out whilst the blonde untied her sash under Miyuki's direction.
As the layers fell open, Fate bit hard on the inside of her cheek. Aside from Nanoha's bandages, all she had on was a traditional loincloth, the scrap of fabric between the woman's sculpted thighs doing the absolute minimum to maintain her modesty.
Somehow, she looked far sexier partially clothed this way, than if she had been completely naked. Willing her hands not to shake, Fate followed Miyuki's instructions with utmost seriousness. Focus. She had to focus, or lose herself completely in the body she was trying to dress. Taking note of where the woman's waist injury was, she began wrapping layer upon layer of under-robes snugly around Nanoha's form.
Like the phoenix, Nanoha's entire body felt as if it was on fire. Thankful that her bandages and robes hid most of her flush, the Takamachi heir fell back on faithful prime numbers to distract herself. Every featherlight brush of the blonde's hands over her skin sent another throbbing reaction into her core, and when she glanced down, that face so close to her body made her heart palpitate wildly. She craved to grab the woman and never let go.
"Yes, this is good, Fate-san. We can practise more when we come back." Patting the blonde's hand approvingly, Miyuki turned to lead the way to the family cars. This was all that saved her from Nanoha's outraged glare. 'Practise? Does my sister want me to die before I inherit the seat?!'
Rendered speechless, Nanoha's hand numbly closed onto the hilt of the shinai Fate had kindly retrieved for her. "I'm happy for you," Fate murmured, keeping pace with Nanoha's careful gait. The heir could see that the blonde was unfamiliar with the geta on her feet, and gallantly offered her good arm to Fate as a matter of course. They would just have to move slowly together.
"I… am glad you were a witness," she answered with great sincerity, her azure gaze warm on the woman on her arm. The blonde may not have remembered, but she was still Nanoha's most important person. Smiling in response, that familiar feeling of being lost in those crystal clear pools had hold of Fate once more. Completely oblivious, the pair never noticed Miyuki snapping a picture of them staring into one another's eyes. 'Kaa-san is gonna love this,' she thought, chortling to herself whilst forwarding the image to her mother.