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sententiaTitle: End Of The World, Chapter 2
Author(s): Sententia
Artist(s): dragon_gypsy
Fandom(s): Switch
Type: (Gen, Het, Femmeslash or Slash) Gen
Rating: PG
Word Count: 34,000.
Characters/Pairings: Takei and Shiba.
Warnings/Spoilers: For the entire series and the official '5 years later' doujinshi done by Naked Ape.
Summary: It was the end of the world as Takei knew it, and he was feeling ... wait, how did the rest of the song go again? Takei returns to work after Shingo's betrayal, only to be hit be a far greater one. Both Shiba and Takei struggle with the consequences.
Author’s Notes: This is the longest thing I've written, and it really shows. When I planned it out it was only supposed to be 10,000 words (which is still huge for me), but it blossomed into something much longer. It's been a great growing process, and if I were to redo the story again with everything I'd learnt, it would probably be a completely different fic.
The day after that other day. You remember which one.
There was one thing they never told you about the end of the world: you still had to get up the morning after. That event came three days later (another important fact: you first had to go to bed to HAVE a morning after), and only then on the back of a handful of sleeping tablets mixed hazardously with beer. Sometimes, bone deep exhaustion needed a little bit of a helping hand sending you to sleep.
The nightmares that drenched his dreams and sheets in sweat were almost enough to make Takei swear monogamy to a dreary, sleepless life. He should probably be used to the nightmares by now, what with the way they’d been a near constant since his hospital vacation. Still, those particular nightmares had retreated over the last few weeks, with work becoming less a hopeful dream marked for sometime in the future and more of a reality with an official ‘this is your life’ starting date.
That was, of course, before fate had thought it would be fan-fucking-tastic to replay all the trauma of the past few months on high speed, condensing all the shock, hurt, and betrayal into the span of three hours. It showed a complete lack of creativity, Takei thought, to rely so heavily on the same script. The only real difference was that fate had upgraded the actors for the sequel. Sure, Shingo playing a part in the explosion that had almost killed him was pretty bad – with pretty bad being defined in this situation as the most devastating moment in Takei’s life right up until it had been outdone by Shiba. Takei tensed just at the thought of Shingo's betrayal, and one hand drifted self consciously to his scarred midsection, his fingers splayed over the scars.
But Shiba, Shiba was so much more than just an ex-partner.
It was a week before Takei was called in for the ‘Shiba talk’. He had spent most of the time since the mission concluded holed up in his apartment, varying between copious amounts of cheap alcohol and the three crappy DVDs he’d rented two weeks ago and hadn’t bothered to take back. It was almost a relief when the phone call came. While Takei might be just a tiny bit lost about now (and maybe faintly hung-over, it was getting difficult to tell), he could still see the clever delay for what it was. Either the superficial offering of space lulled Takei into a false sense of security that kindly invited him to dig his own holes, or Takei’s exhaustion wore his defences down into such raw, exposed stubs that he answered all their questions with their pre-decided answers.
Takei couldn’t work up any annoyance at either tactic, vicious as they were. That would require energy, and he could barely be bothered rolling out of bed these days. He had wondered briefly if this had been devised by Hiki; it was certainly the type of ploy the chief kept amongst his arsenal of tricks. Hiki dabbled in psychological warfare like others indulged in a friendly game of chess, and his conscious was currently lying in hospital.
Takei had worked for Hiki countless times. Something dragged low in his chest at the thought that he might believe that Takei had somehow known about, about-
He brushed his hair out of eyes with a grimace. The bags blurred beneath his eyes did little to hide the dazed, slightly hung-over look that lingered in them. His clothes were at least grubby-clean rather than unfit for the washed masses, but they lacked the normal mishmash style Takei flowed with. Oh, the clothes didn’t match – that would require a time consuming excavation of his bedroom floor – but not deliberately. If there was any sense of style in what Takei was wearing, it was the kind of genius that was stumbled upon accidently and (thankfully) never repeated.
He didn’t meet his reflection’s gaze. How could he? It might mean facing the man staring back at him, and just the thought made Takei feel ill.
He was so tired.
When the doorbell rang, Takei opened the door to a stern looking policeman in plain clothes. Takei’s somewhat hysterical greeting earned him a very odd look, and so it was a good thing that Takei managed to fight back the natural urge to sweep the poor man into a dramatic, overly enthusiastic smooch.
The police. He was being investigated by the police. Not any of the specialist narcotics departments, not by Hiki.
He wasn’t sure why that knowledge made him want to cry, but it was the most emotion Takei had felt in days.
The small interview room he was so kindly welcomed into (he was there as a guest, naturally, and this was just a nice little chat) had the obligatory desk and mirrored window. The flare of the fluorescent light was unforgiving, catching on the poor paintjob and tired looking floor. Takei hated to think which parts of him the lighting was stripping bare. They left him alone there, little more than the flaking paint, the creaking floor boards. No longer a person, Takei was just another mundane element of the room.
It was ... strange ... to feel so deindividualised. Takei felt himself blurring around the edges, losing his normal sense of shape and perception and morphing more into the suspicious character they suspected him to be. He blinked down at his hand, idly noticing the way it was tapping traitorously on his knee as though he had something to hide.
Huh.
If they were trying to put him on edge, it was working. Takei smirked, bemused. How ridiculous. He had been involved in dozens of undercover operations where he had had to pretend to be someone completely different, forever aware that the tiniest slip from his character could result in his death. Why in the world was he finding it so difficult to simply maintain being himself?
It didn’t help that the cops had visited the skeletons in Takei’s closet and invited them into the interrogation room. Two of them were sitting on the table before him, just casually propped there for Takei’s amusement.
Why couldn’t he get his fingers to stop moving? Placing them on the desk didn’t help; they just started playing out the same tuneless beat on the metal surface. Takei snapped his other hand over the top of them, violently smothering away the involuntary movements.
So his fingers just keep tapping out the tune in his head, instead.
The police chief who eventually entered wasn’t someone Takei knew. Dark grey hair was smoothed tidily back from an emotionless face, one that wore deep wrinkles and chiselled cheeks as though they were weapons themselves. The way in which they set off his cold eyes made Takei think that perhaps they were. Detective Narita followed a few steps behind, looking as enthused about being there as Takei felt, although his presence gave Takei something familiar to finally cling on to. Takei acknowledged him with a supportive quirk of his lips, but Narita only furrowed his forehead in response, surprise flickering momentarily in his eyes.
“Thank you for coming in, we appreciate your continued assistance with this case.” The two men settled across from Takei, and it was the Great Unknown who spoke first. “I am Detective Saou, I believe you are familiar with my colleague?”
Takei nodded, and felt the numbness start to creep back in. Aah. It was as potent as any drug, and much less strenuous on your wallet. There was a familiarity to this back and forth, at least, even if he was more used to participating from the other side of the table.
“The last time I had this conversation it was from a hospital bed.” The discussions following Shingo’s defection had been less deliberate than this, not that Takei had fond memories of those meetings, either. His gaze slid thoughtfully around the room, acknowledging the skirting boards, the lighting, before coming back to settle on Saou. “I must say, this is almost as comfortable.”
Saou’s jaw clenched just slightly, and Narita chuckled.
“You were briefly partnered with Shingo when you first started working with the department, weren’t you?” The curt response was devoid of all emotion; however it was a rookie level question. Saou already knew the answer, and the question itself was so simple that it made a mockery of all the years Takei had spent doing exactly this job. Takei’s eyebrows rose with more than a hint of scepticism. So this was how they planned on playing it? Huh. He’d been expecting something more sophisticated.
“I was paired with Shingo for a couple of months,” he agreed amiably, relaxing back in his chair. “We worked a surveillance case together.” They’d been paired together for a handful of other cases afterwards as well, mostly in an unofficial capacity. It was becoming almost routine to talk about his past with Shingo, although this was the first time since the explosion that simply hearing his name hadn’t elicited a cold rush of anger. Interesting, how perspective changed things.
“The two of you got along well?”
A smile flirted at the corner of Takei’s mouth. “I tend to get along well with everyone.”
He never once let his gaze fall to the picture of the three of them on the desk. Shingo, gold hair shining and with his arm looped around Takei’s shoulder. Shiba, owning a sly smile and dangerous eyes. And Takei, laughing like being between them both was the best fucking place in the world.
When it was over, hours later and once Takei’s chair had given up all pretence of being even remotely comfortable, he was thanked for his assistance and allowed to leave. Takei responded with a friendly smile of his own, and Narita shot him that odd look again, the one that silently questioned Takei’s sanity.
“You’re allowed to get angry, you know,” Narita said as they walked out together. Narita slouched somewhat as he walked, his hands tucked into his pockets. Takei lazily kept pace beside him.
“Don’t forget, this isn’t the first time I’ve had to do this.” Takei’s dry response did a poor job of masking his exhaustion. He had no idea where this sudden weight on his shoulders had come from, but it was pulling him downwards and making each strep forward difficult.
“Takei-“
“Hmm?” Takei asked distantly when Narita’s voice drifted off.
“You’re allowed to get angry,” Narita repeated gently and with a sympathetic smile, patting Takei on the shoulder as he moved past him and down the corridor. “No one would blame you.”
Ha.
Takei stepped out of the station and into the cold night air. He was no longer any use to anyone, and so there was no offer of a ride back home. Just the thought of his dark, mess of an apartment brought a claustrophobic sense of dread that sunk deep into his chest. He wrapped his arms around his chest, fighting off some of the biting wind as he took in his options.
And, yeah. That didn’t take too long. It wasn’t like he had all these amazing options lined up, just dying to be chosen. Takei definitely didn’t think he could deal with the sympathetic support of his friends right now. He could easily imagine their warm, genuine attempts at comfort, and all it did was make Takei want to punch them. While violence did seem a nice short term solution, he quite liked the thought of his friends still being his friends in the morning.
There were maybe half a dozen beer dives within a stone’s throw of the police station (you couldn’t say the bars didn’t know their target market), but spending even more time with nothing but booze to keep him company was about as appetising as spending it with his friends. It was amazing how judgemental a glass of beer could get once you’d known it for a while.
It didn’t matter, anyway. His feet didn’t care about things like options, and they certainly couldn’t be bothered waiting until Takei stopped dithering. No, his feet were clearly capable of making decisions independently of all scientific dictations of how such decisions were normally made. Stupid feet.
But, really. What choice did Takei have but to follow them? It was very hard to let your feet go off on their own while the rest of you did something else.
He really should have fought his feet more strongly on this, however.
Takei felt the air stale around him, bile rising up his throat as a low wail punctuated the cold night air. The hospital shone white even at this time of night, the ever bright lights illuminating the building from the inside out.
Takei had been discharged two months earlier, yet it was once again his first night here lost amongst all the confusion and panic, his third week when the medication had started to wear off and the pain, the pain-
“Please tell me you didn’t bring a fruit basket, I’m running out of places to put them.”
Takei yelped, practically jumping out of his skin as he was ripped violently from his memories, which was fine. It was not like he was feeling particularly comfortable in it, anyway. In fact, he thought that he was pretty damn ready to shed his annoying, useless skin and find himself one that had a decent set of balls. Had he always been such a freak, scared of even a sole voice in the middle of the night?
Of course, this wasn’t just any voice. It rarely ever was.
Leaning against the wall of the emergency bay stood Keigo, bandages still wrapped around his head and a cigarette guiltily propped between his fingers.
“Don’t tell anyone,” Keigo admonished with a wave of his hand when Takei’s gaze lingered on the cigarette for a moment too long. “Apparently, smoking isn’t healthy for you.” Keigo rolled his eyes dramatically, taking a defiant drag.
Takei didn’t want to be here, not with the memories and the hurt and this man (why Keigo of all people?). But he didn’t have anywhere else to go, and the fading red light of Keigo’s cigarette was the first spark of heat that Takei had felt all week.
He joined Keigo against the wall, his gaze dropping to the hypnotic glow of the cigarette before refocusing back on the dark, endless skyline.
“Back stairwell?” Takei asked eventually, recalling the only way he’d managed to escape the flurry of caregivers and well wishers who had insisted that he needed to stay in bed when he really, really needed to be anywhere else. It was not so bright, here in the shadows and in a quiet pocket that excluded the sounds that filled the rest of the car park. All in all, Keigo had picked a good spot, and Takei approved.
“Back stairwell,” Keigo echoed with a small smile. “It’s the only way to escape outside for a moment without everyone going into a panic.”
“Tell me about it.” Choosing the front bay as a temporary hideaway was ingenious. Takei had always camped out on one of the back fire escapes, leaning back against the railing and breathing in the open space and fresh air. You forgot what outside actually felt like when you were locked away in your room for so long. They always found him pretty quickly, but maybe if he’d tried this whole ‘hiding in plain sight' business... His gaze slid briefly over to Keigo, before flicking away again. “How are your injuries?”
“It all heals in the end,” Keigo said with a shrug, his movements retarded by painkillers and his shoulders slumped in exhaustion. Takei’s eyes fixated back on the burning tip of Keigo’s cigarette.
“I’ll take your word for it.”
“I heard from Hiki that you were called into the station today,” Keigo said after an uncomfortable silence that went on for a touch too long. Of course. Hiki knew everything, at all times. “How did it go?”
The worst thing was that Keigo actually cared. There was a quiet concern in his voice that Takei didn’t think he deserved, especially since Keigo was the one wearing all the damage. Takei had always had a huge respect for the other man, falling short of pinning stalker-ish pictures of him up on his wall only because his landlord was anal about that sort of thing. He remembered the first time he was dropped into Hiki’s department to cover a staff shortage. Three other investigators had ended up in hospital after failing to maintain an undercover position in a sting. Keigo had been his only contact with the outside world, coaxing him through stomach churning confrontations with a calm confidence that Takei had quickly come to appreciate.
“I will be with you through every step of this,” Keigo says as he attaches the recording instrument inside the gaudy lapel of Takei’s shirt. There is a listening device subtly hooked behind his ear, although it isn’t going to stay there for long. Keigo leans back, studying his handwork before his serious gaze rises to meet Takei’s nervous one. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?” It’s funny, because coming from anyone else it would sound like an insult. Keigo says it like they are equals, as if Takei knows himself better than anyone else possibly could, and therefore who else would have a better opinion of Takei’s own state of readiness?
“Yeah, I think so.” Maybe his smile is a bit nervous, but come on. It’s a bad sign if he isn’t a little uneasy, right? Three other agents have ended up in hospital while working undercover on this case, and one disappeared completely. It’s the reason why they decided to pull Takei in, even though he has only been employed with the narcotics team in Yokohama for eight months. His natural flair for undercover work has not gone unnoticed by those further up the food chain, but more than that his youth makes him an unlikely plant. The other agents had been older, wiser – fantastic at their job and chameleons in their own way, but sometimes experience itself can be a giveaway.
Rough edges and stilted attempts to fit in can be more real than eased perfection. It’s certainly less suspicious.
And he has Keigo at his back.
He can do this.
Even now, Takei wasn’t entirely sure how he made it through that mission alive, although he was pretty positive that Keigo had played a key role in that.
How had it gone, Keigo now wanted to know.
“Suspended with pay for two weeks,” Takei said hollowly, dipping his head back against the wall and raising his eyes heavenwards. Keigo bit back his surprise. “Apparently, it was just a touch suspicious that two people I’ve been partnered with turned out to be moles.” A hint of a bitter smirk curled at his lips before being expertly smothered away. “Either I’m an incompetent fool whose investigative skills are seriously under a cloud, or I was complicit in their actions.” His gaze slid over to Keigo. “To be honest, I’m not entirely sure which is worse.”
“You’re brilliant at your job, Takei,” Keigo said, his voice low and hypnotically certain.
“Am I?” It was an interesting thought. He certainly felt like the most pathetic loser who had been spat into existence right about now. “I’m not so sure, anymore.”
Takei waited, but Keigo didn’t ask, just lit up another cigarette and took a long, wistful drag.
“You are supposed to be up in your room.”
Hiki’s clipped, disapproving tone sliced through the evening air. Takei stiffened automatically, and Keigo cursed, almost swallowing his cigarette in shock. With the blinking, neon light of the emergency sign flashing demonically across his glasses, the only way Hiki could possibly be scarier was if he-
And, yep. There it was. That smile.
“I was just returning,” Keigo said, a hint of reproach in his voice. It was pretty much the totality of Keigo’s resistance, as he stumped out his cigarette and scuttled inside with nothing more than a weak attempt at a glare. Ha. Totally whipped.
“Visiting hours are over,” Hiki added pointedly when Takei’s thoughts and gaze returned reluctantly to him. Jesus. There was just something about the man’s tone that reached into your gut and squeezed.
“I’ll just be off home, then!” Takei said brightly. It was not like he had been avoiding doing that all night.
“That might be a good idea.”
Ouch.
Hiki moved in a few stepped closer, and it was all that Takei could do to stop from moving backwards. It was uncomfortable and the older man was much too close, and Takei was terrified, totally fucking terrified, and he hadn’t a single clue why. Hiki softened unexpectedly, his eyes losing some of their sharpness and his mouth taking on a twist of compassion. “Before you go, I have a proposition for you.”
“Yeah?” Takei asked wearily, slouching down into his jacket. The wind was whipping through his hair, snagging some of the strands into his eyelashes, at the corner of his mouth. Enough of the wind snuck up beneath the corners of his shirt, skimming up his backbone like a tendril before pooling at the base of his neck.
He wished he could meet Hiki’s gaze.
“I want you to transfer to my department.”
The tendril turned to ice, and Takei’s head snapped up in shock. What, what the hell? A hysterical laugh bubbled up his throat, although it came out in short, sharp breaths of air that bordered on hyperventilation.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“I would have poached you much earlier, but the opportunity never presented itself.” The smile remained, even as Hiki studied him with calm, serious eyes.
Takei’s jaw dropped.
“You’re taking advantage of the situation?”
“There are benefits if you choose to take up my offer,” Hiki said, and they were conducting a job interview in the middle of the night in front of the very same hospital that Takei swore to himself he’d never return to.
“Oh, really?” Because what else could he possibly say? Was he supposed to ask about the healthcare system, or if he could negotiate additional sick days? Takei somehow didn’t think it was appropriate to ask Hiki if he was currently in possession of his cognitive facilities.
“I can give you access to Shiba.”
Author(s): Sententia
Artist(s): dragon_gypsy
Fandom(s): Switch
Type: (Gen, Het, Femmeslash or Slash) Gen
Rating: PG
Word Count: 34,000.
Characters/Pairings: Takei and Shiba.
Warnings/Spoilers: For the entire series and the official '5 years later' doujinshi done by Naked Ape.
Summary: It was the end of the world as Takei knew it, and he was feeling ... wait, how did the rest of the song go again? Takei returns to work after Shingo's betrayal, only to be hit be a far greater one. Both Shiba and Takei struggle with the consequences.
Author’s Notes: This is the longest thing I've written, and it really shows. When I planned it out it was only supposed to be 10,000 words (which is still huge for me), but it blossomed into something much longer. It's been a great growing process, and if I were to redo the story again with everything I'd learnt, it would probably be a completely different fic.
There was one thing they never told you about the end of the world: you still had to get up the morning after. That event came three days later (another important fact: you first had to go to bed to HAVE a morning after), and only then on the back of a handful of sleeping tablets mixed hazardously with beer. Sometimes, bone deep exhaustion needed a little bit of a helping hand sending you to sleep.
The nightmares that drenched his dreams and sheets in sweat were almost enough to make Takei swear monogamy to a dreary, sleepless life. He should probably be used to the nightmares by now, what with the way they’d been a near constant since his hospital vacation. Still, those particular nightmares had retreated over the last few weeks, with work becoming less a hopeful dream marked for sometime in the future and more of a reality with an official ‘this is your life’ starting date.
That was, of course, before fate had thought it would be fan-fucking-tastic to replay all the trauma of the past few months on high speed, condensing all the shock, hurt, and betrayal into the span of three hours. It showed a complete lack of creativity, Takei thought, to rely so heavily on the same script. The only real difference was that fate had upgraded the actors for the sequel. Sure, Shingo playing a part in the explosion that had almost killed him was pretty bad – with pretty bad being defined in this situation as the most devastating moment in Takei’s life right up until it had been outdone by Shiba. Takei tensed just at the thought of Shingo's betrayal, and one hand drifted self consciously to his scarred midsection, his fingers splayed over the scars.
But Shiba, Shiba was so much more than just an ex-partner.
It was a week before Takei was called in for the ‘Shiba talk’. He had spent most of the time since the mission concluded holed up in his apartment, varying between copious amounts of cheap alcohol and the three crappy DVDs he’d rented two weeks ago and hadn’t bothered to take back. It was almost a relief when the phone call came. While Takei might be just a tiny bit lost about now (and maybe faintly hung-over, it was getting difficult to tell), he could still see the clever delay for what it was. Either the superficial offering of space lulled Takei into a false sense of security that kindly invited him to dig his own holes, or Takei’s exhaustion wore his defences down into such raw, exposed stubs that he answered all their questions with their pre-decided answers.
Takei couldn’t work up any annoyance at either tactic, vicious as they were. That would require energy, and he could barely be bothered rolling out of bed these days. He had wondered briefly if this had been devised by Hiki; it was certainly the type of ploy the chief kept amongst his arsenal of tricks. Hiki dabbled in psychological warfare like others indulged in a friendly game of chess, and his conscious was currently lying in hospital.
Takei had worked for Hiki countless times. Something dragged low in his chest at the thought that he might believe that Takei had somehow known about, about-
He brushed his hair out of eyes with a grimace. The bags blurred beneath his eyes did little to hide the dazed, slightly hung-over look that lingered in them. His clothes were at least grubby-clean rather than unfit for the washed masses, but they lacked the normal mishmash style Takei flowed with. Oh, the clothes didn’t match – that would require a time consuming excavation of his bedroom floor – but not deliberately. If there was any sense of style in what Takei was wearing, it was the kind of genius that was stumbled upon accidently and (thankfully) never repeated.
He didn’t meet his reflection’s gaze. How could he? It might mean facing the man staring back at him, and just the thought made Takei feel ill.
He was so tired.
When the doorbell rang, Takei opened the door to a stern looking policeman in plain clothes. Takei’s somewhat hysterical greeting earned him a very odd look, and so it was a good thing that Takei managed to fight back the natural urge to sweep the poor man into a dramatic, overly enthusiastic smooch.
The police. He was being investigated by the police. Not any of the specialist narcotics departments, not by Hiki.
He wasn’t sure why that knowledge made him want to cry, but it was the most emotion Takei had felt in days.
The small interview room he was so kindly welcomed into (he was there as a guest, naturally, and this was just a nice little chat) had the obligatory desk and mirrored window. The flare of the fluorescent light was unforgiving, catching on the poor paintjob and tired looking floor. Takei hated to think which parts of him the lighting was stripping bare. They left him alone there, little more than the flaking paint, the creaking floor boards. No longer a person, Takei was just another mundane element of the room.
It was ... strange ... to feel so deindividualised. Takei felt himself blurring around the edges, losing his normal sense of shape and perception and morphing more into the suspicious character they suspected him to be. He blinked down at his hand, idly noticing the way it was tapping traitorously on his knee as though he had something to hide.
Huh.
If they were trying to put him on edge, it was working. Takei smirked, bemused. How ridiculous. He had been involved in dozens of undercover operations where he had had to pretend to be someone completely different, forever aware that the tiniest slip from his character could result in his death. Why in the world was he finding it so difficult to simply maintain being himself?
It didn’t help that the cops had visited the skeletons in Takei’s closet and invited them into the interrogation room. Two of them were sitting on the table before him, just casually propped there for Takei’s amusement.
Why couldn’t he get his fingers to stop moving? Placing them on the desk didn’t help; they just started playing out the same tuneless beat on the metal surface. Takei snapped his other hand over the top of them, violently smothering away the involuntary movements.
So his fingers just keep tapping out the tune in his head, instead.
The police chief who eventually entered wasn’t someone Takei knew. Dark grey hair was smoothed tidily back from an emotionless face, one that wore deep wrinkles and chiselled cheeks as though they were weapons themselves. The way in which they set off his cold eyes made Takei think that perhaps they were. Detective Narita followed a few steps behind, looking as enthused about being there as Takei felt, although his presence gave Takei something familiar to finally cling on to. Takei acknowledged him with a supportive quirk of his lips, but Narita only furrowed his forehead in response, surprise flickering momentarily in his eyes.
“Thank you for coming in, we appreciate your continued assistance with this case.” The two men settled across from Takei, and it was the Great Unknown who spoke first. “I am Detective Saou, I believe you are familiar with my colleague?”
Takei nodded, and felt the numbness start to creep back in. Aah. It was as potent as any drug, and much less strenuous on your wallet. There was a familiarity to this back and forth, at least, even if he was more used to participating from the other side of the table.
“The last time I had this conversation it was from a hospital bed.” The discussions following Shingo’s defection had been less deliberate than this, not that Takei had fond memories of those meetings, either. His gaze slid thoughtfully around the room, acknowledging the skirting boards, the lighting, before coming back to settle on Saou. “I must say, this is almost as comfortable.”
Saou’s jaw clenched just slightly, and Narita chuckled.
“You were briefly partnered with Shingo when you first started working with the department, weren’t you?” The curt response was devoid of all emotion; however it was a rookie level question. Saou already knew the answer, and the question itself was so simple that it made a mockery of all the years Takei had spent doing exactly this job. Takei’s eyebrows rose with more than a hint of scepticism. So this was how they planned on playing it? Huh. He’d been expecting something more sophisticated.
“I was paired with Shingo for a couple of months,” he agreed amiably, relaxing back in his chair. “We worked a surveillance case together.” They’d been paired together for a handful of other cases afterwards as well, mostly in an unofficial capacity. It was becoming almost routine to talk about his past with Shingo, although this was the first time since the explosion that simply hearing his name hadn’t elicited a cold rush of anger. Interesting, how perspective changed things.
“The two of you got along well?”
A smile flirted at the corner of Takei’s mouth. “I tend to get along well with everyone.”
He never once let his gaze fall to the picture of the three of them on the desk. Shingo, gold hair shining and with his arm looped around Takei’s shoulder. Shiba, owning a sly smile and dangerous eyes. And Takei, laughing like being between them both was the best fucking place in the world.
When it was over, hours later and once Takei’s chair had given up all pretence of being even remotely comfortable, he was thanked for his assistance and allowed to leave. Takei responded with a friendly smile of his own, and Narita shot him that odd look again, the one that silently questioned Takei’s sanity.
“You’re allowed to get angry, you know,” Narita said as they walked out together. Narita slouched somewhat as he walked, his hands tucked into his pockets. Takei lazily kept pace beside him.
“Don’t forget, this isn’t the first time I’ve had to do this.” Takei’s dry response did a poor job of masking his exhaustion. He had no idea where this sudden weight on his shoulders had come from, but it was pulling him downwards and making each strep forward difficult.
“Takei-“
“Hmm?” Takei asked distantly when Narita’s voice drifted off.
“You’re allowed to get angry,” Narita repeated gently and with a sympathetic smile, patting Takei on the shoulder as he moved past him and down the corridor. “No one would blame you.”
Ha.
Takei stepped out of the station and into the cold night air. He was no longer any use to anyone, and so there was no offer of a ride back home. Just the thought of his dark, mess of an apartment brought a claustrophobic sense of dread that sunk deep into his chest. He wrapped his arms around his chest, fighting off some of the biting wind as he took in his options.
And, yeah. That didn’t take too long. It wasn’t like he had all these amazing options lined up, just dying to be chosen. Takei definitely didn’t think he could deal with the sympathetic support of his friends right now. He could easily imagine their warm, genuine attempts at comfort, and all it did was make Takei want to punch them. While violence did seem a nice short term solution, he quite liked the thought of his friends still being his friends in the morning.
There were maybe half a dozen beer dives within a stone’s throw of the police station (you couldn’t say the bars didn’t know their target market), but spending even more time with nothing but booze to keep him company was about as appetising as spending it with his friends. It was amazing how judgemental a glass of beer could get once you’d known it for a while.
It didn’t matter, anyway. His feet didn’t care about things like options, and they certainly couldn’t be bothered waiting until Takei stopped dithering. No, his feet were clearly capable of making decisions independently of all scientific dictations of how such decisions were normally made. Stupid feet.
But, really. What choice did Takei have but to follow them? It was very hard to let your feet go off on their own while the rest of you did something else.
He really should have fought his feet more strongly on this, however.
Takei felt the air stale around him, bile rising up his throat as a low wail punctuated the cold night air. The hospital shone white even at this time of night, the ever bright lights illuminating the building from the inside out.
Takei had been discharged two months earlier, yet it was once again his first night here lost amongst all the confusion and panic, his third week when the medication had started to wear off and the pain, the pain-
“Please tell me you didn’t bring a fruit basket, I’m running out of places to put them.”
Takei yelped, practically jumping out of his skin as he was ripped violently from his memories, which was fine. It was not like he was feeling particularly comfortable in it, anyway. In fact, he thought that he was pretty damn ready to shed his annoying, useless skin and find himself one that had a decent set of balls. Had he always been such a freak, scared of even a sole voice in the middle of the night?
Of course, this wasn’t just any voice. It rarely ever was.
Leaning against the wall of the emergency bay stood Keigo, bandages still wrapped around his head and a cigarette guiltily propped between his fingers.
“Don’t tell anyone,” Keigo admonished with a wave of his hand when Takei’s gaze lingered on the cigarette for a moment too long. “Apparently, smoking isn’t healthy for you.” Keigo rolled his eyes dramatically, taking a defiant drag.
Takei didn’t want to be here, not with the memories and the hurt and this man (why Keigo of all people?). But he didn’t have anywhere else to go, and the fading red light of Keigo’s cigarette was the first spark of heat that Takei had felt all week.
He joined Keigo against the wall, his gaze dropping to the hypnotic glow of the cigarette before refocusing back on the dark, endless skyline.
“Back stairwell?” Takei asked eventually, recalling the only way he’d managed to escape the flurry of caregivers and well wishers who had insisted that he needed to stay in bed when he really, really needed to be anywhere else. It was not so bright, here in the shadows and in a quiet pocket that excluded the sounds that filled the rest of the car park. All in all, Keigo had picked a good spot, and Takei approved.
“Back stairwell,” Keigo echoed with a small smile. “It’s the only way to escape outside for a moment without everyone going into a panic.”
“Tell me about it.” Choosing the front bay as a temporary hideaway was ingenious. Takei had always camped out on one of the back fire escapes, leaning back against the railing and breathing in the open space and fresh air. You forgot what outside actually felt like when you were locked away in your room for so long. They always found him pretty quickly, but maybe if he’d tried this whole ‘hiding in plain sight' business... His gaze slid briefly over to Keigo, before flicking away again. “How are your injuries?”
“It all heals in the end,” Keigo said with a shrug, his movements retarded by painkillers and his shoulders slumped in exhaustion. Takei’s eyes fixated back on the burning tip of Keigo’s cigarette.
“I’ll take your word for it.”
“I heard from Hiki that you were called into the station today,” Keigo said after an uncomfortable silence that went on for a touch too long. Of course. Hiki knew everything, at all times. “How did it go?”
The worst thing was that Keigo actually cared. There was a quiet concern in his voice that Takei didn’t think he deserved, especially since Keigo was the one wearing all the damage. Takei had always had a huge respect for the other man, falling short of pinning stalker-ish pictures of him up on his wall only because his landlord was anal about that sort of thing. He remembered the first time he was dropped into Hiki’s department to cover a staff shortage. Three other investigators had ended up in hospital after failing to maintain an undercover position in a sting. Keigo had been his only contact with the outside world, coaxing him through stomach churning confrontations with a calm confidence that Takei had quickly come to appreciate.
“I will be with you through every step of this,” Keigo says as he attaches the recording instrument inside the gaudy lapel of Takei’s shirt. There is a listening device subtly hooked behind his ear, although it isn’t going to stay there for long. Keigo leans back, studying his handwork before his serious gaze rises to meet Takei’s nervous one. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?” It’s funny, because coming from anyone else it would sound like an insult. Keigo says it like they are equals, as if Takei knows himself better than anyone else possibly could, and therefore who else would have a better opinion of Takei’s own state of readiness?
“Yeah, I think so.” Maybe his smile is a bit nervous, but come on. It’s a bad sign if he isn’t a little uneasy, right? Three other agents have ended up in hospital while working undercover on this case, and one disappeared completely. It’s the reason why they decided to pull Takei in, even though he has only been employed with the narcotics team in Yokohama for eight months. His natural flair for undercover work has not gone unnoticed by those further up the food chain, but more than that his youth makes him an unlikely plant. The other agents had been older, wiser – fantastic at their job and chameleons in their own way, but sometimes experience itself can be a giveaway.
Rough edges and stilted attempts to fit in can be more real than eased perfection. It’s certainly less suspicious.
And he has Keigo at his back.
He can do this.
Even now, Takei wasn’t entirely sure how he made it through that mission alive, although he was pretty positive that Keigo had played a key role in that.
How had it gone, Keigo now wanted to know.
“Suspended with pay for two weeks,” Takei said hollowly, dipping his head back against the wall and raising his eyes heavenwards. Keigo bit back his surprise. “Apparently, it was just a touch suspicious that two people I’ve been partnered with turned out to be moles.” A hint of a bitter smirk curled at his lips before being expertly smothered away. “Either I’m an incompetent fool whose investigative skills are seriously under a cloud, or I was complicit in their actions.” His gaze slid over to Keigo. “To be honest, I’m not entirely sure which is worse.”
“You’re brilliant at your job, Takei,” Keigo said, his voice low and hypnotically certain.
“Am I?” It was an interesting thought. He certainly felt like the most pathetic loser who had been spat into existence right about now. “I’m not so sure, anymore.”
Takei waited, but Keigo didn’t ask, just lit up another cigarette and took a long, wistful drag.
“You are supposed to be up in your room.”
Hiki’s clipped, disapproving tone sliced through the evening air. Takei stiffened automatically, and Keigo cursed, almost swallowing his cigarette in shock. With the blinking, neon light of the emergency sign flashing demonically across his glasses, the only way Hiki could possibly be scarier was if he-
And, yep. There it was. That smile.
“I was just returning,” Keigo said, a hint of reproach in his voice. It was pretty much the totality of Keigo’s resistance, as he stumped out his cigarette and scuttled inside with nothing more than a weak attempt at a glare. Ha. Totally whipped.
“Visiting hours are over,” Hiki added pointedly when Takei’s thoughts and gaze returned reluctantly to him. Jesus. There was just something about the man’s tone that reached into your gut and squeezed.
“I’ll just be off home, then!” Takei said brightly. It was not like he had been avoiding doing that all night.
“That might be a good idea.”
Ouch.
Hiki moved in a few stepped closer, and it was all that Takei could do to stop from moving backwards. It was uncomfortable and the older man was much too close, and Takei was terrified, totally fucking terrified, and he hadn’t a single clue why. Hiki softened unexpectedly, his eyes losing some of their sharpness and his mouth taking on a twist of compassion. “Before you go, I have a proposition for you.”
“Yeah?” Takei asked wearily, slouching down into his jacket. The wind was whipping through his hair, snagging some of the strands into his eyelashes, at the corner of his mouth. Enough of the wind snuck up beneath the corners of his shirt, skimming up his backbone like a tendril before pooling at the base of his neck.
He wished he could meet Hiki’s gaze.
“I want you to transfer to my department.”
The tendril turned to ice, and Takei’s head snapped up in shock. What, what the hell? A hysterical laugh bubbled up his throat, although it came out in short, sharp breaths of air that bordered on hyperventilation.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“I would have poached you much earlier, but the opportunity never presented itself.” The smile remained, even as Hiki studied him with calm, serious eyes.
Takei’s jaw dropped.
“You’re taking advantage of the situation?”
“There are benefits if you choose to take up my offer,” Hiki said, and they were conducting a job interview in the middle of the night in front of the very same hospital that Takei swore to himself he’d never return to.
“Oh, really?” Because what else could he possibly say? Was he supposed to ask about the healthcare system, or if he could negotiate additional sick days? Takei somehow didn’t think it was appropriate to ask Hiki if he was currently in possession of his cognitive facilities.
“I can give you access to Shiba.”
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Date: 2013-01-16 01:12 pm (UTC)- Shiba likes movies, Takei thinks in terms of one
- Kaji is so very much Hiki's concience, yes, he is
- Narita! (wasn't expecting to see him there)
- Takei and Keigo and stalker-ish pictures, heh
- silly, silly Takei. of course Hiki is going to milk every drop of advantage he can get out of this situation. (and on this one thing, I'm far from sure Kaji would have done or said anything to prevent him)