Chapter Text
Time: 6:40
Place: Morgue Street, S.T.A.T.S. building
Hugin was not a morning person.
Especially not on what he suspected had been less than seven hours of sleep.
I should have checked the cursed time before lying down. Grumbling inwardly, he stared at his reflection. The shadows beneath his eyes were darker than usual, his complexion had seen better days, and his hair hung in complete disarray, with the longer strands slipping loose over his right shoulder, with the rest spilling down his back in tangled fall he hadn’t yet bothered to fix.
He also scarcely remembered getting dressed in the morning, somehow ending up in a white woollen high-neck shirt with one button left undone by his half-asleep self, exposing a sliver of his collarbone while tucked into a pair of high-waisted black trousers, matched with dark socks.
The greatest giveaway of his exhaustion, however, was his eyes.
Usually sharp, bright blue with striking red pupils, now stared back at him blankly, as though blaming him for waking before his body was ready.
Hugin glared at his own reflection, pressing the toothbrush a little harder against his teeth before lowering his gaze to the gleaming white marble sink, his left hand propped against its edge as he continued brushing.
Tilting his head to reach the back of his teeth, he barely reacted when the bathroom door slammed open.
A familiar young girl stood in the doorway, whose height barely reached his shoulders, where her light, cherry hair cut in an oddly quaint style added to her alread an innocent appearance — no doubt already dressed in her black-and-white uniform, completed with a red bow around her neck, white thigh-high stockings and sleek black low-strap heels.
"Master Hugin!" Her frantic, high-pitched voice, edged with a hint of depth, pierced easily through the early stillness.
Hugin didn't so much as blink, continuing to brush his teeth and letting out a low hum for her to continue.
"Good morning, Master! Alf was going to take the shopping list Master left for her to restock, but she cannot—"
Before she could finish, Hugin pulled the toothbrush from his mouth and spat the paste without missing a beat or even glancing at her — answering in a calm, unmuffled voice. "The kitchen. Left corner, next to the ‘tall fancy glass.’ First sheet on the list holder labelled Shopping List in bold."
As he finished, he resumed brushing without pause, his eyes barely focused as he gazed down at the sink. Behind him, Alf gasped in delight. "Thank you, Master!" The door slammed shut, leaving him in blessed silence once more.
It wasn't long before he'd rinsed out his toothbrush and set it back in its holder, flushing his mouth once with water, when the bathroom door burst open again.
"Master! Alf wishes to deeply apologise for disturbing Master twice, but—"
Hugin all but hummed, taking another mouthful of water from his cup before swilling it around and spitting it out into the sink.
"—does Master know where the pouches with the household expense money are?"
He paused in taking another sip, his eyes lifting as he searched his memory for a second before he answered with the same calm ease as before. "Downstairs. Front desk. Bottom drawer. The key's at the bottom of the sweet bowl."
Hugin took a sip as he heard Alf beam. "Thank you, Master! Alf will be on her way then! Please enjoy your rest day!"
Hugin hummed again, swilling the water before spitting it into the sink and pouring the rest away. Setting the glass aside, he looked back at his reflection and gently tugged at the skin beneath his eyes as he leaned closer to the mirror. A moment later, he let out a weary sigh before straightening and turning on the tap, deciding to hope that cold water might wash away at least some of the exhaustion clinging to him.
Moments into splashing his face and savouring the pleasant chill of the water, he heard the bathroom door open once more. He didn't stop, merely listening for yet another question; his mind still too sluggish to spare much attention elsewhere.
"Mornin’, Master~♪ May I know where the laundry basket is, together with the laundry room?"
The voice was warm, crisp and velvety, drifting through one ear and escaping the other.
Eyes still closed, Hugin paused only long enough to answer. "The basket's in my room, beside the wardrobe. The laundry room's downstairs. Facing the wall behind the reception desk, there's a door between two large bookshelves. Turn right, all the way down the corridor, left, then the first door on the left again."
"My deepest thanks, Master. Please take all the time you need getting ready." The smooth tone lingered just long enough for Hugin to picture a courteous bow before the image washed away by the water he splashed on his face.
He barely registered any footsteps, hearing only the soft click of the door closing behind him.
After washing his face, Hugin shook the excess water from his hair and swept his damp fringe back before reaching for the fluffy towel beside the sink and pressing it against his face. The familiar scent of lavender and pine rose from the fabric almost immediately, easing some of the weight pressing over him while his thoughts gradually cleared, the lingering haze of exhaustion lifting, only if little
Seconds after, the bathroom door burst open once more, with Hugin only lowering the towel so he could inspect himself again in the mirror while Alf's familiar voice called anxiously from behind him.
"Master! Alf can't find her coat! Does Master know where—"
"Downstairs. On the chair behind the front table."
"Thank you, Master! Alf really will be on her way now!" The door slammed shut again, followed by the fading click of her hurried heels.
Tilting his head, Hugin gave himself one last inspection before setting the towel aside and gathering the longer strands of hair over one shoulder. He worked them into a loose braid, securing the end with his dark silver clasp, all while his gaze briefly glanced at the mirror where, for the briefest moment, the image of his older sister stared back at him, one brow raised in quiet amusement.
He froze. With a sharp snap of his neck, he looked again, only to find his own reflection staring back at him — startled, with a faint flush colouring his cheeks.
A moment passed as Hugin stared, only to blink, where his brows furrowed as he let out a quiet huff beneath his breath, turning his gaze aside while carefully rolling his shoulders, mindful not to aggravate the bruises scattered across his body.
It was hardly the first time he had braided his own hair, but... it was true that he was far more used to weaving Munin's longer strands.
With the memories of his late sister lingering in his mind, the longing he tried to ignore tightened around his heart with such a persistence that he had to blink away the tears gathering in his eyes. For good measure, he rubbed at his eyes and massaged them gently before letting out a deep groan.
Get a grip. He told himself firmly as he drew a slow breath and looked back at his reflection. His half-lidded eyes met their own gaze once more. He looked more awake, but… still visibly tired.
Hugin sighed, massaging the back of his neck and rolling it. Thankfully, I don't have to be anywhere today, he thought, his eyes drifting towards the spotless tiles, his brows knitting together. Though I still need to ask someone to check the locations where the film might have been hidden.
Hugin had full confidence that either Gratia or Rex had taken the journalist into custody, so he was not particularly concerned about it having disappeared overnight. But… if I don't act fast, someone still might—
The thought cut off as the last traces of sleep finally abandoned him — and while his mind was mainly fixed on the unfinished case, some part of it had been occupied by something far too obvious that had happened only moments before.
Hugin blinked, his eyes narrowing slightly in thought as he now consciously compared Alf’s energetic, worried female voice against the honeyed male tone that had no reason to feel so familiar within his own home.
Snapping his head up, Hugin caught glimpse of his own eyes widening before he scrambled out of the bathroom. He crossed his room in a few hurried strides, wrenched open the door, and burst through it with such force that he nearly went straight over the edge of the balcony, where the ground floor dropped away beneath him, barely managing to catch himself against the worn wooden railing, fingers gripping it as he scanned the downstairs with wide, frantic eyes.
Alf already stood by the entrance, getting ready, and as if on cue, a movement to his right caught his attention. He turned, only to see—
"You!" He jabbed a finger down at the familiar face who was exiting the back, stopping near the front desk. The tall, slender man had dark teal hair styled into a lopsided cut, the right side longer and messier than the left. At the shout, the man's ever-cocky blue eyes found Hugin's bewildered ones, and answered with a wide grin and a small wave.
"Oh my— Master really does bounce back fast. Looking lovely up there, Detect— ah. I mean, Master."
Hugin ignored the greeting entirely, unwilling to let the vulnerability of being caught without his usual attire show on his face in front of the man. He gaped for a moment longer before his eyes narrowed. "Quit calling me that and start explaining what you're doing here." His tone left no room for evasion.
The man only blinked back at him, wide-eyed and innocent, standing perfectly straight — every inch the proper butler he was supposed to be. "Working?"
Hugin's grip tightened around the railing. "Argos." One word with a warning wrapped inside it was all it took for the other to immediately break into chittering laughter, raising both hands in surrender. "Alright, alright~ No games today. Gotcha."
Hugin sighed, allowing himself to sag against the railing, his gaze dropping to Argos below before briefly flicking towards Alf, who was visibly paying no attention to the exchange, far too occupied with checking that she had taken everything with her as the oversized coat swallowed her entire frame.
"Very simply put," Argos began, his voice sliding into something smoother, "I had a word with one of my 'pleasant' colleagues from MISS a few days ago and learned that the charming detective had put in a request for additional staff."
Hugin raised a brow, waiting for him to continue.
"Seeing as we were already acquainted, I thought — oh, how wonderful! This way, I can raise my intimacy with Mr Detective and get the front-row seat to his grand adventures!" He finished with a grin bright enough to pass for charming, had Hugin not already caught the sarcasm lurking beneath it; sharp just as the smile itself.
Sure you did. Hugin folded his arms over the railing, making no effort to hide his scepticism, yet he said nothing, sensing that the other man was not finished.
Proving him right, Argos clasped his hands behind his perfectly straight back, his mouth parting as he continued with his performance. "But I must confess, I was rather shocked to learn that you requested another one of MISS's attendants, considering you already employ one of our lovely maids." His grin sharpened, the questions beneath his words obvious as he fished for any information that he might provide him with.
Hugin huffed quietly at the blatant digging. Is he here to learn more about me?
He knew well enough that Argos's position within MISS relied heavily on information — and that being able to claim he possessed personal knowledge about the "infamous" Detective of Silverium would no doubt do wonders for his standing with future employers.
Whichever it was, Hugin saw no reason to hide most things about himself. They were hardly difficult to uncover anyway.
Even so… why should he make it easier for the man?
Without allowing the smug smile threatening to form at his thoughts, Hugin let out a quiet, “Hm?” His gaze narrowed as he tilted his head slightly, unsurprised when Argos read the gesture exactly as he'd intended and lifted his hands once more in surrender.
“Not that I'm suggesting you're short on coin. A detective of your calibre must earn rather better than the average sort."
Kiss-arse. This time, Hugin allowed himself to smile, amused by his man’s attempt at flattery. However, having been served up such a golden opportunity, he decided to offer the most widely known piece of information about himself — something that was practically considered fact by now, leaving Hugin with little more than to confirm it himself publicly.
“No. I’d say I’m quite poor. I get by from case to case, you see,” Hugin admitted with easy honesty as he turned towards the stairs.
The bills. The week's necessities. The upkeep on his reactor, supplies for his inventions and experiments, replacements for anything destroyed during a job, travel costs whenever a case demanded it — he would finish a job, get paid, and find himself back at zero by the week's end.
Argos's smile tighten ever so slightly with forced cheer as the man turned towards him, watching Hugin descend the stairs before making his way over. “Yeah,” he agreed, making no attempt to keep the thought to himself. “That you are.”
Hugin snorted, making no effort to hide that he'd seen straight through the man's scheme and deliberately gave him the short end of the stick. Argos merely shook his head, his smile softening into something rueful, as if to say, You'd really do your own mate this dirty?
Stopping beside him, Hugin caught the familiar cool scent of mint drifting from the taller man, before giving him an easy pat on the back, to which Argos tipped his head back towards the ceiling, eyes slipping shut as though accepting this job would hardly grant him easy access to the detective's secrets the way he'd hoped.
Turning from Argos's profile, Hugin looked ahead. The silence between them left plenty of room for Alf's muttering as she checked everything on her person, for at least the fifth time.
“She's quite the clumsy one,” Argos said, pitching his voice low enough for Hugin alone, “but I've heard she followed every S.T.A.T.S. case right up until the papers stopped printing them. Apparently, she’s able to recall them from memory.” Together, they watched the young girl nod to herself with determination before turning to unlock the front door.
“She's an earnest and hardworking girl... I'm glad her nature let her stick with you, rather than the organisation handing her off to someone less... pleasant than yourself.”
Hugin glanced at him, catching the quiet fondness in the man's smile. It carried the same unmistakable relief he'd seen on Munin's face whenever Hugin had done something reckless yet somehow remarkable — leaving his older sister feeling equal parts of pride and exasperated relief.
The front door opened, drawing Hugin's attention back where he watched Alf disappear into the crisp autumn morning, striding away without a backward glance, her thoughts no doubt already occupied with plotting the quickest route between the required shops.
“Yeah... she's a clever one. Learns fast,” Hugin admitted.
Now alone, he decided to make himself a cup of tea, knowing Alf was too caught up in restocking to think about making one for him. Not that he minded — he enjoyed the process; it settled parts of his restless mind surprisingly well.
Before he could ask whether Argos wanted one too, the man turned his full attention on him, looking down with renewed focus.
"Say, Detective—"
Hugin's eyes widened, feeling almost like prey beneath a fox's gaze that gleamed with knowledge of having it cornered. Before Hugin could work out how one man could command a room this effortlessly, Argos's smooth voice cut through the thought, pulling his attention back.
“I don't mean to pry—”
Hugin raised a brow, thoroughly unimpressed, making Argos grin and amend himself. "I don't mean to pry, this time — but while tending to your laundry, I happened to notice something rather peculiar.”
Curiosity glinted in his eyes, which Hugin could easily understand, though beneath it lay a note of genuine seriousness as Argos leant in ever so slightly. "Care to share why your usual clothes came back rumpled, covered in grass and dirt, and — dare I say it — torn in places?” His smile widened further, his eyes narrowing almost shut as he waited with infuriating patience for an answer.
Hugin simply leant back, staring at the man with wide eyes.
"Rough night, Detective?" Argos asked, his voice dripping with sickly sweetness.
Staring up at the man, Hugin found himself genuinely taken aback by the unusual seriousness in his tone. He quickly schooled his expression into something flat, about to respond—
Only to jump as the front door burst open.
He instinctively stepped back while Argos's stretched smile eased, the man straightening to his full height as they both turned towards the sound to find Alf clinging to the door handle, cheeks flushed and eyes wide, clearly having sprinted all the way back.
"Master!" She made no effort to lower her voice despite the early hour. As Hugin silently prayed the neighbours would not file another complaint, he give the girl a patient smile,“Yes?” he asked.
“Alf sincerely apologises for forgetting to tell you this, but Alf has placed all of Master's mail there!” She pointed towards the corner where Hugin usually sat to play chess.
Two comfortable armchairs faced one another with a chessboard between them, and atop the chair he never occupied sat four stacks of letters.
Hugin shook his head with quiet fondness. His hand instinctively reached for the brim of his top hat, only to grasp nothing, quickly covering the gesture by resting his hand atop his head instead.
"Thank you, Alf." He managed the words before the young girl flashed him a radiant goodbye, slammed the door shut, and vanished once more, the sharp clatter of her heels fading rapidly into the distance.
Seizing the opening, Hugin briskly crossed to Munin's chair and began sorting through the letters, hoping Argos would simply let the matter drop. He lacked the heart to send the man off to make tea merely to keep him occupied, as regardless of how Argos presented himself, Hugin could never quite see him as anything other than the well-informed bartender from MISS.
More than that, Argos was someone whom he genuinely enjoyed sharing a drink or two with, where their conversations always became little contests of wit, stimulating Hugin's own mind while, as Argos had quietly admitted one evening over closing drinks, sharpening his skills.
This, though, allowed the man to slip in behind him and settle at his side, perching on the arm of Hugin's chair with easy confidence. His posture was relaxed, his eyes half-lidded, evidently no longer bothering to maintain the pretence of a perfect butler while continuing to take full advantage of the role's benefits.
As Hugin sorted the letters into what could wait and what needed to be read now, his ears remained tuned to Argos's movements, his thoughts sharpening the moment the man spoke.
“How were you able to request another attendant from MISS, by the way? I meant it when I said that I was taken aback, knowing you are barely getting by.” His voice remained as smooth as ever, though the polished professionalism had slipped away entirely, allowing Hugin to settle into the familiar ease of their usual conversations as he glanced over the envelopes.
"Chief Lorin felt guilty about letting a wanted criminal stay so close to me."
"Ah!" Argos snapped his fingers. "The one from the Cinderella case. A few patrons were talking about it at the last bar I was assigned to entertain at. Quite the messy one, isn’t it?" The question seemed more conversational than genuine, not truly expecting an answer.
Even so, Hugin nodded. “Indeed.”
And, if anything, it still was.
Speaking of… I wonder how the analysis of the information I've provided is faring, he thought, before shaking his head a moment later. There was little point worrying over something that was not yet in front of him.
However, just as Hugin could steer a conversation wherever he pleased, Argos possessed much the same talent — only with far more finesse. So when the next question came, Hugin froze.
“Do your torn clothes have anything to do with that case?” The words were delivered so casually, so effortlessly, that had Hugin not spent years as a detective, he might have answered without thinking. Hell, had his mind still been clouded with fatigue, there was every chance his tongue would have betrayed him before his brain caught up.
Casting the man a sidelong glance, Hugin found Argos looking almost bored with the steady stream of envelopes he had been dropping across the chessboard, where he had taken it upon himself to arrange them into neat, orderly piles.
Of everyone Hugin now knew, Argos understood him the best, simply because it came with the profession. The man made his living reading people.
Which meant he should have known a question asked so plainly was never going to catch Hugin off guard.
Lowering his gaze, Hugin resumed sorting through the letters, though noticeably slower now. Asking so blatantly... He drew a slow breath before setting another envelope onto the chessboard, easily snatched by Argos, who slipped it neatly into the correct pile before silently waiting for the next.
“And if they did?” Hugin asked, matching the same casual tone. “What exactly do you need to know for?”
Despite the ease in his voice, Hugin could feel the subtle tension settling between them. Argos gave no indication that he had noticed the shift, simply continuing to organise the letters as Hugin placed another three in front of him while reading over the next envelope.
That was until the man let out a quiet snort.
Unable to help himself, Hugin stole a glance in his direction, watching as Argos lifted one of the taller stacks, tapped it lightly against the board to square the edges, only to slide it neatly into a line.
“What for? My, so sceptical, Detective~” His smile curved wider. “As your butler, I merely hoped to offer you a safe place to wallow in your worries.”
Hugin shot him a flat look, which Argos, naturally, returned with the picture of innocence.
Looking away again, Hugin finished reading another four letters before placing them down. Argos collected them at once while Hugin reached for the rest — a pale blue one edged with elegant gold trim was left untouched on the chair, knowing full well who it was from.
“As the butler, I've yet to sign a non-disclosure agreement with you before saying anything remotely personal around you.” The remark was delivered with a seriousness entirely at odds with the playful atmosphere that had lingered between them, dragging the conversation straight back into heavier territory.
As he placed another letter atop the others, Hugin paused, realising Argos had stopped taking them and was looking at him instead. Suppressing the urge to fidget, Hugin swallowed and continued working through the remaining envelopes.
With silence settling over them, Hugin was soon down to his last two letters, which is when Argos finally spoke again, his voice softer now, almost vulnerable. "Yeah... can't blame you for being careful around me." He sighed, and Hugin stole a glance at him, finding him smiling faintly at the tidy rows of envelopes he’d arranged, his hands loosely clasped in his lap.
“Didn't exactly help matters by joking about my position either.” He gave a dry little laugh before looking up with an earnest expression unlike anything Hugin had ever seen from him.
It was enough to make him go completely still and stare as Argos rested his left hand flat over his heart.
"Let me rephrase, then.” His voice remained light, though the usual theatrical charm was entirely absent from it. “As your friend... I simply worry about you, and want to know if you’re badly hurt beneath those clothes right now. That’s all.” He smiled with a sincerity that made Hugin hesitate, his gaze deepening as he held the detective’s attention.
Friend...? Hugin blinked, his eyes drifting towards the window, where the heavy curtains failed to conceal the faint strip of pale blue spreading across the street outside where the sun had yet to rise.
When was the last time he'd had someone to call a friend, outside of his sister?
Too long, he thought. If ever.
His gaze lowered to the letters resting in his hands, his tight grip loosening against the delicate paper. He bit his tongue as the sensation of having someone worry for him washed over him. Three years without his late sister fussing over him had been long enough for him to forget such feeling.
But... The thought of lowering his guard — even a little — with someone who wasn't Munin still felt profoundly unfamiliar.
Unable to meet Argos's eyes, he could still feel them resting on him. It was expectant, but not demanding — patient rather than pressing.
He allowed the silence to stretch as he carefully read through the two remaining envelopes before setting them down, after which Argos quietly gathered all of them, arranging each into its respective line without a word. Throughout it all, Hugin kept his attention fixed on the window.
Only when he saw Argos place the final envelope down did he finally part his lips. "I—" The word died before it could leave him. With a quiet sigh, he closed his eyes for a brief moment before reluctantly turning towards Argos. The man merely watched him with a patient expression, making no attempt to pull more from him than Hugin was willing to offer.
"It wasn't because of that case," Hugin admitted at last. "A madam hired me to dispose of a film she appeared in."
Argos raised a brow, an amused smile spreading across his face. Careful not to rest his elbows on the neatly arranged letters covering the chessboard, he propped his chin on one hand. "Ohoho~ I might know which madam you mean, but never mind that." His smile stretched playfully. "It's rather hard to believe one of her secret lovers would give you that much trouble." Then his eyes widened, as though a thought had only just struck him. "Wait..." He leaned forward slightly. "Did you fight one of the lover's hounds?" he asked, genuinely entertaining the idea that Hugin had somehow ended up brawling with a dog.
"I've heard a few of them enjoy heading into the forest to hunt." Argos continued, his gaze sweeping over Hugin's frame, searching for any concealed bite marks or other signs of a dog attack.
Hugin couldn't stop a short huff of laughter escaping him. Truth be told, Argos was not that far from the truth. Turning fully towards him, he rested a hip against the edge of the chessboard and folded his arms. "Don't insult me like that. A pampered dog, regardless of the breed, wouldn't be any trouble for me."
Dear Detective,
I hope you are faring well.
Seeing the disastrous scene you directed me towards was both heartbreaking and infuriating in equal measure. How dare that scoundrel do such a thing to you and Superintendent Rex! I only hope they didn't cause you as much trouble as your letter suggested, given you took to pursuing them yourself and asked me to go to Sir Rex's aid.
Speaking of — when I arrived, as you had requested me to do alone, I found Sir Rex looking well, already standing over a man I was informed was the one you had been pursuing. When I asked about the other suspect, Sir Rex's expression darkened, and he said nothing more to me — I am led to believe he may have been worried for you. Please do write to him as well, once you've read this.
In brief, the other man was taken into the Navy's custody, though I do not know what became of him afterwards. Rest assured, however, that the Navy will handle the matter safely! It would also be well worth contacting them regarding the other suspect as well, if you haven't already done so.
Please write back with any news so that my heart might finally settle. I've been worried for you ever since your last letter arrived so late, carrying such a brief and straightforward message!
Praised be upon you from the Queen, Feliana.
With many sunny days,
Yours always,
Gratia.
Hugin's brows furrowed as he lifted the letter closer to his face, as though proximity might help him make sense of what he had just read. Wait… he was fine?
Before the thought could settle into anything coherent, the cool scent of mint drifted over him, and in the next instant, the letter was plucked cleanly from his hands. Hugin's eyes widened as he turned towards the culprit, only to find Argos already skimming the page, all the while pressed casually against Hugin side, blatantly using him as something to lean on rather than displaying anything that could genuinely be mistaken for affection by anyone watching.
"Is this how you treat all your patrons?" Hugin asked flatly. "By sticking your nose into their business." He regarded the man with open disapproval, yet made no attempt to reclaim the letter. He had already decided — jarring as it might still feel — that placing greater trust in the people around him meant allowing a greater degree of familiarity in return. Those bound closer were less inclined to betray him after all, and… were far more likely to become something... lasting.
The hollow his late sister had left behind stirred painfully in his chest right before Hugin forced the feeling aside before it could take hold.
Averting his gaze, he grounded himself by shoving lightly at Argos's side, making certain the man understood he was fully aware of being used as a convenient support.
Argos yielded without complaint, only to settle straight back against him; the curl of his lips made it clear he had understood the gesture perfectly and had no intention of respecting it as his eyes dropped to meet Hugin's. "I'll have you know we at MISS go by one very simple rule — our patron's safety comes first," The line rolled effortlessly off his tongue, exactly as Alf was repeating it, and exactly as every MISS attendant recited whenever they found themselves fighting with Hugin to shield their “dear” employer.
Not that such a threadbare rule had ever stopped any of them from snooping under the convenient guise of protection apparently.
Hugin let out a quiet huff, allowing himself to be swept along by Argos's theatrics as the man gestured animatedly with the hand still holding Gratia's letter.
"I'll have you know, Master~"
Hugin's expression soured immediately — he still hadn't grown accustomed to Alf addressing him that way, let alone Argos.
"In my years working under MISS, I've come across all manner of fascinating people — admirers, stalkers, those teetering between the legal and the illegal — all through nothing but written words,” Smiling to himself, Argos swept the letter beneath his nose, before whatever he had intended to say next died on his tongue as recognition flashed across his face and his gaze snapped down to the sender's name at the bottom of the page.
His eyes widened, and a low whistle escaped him. "My, my..." His smile broadened. "Now I can't decide whether our meeting was fortunate for you or for me."
He looked like a child let loose in a sweet shop as he turned to Hugin, who remained propped against the chess table, faintly amused despite himself.
"You have a personal correspondence with the very knight Her Majesty appointed herself? Colour me impressed, Detective." Without waiting for a response, he returned to the letter once more, his expression noticeably more focused as he read it again with far greater care.
Hugin could practically feel the question approaching long before it was asked, and sure enough, the moment the thought finished forming, Argos spoke.
"Do you suppose it would trouble you to arrange a meeting between the Bunny Knight and me?"
Hugin stared at him, thoroughly unimpressed. The man had clearly recognised an opportunity the instant it appeared before him, yet at least possessed enough restraint not to seize it without permission. With a sigh, Hugin let his head dip. It’s clear he'd taken this job for reasons of his own… but why?
Looking back up through the fringe of his silver hair, one finger resting thoughtfully against his chin, he asked bluntly, "Tell me why you're really here, and I'll grant your request."
Argos answered without missing a beat, still reading. "Thought having you owe me a favour might prove useful somewhere down the line."
Hugin's mouth fell open in disbelief before he shook his head and gestured towards him. "You're already being paid. Besides, I never personally asked you to play my butler."
Argos finished the final line of the letter before turning back to Hugin, smiling with the easy confidence of a man who had played this particular game of cat and mouse so many times that he'd long since started writing the rules himself. "Indeed you have not," he replied, his eyes narrowing with quiet amusement. "But as I said before... a familiar face is far more reassuring to have beside you than a stranger who's only here for the money." His smile deepened. "Wouldn't you agree, Detective~" He practically purred the words.
Hugin's own eyes narrowed as his jaw tightened, because Argos was not wrong.
MISS attendants were loyal unto death to whoever paid them.
Hugin might trust Lorin, and he knew Bentham bore him no ill will — but the Constabulary itself operated on funds provided by UMI. Which meant that, in the end, every MISS attendant assigned to the Constabulary ultimately belonged to UMI as well.
Well played. This time it was Hugin who sighed, tipping his head towards the ceiling with his eyes closed. He could practically feel Argos preening at his victory.
No doubt satisfied, the man let the matter drop to move on to another topic. "Mind finishing your story, then?"
"Story?" Hugin asked, peering at the other man over the bridge of his nose as he folded his arms once more, settling into an outwardly relaxed posture.
Argos hummed, remaining comfortably at ease with one arm resting across his chest while the other, holding the letter, was propped atop it. "The story about the clever detective nearly being mauled by a mad dog whilst pursuing a slippery 'suspect'." The seriousness he'd worn moments before had completely vanished, leaving little doubt he'd worked out what — or rather who — had reduced Hugin's clothes to such a state.
Hugin's crossed arms tightened as he fixed the man with a flat, judgemental stare. "By the sound of it, you've already worked out most of what happened," he replied, doing his utmost not to grit the words through his teeth as Argos so shamelessly teased him about the fight with the Superintendent.
"Mh, perhaps~"
Hugin's eyes narrowed further at the singsong reply as he watched the man tilt his head, his eyes glancing down at the letter before stepping closer, waving it idly to one side whilst never taking his eyes off Hugin. "But you see, Detective, as wonderfully thorough as Ms Gratia is, there's a gap in her account — and unfortunately, I'm missing the evidence needed to fill it."
Hugin remained silent as Argos stopped in front of him, looming comfortably over him, and though he didn’t let his narrowed gaze falter, his curiosity had been thoroughly piqued by the mention of a missing piece.
"Ms Gratia said, and I quote, 'I found Sir Rex looking well, already standing over a man," Argos continued, never breaking eye contact. "I've seen part of what that man did to you, but I seem to have forgotten to ask..." Each word came slow and deliberate, placed with the care of a chess piece advancing towards a victory planned several moves ahead.
He leaned over Hugin, who in turn didn't retreat, meeting the man's gaze head-on, and even lifting his chin ever so slightly to make it abundantly clear he wasn't intimidated in the slightest. Waiting for the Argos's next words, felt much like watching an opponent reach for the final piece before setting it down in a position that could spell checkmate, provided the other player failed to defend their king in their round.
"What exactly did you do to the righteous Scales of the Navy, Detective?"
Hugin swallowed almost imperceptibly, watching the man through the fringe hanging over his eyes. What did he have to lose by telling the truth?
...And, perhaps more importantly…
What did he stand to gain?
After several long moments of silent stalemate, Hugin let out a weary sigh and rubbed a hand across his forehead, his mind unhelpfully replaying exactly what his exhausted self had done only hours earlier.
God... I can never show my face in front of him again, can I? The thought might have been comforting, had he not known both his own abysmal luck and the Superintendent's maddening tendency to pursue him for reasons known only to himself.
Shouldn't this count as an abuse of authority? Hugin thought dryly. Eyes still closed, he pinched the bridge of his nose.
He really needed a cup of tea.
“I tied his hands behind his back with his own tie, threw him to the ground, then taped his mouth before leaving him there like that,” Hugin answered plainly, reducing the entire encounter to its simplest details.
Without missing a beat, Argos snorted. "My- Colour me surprised."
Just hearing the sly tone was enough to make him shoot the man a warning look. "Argos,” Hugin began, his tone low. "Do not—"
"What a kinky man you are, Detective~" Argos all but purred, leaning to one side; he pressed just a little bit closer with a provoking smile curled across his lips. "Doing that to such a high-ranking Navy officer... my, my. I suppose you truly trust the fellow holds you in rather high regard, hmm~"
Hugin fixed him with a sharp stare, where for one fleeting moment, he found himself contemplating whether his years of investigative experience might be put to rather different use — namely, committing a crime with no witnesses, no evidence, and certainly no marks left behind.
The perfect crime.
Almost as if sensing his intent, Argos blinked at him with exaggerated innocence, his eyes widening ever so slightly. "What's with that look?"
Hugin turned forward and closed his eyes. "Nothin’," he muttered under his breath, filing the idea neatly into the ever-growing mental folder labelled Just in Case as he heard Argos straighten up beside him.
"Oh, you definitely thought about killing me just then, didn't you?" The man sounded thoroughly amused rather than remotely offended or scared.
Hugin didn't grace the accusation with an answer. Instead, he pushed himself away from the table, deciding it was time to make himself a cup of tea. As he stepped past Argos, fully intending to leave the man to prepare his own if he wished to, he came to a halt when Argos spoke again.
"That wasn't the clue that was missing, Detective."
Slowly, Hugin turned just enough to regard him from the side, watching the man still smiling to himself as he laid the letter face down upon the chessboard without once looking away from him. "What was it that allowed such a feared man to be brought down by a detective with remarkable skill, certainly, but no formal combat training? Have you solved that mystery yet?"
Hugin's eyes narrowed. What is he getting at?
He studied Argos for another moment, but the man merely returned the look with quiet curiosity, as though genuinely awaiting an answer despite already appearing to have reached several conclusions of his own.
"You're making it sound as though overpowering him was easy." It wasn't. From what little of the encounter Hugin could recall with any clarity, the scuff had gone on long enough to prove one thing beyond doubt — it had been anything but easy. The bruises still mottling his body were another proof of that.
Argos, unsurprisingly, seemed to recognise that Hugin was withholding part of the story. A knowing glint flashed briefly through his eyes, accompanied by a smile that looked suspiciously like a smirk, before clasping his hands behind his back and stepping forward, circling Hugin at an unhurried pace.
Hugin’s gaze followed him despite himself as Argos began to speak.
"I'm not implying that, Detective. In the Queen's name, no," Argos replied, shaking his head with theatrical sympathy. "I'm merely pointing out the rather obvious gap. You wouldn't knock unconscious the very man you intended to question — certainly not before the interrogation, nor after. So Sir Rex must have done that himself. Which means the fight began after he'd already gone down."
Argos continued his slow circuit.
"You fought him for who knows how long, leaving him trussed up as you described, where, whether you returned to check on the unconscious man afterwards hardly matters." He stopped. "What matters is—"
Despite himself, Hugin felt a flicker of surprise at Argos’s deduction, along with a reluctant sense of admiration. Caught off guard, Argos used his stunt silence to close the remaining distance until he stood beside Hugin’s right side. With a sly gleam dancing in his eyes, Argos leaned closer and spoke quietly into his ear.
"Why didn't Sir Rex free himself from those restraints, when the letter makes it perfectly clear that he could have?"
Swallowing, Hugin pushed down the thought that resurfaced with the question. He hated admitting — even to himself — that some small, selfish part of him found it oddly gratifying that Rex had chosen to remain bound. Yet what unsettled him far more was the persistent feeling that he should have done something more before leaving him there.
Shaking the thought aside, Hugin turned his head just enough to meet Argos's gaze, whose attempt at looking innocent was, frankly, dreadful.
"Waiting for an opening to strike," Hugin answered evenly. "Which, mind you, I didn’t give him, since I left almost immediately." The moment the word almost escaped him, Hugin felt his jaw tighten.
He resisted the urge to clamp his mouth shut as the spark that lit Argos's eyes confirmed he’d caught it too. The realisation left Hugin suspended somewhere between irritation and slight satisfaction. This exchange has begin to remind him more and more of the verbal sparring he used to have with Munin.
The difference was that, with Munin, they had always been trying to solve the same mystery together — With Argos, it felt as though laying out every piece of evidence he possessed was entirely out of the question, as it would sooner be used against him than to solve anything.
Thankfully — or perhaps not — Argos seemed content to step over the observation and instead stepped around behind him.
Before Hugin could turn to follow, a gentle, soft gloved hand settled beneath his left hand, startling him immediately. For the briefest moment, the touch was replaced by memory of the rough grip of leather clasped around his own hand and the sharp jolt that had travelled through him at the contact with startling clarity.
And yet, instead of the sudden spark, Hugin felt only a cool, soothing sensation that eased some of the tension from his muscles, quietly pulling him back into the present where his brain realised that, right, this is Argos.
As Hugin gradually came back to himself, Argos placed his other hand lightly against his abdomen, barely applying any pressure, and with effortless elegance raised Hugin's left arm, inclining his head as his voice lowered beside him once more.
"Non, non," Argos murmured smoothly, drawing out the French words as he shook his head gently. A few strands of dark teal hair brushed against Hugin's own, the sensation conjuring a strange image of a fox nuzzling against a confused cat — an impression that dissolved the instant his focus snapped back, his ears straining to catch every word that followed.
"You, our darling detective," he continued, gently guiding Hugin into a slow sway, "are the one who waits, and then strikes."
Hugin scarcely registered that Argos had eased him into a slight dip to the left before smoothly shifting to speak into his opposite ear, supporting most of his weight without the slightest effort as Hugin’s attention was far too occupied with committing every word to memory.
"Having had the privilege of sharing one of your grand adventures alongside him," Argos continued, "those brief moments alone taught me something about the 'stoic' Commander." His voice dropped another fraction. "Rex," he breathed casually into Hugin's ear, "doesn't waste a quarter of a second before striking back."
With those simple words, every encounter he'd ever had with the Superintendent — whether fighting alongside him or against him — came rushing back, even the flashes from that very night, all revealing the obvious.
Argos is right.
In none of his memories had Rex ever waited; he'd always flashed straight back in, so much so that Hugin began to wonder whether the man had ever truly been pushed back in the first place.
As though hearing the frantic rhythm of Hugin's thoughts, Argos chose that moment to pose his question again.
"So then... why didn't Sir Rex bother getting out of his restraints, when he could have?"
Because... Hugin thought, but the answer refused to come. Because he— No, no, it wasn't because he waited. Or rather… it wasn't because he waited to strike.
What then — why hadn't he done anything? Or better yet…
What had he been waiting for?
Before his thoughts could weave the final thread together, someone in the room cleared their throat.
The sharp sound cut through the strange little bubble surrounding them. Both Hugin and Argos froze simultaneously, remaining exactly as they were — Argos still supporting him in the shallow dip against his chest, one hand resting lightly at his middle while the other continued to hold Hugin’s arm in its elegant extension.
Without meaning to, their attention snapped towards the interruption in perfect unison, no doubt resembling two deer caught in headlights.
There, standing at the entrance, was Superintendent Rex, his expression caught somewhere between judgement and quiet bewilderment as he stared at them.
His usual cap was nowhere to be seen, allowing the breeze outside to toy freely with his dark hair, the now familiar strand atop his crown springing loosely before settling back amongst the rest while dressed in far more casual clothing than Hugin had ever seen him wear: a dark, high-collared shirt framed by a crimson neckline, its pleated front falling over a pair of fitted black trousers with the rest of the shirt tucked neatly in.
Draped over it was also a long black overcoat lined with deep red, one side fastened across his chest by an unmistakably expensive silver brooch meant to keep the autumn chill at bay, while wearing black shoes, polished to a mirror shine.
Neither Hugin nor Argos spoke for several long seconds; they simply stared at a man who resembled nothing of the stoic officer they were both accustomed to.
Were it not for those crimson eyes holding the familiar depths, Hugin would have believed this was Rex's richer, more sophisticated twin brother—
Oh, no, that's him alright, Hugin thought, watching Rex's eyes narrow another fraction as he folded his arms across his chest. His deep carmines, though softened by the dim light inside Hugin's home, still managed to bored straight through him, carrying a single, unmistakable command.
Speak.