deercountry | (closed) december catchall

Entry tags:

(closed) december catchall

Who: Ange (

entreats), Chizuru (

tealeafs), Daniel (

miyagimagic) and various others.
What: December shenanigans.
When: During all of December.
Where: Locations vary.

Content Warnings: Bullying, (mild) violence, will edit to add more later.

( starters in the comments! if you want to plot anything with me, feel free to either pm the journal or contact me at

queeningsquare, i'm always open to new ideas and threads! )

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"I guess those people didn't see what I got to see in you," is Daniel's first reply, offered with a thin smile as he glances at Robby, even if the boy still may be looking at the small tree in front of him.

Granted - maybe it's just that Daniel got a better chance with him from the start. Everything I did before then was just a big con, Robby says, but he never stole a single thing from Daniel. Maybe that's what made it so much easier to look at the boy so favourably all along.

.. even though Daniel knows he was the one who screwed up several times, not Robby. Seeing a con where there was none, his own trust issues so tightly wound even after over thirty years, Robby bearing the full blunt force of it.

It's a thought Daniel doesn't want to linger on right now, not in a memory that feels so warm and sweet. His fingers idly brush against the leaves of one of the bonsai, staring at the greenery as he pushes down the thought in favour of something a little more positive.

Lingering in the bad moments of the past won't help them. Right now they are - quite literally - lingering in a good moment of the past instead. A moment where Daniel told the boy something that meant more to Robby than Daniel himself apparently ever could have imagined.

And in that case, shouldn't he do the same thing now? Even though he feels like it's probably obvious, that it's already shown in everything he says and does, still--

".. because you really could change. You.."

.. changed so much, he almost says, but it doesn't quite feel right. It's the truth, but there's a nuance to it that those specific words don't really contain.

Daniel shakes his head, walking away from the bonsai, his hand instead landing on Robby's shoulder.

"Every single day I see you in Trench, I'm reminded of how far you've come, and how proud I am of you."

Out of anyone else's mouth it might sound like empty flattery, especially considering how cheesy it might be, but Daniel definitely sounds like he means it. It's something he's thought often enough, after all - whenever he witnessed Robby helping someone, whenever he witnessed the other trying so hard to find ways to make their circumstances better, or them just more capable of dealing with it.

Robby turns, when the weight of Daniel's hand sits on his shoulder. His face looking his way, and when it does--he sits there, the image of his older self. A year older at most, but his hair is pushed back, his clothes no longer his LaRusso Autos work uniform, but instead his usual casual style.

He's looking at him and his smiles, pushing it into one side of a cheek. There's a lot he regrets, most of it spoken between them; rising there in this space between them, of pride and changing, the ways he set himself back and the mistakes that can't be rewound from. It's been talked about enough, and it leaves a certain set of words in his mouth that he rolls on his tongue. Considering, thinking.

'I wish we could be saying this back home.'

--it leads his thoughts down a different path, glancing to the hall outside, eyes returning back onto Mister LaRusso.

"...Do you want to look around?" He considers being blunt, but even he doesn't feel certain, threading and unthreading his fingers now resting on his lap.

"The offices." Her office. Misses LaRusso's office. "I-- we changed the memory. We might..."

Robby swallows. We might be able to see her is what he means, but the words don't even die in his throat. They don't get that far when he can't dare to say them. He doesn't know how it would feel; he doesn't know if it's cruel, or unbearable, before it can ever be kind.

But he's willing to try, if his sensei wants it.

The shift in Robby's appearance isn't too surprising. If anything, it feels thematically appropriate, considering what Daniel just said. Maybe he reminded this memory - or Robby himself - just a little bit too much of the way things are now, compared to the way things used to be this far back, well over a year ago. Even much longer than that, if Daniel would count his time in Trench on top of it all.

There's nothing to remark about it when Robby speaks up about something else entirely though. Daniel's hand slowly trails off the other's shoulder, mostly because he's busy listening-- but then the full impact of those words hit him.

Because he knows. He knows everything Robby is saying, and everything he isn't saying here. Daniel can catch on easily, and it makes the man tightly press his lips together as the possibility hits him again, just like he wondered about as they wandered into the dealership into the first place.

It'd be so easy, but.. he can't do it. He knows he can't. It's been years since mister Miyagi died, and it took a big part of his life being shaken up by one specific boy for Daniel to even dare to go back to the man's house at all, and even now there's a room he just doesn't go into. And while he tells himself his loss of Amanda isn't quite as permanent, it's still been half a year of nothing. How could he face the memory of her without breaking down? Even just thinking about it gives him a weird tight feeling in his chest, like it's being constricted.

It leaves Daniel quiet for a moment, an audible pause, but then he sucks in a breath and forces himself to speak up, not wanting to worry Robby. Especially not when he suggested this, and when Daniel doesn't want the other to feel guilty for that.

Not when the problem here is entirely Daniel's own feelings.

".. we shouldn't," he says, though he doesn't sound as certain about those words as he'd like to. Daniel shakes his head though, forces himself to speak on. "We already messed with the memory enough. I don't want us to go too far and risk something happening to you."

It's a convenient excuse to hide behind, because.. well, it's not like it isn't true.

But on the other hand, it stands on very shaky ground in the face of Daniel having been totally cool with trying to stretch the limits of the memory for Robby's sake. Jumping into the fight to protect Robby, going to this room because Robby wanted to see it so dearly.

And only when Robby tries to turn the table back over towards Daniel to do something for the man's sake does he protest this.

There's a hesitation, room for the equivalent of a but in Mister LaRusso's protests. His reasonings aren't that sound when the distance in time isn't great, and they're still here, he's still fine. There's a good reason to be bold here, and Robby knows he needs to be more firm--if Mister LaRusso is so sure, then Robby needs to hear that certainty for real.

He stands from the stool, twisting in the space between the work-side and where his sensei stands, turning to face him. Allowing himself a moment to take in the room for what feels like one last time, the taste of a memory on his tongue (You are the tree, Robby) before he lets his eyes rest properly on Mister LaRusso. A smile tugging on his face, reassuring and warm.

"It's not that far back, and I remember Misses LaRusso's office really well. And do you remember - there was the time I was helping her file the copies of receipts, and I had to staple them. You came in? I've been thinking about it a lot lately."

He's had reason to think about that memory already, before this. Remembering his earlier training with Mister LaRusso, using the Miyagi-do traditional method for those who it'd work better for. And he knows he knows her office, that he remembers bits and pieces well: where the desk sits, the photos he'd take looks at just because they were there ('Oh, that's my son Anthony...'), even the sound of her voice, always ready with that sly-and-playful dip.

"Trust me," he asks, his hands held in front of him, voice firm. "I want to. And I won't watch."

I won't listen. He'll do his best to pretend like he isn't even there.

"That's not--"

--the problem, he wants to say, but realises that saying as much is basically betraying himself here, no matter how much it's true. It's not that he's worried about the embarrassment of Robby being there and witnessing anything, the problem is so much more personal than that.

.. then again, the words already slipped out of his mouth instinctively even if he did manage to cut himself off midway through the statement. He's probably already betrayed himself here, the fact that this isn't just about wanting to keep Robby safe.

Daniel lets out a huff of breath, gaze cast down, like there's some really interesting spot somewhere on the room's floor. It's just hard to look right at Robby when the kid is suggesting this so earnestly, even though Daniel himself is struggling. (And he can't struggle here. He's the adult, the sensei, he can't-- not over this--)

That last thought makes it tempting to lie. Or to shut down this entire idea forcibly. But that's so hard to do when he hears that tone in Robby's voice. Convinced, yes, but also-- there's something gentle to it, Daniel well aware the boy is trying to do this for him.

That fact makes it impossible to do anything but be honest here, even if it feels like he's got a lump in his throat the size of a tennis ball.

"I trust you." His tone feels tight with emotion right there under the surface, almost foreign to his own ears. "I'm just.. not so sure if this is a good idea, Robby."

"...Okay."

He'll push it, but only so far: to bring them to a point like this, where the offer is on the table, and the only excuse against it is personal. Because Robby knows - or would wager - what the uncertainty is over, and it's not for his sake: it's for Mister LaRusso's own, and what will happen if he sees her.

And Robby might understand, a little. But it has him think about his mom, warm eyes and sweet-smelling shampoo, and he's sure he'd rather have a chance to see and speak to her than not. Even if it's only a memory.

(A memory remembers how she feels, doesn't it?)

So he gives his 'Okay' with a trace of understanding; then holds for a second, and decides - with his eyes looking back onto the man, where they'd lowered before as well, a firmer grip to his voice.

"...but you have to make a decision now, because we don't know when you'll see her again. But it's your choice."

And Robby won't rush him to make one, letting his gaze lower again. He doesn't know how long they'll have, and he hopes they just have enough -- and he hopes Mister LaRusso will give himself this, the more he thinks about his mother, and the more he thinks about the distance of the sea.

Not everyone gets loved ones from home. Not everyone has a familiar face here, and no one ever gets that before they called back to the waters they came from.

Daniel knows Robby is right, but he also kind of hates it at the same time. It makes the uncertainty and worry speed even faster through his veins, creating an antsiness in his body that just won't leave. He's never been good at making split second decisions, after all. Maybe in fights, or tense situations-- especially when something else, or someone else is at stake. Maybe at other times when he's just let his temper lead the way without thinking, but that's not the kind of person he wants to be, even if it's hard to fight.

But making a split second decision like this with a clear mind, and for his own sake? It feels impossible. What do you mean, he can't spend weeks brewing on this first and letting it drive himself crazy? Does he have to speedrun that process right now?

"That's--"

We don't know when you'll see her again, Robby says, and Daniel thinks of mister Miyagi. He thinks of mister Miyagi, and the pictures of his wife, and the drinking. And look at him now - two birds of a feather, huh, mister Miyagi.

He shakes his head.

"Let's do it." He forces the words out of his mouth before he has time to regret them, turning up his gaze, already stepping towards the door of the room - and only stopping there to turn his head back to look at Robby.

(Don't think about it, just don't think, no thinking, only doing.)

"Are you coming?"

It's pretty much a rhethorical question, since.. well, it's Robby's memory, of course he has to come. But maybe Daniel is just talking to keep himself from overthinking in this moment, to keep himself from crawling back out of this.

It's the kick that Mister LaRusso seems to need, a sliver of a man he only sees in his most severe of tempers, but this isn't that. Impatient, but only in losing the opportunity that's been presented, an hourglass that isn't seen but felt. Robby doesn't even know if they can do this, get what they want; what if they're stuck in this night, and only this night?

He doesn't answer Mister LaRusso with words or simple motions: he's walking to follow him out into the hallway, to the door that leads out into the main showroom and to the side where Mister LaRusso's and his wife's offices sit. Trying to recall that day he mentioned, at any point, at every point, replay it over and over as if it'll be enough to call it to them.

It takes Mister LaRusso opening the door leading out of the hallway for the world to turn.

There's no longer fluorescent lighting to bring life into the spaces: that's instead done by the day breathing in through the windows of the office Daniel finds himself in, if with company or alone. He's not in his Trench outfit anymore, but a grey-blue worksuit, a red tie and watch around his wrist. There's a muffin in his hand, the sound of activity murmuring in through the opened door behind him.

He'll know the room he's in better than anyone; he'll know which room is next door to it, and see it confirmed once he walks out and looks to his left.

Because his wife and Robby will be visible through the glass, the pair at work: his wife looking down as she scribbles away, while Robby carefully staples a set of papers, before reaching over for the next lot.

The pair oblivious to anything other than their tasks.

Despite his determination to do this, Daniel finds himself lingering outside for a moment.

Not because he doesn't want this, though. He's determined to go through with it, determined to go in there, but he just.. can't help it. The sight of Robby is one thing, at least he's got the boy with him in Trench, even if it took a few months to get there. Even if this is the younger version of the boy. But seeing Amanda there, just.. moving, and breathing, and actually being present-- It feels like staring right at a miracle. Something he hasn't seen in so long, something he doesn't know when - or if - he'll ever see again.

He knows that this moment wasn't much. He remembers it by the shape of Robby sitting there, even the food in his hand. Daniel knows it was back when he was helping Robby train around the dealership, that he pretty much walked in and out there without saying a thing, only helping show Robby how to deal with the paperwork.

.. he's already been changing memories enough though today. What's one more or less?

Yet when he walks in, it's like he forgets absolutely everything he could say or do here. Especially when he stands there, frozen, just watching - for long enough that Amanda actually glances up from the desk, over at him. Looking right into his eyes, and it makes Daniel forget even more what he should or could do here.

"Is.. something up?" She slowly asks, a faint hint of concern in her words. There's that Tone in her voice, like there might be more she'd like to ask, though perhaps not right in front of Robby's ~~salad~~ paperwork.

Daniel just slowly shakes his head. "Oh-- N-- No. Nothing. I just.." The man's voice trails off as he suddenly feels his throat growing tighter, making it harder to speak. A sting, like the onset of tears, even though Daniel is thinking so desperately about how he's not going to cry in front of a memory version of his wife who will have absolutely no idea why he would even do so. Not in front of the kid who's giving him this chance, when Robby may be half-caught up in the memory once more too, when it'd already be awkward enough to do so in front of the present Robby he knows, the one who does understand. "I'm just glad to see you, honey," he manages to force out.

Amanda is now definitely no longer paying attention to the paperwork. She keeps looking at Daniel for a moment, but then glances over at Robby, trying to give him a half-apologetic kind of sorry-I-also-do-not-know-what-is-up kind of look before she speaks up with: ".. Robby, would you mind? Just a second."

(Look, dealing with her husband acting all weird right in front of the new boy said husband has taken an odd shine to is not great business optics, okay.)

Robby only looks when Misses LaRusso does, but not right away. He's absorbed enough in his work, and someone coming to the door isn't anything new or weird. But he hears Mister LaRusso's voice next, and when he looks at the man it's with one of confusion, that at least turns back to his other boss with what Daniel says. Did something happen between the pair that he's getting caught in the middle of...??

But it doesn't seem that simple by Amanda's own expression, and he doesn't mind the dismissal when it comes; standing up from his seat with a "Sure", trying to work himself around it without bumping into Mister LaRusso. There's a pause when he looks at the man, brow slightly furrowed; but then it eases in a split second before he turns to the door, making sure to shut it on his way out. The windows still give a view into the office, but it's early enough in the morning that there's hardly anyone out to be seen once Robby leaves.

Amanda might give the windows a glance, but it's nothing more than that as she steps up from her seat and comes around the desk to where Daniel stands, her hands coming to rest tentatively on his arms at first, then firmer.

"Did something happen between breakfast and now? You look pale." Like you've seen a ghost. And her eyes dance over him, though it's the expression on her husband's face that has her concerned, the way he's speaking. If it wasn't for that, she might take on a more joking tone, but -- something happened, and if she needs to pry it out from him, she will.

But with some privacy between them, he'll hopefully be more forthcoming.

Daniel doesn't even think about the windows. Not even just because this is a memory and nothing in this will matter in the long run either way - but also because all of his attention is so much on Amanda. Sure, he does share a look with Robby when the boy momentarily leaves, but the moment it's just him and his wife in the office, all of his attention is instantly drawn to her. Especially when he feels those hands on his arms, the touch so familiar. Even though it's not even his own memory, it's Amanda exactly as he remembers her, with all her little mannerisms.

So lifelike that it feels unreal. Especially after months. Six months. Half a year without his wife, and here she is.

"..." Daniel exhales, the words finally coming out along with the breath. "You have no idea how much happened between breakfast and now."

There's a faint joking edge to the tone, but it's a wry kind of joking. Because-- god, there couldn't possibly be any more distance between the breakfast they would have had that morning and Daniel all the way in Trench.

(Not the most direct thing to say, but-- then again, isn't that what Daniel has always been bad at in the first place? Besides, how does he even describe what's going on here without his wife thinking he's a total lunatic?)

"I just.."

He reaches out. His hands first landing on her arms in turn, but then sliding up to her shoulders, resting there - as if to prove himself that this is real, at least in this moment, until the memory fades. (Can he pull her closer-- Should he--)

"I missed you so much." It takes every single bit of effort within Daniel to keep himself from fully breaking mid-statement, but his voice cracks a little bit halfway through the sentence all the same, even as he swallows and tries to regain himself. "Sorry, I realise I must be sounding crazy."

Look, he can at least acknowledge that much, okay. At least he's holding himself back - and it's hard - from kissing her so randomly, because that's the only way to make it even weirder here after saying that and he knows it.

Amanda keeps her lips pressed in that way that she does, her eyes fixed on him: the edges holding onto some lighter note, the way she can always spin anything into a tease or joke. But she knows there's more going on, isn't looking to brush this aside unless she's sure it's a fluke. And the more her husband hums and haws over his words, when he does speak, is when the edges of her mouth dips away to make room for that growing concern. Yes, something certainly did happen between breakfast and now.

"Yes, a little." And yes, does her husband sound crazy, but she agrees with a voice that's unsure before dismissive, a look that's searching as she places a hand near the side of his temple, fingers brushing back to cup the back of his head. "Not that I mind my husband missing me, but--you want to catch me up on what's going on? Was there an accident?"

Because little spurs a person to be okay one moment, and then talking--a looking--like they've seen something drastic. And little gets Daniel rattled this way, at a loss for words; he's usually one to pace and to get himself worked up than nervous and unsure in this way.

She's only seen it with one time, one man, but she doesn't think this has anything to do with Mister Miyagi.

He presses his lips together, reluctant to talk. Maybe that's really nothing new, even if it feels a little more warranted that he's more hesitant to talk about this of all things than any of his old problems - which suddenly feel a whole lot more mundane in the light of what's going on now. It's hard to imagine he ever worried about opening up about karate problems to his wife when he's got an entire new gradation of problems to deal with now.

"No, not an accident," he manages to at least get out. But that's the easy part, right? Easier to deny what it isn't than to acknowledge what it is.

Easier to focus on her hand against his head, how it feels warm again, maybe because he remembers them being warm in his memories. Maybe because Robby couldn't imagine anyone feeling as cold in his memories as Daniel has felt in Trench.

But it's that thought that also makes Daniel realise that this is a memory. Which means it has no consequences. Even if he does tell the truth and Amanda thinks he's a lunatic, it's just this Amanda in this memory. So even if the worst does happen-- it's temporary, it'll be gone in a few moments. Just like her.

"I was dragged away to another world," he admits. Once the first ridiculous words leave his throat, it feels easier for everything else to come tumbling right out after it, like a hole that's been burst into a dam. "Like-- Like you'd see only in movies. To some place filled with monsters, and other stuff you'd only see in nightmares. If I wasn't the one saying this, or experiencing it, I would've said it was crazy too."

There's a wry expression on his face. Maybe because he's thinking back on everything in Trench, or maybe just because admitting something that sounds so ridiculous to his very normal wife just makes Daniel feel that way.

"And you weren't there. Neither were the kids."

His hands sneak a bit further from where they were resting on her shoulders. Moving backwards, onto her back, pulling her a little closer, because-- because he needs it. Especially when there's a note of something vulnerable in his voice slipping out when he adds:

"It was just me."

And Robby, at least, but this memory-- It's got to be so far back that Amanda couldn't truly understand the relief in that idea. Can't quite fully understand yet what the boy means to him. A boy they took into their own home, that Amanda always treated so kindly too, despite her not having to do so.

"That happened half a year ago. And-- I mean, how long have we been married now? All those years of being together every single day, and then-- and then nothing." He swallows. His throat feels dry, and all he can focus is the sensation of her hands on him, of his hands on her, like nothing else matters right now. Trying to imprint it on his brain, so he won't forget.

Honestly, if there's anything that gives this ludicrious story some credit, it's the fact that Daniel sounds so sincere as he speaks about it. The emotion in his voice is just a little too real for this to be fake in any way.

".. I don't know what to do without you, honey."

Amanda waits, not quite with the same patience that most assume patience to be -- at ease, limitless -- because she's never been that. She doesn't hide in the lowering of her brows her mind at work as he speaks, about other worlds and monsters, like a normal wife would look or react to what's being said. But neither does she pull away when Daniel brings his hands around her shoulders, and she doesn't interrupt him as he speaks.

Maybe it's better like this, somewhat, without her confusion so obvious on her face as visible as it was, so he can speak honestly. She doesn't draw her hand away, but lets her fingers stay rested on the back of his hand, still.

But if Daniel does look at her, towards the end of what he says, he'll see her still with a similar expression as she drew into. But it's more worried than confused, concerned before that, and the opportunity doesn't stay as he finishes with those last words.

"Hey." Because she speaks, a voice gentle yet firm, and she pulls him in to her, the scent of her perfume the one that Daniel remembers the best, the smell of her shampoo. "It's okay--it's okay. I'm here right now, and the kids are okay. And you're here now, aren't you?"

Her fingers had been brushing against the back of his hair, but Amanda leans back her head to look at him, pressing her hand to his cheek and jawline instead. Her eyes on his, searching, aiming to reassure under the pull of her brows consistent.

"You don't have to worry about any of that. Whatever's going on, it'll be okay."

They've been together for long enough that Daniel knows to pick up on each cue. Six months away from his wife couldn't ruin years upon years upon years of familiarity with her, and he pulls his own head back at the exact right moment when she does the same to look at him, so there's the space to look, the space to put that hand onto his face in the first place.

Daniel searches in her eyes, and he finds everything he's so familiar with. Not just Amanda's scent, or the feeling of her body so close to his own, but also that look in her eyes. This is just a memory, and by all accounts it shouldn't feel so real and perfect, but it does.

And all the things he could say--

That he's not really here right now, or that he won't be here for long.

That he's not sure whether it'll really be okay, if things will ever go back to normal, that every single day he's only reminded more of what he's lost.

-- they melt on his tongue.

There's no use in saying them now. This Amanda won't remember, only a construct of memory, of longing. It'd just be like plunging a sword into his own heart for no discernable reason.

Isn't this about balance too? There's all the things weighing him down, but there's also the fact that, even if it's just in this moment, for a moment until he has to return with Robby, he's here with his wife. Balance is also about savouring this, remembering this.

His hand travels up, into her hair, treasuring the familiar feeling of this. He manages to smile - thinly, but not dishonest in any way - before leaning in to press his lips against her own, and for a moment it almost makes things feel normal for once.

Daniel pulls away to speak after a moment, but lingers close, almost murmuring against her lips, like he's afraid losing that proximity will make this memory pop like a soap bubble, when it already feels so fragile to begin with.

"If anyone could make me believe that, it's you."

Her body is a memory, but a memory made more from Daniel's own recollections now than the boy who's left the room. The soft colour of her eyes, the touch of her skin; there's no room for error for a body and person that Daniel knows so well, that even the edges of her mouth crease as her smile pulls after their kiss.

It's what years of marriage has allowed, this level of devotion. The soft touch of her fingers against his scalp, her hand brushing along his jaw to cup in the space under his ear.

She pulls away softly, just so they look at each other again eye to eye. Lips still only a breath away, distance intimate.

"I know it's true, because the moment me or our children show up, you'll be ready to take us in. You have to be the one to do that, and you have to be the one to look after the kids you've taken on. That's your responsibility, even when it gets hard. And I know it's hard--"

But maybe this is more than just a memory of a time far gone, more than a time past influencing Amanda now. The conviction in her that refuses her husband to ignore what she's saying, and eyes that will follow him should he think to look away.

"But we have been through too much to ever quit. You know I love you, wherever you are--so however hard it gets, I need you to remember that. And don't forget to take care of yourself, too."

She strokes the side of his head with the last of those words, the only moment she briefly looks away to the side of his face, but soon looks back.

"Will you do that for me?"

It's tempting to look away while it feels like he's getting buried underneath a straight up avalanche of bittersweet feelings. He can tell that this is his memory rather than Robby's - not just because he knows Amanda better and in different ways than the boy does, but also because of what she's saying.

There's no one quite like her who can pierce through to the matter of things so easily. Who can take a look at him, and then immediately see right through Daniel, like his worries are hanging over his head like a cloud rather than buried somewhere deep within his soul.

He knew he wasn't ready though. Not for the Amanda from his memories, saying everything he wanted to hear. Daniel knew he wasn't ready for this when Robby suggested the idea of trying to see this part of the dealership, and he's only proven right in this moment. It feels like his heart is about to crumble. Not necessarily in a bad way, but-- not necessarily in a good one, either.

Daniel swallows.

His throat feels thick, and he can feel water involuntarily starting to gather in his eyes.

"I will," he promises.

(Circumstances notwithstanding.

.. Daniel's tendencies notwithstanding.)

"I just.." His voice trails off for a moment, maybe exactly because it's so hard to talk when there's so much emotion, but at least Daniel is trying to be honest with his feelings here. No matter whether it's because it's inconsequential in the long run, or if it is because it feels like this is the one shot he's going to have for it. ".. I'm still going to miss you."

His voice is soft, almost making him sound a little younger than his years. He moves a hand so it's on her cheek, just to feel the familiar warm and soft skin there.

"Nothing's the same without you." Especially his bed. It's been months and he's still not used to it. He doesn't think he's ever going to. "I hope we can see each other again soon."

Even though it's random. Even though it might be impossible. If Daniel doesn't at least keep that hope alive in his heart - then how is he going to drag himself through everything else? How is he going to live up to the things he's promising her here?

She tips her cheek against the feel of his touch, her eyes warm and her lips pulled wistfully.

"I hope so, too," she echoes him; and she doesn't need to speak about the chance of it, how out of control it is, how there is no control. But she can speak love with a single look, provide this amount of comfort here and now. This what they have, and can manage.

Even if it's a moment made from memories, an illusion born from magic and Daniel's mind. And whether this is a cruel magic or considerate may depend on how Daniel feels at the time, now, or when he thinks back on it. But it grants him what might be granted as compassion as Amanda says, her hand wrapped around Daniel rubbing his back:

"We have right now. It's not the first place I'd pick to spend time with my husband before he's whisked back to a monster-infested movie setting--" said, with her eyes examining the office space around them, "--but I know you have until you leave the building. And we both know Robby won't interrupt us 'til you're ready."

It might be eerie, break the illusion of whatever shred of authenticity this Amanda has by being aware, but it's the same offer of something private for Daniel to take with him, to help keep him going with those emotions fragile in his heart. They can stay like this a while longer, holding each other; they could speak, make plans, have a heart-to-heart.

...or Daniel could choose to leave now. Whatever the case, how ever long Daniel takes, Amanda isn't wrong about Robby.

Because he's sitting outside the dealership, seemingly his younger self if viewed from inside the building; but actually back to his slightly older frame, his Trench clothing, and a deer waiting with him.

And he'll give the pair as much time as they need.

It's a bit of a struggle between Daniel not wanting to make Robby wait too long - even if he knows the kid wouldn't mind, that doesn't necessarily make it right - and yet wanting to linger in this moment a little longer, to indulge in it, to make sure to commit it to memory so it can sustain him for a while longer once he's back in Trench and without his wife once more.

Still, Daniel does end up lingering for a while. To talk with Amanda, to kiss her, to commit the feeling of her body and her words and her dry sense of humor and her sweetness to memory all over again, until he's confident enough that he's got it that he leaves.

.. even if he has to force tearing himself away from it.

It means that it takes a little while before Daniel exits the dealership, looking like his regular Trench self once more when he passes through the door. Daniel takes a glance at the deer, but it's the boy he touches instead, putting a light hand on Robby's shoulder.

"Thank you for waiting," he says first, ever careful to take Robby's feelings into account, and wanting to show his appreciation for the other's idea and the other's patience.

It easily shows anyway that this moment didn't leave Daniel unaffected. His voice sounds just a little bit off, a little thick with emotion, and the same sentiment is reflected in his eyes even now. It hadn't been easy to drag himself away from this memory, after all, but he also knows he can't stay here forever. There's kids waiting for him. Robby is waiting for him. That's where Daniel is needed right now.

"Sorry that I took a little while."

Amanda helps, surely, once the inevitable pull in Daniel starts to become too much; a "Go" that's given with one last kiss, one last tight hug, the final nudge to help him leave despite that urge in him not to. Because he'll never fully get what he wants here, and even an Amanda that can only live in this moment wouldn't keep her husband trapped so deeply in what's no more than a dream.

But let it be a nice one, before he breaches the way into reality--where Robby waits, fiddling with the threading of his pants until he hears the door. He looks up in time for the hand that touches him, sees the eyes slightly fogged with moisture, and offers the apology a pull of a smile.

"It's okay," he says non-committally, soft, and finally standing onto his feet with a lift. He glances at Mister LaRusso, but doesn't think to keep his gaze on him with the signs of emotion about him; he won't ask for the same reason. He knows. He doesn't need to.

This isn't Robby's business.

"Ready?" Is the last he'll ask. There's nothing to hold Robby back here, but maybe Mister LaRusso would like one last look at his dealership before they walk.

But Robby will be ready to go when he is. Just give the word.

The initial answer is a little more than a faint nod, but then Daniel breathes in enough to say just a simple, "yeah."

They should go.

And so they do. Just like any other memory Daniel has found himself in, it's the same thing all over again - one moment you're in the memory, and then you're back. Daniel finds himself over at his own place, thankfully enough, because he needs the momentary privacy. There's so much emotion still in his chest, barely held back, and it's now he's alone that it all spills over. It's something he'd feel bad about doing even in front of an Amanda who's little more than a memory, or in front of Robby.

So it's only when he's sure that the place is entirely still - not even any kids practicing out in the dojo - that Daniel finally lets go of what was holding him back a moment ago, feeling the tears spill down his cheeks. It's not even necessarily a bad thing, it's just-- just a bittersweet thing.

It feels like letting go of something important all over again. His father, mister Miyagi, now his family--

It's only a few moments later when he's pretty sure his emotional tank is empty and his eyes are wiped on the back of his hand that Daniel grabs his Omni to fire off a text to Robby, not forgetting about the boy despite all the emotion.

Are you okay?

Just making sure.

Robby knows better than to text Mister LaRusso. He's good at holding things in for the most part, but Robby's seen how the wrong - or right - few words can verge towards his self-control falling apart. Always some gesture of kindness, or thought about Mister Miyagi. Even the knowledge that Robby no longer blamed him for helping him get sent to juvie.

He's a family man, missing his family. Robby's sure that's what it all has to do with. Turns out it can be just as painful to have the dream family life as it can be good.

So he returns to what he was doing before interruptions of Winter Mournings, which he'd like to discuss with Tory about not doing next year. There was a shopping trip into town he wanted to take, which means putting on all the layers for the weather, and gloves not meant for texting. But that won't stop Robby when he feels his omni buzz, and a five-second try to push buttons leads to one glove coming off.

hey. im okay
you?

Robby doesn't expect honesty, but that's okay. He's got something he wants to ask anyway.

The answer isn't unexpected - there hadn't really been anything in that memory to hurt Robby, from what the man could see - but Daniel finds himself glad to see it all the same.

.. maybe a little less glad to see the question that follows it. But then again, perhaps that part also isn't unexpected.

Daniel sucks in a breath, still faintly shaky, and then allows his body to drop down on the couch as he texts back.

Me too.

Maybe not an entirely truthful text, but what else is he supposed to say? Even more so in front of a kid he wants to be strong for. Even more so when Daniel doesn't want to burden another living soul with his own problems.

And it's so easy to do it when you can hide behind text.

Just glad we made it out of there okay. Or, you know, that there was an easy chance at doing that in the first place. No terrifying threat to face for once. If there was a relief in all of that, it's that fact.

Edited 2023-01-25 21:27 (UTC)

Yeah, that's about the response Robby was expecting. And he can't exactly (or won't) pry or question Mister LaRusso. How can he really be okay, even if seeing his wife might've been a good thing, or given him something?

All he can do is hope it did his sensei some good, even if his heart might feel like a mixed bag of emotions, right now. But Robby would've probably been the same, seeing his mom. (And he refuses to, and that's okay--because nothing he can do or say will mean anything unless it's really her.

...or so he's happy to tell himself.)

So, for now:

yeah
mob saw when you came over when my mom skipped town
i didnt see it
and i got stuck in a memory with paul. that was awkward
but he made it change into the skateboard park

He's going on for Mister LaRusso's benefit, really. Does it help? Maybe it can, a tiny bit. Distract him, or something.

we should ask for better memories next time

Even if Robby wouldn't already know by default, there's definitely some small but telltale signs that Daniel is still feeling a little off after all of that.

For example - the fact that his texts arrive a little more slowly than they usually do. It's nothing too exaggerated, but there's a pause each time that usually isn't there - Daniel may be old, but not exactly a slow as hell texter - like he has to think about his words before writing and sending a message to Robby in return.

But at least he is texting back, rather than brushing the teenager off or trying to end the conversation.

(Maybe Daniel can see what Robby is trying to do here too, or even if he doesn't, maybe it's just that he appreciates talking in this moment anyway, rather than allowing himself to wallow in his misery all alone.)

This one wasn't so bad, was it?

Especially when Daniel can certainly think of worse Robby moments to see.. Or worse Robby moments others could have seen. He feels faintly guilty that Mob got to see a memory where Daniel was so good to Robby, when he knows there's memories when he was so awful to the kid instead.

You did something good back there. And you never even told me.

(closed) december catchall

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