[One-shot] Eleven Hands (Hikaru no Go)
Title: Eleven Hands
Fandoms: Hikaru no Go
Characters: Ogata
Wordcount/Rating/Warnings: 700+ words / PG / mentions of OCs
Summary: She didn't ask him to teach her, and he didn't offer.
Spoilers/Author's Notes: I figured it was time to give the PoT muses a break and kill some HnG OCs instead. ^_^ I just wanted to explain why Ogata wears that hideous white suit using as cliche an explanation as I could get. Dedicated to all the blind_go commenters/reviewers and authors; short!fic to snack on during breaks between all the 5k behemoths. Happy reading, and Happy Hikago Day one day late!





1.

She didn't ask him to teach her, and he didn't offer.

2.

As he slid into the seat across from her, he looked at the Go Weekly peeking out from her handbag, and then gave her a bemused look. "I already have a subscription," he said. "If you wanted to read it, I could have given you some old copies."

"I don't need to rely on you for news," she'd replied, and then pulled out a magnetic board. "Play me."

3.

She wouldn't ever be pro-level, but there was a shape to her stones that Ogata found somehow immensely pleasing. Now she only needed a single-digit handicap when facing him. Only you, she'd said, laughing.

4.

"Damn that old man," Ogata said, gritting his teeth. White suits the height of fashion indeed. Everyone else was watching him, he was sure of it. He would take the Honinbou title that year to make up for this humiliation, he swore.

"I don't mind," he heard, and then she was smiling softly as she slipped a hand into his. "When you wear something different, I can always find you easily, no matter how big the crowd around you."

5.

The day he moved in his favorite goban was the day she beat him with a seven-stone handicap. That was also the day before the Sunday morning Ogata woke up with a go stone embedded in his side and her curled up in his arms. They celebrated her victory again as the stones lay on the goban five steps away from their futon.

Six hours later she pushed him into yose with six stones, and he knew this was the one.

6.

There had been no warning. There never was.

Ogata stopped visiting her at the hospital. It distracted him from his games.

In the end, the Honinbou title slipped from his grasp another year. The old man looked at him closely and didn't play as many tricks as he usually did.

Ogata didn't need pity.

7.

He finally retrieved his things from her apartment.

He didn't attend her funeral, but sent flowers, unsigned.

8.

Number two was pretty and had a sense of fashion, yet didn't comment on Ogata's decidedly unique style. She clung to Ogata, hanging off his arm, and didn't pay attention when he spoke of go. "Of course everyone should know how to play! But I'll never be as good as you," she said, smiling at him.

He didn't stay that night, only nodded and bid her goodbye at her front door.

9.

"Good luck," the fifth one said to him that morning. As if she were her.

"You don't even know what title I'm playing for," Ogata said, coldly, driving away before she could apologize or defend herself or say something that she would never say.

He didn't answer her calls for three days, but he eventually went back when his bed grew too lonely. In the dark, when she moaned and bucked under his touch, he could almost pretend it was her again.

10.

Ogata, his white suit neatly pressed, yellow handkerchief pushing up from his breast pocket, scanned the crowd from the side of the room. As was to be expected, she wasn't there.

The Hand of God, Ogata thought, scoffing inwardly as he lit a cigarette and puffed, staring unfocused into the distance over the heads of the party-goers. If there was truly a Hand of God, it was a cruel hand and delighted in the torment of others. Ogata knew that when he found it, he would crush it.

11.

He watched Shindou, playing now after three months away. Shindou, who occasionally looked to the side and then stopped, looking disappointed. Shindou, who had acquired a fan like Zama ex-Ouza's, where there had never been a need for one before. Shindou, who looked occasionally lost and alone when the young pro thought no one was looking.

Ogata thought he understood why Shindou had not been able to play. He watched as Shindou eyed Touya Akira across the board.

The resiliance of youth. Ogata smirked to himself. Perhaps he was getting old. He was beginning to sound like Kuwabara.