Don't

Summary: Natsuko Takaishi checks on her eldest son Yamato Ishida, but Yamato?s view on the situation brings up new questions and a hard decision is made.

(Yamato teenage angst, Natsuko (Nancy) reflecting)

Natsuko didn't know what had brought her to knock on the door. The blonde had ineptly stood in front of the entrance, her gaze fixated on the handle, as if she could open it just by concentrating on it. Thoughts of simply sauntering away had vaguely run throughout her mind. But Natsuko wouldn't allow that to take place. Something had led her to the Ishida apartment during the hours of darkness, and she had to investigate.

So she knocked again, relentless.

And now she waited patiently for anyone to open the door. That someone would reassure her of her son's well being. They would ease the dreadful sensation in her gut. If Yamato himself opened the door to greet her, then it would make things a lot easier for Natsuko.

Minutes passed. Still no one answered her knock.

The sensation of danger became stronger instead of decreasing. Horrible thoughts were born in Natsuko's imagination. What if Yamato was in danger? What if he or Hiroaki, her ex-husband, were dead and everything could have been avoided if only she had arrived a bit earlier?

Natsuko feverishly anticipated against those thoughts. Successfully, she cleared all of the negative thoughts from her head. But the last one remained implanted in her circuitry. Arriving a bit earlier couldn't have done any harm. The darkness had swallowed the sun whole five hours ago. However, Natsuko used that detail as a reassurance. Of course no one answer the door. Hiroaki was still at work, she presumed, and Yamato was slumbering.

Or so she hoped.

Now she had to make another decision on whether she should go back home to her youngest son, Takeru, or remain just outside of the Ishida apartment until Hiroaki arrived, so she would be able to check on Yamato. If Natsuko waited for Hiroaki to arrive, however, she would have no idea how he would react. Would he appreciate her concern for her son after many years of disappearance? Or would he scorn her because of that fact?

Natsuko didn't want to find out.

She extended a pale, yet vigorous hand and turned the doorknob. A click was heard, and the door ominously swung opened. Natsuko then hesitated.

If Hiroaki isn't home, Natsuko wondered, then why is Yamato home alone, asleep, with the door unlocked?

Nonetheless, she let her cerulean eyes drift and record every detail of the apartment, though not much could have been identified in the dark. What Natsuko could identify were regular household objects, which was typical of Hiroaki. He had never been a material possession type of man.

By now Natsuko's gut told her to enter the apartment and search for signs of life. It demanded her to search for Yamato. Her feet obeyed before she had time to think of the next move. Natsuko then found herself positioned inside of the Ishida apartment among the taut darkness.

Among the silence must've been the only thing that this apartment ever knew, Natsuko decided. Every single thing in the dwelling seemed to be lonely and dejected. And if Yamato was in the apartment, then he must be, too.

However, silence can be broken by the slightest sound. A guitar was being quietly played, and it appeared as though someone was singing to the tune. And both were fit for the other. The guitar, with its forlorn, dreadful tune and pitch, accompanied by the singer's low, bleak voice were a match made in heaven, or hell.

Before she knew it, Natsuko tiptoed around the apartment, searching for the source that produced the piece of music. She had the feeling that it was Yamato playing and singing, but she had no idea as to his location. This was the first time she had been inside of the Ishida residence.

Natsuko ceased searching when she looked into a bedroom and saw a blonde mass of wild hair among the mess of clothes lying on the floor. Although Yamato was facing away from her, Natsuko could picture him in her mind as though she had seen him everyday of his life, which she hadn't. There were huge gaps in that timeline.

As she stood in the doorway of Yamato's room, which she presumed it was, she examined the back of his head, desperately wanting to read his thoughts and feel his emotions.

It pained her that she couldn't tell him that she loved him. Natsuko couldn't comfort him as she did with Takeru, because their time apart had turned them into complete strangers. She bled at the thought that Yamato hated her as if she were his worst enemy.

Natsuko decided to come forth. She softly called out her eldest son's name. It was a few discomfited seconds and a couple of hallow ballads before Yamato acknowledged her. However, Yamato didn't greet her like Takeru did. Instead, Yamato strongly said, 'Don't you knock before entering an apartment' If you've forgotten, you and Dad are divorced, which means that you don't have any right to enter the Ishida household unless you ask for permission first.'

Natsuko admitted that it wasn't the best way to start off a conversation. But nonetheless she was determined to reach her eldest son. She timorously tiptoed into Yamato's disorganized, overcast room and made her way to Yamato's side.

From her position, she admired him so, looking down at the boy that she once cradled in her arms. She admitted that Hiroaki had done a decent job of raising Yamato. He was whole, unscathed, and last time she'd heard Yamato was doing very well in school and in a band. But that was just on the outer surface. Natsuko had no idea what Yamato felt.

Takeru had informed his mother about the dream he had during the battle with MaloMysotismon. With tear filled cerulean eyes he admitted that his dream was of the family being together again. And at hearing this, Natsuko's eyes filled with tears as well. Takeru was too young to remember the divorce all too clearly, and it dawned to her that Yamato might have stronger feelings on the matter.

She couldn't keep Yamato out of her mind since then.

And now here he was, right before her, sullenly playing his guitar. Natsuko supposed that he had gotten that talent from his father, because he had been in a band before following a career in the television industry.

Yamato appeared to be just like her. Same bone structure, same cerulean eyes that revealed the emotion they came into contact with at all times. They both shared the same blonde hair and ceramic skin. Only, the fact that bothered Natsuko was her distant relationship with her eldest son. Natsuko had spent so much time away from him. But there he was, before her, but instead of talking it up like Takeru and Hiroaki did when they met, she and Yamato simply regarded each other in silence.

Or, she did.

And the mother took her time in examining Yamato's room. There was nothing out of the ordinary, nothing that a typical teenage boy wouldn't have in his room. Natsuko noticed a green jacket lying in the middle of the room, and she presumed that it was part of his school uniform. Then she was made positive of that when she noticed Yamato's white button up shirt and khaki pants.

'This isn't going to work out,' Yamato simply said, unexpectedly.

Natsuko was disappointed that her own son didn't have any positive energy; however, she was clueless as to what he was referring to. 'Of course it is. But, son, what are you talking about?' Natsuko asked.

'No.' Yamato rebelled against her first sentence. 'And I can't play while you're staring at me. I'm not some sort of picture that you can freely gaze at!'

Yamato's outburst startled his mother but she refused to show it.

'I-I'm sorry,' Natsuko apologized. 'I'm just so relieved to see that you're okay. I had the most gruesome feeling?' she let her words drift.

'Oh, and what was that?' Yamato asked with counterfeit vividness. 'Don't you think Hiroaki has done a decent job of keeping me alive so far? Is that bellow or above your standards?' He didn't raise his head up to make eye contact with Natsuko, which, at the moment, was all right with Natsuko because she and Yamato had similar eyes, and anyone could have interpreted their emotions with a single glance.

It was another weakness that bonded them.

With that worry out of her mind, she concentrated on keeping the exposure out of her voice as she tried to soothe Yamato.

'No, of course it's not that,' Natsuko reassured Yamato, as well at herself. 'I suppose it was just mother's intuition.'

'Mother's intuition?' Yamato repeated, the fake brightness of his tone replaced by fume. 'Is that why you left Takeru home alone, in the middle of the night, without even letting him know that you were leaving? Did you even leave a note? What if he wakes up in the middle of the night only to find you missing and then panics? What if something happens to him instead of me?'

Throughout that minor outburst, he still hadn't lifted his chin nor ceased touching the guitar strings.

Natsuko was not certain how Yamato had known all of that without even asking. Was she that predictable' Or was Yamato merely making assumptions' However, Natsuko supposed that it was evident. Who else could she have left Takeru with?

Worst of all, what if Yamato was right?

'No,' she insisted, attempting to sound secure. 'It was you I was worried about.'

Natsuko thought that she had seen Yamato pause in his playing, a sheer sign that she had gotten through to him and the iron fort that he had assembled around himself.

But then he continued playing as if her words hadn't fazed him.

Perhaps it was just a mere dent on the iron wall.

It must have been, Natsuko decided, because Yamato didn't snap back with a smart aleck remark. Natsuko was about to ask Yamato why he wasn't in bed when Yamato spoke.

'I need to know,' Yamato said softly, barely audible, 'why you divorced Dad. What did Hiroaki do that was so bad?'

Deep within, Natsuko knew that Yamato had been stalling, waiting for the precise moment to ask that very question. She had to wince at the twinge that she detected in Yamato's deep voice. Maybe she had bombarded her son's iron fort.

'Haven't you asked your father?' Natsuko asked, postponing the answer to the question.

'Yes,' Yamato quietly answered, his finger's finally ceased to play the strings on the guitar. 'But I need to hear it from you.'

He sounded more like the five year old that Natsuko knew long ago. She sat down next to her son and sighed, searching for the right words.

'I-' Natsuko inaugurated, but then stopped, short on words. Her hand found its way to Yamato's shoulder. Stiffness settled into the teenager's body. It had been so long since his mother had hugged him, reasoned with him. An urge to clout his mother's hand away emerged from an unknown source, but Yamato fought against it.

The reasons why the divorce had to take place scrambled in her mind like insects to when the lights are turned on. A few seconds later, nothing was left. No traces of their presence remained.

Natsuko focused on attempting to make eye contact with her son. Perhaps this was one of his fragile moments, the point in time when all of his defenses are down. The perfect time to attack. Yet the mother did not want to bombard her son with questions of her own.

'Was it an excuse to get away from us?' Yamato accused, his voice vibrating with mute rage. 'Because you didn't want to see Hiroaki and I anymore?' It was as if someone had wrapped a rope around Natsuko's neck, because she suddenly had difficulties inhaling and exhaling. 'You stopped loving us?' Yamato's words drifted into the tranquility that lay among them.

'Of course not!' Natsuko insisted. 'Your father and I simply didn't, couldn't, get along anymore.' Now she felt as if the rope had been removed from her neck. With that worry removed from her mind, she focused on convincing her son. Perhaps her words could act as a repellant and exterminate the negative emotions that Yamato felt.

In the middle of Natsuko's undersized sermon, Yamato's fingers became lively for a second time. They skillfully touched the strings of the guitar, confident in the notes and melodies that were being produced. Natsuko was not certain what action she would take. Ask him to stop and please listen, or admire the soothing piece of art?

'Yamato?'

'I just wanted you to know,' Yamato quietly spoke, 'that no matter how much I seem to hate you, no matter what I do or say' I love you.'

Natsuko's heart felt intense with tears of relief. So many years she had let her mind dwell on the idea that the other half of the family despised her were spent.

'And I hate that I do feel that way,' Yamato forlornly whispered, 'because emotions get in the way of everything. But you're my mom, you gave me life. A very unpleasant one, but it's the least.'

The mother embraced her son, but to her dismay, he didn't return the hug. However, as Natsuko reflected upon her son's spoken words, she solved the mystery. Yamato didn't cease playing as his mother held him. It was as if the mother were hugging a mere bag of groceries. He simply sat there, with the guitar on his lap, his head facing downward, never looking at his mother.

Emotions get in the way of everything.

'Well,' Natsuko sniffled after she released him a few moments later. Struggling to reclaim her composure, she announced, 'I have to get back to Takeru.'

Though she couldn't see his face, she heard her son wince painfully. She could feel the wound in her relationship with Yamato being worsened. The bandage had been torn off, and then burned, leaving the wound vulnerable to infection.

There was an eerie silence as the mother lingered, hoping for a proper goodbye from her eldest son. But the farewell was just like the salutation. A simple shrug, a few ballads were produced as he continued to play again.

A faint smile formed upon the woman's face as she gracefully stood. Though her encounters with her eldest son were never as happy as she wished they possibly will, it was far healthier than not seeing him at all. Anything was better than not being able to know how he was, if his wellbeing was in peril or not. Watching from remoteness was not a setback for Natsuko, but as all good plans, this one could backfire in so many ways.

Turning around with an unexplained ache and bliss in her heart, she headed towards the doorway. Behind her the melodies that the deep guitar fashioned flowed with her a she neared the exit.

'You're leaving me again,' Yamato bluntly whispered. Natsuko whirled around, startled at her son's words. He spoke as if it were a written fact. As she examined the boy who delicately played a dismayed melody, something in her chest twitched, and then bled. Something meekly told her that she had to speak. She had to let Yamato know that that wasn't the situation.

Natsuko never meant to leave her eldest son.

'If you're leaving me,' Yamato softly continued, his voice in tune with the melody that he played, 'then don't come back. You're not welcomed here.'

Tears mutely dripped down Natsuko's face. So many thoughts scrambled in her mind. There were numerous questions that she wished to petition for. She feverishly wished to view Yamato's features. Perhaps he was merely testing her wits. But most of all, she wished to reach the real Yamato. She wanted to let him know that she still loved him.

There was no way of interpreting the tone of Yamato's voice. Like his cerulean eyes, his deep voice was void of emotion. Dead.

Clinching to optimism, she took a small step towards her guitar playing son. Natsuko then squatted so that she would be eye to eye with him. Hesitantly, she placed a hand on his shoulder. Without looking at her, he shrieked, 'Didn't you hear me?' Natsuko pulled away from Yamato swiftly. Above all the rage, she heard the cries of an infant.

But this infant was no longer reachable.

'I said, 'you're not welcomed here?!? Yamato seethed, his head bent down as to not make eye contact with his mother. 'You left me! You didn't want to see me anymore, nor Dad! So now I don't want to see you! You're not welcomed here!'

Yamato's words made their way into Natsuko's soul. And like a grenade being readied and thrown, they exploded. Now acid tears stained her porcelain skin as they dripped down her face. Mutely, she stumbled out of the apartment that Yamato shared with his father, her ex-husband.

The guitar playing teenager was unaccompanied, once again. But the tune that he produced when his nimble fingers touched the strings of the guitar aided him. Prior, that seemed to be sufficient. However, they couldn't speak the words that only a mother could.

Yamato slowly lifted his chin up to gaze out the uncovered window. The moon's faint radiance was the only thing that shown through the shadows that surrounded him. It illuminated everything, as well as him. When the glow touched his blonde hair and gave his cerulean eyes a sparkle, he would have been erroneous with an image that of an angel.

But angels don't have bitter tears streaming down their faces. Angels don't whimper as they regret on things that have been alleged. When the ashen orb is high during the hours of darkness, the angels lay to rest, weary from the day. However, this angelic figure mourned all throughout the hours of time.

The tears continued to stream down Yamato's porcelain fade. In so many ways he was similar to his mother. Both were uncertain of so many things, both regretted saying things and doing them as well. Both cried tears of acid.

Yamato a seraph' The halo is missing.

Only a lone wolf bawls under the presence of the ashen orb that is the moon.