Chapter Text
They don’t talk about the kiss. The three of them go on as though nothing happened, as though Rye never dragged Rei from the river, never pulled him home and put him to bed and begged him – begged him – to quit this deadly life of theirs.
But every time now that Rei brushes too close to the sniper while reaching for a cup or drifts too near while they slip on their shoes together at the front door, it’s Rye who pulls back first. He’s usually a master at hinting at amusement without ever actually smiling, at letting his dancing eyes speak for him. But now his eyes are dull as sea-glass, the brightness worn away by – what? Fear? Concern? Rei doesn’t know.
When they’re together the air feels thin, as though the intensity of their emotions were burning away the oxygen and leaving the atmosphere deadly. Rei finds it hard to think around the sniper, and a NOC who can’t think is one step away from being dead and dumped.
In an ideal world this starving, sucking void between them would simply vanish, magicked away by good intentions and necessity. But nothing about Rei’s world has ever been ideal, and he’s very aware that if they don’t eventually address the situation one of them will make a mistake he can’t afford.
***
He times it carefully, waiting for a day when Scotch is out and Rye is awake, holed up in his room reviewing an equipment order for Vodka. Lying on his own bed, only one thin wall between him and the sniper, Rei can hear the moment that the other operative pushes away from his desk and stands, probably done with his work. He gets up and crosses quickly to the door, stepping out into the hallway and into Rye’s doorframe just as the sniper opens the door inwards. He blinks at the sight of Rei right there, instinctively taking a step back.
“Bourbon,” he says carefully, as if sipping his namesake. “What can I do for you?”
Rei steps closer and Rye takes another step back into his room. It’s the smallest of the three bedrooms, barely room for a double bed and a desk. The curtains are drawn; they’re made of deep yellow cloth that paints the room in tones of butter as the spring sunlight filters through.
“What are you afraid of?” asks Rei, tone curt.
“Afraid of?”
Rei takes another step forward, Rye one step back, the two of them in an awkward dance. “You don’t want me near you.”
“What I want is different from what I can afford,” replies Rye slowly, his face stony. “This isn’t a life where we can afford luxuries.”
“Is that what I am? A luxury?”
“Isn’t that what any relationship is?”
Rei frowns slightly. “We’re social animals, Rye. We need human contact. No matter how much simpler it would be if we could just live like hermits.”
“We’re strangers to each other. That’s dangerous.”
“I’m not asking you to marry me. This isn’t a long-term commitment. Either one of us could be posted out of town – out of the country – at any time.”
Rye lets out a slow breath. His shoulders relax, his face easing. He’s too good an agent to not be doing it intentionally, but Rei feels a throb of relief all the same. “What is it you want, Bourbon? You already have Scotch.”
“And you have Miyano Akemi. Clearly neither of us is getting what we need. Scotch is my friend. And she’s – what? Your ticket into the Organization?”
At once, Rei feels the mood in the room darken. Rye’s eyes glint, the stoniness in his face back as though it had never gone, this time flint-tipped. Sharp; dangerous. “What she is to me is none of your business,” he says flatly, tone perfectly even.
Rei forces himself to shrug off the words that feel like a slap to the face. “Fine. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe we don’t need each other. Maybe you’re nice and taken care of already.”
He turns to go, and Rye catches his wrist with a steely grip.
“Let go.” He speaks without turning around, voice dripping with threat.
Rye waits for three seconds, then releases him. Polite, but unafraid. “Bourbon… is it really worth the danger?”
“To me, or to you?” snaps Rei, turning. “Who is it you’re afraid for? I’m a big boy, Rye – and I play for big stakes. I don’t need your concern.”
“What is it you do need?” asks Rye, again. Sniffing for commitment, for compassion. Damn him.
Rei stares back at him, words thrown back in the sniper’s face. “What I need is someone in my bed who doesn’t ask too many questions. I’m not proposing a sharing and caring relationship with chocolates and roses, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“The Black Organization Lonely Hearts Club?” asks Rye, wryly.
“What happens in the dark doesn’t need a label,” replies Rei.
Slowly, deliberately, Rye reaches past him and turns out the overhead light. There’s still diffuse light filtering in through the curtains, but it’s dim now, the narrow room shadowed. Rei’s suddenly aware of the smallest sounds: the hum of Rye’s laptop, the rumble of traffic outside the single-pane window.
The low, steady sound of the sniper’s breathing. There’s just a slight anticipatory hitch to it.
“Good,” purrs Rei, and pushes Rye back down onto the bed; Rye doesn’t object. Smooth as a stalking cat, he follows him down, a predatory smile on his lips.
***
Like a summer storm breaking, their brief, fierce love-making dissipates the tension in the air between the two of them. Having fallen once together and gotten back up again they know they can do it again.
And so they do. In the mornings, when Scotch is at the store. In the afternoons, when he’s at the gym. At 4am when Rye’s just finished his calls with America and Rei’s bad-tempered and itchy with lust, the two of them moving together in sweaty, strangled silence.
Afterwards they break apart like Christmas crackers, not drifting away from each other but actively separating, deliberately putting distance between themselves. Showering, drinking, smoking, as if to erase the memories of skin against skin, mouth against mouth.
But there’s no forgetting. Rei knows it as he lies awake in the middle of the night listening to the low cadence of Rye’s voice through the wall. They’re bound together now, sink or swim.
So he might as well make use of the fact.
***
He starts slow over coffee, Rei pouring it out while Rye sits with his long legs curled beneath the chair, feet resting on the crossbar. “Another wrongful conviction in the news,” he says, glancing at the paper over Rye’s shoulder.
“Aa.”
“Police don’t seem to be doing their jobs.”
“All the better for us.”
“You don’t think that a law-abiding society is important for a peaceful life?” Rye pours out his own coffee and drifts over, hooking out a chair and sitting. The coffee is hot, rich and black.
Rye glances up. His green eyes have lost their dullness, have returned to their former piercing colour. “I can’t remember a time when my life was peaceful,” he replies.
“So you condemn everyone else to that life too?”
Rye’s lips quirk upwards. “Bourbon, you sound almost passionate about it. Or is it just that you enjoy being argumentative?”
“I enjoy being right,” replies Rei haughtily, taking a sip of his coffee. “Or do you really think that lawlessness is the best thing for society?”
“I think even the most civil society will have sharks swimming beneath the water line. I would rather be a shark than a minnow. But if you’re asking whether we need minnows – well, the sharks would starve without them. So if your society needs laws and policing to keep the minnows fat and happy, I don’t object.”
“You’re a cynical bastard, you know that?”
Rye laughs.
***
Rei doesn’t know how Hiromitsu finds out, and really he doesn’t even know that he knows, because the other PSB agent never says anything. But Rei feels that he knows what’s going on between him and Rye, and he has the sense that he doesn’t approve.
Which Rei feels scrappy about, because it was his goddamn idea in the first place. But in the time since suggesting that Rei bring Rye over to their side he seems to have begun to genuinely warm up to the other operative, and tricking two people you like into a relationship for a goal that will bring both of them nothing but danger and heartache isn’t something Hiromitsu could live with easily.
Rei gives him every opportunity to voice his thoughts; he goes shopping with his fellow agent, stays up and chats in his room while Hiromitsu is writing worms and brings in breakfast when he’s too tired to come down in the mornings.
But Hiromitsu says nothing. The closest he comes to it is one afternoon while the two of them are alone together downstairs watching TV, Rye out conducting some black market deal.
“Zero?”
He glances over at Hiromitsu, who is watching the TV without really seeing it, his eyes focused for distance.
“It’s not too late for you to pull out.”
His first reaction is anger, his second indignation. He lets them both pass like two waves breaking on the shore, fingertips digging into his jeans. “Of course it is. We’ve spent 14 months on this. And besides, I couldn’t get out without burning you.”
“I wouldn’t mind.”
Without thinking, Rei reaches over and grabs his collar. Hiromitsu’s head snaps around, his eyes wide; Rei gives him a shake, hard. “Don’t you dare say that,” he snarls. “Your life –”
“Is less important than this mission. You know that.”
“It’s not less important than mine. If you don’t know that you damn well should. Don’t ever suggest I would throw you away.”
Hiromitsu puts his hand over Rei’s. “But you would. If you had to. And I would be okay with it. You’re precious, Zero. I’m an ordinary agent – you’re so much more. You could be so much more. Don’t let this life make you forget that.”
“You have something I never will,” replies Rei. “A family. A brother who loves you. That’s worth more than any skill of mine. So don’t you go throwing anything away. I mean it.”
“Rei…”
Rei releases his collar and looks away. “Watch the goddamn movie,” he says.
***
His attempts to convince Rye that moral obligations can override personal satisfaction are slow and mostly unsuccessful. Rye plainly admits that he believes in revenge over lawful justice, that his opinion of law enforcement – or at least Japan’s – is poor at best, and that he doesn’t have a problem with going outside the moral code to do the work he thinks is important.
“So what you’re saying is, might makes right,” drawls Rei one afternoon when they’re sitting outside on the porch. Rye’s smoking, Rei sitting upwind of the pale grey smoke rising in lazy curls.
“We are driven by the wrongs imposed on us. The bigger the wrong, the more driven we are. It’s not our inherent strength that matters, it’s the lengths to which we’ll go to achieve our goals. Those who are successful are, in the end, the ones who were driven the hardest.”
“That’s such bullshit. Those who are successful are the ones with the money and the power. Which is why we need to temper that playing field, make it even for everyone.”
“To drive out all crime, you would have to impose such restrictions and monitoring that you would make peoples’ lives unlivable. A police state with good intentions is still a police state.”
“You always drive to the extremes. A country that marries police enforcement with civil dedication can be very successful in driving out crime. Look at Japan.”
“Where we’re currently operating,” replies Rye, dryly.
“Extremes,” says Rei, again. “And…” And the PSB is here, too. But he can’t say that.
Rye glances at him. “And…?”
Rei shakes his head. “Nothing. I’m going inside; that smoke makes me want to puke.”
***
Rye cares about him. It’s evident in his caresses, in his kisses, in the way their bodies move in tandem between the sheets. But there’s no way to know how much he cares, what he would be willing to risk for Rei. Rei skirts up to the edge of his secret but can go no further, unable to make the leap. If he’s wrong, if Rye’s not to be trusted, Rye will snap his neck and probably Hiromitsu’s for good measure.
Lying in his arms, breathing in his breaths and feeling his heartbeat through his chest is driving Rei mad. If he didn’t care for Rye at the start he does now, is bound to him so close it’s suffocating. Every breath, every laugh, every wry look makes Rei’s heart pound. He hadn’t known he could care so much for someone without really knowing them, had never expected he would so easily surrender his heart.
But if he shares his secret, it might be his life he’s surrendering.
***
It’s late and he’s home alone waiting for both Hiromitsu and Rye. He’s making hot pot tonight, the ingredients already chopped up and the soup broth ready; once they come home he’ll be able to get it boiling in minutes.
Rei’s messing around on his computer, trawling random news sites and social media, when his phone buzzes. He ignores it for a minute until he’s finished reading his article, then picks it up.
It’s from Hiromitsu. He opens the message, and feels his blood drain out of his face.
I'm sorry Furuya. My PSB identity has been seen through by those people...it seems like the only route of retreat left is to the other world... goodbye Zero.
Rei’s moving before he’s finished reading the text. Has sprinted upstairs and grabbed his holster and gun. An instant later he’s downstairs shoving on his shoes, then out the door without even bothering to lock it.
He knows where Hiromitsu was heading tonight, to plant some code in the security system of a hotel in downtown Roppongi. He hails a cab as soon as he’s on the street and orders the driver to do whatever he has to to get there immediately.
It still takes twenty minutes, Rei locking down all his emotions to keep himself from having a breakdown in the back seat. He throws his money at the cabbie as he sprints out, finding the outside stairwell and running up the seven flights of stairs so fast his stomach feels like it’s climbing his insides. His lungs are burning and he’s near to gagging when he approaches the top, gun in hand – ready to fight whoever’s after Hiromitsu and get the two of them the hell out of this life of secrets and murder.
With five steps to go, he hears a shot. He covers the last stairs three at a time and slams up onto the roof.
Long hair. Black hat. Smoking gun.
Even with his back to Rei, he knows Rye the instant he sees him. Knows the revolver in his hand. Knows, behind him, Hiromitsu staring wildly.
My PSB identity has been seen through by those people.
And those people include Rye.
Rei can’t feel his heartbeat, can’t hear his thoughts in his head, can’t hear anything. It’s as though he’s in a void of silence, of emptiness.
Rei raises his gun.
“Zero, stop!” shouts Hiromitsu, reaching out. But he’s already pulled the trigger.
Rye’s gun goes flying even as the sniper falls, right hand rising to his left shoulder as he hunches on the rooftop in front of Hiromitsu like a kicked dog.
It’s not Rei who crosses the roof, who marches over the space between them and claps his pistol to Rye’s head. It’s Bourbon, Bourbon who is nothing but ice and steel, who feels nothing because if he once lets himself feel then he’ll shatter into a thousand pieces. His finger tightens on the trigger.
Hiromitsu grabs him. “Stop! Zero – stop it! He’s one of us!”
Rei stares at him, trying to make sense of his words through the dead air. Then looks down at Rye, who’s staring up at him, his face a snarl of pain.
“Akai Shuuichi,” he says, voice raw. “FBI.”
Rei drops the gun; it clatters to the ground with a sound like something breaking.
He shot Rye. Shot him down without a second thought. The way his chest is aching, it feels like Rei was the one who took the bullet.
Hiromitsu has grabbed his shoulders, is holding him, voice earnest and intense. He stares into Rei’s eyes, but Rei can hardly see him. “He came to protect me, Zero. He knows about me.”
“I was the one who found out his identity. No one else knows,” pants Rye. Red blood is seeping through his pale fingers, staining his skin crimson. Rei stares at it dully.
“We’ve got to get out of here. Someone will have reported the gunshots,” says Hiromitsu, letting go of Rei and bending down to pick up both dropped weapons. The pistol he hands back to Rei, the revolver he takes for himself. “Zero – we’ve got to go. And… Akai-san needs medical attention.”
“Bourbon still hasn’t introduced himself,” says Rye – Akai – unmoving. His eyes are fever-bright, so sharp they could cut.
Rei’s thoughts are a howling sandstorm, just a ripping, tearing blur inside his head. But he’s been trained to handle any circumstance, to remain calm in any situation. So he does.
“PSB senior agent, Furuya Rei,” says Rei, voice dead. “Now get up. We’ve got to find you a doctor.”
***
In the end they have to use their PSB connections to ferret out an underground doctor operating from an unlicensed clinic to take the bullet out of Akai’s shoulder. The man has no assistant – the clientele he entertains don’t trust unnecessary eyes and ears – and so Rei and Hiromitsu help cut the bloody shirt from Akai Shuuichi’s body. The bullet wound is dark and puckering just under the left collarbone, and the fact that he’s not dead means it probably hasn’t hit anything too important. The doctor takes x-rays to be sure, then knocks the FBI agent out with a dose of morphine and sets into task of digging the slug out of the muscle and bone.
Rei and Hiromitsu sit on a pair of cheap plastic chairs in the corner of the exam room while the doctor works, stony and silent.
The doctor finally produces the bullet and drops it into a metal basin. “Two centimeters lower and he wouldn’t be needing my help,” says the man dryly.
Rei stands up abruptly and pushes violently out into the darkened hallway. He feels like he’s being torn apart, his stomach churning sickeningly, his throat closing up. He had intended to shoot to kill; was it a fluke he missed? Or some subconscious sentiment that had adjusted his aim?
He sinks to his knees breathing hard, his gasps ragged. The near tragedy of the night – both Hiromitsu and Akai – has its fingers around his throat, crushing his windpipe. He makes a high sound of pain and hears a door open behind him.
“It’s okay, Zero,” says Hiromitsu softly. “He’s going to be okay. And so am I.” His partner – his best friend – kneels down beside him and puts a gentle hand on his back, the weight solidly comforting between his shoulders. “Breathe, Zero. Just breathe.”
***
By the time Akai starts to wake up, newly stitched up and bandaged and wearing a cheap shirt Hiromitsu grabbed at an all-night GU, Rei’s completely composed and waiting calmly by his bed.
He watches the doctor take his vitals, then check his pupil dilation and blood oxygen level. Finally he shrugs and pulls the device off Akai’s fingertip. “He can go. He should take pain killers and antibiotics; here are the bottles and the instructions. Don’t come back.” He pushes the two pill bottles at Rei and glares pointedly until the two PSB agents pull Akai up to his feet and help him out.
It’s nearly sunrise outside, and even the drunkest of salarymen have made it home by now. Cabs are few and far between but fortunately the busiest of the train lines have already started running for the day. They transit back to their local station and walk, Akai with it enough to put one foot in front of the other.
Back in their safe house they help him upstairs and dump him in his bed, Hiromitsu bringing a glass of water while Rei sits in the solo desk chair, arms over his chest.
“I’ll go and… go,” says Hiromitsu awkwardly, slipping out.
On the bed Akai’s lying on his back, his long hair swept under him like a blanket, his drug-dull eyes staring at the ceiling.
“This whole time… you weren’t trying to protect me because of how you feel, but because of who you are,” says Rei softly, voice flat.
“Does that mean you weren’t sleeping with me because of how you feel, but who you are?” replies Akai, voice strangely soft. His tones are heavy, tired.
“Do you really believe I would compromise myself by feeling something for you?” The words taste like bile in his mouth, thick and acidic.
“You are the one who said there wouldn’t be chocolates or roses,” agrees the FBI agent. “Just bullets and blame.”
“I’m not sorry for shooting you,” says Rei immediately. “If you had been who you pretended to be – if you really had found Scotch out…”
Akai’s eyes tighten, his lashes heavy. “I don’t blame you. But I’m not sure you won’t blame yourself.”
Rei snorts, puts everything he has into that indignation. “Don’t think so highly of yourself.”
“So I mean nothing to you, and you mean nothing to me. Is that the way this ends?”
“That would be easiest.”
Akai turns to look at him. There are dark shadows under his eyes – real shadows, not just his ridiculously thick lashes – and his skin is pasty. Sweat is beading at his hairline, likely from pain. “And when have we ever chosen the easy way?”
“What do you want me to say?”
The FBI agent’s green eyes glint, just slightly. “That you still need me as much today as you did yesterday. Just as I do you.”
Rei feels his heart catch beneath his ribs, feels the juddering pulse as it starts again. “How can you say that after last night? How can you still want me – want us?” I tried to kill you, he thinks but doesn’t say.
He knows that Akai knows it. And yet, he doesn’t seem to care. When he speaks his voice is soft, dull-edged:
“Because there’s nothing I respect more than a man who will give up everything he has to do what needs to be done.”
“That’s your code?”
Akai smiles. “In the end what matters to me more than your morals and laws is that we live by our own hearts – whatever it takes.”
Rei shakes his head slowly, a reluctant smile sneaking across his face. “You really are insufferable, you know that?”
Akai catches his hand, his grip weak but warm. Alive.
“You wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Rei almost hates that he’s right. But not quite.
END