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The rehabilitation counselor appointed to him by the CCG assures Hide no less than twenty times that this is not the end of the world.
Those are his exact words, actually: “It’s not the end of the world, Mr. Nagachika. I know it may seem daunting right now, but investigators younger than you have suffered injuries far worse than this. All of them returned to the workforce eventually. Many of them even have wives and children.”
“That’s not really high on my list of priorities,” Hide says. Tries to say, at any rate. It comes out as a garbled, unintelligible mess. There's a pen and notepad hidden beneath case documents on his bedside table, but he doesn't see the point in wasting paper. The counselor gives him an encouraging smile that looks no less patronizing for the effort.
“I know, I know, this is all very confusing. You’ve had quite a rollercoaster week, haven’t you?” He asks this question like he expects Hide to answer, which is unspeakably funny. Emphasis on unspeakably. With no answer forthcoming, the counselor clears his throat and continues: “Well, I suppose the same can be said for everyone. These are chaotic times, Mr. Nagachika.”
Chaotic times, sure. Hide has it on good authority (putting aside the fact that Marude is neither good nor an authority) that the main office is on the verge of collapse, having lost approximately two hundred of its investigators to a single operation. Approximately two hundred, because not all those investigators made it back to the coroner after they died. As for that, Hide has a couple theories.
None of those theories matter right now. Right now there are too many variables unaccounted for, too few concrete facts at his disposal. Aogiri, the Washuu clan, Arima, Kanou, the clown mask ghouls: all of them are pieces in this game, but Hide has yet to decipher the rules. Chaotic times, that’s one way of putting it.
It used to be Hide didn’t believe in chaos. Believed, instead, that all seemingly chaotic events were reducible to a simple pattern with enough careful thought. And if he could find that pattern, if he could trace it back to its source, maybe he could use it to save people. Hell, why pretend: he could use it to save Kaneki.
He still believes all those things, but he can’t pretend they ever got him anywhere. Rather, he can’t pretend they got him anywhere good. He put too much faith in theories, neglected to realize that there were some things he simply couldn’t predict. Things like Arima Kishou, for example. And that’s how he wound up here, missing his best friend and also a little less than half his face, which sucks.
But he has it on good authority that this is not the end of the world.
“I understand you’re still enrolled at Kamii University,” says the counselor. Bless him, he still thinks Hide's paying attention. “I’m a Kamii alumnus myself; it’s an excellent school. All your medical expenses have been covered by the CCG, so there’s nothing stopping you from finishing your degree if you so choose.”
There are, in fact, a lot of things stopping Hide from finishing his degree, not the least of which being that he’s a foreign language major who can no longer form coherent sentences. He doesn’t bother hashing out the entire list, which would most likely take several hours (and a chalkboard for supplementary diagrams, and a wellspring of patience, and the ability to form coherent fucking sentences.)
“I only applied to Kamii because my friend applied there first,” he says instead. The words (if one could call them words) tumble out of their own accord. “’S kind of a shitty way to pick a university, but I didn’t want him to go off and leave me all alone.” He laughs tightly. “Guess it was bound to happen one way or another. But I really did believe I could have just a few more years with him.”
This is the first time Hide has said any of this out loud, and it feels oddly liberating for being so utterly pointless. The counselor understands precisely none of it, of course, but he does a great job pretending otherwise. That’s what they tell you to do when you’re dealing with a delusional person, right? Play along.
Hide likes to think he has a long way to dig before he finally hits the bedrock of delusional. He really, really likes to think that. A part of him even believes it, though at this point he’ll believe anything if it helps him sleep at night.
It’s pretty much the only reason he hasn’t had a full-blown breakdown re: Kaneki getting thrown in Cochlea, to be executed or tortured or who knows what else. It’s the best possible outcome, Hide tells himself. Not the ideal outcome, not even close, but better than the alternative. At this point, ‘better than the alternative’ is about all he can ask for. Even in exchange for half his face, apparently.
No, that’s too cynical. It was nothing short of a miracle that Arima let Kaneki live, and that was what Hide had wagered on from the very beginning: a miracle. He got exactly what he wanted, and far more than he could’ve reasonably expected. If some part of him feels— cheated, or bitter, then that’s just too bad.
Too bad, sniggers a hysterical little voice in the back of his mind. This whole situation really is too bad. To make it even worse, the counselor is staring at him with something alarmingly close to pity. Like he hasn’t suffered enough already.
“If you’d rather hold off on school for the moment, there are always other options available. I’m sure the CCG would be more than happy to keep you on as an investigator’s assistant— though of course,” he hastens to add, “of course no one could blame you if you decided to quit, after all you’ve been through… On the other hand, I’m told many investigators find the work quite cathartic.”
The way Hide sees it, investigators who find their work ‘cathartic’ always fall into one of two camps: sadistic or recently bereaved. A special few, like Akira’s father, fall into both camps simultaneously. Hide wouldn’t consider himself particularly sadistic (masochistic, more like) and he doesn’t know anyone who was eaten by ghouls (present company excluded), so catharsis isn’t high on his list of priorities.
Which isn't saying much, if he's being honest; his priorities lately have been kind of fucked up.
(He says priorities, plural, but the ugly truth is that the list starts and ends with a single name. There are other names scribbled haphazardly in the margins, AkiraSeidouAmon, but he can already see them starting to fade away at the edges. It doesn't scare him as much as he thinks it should.)
At this point, any reasonable person would definitely cut their losses: go back to school, take the cushy office job, maybe get a head start on that ‘wife and children’ thing before old age steals what remains of their looks. A reasonable person would not, under any circumstances, continue down the road Hide has made for himself. That road holds nothing but uncertainty and fear and gnashing teeth.
Hide has proven several times over that he is not a reasonable person, and has never really bothered claiming otherwise. He shakes his head.
"I see," says the counselor, frowning just slightly. He glances at his watch. "I see. Well, you'll have plenty of time to consider your options before our next meeting. No rush. I think we've made good progress so far." Which really makes you wonder what his definition of progress is. "Until next week, Mr. Nagachika. Unless you have any questions?"
Not unless you can tell me about Dr. Akihiro Kanou.
He's almost tempted to pull out his notepad and ask in earnest, but it's like the counselor said: no rush. There are other questions too, like “what do you suppose they do to ghouls in Cochlea?” and “where do you get off asking a guy with no mouth if he has any questions?” but he doesn't ask those, either.
He just shakes his head again, smiling an invisible smile through the many-layered white bandages wrapped over his mouth. The counselor smiles faintly back, bows politely, and then escorts himself out of the room. The door swings quietly shut behind him.
Left alone to his thoughts, Hide closes his eyes and considers his options.