#Pre-Europe fic blitz

[docholligay]

Impossible to Translate

anonnatsfan said: What were HaruMichi up to during the Inners’ drugged out dream fog adventures??  

Haruka paged through the small phrasebook, scowling in front of the pastry case. “Sest---say, combee--combi--”

Michiru touched her shoulder. “Haruka, what would you like?”

“I can do it!” Haruka looked down at her in a mix of irritation and despair. “You’ve done all the talking for two months,” she looked back at her phrasebook, “because you speak every language on earth.”

“Oh, I do not. I speak fluent French and English, and that’s the sum of it.” As if to prove her point, her walked up to the counter and eloquently ordered a small selection of pastries, carefully set into a pink box.

“And Italian!” Haruka stared at her book, as if the pronunciation would magically resolve in her head. “Spanish.”

“Oh, only well enough to get directions in Italian, and I can’t do much more than read a menu or a train schedule in Spanish, Haruka. You can be so dramatic, I swear.”

Haruka sighed and slumped her shoulders. It was hopeless anyway, the sounds got jumbled in her head, and the language didn’t make any goddamn sense, though maybe it was her--Mina spoke English, for God’s sake, so it couldn’t be some dark secret. It was just Haruka, who was stupid, and who relied on Michiru for everything. They’d been here for the last two months, on her money, and her language skills, and her connections, and what good was Haruka? What did she bring to the table?

“Haruka.” Michiru touched her arm gently, and there was a look of uncertainty in her eyes. This trust they were building felt so fragile and new, and Michiru was afraid that she had, with a single careless phrase, broken it. “I didn’t intend to--”

“It’s not you.” She shut the book. “It’s me. I can’t--” She looked at Michiru, the words catching in her throat, whispering to her that Michiru would never understand, that if she brought attention to how little she brought to the relationship, Michiru would leave her, would find some hot French lesbian and run off into the sunset, leaving Haruka with nothing but her small suitcase and a coach ticket to Tokyo.

And yet, Michiru looked at her expectantly. She had to say something.

“French is stupid.” She decided upon and crossed her arms.

Michiru touched the edge of her book. “I may be able to hel--”

“No,” She waved her hand, “I don’t want anything. Whatever you got’s fine.”  

Michiru nodded, and they walked silently back to the hotel, Michiru looking down at the box in her hands.

___

Haruka gallantly took Michiru’s arm on the street. “So where are we going for dinner?”

Michiru smiled to no one in particular. “McDonald’s.”

Haruka looked at her seriously. “Please don’t be joking.”

“Sorry to disappoint.” She held Haruka’s arm a little tighter. “ There is one near the hotel, if you don’t enjoy what I’ve selected for tonight.”

“I mean, it might be good,” she shrugged, “But it’s no McNugget.”

Michiru shook her head. “Well of course not, how could it be possibly?”

She strolled up to a restaurant, looking much the same as the other restaurants they had strolled into throughout Paris, and Haruka opened the door. A waft of familiar smells hit her, noodles and fish and somewhere the sweet alcohol of sake.

She looked at Michiru. “I thought you said we didn’t come to Europe to eat Japanese food.”

“Oh, but what if it’s even better than in Japan?” The host’s voice boomed over at her. “Table for two?”

Haruka stared at him. “I could kiss you.”

Michiru laughed. “Looking to inflame my jealousy, Haruka?” She led as they made their way to the table. “I must say, not quite what I expected, but, then again, your tastes are your own.”

Haruka sat across from her and fiddled a moment with a chopstick. “Thank you, Michiru.”

Michiru waved her hand. “I insist you do all the ordering, of course.” Haruka took out her phrasebook, and paged through it. “Haruka, whatever are you doing?”

Haruka looked up at her. “Juh--je tem vrayment bowkoo.” she shrugged and gave a nervous chuckle. “I guess.”

Michiru put her hand on Haruka’s. “Je t’aime plus que je ne peux le dire, mon petit chou.”

Haruka grinned. “Yeah, what you said.”