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The roof is cool and peaceful. There are no beeps of machines, squawks of hospital staff and wails of patients up here. He makes his way over a short, slippery wall around the edge of the building and lowers himself down onto the damp ledge. He sits and dangles his slippered feet out over the side of Inaba Municipal Hospital, not an especially poetic name for a place to spend one’s final moments, but there’s no point in being picky. Dead is dead.
It is not far to the ground, but it is not near either. All the same, he is pretty sure - no, very sure - he knows how to fall so that the impact will snap his neck. He kicks off a slipper and watches it flutter to the ground, not much heavier than a piece of bark. He kicks off the other one; who would want to go with one slipper on? All there is to do next is just push back against the wall and-
“Dojima-san!”
Oh god no, not him. The irresponsible partner, always in the wrong place at the wrong time.
“Dojima-saaan! Are you up here?”
He has to do this before Adachi finds him here. On three, then. One…two…
“Dojima-san? What are you-oh shit!” There is a soft crunch as the man vaults himself up onto the small wall several paces away from where Dojima rests on the ledge below.
“Don’t jump!” he cries as he hops down onto the concrete surface with a light thud. Adachi stretches his arms out on either side as he balances somewhat precariously on the narrow space, hair and tie blown back and flapping wildly in the freezing wind, eyes wide but not panicked-at least not yet.
“Go away, Adachi. I’m not going to jump. Just came up here to get some air, be alone.”
“Pardon me, sir, but I think you’re full of shit.”
And what can Dojima say to that, really? It still doesn’t stop him from trying to think of something. Yet all he can come up with is a scoff. For what it’s worth, he scoffs louder and harder than is normal. And in a way this is fitting; what he intends to do isn’t normal. Then again, he has never been a patient man, never felt content to wait his turn.
“I-I know it feels like it’s too hard to go on now. But that’ll change, Dojima-san, things’ll get better soon, I promise.”
“What would you know about losing someone?” He didn’t mean it as a question, but that’s how it came out.
“I know a little s-something.” Adachi sits down on the ledge a few steps away from him. Dojima sees him glance at his bare feet with an exaggeratedly raised eyebrow, and this annoys him for some reason. Sometimes his partner does little things like this-clicking his tongue when he’s thinking, stammering when he’s nervous, shooting him these cocked-eyebrow looks-things that wouldn’t normally irritate him if someone else did them, but somehow do when coming from Adachi.
“What happened? Your goldfish died?”
“Ha-ha, good one, sir.” Adachi edges closer, bits of moss clinging to where his faded black pants scrape against the crumbly concrete surface. “By which I mean, screw you,” he adds with a wink.
There are also those few occasions when his partner says or does something that shouldn’t make him smile, wouldn’t make him smile if it were anyone else, but sometimes Dojima just can’t help himself, even on a day like this.
“You’re feisty today.”
“Yeah, well,” something moves in Adachi’s eyes, like he has a second set of pupils, and he continues, more confidently, “go ahead and get pissed at me, smack me over the head if you like, if only for trying to stop you from doing what you think you want.” His voice is soft and low, and he’s close enough now to touch. “I don’t want to lose another partner.”
Dojima considers this not altogether tempting offer. Ultimately he doesn’t believe in being invited to blow up at someone. One shouldn’t simply make oneself lose control on command. It needs to happen spontaneously, otherwise it serves the wrong purpose.
“Here’s an idea, Adachi,” he says, staring down at the out of focus ground far below them for such a long moment he feels dizzy, or maybe it’s just one of the effects of the ridiculously thick and heavy fog. “You could do me a huge favor right now.”
“What do you need?” Eyebrows shoot up again, and then there’s a hand on his thigh, right above the knee. It doesn’t move, but it seems highly alert, like an animal ready to pounce. Or bolt.
“Push me. Then it won’t look as bad for me. Assuming you confess.” It had sounded more reasonable in his head. What doesn’t?
“I’m gonna assume you were kidding,” Adachi mutters, squeezing his thigh through the paper-thin pea-green hospital gown just a little, smiling even less, “and you can pretend I laughed like crazy at your morbid little joke.”
There is a long moment of silence where Dojima wonders whether he can still slide, jump, fall without Adachi stopping him in time, whether he’ll pull his partner down with him, or whether he can even manage to move again at all. With every second that passes since her death, he is painfully discovering that without Nanako he is paralyzed. Dojima can’t bear to keep on living, and yet he finds himself unable to make himself die.
Something Adachi said comes back to him, and he opens his mouth, not just because he’s curious, but because Adachi wouldn’t have said it if he hadn’t wanted him to ask. And strangely enough, it hasn’t been unpleasant sitting here talking to him. “Your old partner, he was shot?”
Adachi’s lips curl upwards, but he doesn’t look happy. “No.” His hand is gone and the warm spot on the portion of the gown covering his left thigh fades quickly in the frigid winter air. Adachi extends his first two fingers and thumb into a gun shape and pokes them at a 45 degree angle against the underside of his chin. “She shot herself.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.” He shouldn’t have asked. He sees where this is going now. Just what he needs right now: a guilt trip. Good one, Ryotaro. Maybe if you pretend he’s lying it won’t sting as much. And why not lie? People will say anything to talk a guy out of offing himself. Adachi is no different.
“Yeah,” Adachi stretches his legs out, lets them drop, “left a note, too.”
A note. He hadn’t even thought about that. Who would he address it to? Chisato was long gone. Oh, why do any of them even bother? The act stank of pomposity.
“A lot of it–pretty much the whole thing, actually–was about me. That’s…,” he runs a hand through his windblown hair and sighs, “…why I was transferred here.”
“Why you were transferred here.”
Adachi tightens his jaw and nods, his gaze directed at the misty space below. It is becoming increasingly uncomfortable sitting up here in winter weather wearing only a hospital gown. But he doesn’t want to go anywhere else, except perhaps the quickest way down. He rubs his stiff legs and shifts himself around. Adachi immediately presses hands against each of his shoulders, pushing him back against the bumpy wall.
Dojima makes an aggravated noise. “Idiot! I wasn’t going to-”
“Oh, sorry.” Adachi gives him an appraising look, like he’s not sure whether to believe him, and removes his hands, dropping them awkwardly on top of each other on his lap.
Dojima is accustomed to his partner talking a lot without saying much of substance, but up here things are different, and he can’t help being curious about this note Adachi mentioned. Maybe it actually would be easier for him to end things if he wrote something first. Perhaps he should address the letter to his nephew-at least try and explain things to the boy, since he is after all his guardian, however temporary their family’s arrangement is.
“What did she write, uh, if you don’t mind my asking? Was it long?”
Adachi rubs the back of his neck and does that tongue-clicking thing that sets Dojima’s nerves on edge. “It was long enough. Most of it was this hysterical, insane rant blaming me for driving her over the edge.”
He cracks his knuckles as he continues. “It wasn’t true at all, though. Ishikawa-san was in the driver’s seat the whole time.” He sighs again and glances between Dojima and the hazy ground below. “She did it to herself. But of course I couldn’t help feeling responsible. Partners gotta look out for each other.”
Dojima has led enough interrogations to notice that something in Adachi’s face doesn’t fit with what he’s saying, like a jigsaw with a couple pieces out of place, but wedged into the wrong-shaped spaces so tightly you only notice if you’re paying close attention. “Were you involved?”
Adachi’s back straightens and his eyes narrow, ever so slightly. “What? What makes you think that?”
So he’d touched a nerve. This was turning into an intriguing distraction. Thoughts of Nanako’s too-still body and the pained whine of the flat-line were stuffed into the depths of his mind as the familiar, pressing need to Figure Something Out took over.
“Oh, I don’t know, call it my ‘detective’s intuition’, if you like.”
“Ha-ha, ha-ha-ha.” Adachi’s laugh is as fake as the cheese-eating grin he’s quickly plastered on his face. He looks Dojima up and down, chewing his lip.
“Aren’t you getting cold out here, Dojima-san? This can’t be good for your injuries. Your bare feet are hanging out in this icy wind, wouldn’t want to get frostbite, would you? We should get you back inside, I’ll bring you some nice hot coffee, we can have a good long chat about whatever’s on your mind. No holds barred, seriously.” His words come out in a slapdash rush, as if they were swept off his tongue by the shrill wind jetting past them.
“If you can’t take the cold, Adachi, then please, be my guest and get the hell out of here.” Dojima waves an arm up and behind them in the direction of the roof and the stairs leading down into the stifling warmth of the hospital interior.
“You know I can’t do that, Dojima-san.”
“Then answer my question-or I’m leaving.” He flicks his wrist at the wispy air in front of them. “Take you with me if I have to.” Is he bluffing? Probably, but even Dojima can’t be sure.
“Don’t,” Adachi says, leaning towards him. “Don’t make me be that guy. Don’t make me be the one whose last two partners offed themselves.”
“One: nobody’s making you ‘be’ anyone. Two: you brought it up, not me.”
“I was trying to-”
“I know. And it was working so well.”
“Fine,” he whispers, then, louder, “these days whenever I think back to what happened with Ishikawa-san, I keep thinking about what you said to me that night you had me over and introduced me to Souji.”
“Uh…”
“You don’t remember, do you?” Dojima furrows his brow. Adachi’s generally the forgetful one, not him, but there are always exceptions.
“Hmph, figures you’d forget. ‘I can still ride you harder, you know.’”
“Oh that.” Oh that. Big deal. The new guy always has it rough. That’s just how the system works, get used to it already.
“Look, Adachi, you won’t be young forever. Maybe next time around you’ll luck out and your new partner will be a fish fresh out the academy you can boss around all you want.”
Adachi frowns. “That’s not my point. She only had a couple years on me but all the same she worked me hard as hell.” He pauses, shifts in his seat. “And I-I gave it right back to her-or tried. Wanted to show her I could be just as sharp, just as good-if not better-at this goddamn job than she would ever be. But then she…,” he trails off and examines his hands clenched tightly in his lap.
“She what?” This is so much better, Dojima realizes. Listening to his partner’s stupid interpersonal problems beats the hell out of being stuck inside his own messed up head.
The younger man laughs humorlessly. “Argh, what is wrong with me? This is the second time I’ve…my goddamn partner, damn it!” He punches his knee lightly.
Dojima strokes his chin. He can barely feel the fingers dragging against the flesh. “You were doing so well, Adachi, and then you lost the plot again. What did this, this Ishikawa do?”
Adachi looks away and murmurs something.
“What? Speak up, wind’s loud.”
“Sexual harassment.”
Dojima can’t help himself. He laughs so hard his stitches almost tear, then he sucks in a teeth-chattering breath as numerous strands of pain flare up below his bandages.
“Fuck you, that shit isn’t funny when it happens to you. S’not easy being a regular guy sometimes.”
“Fuck me? No, fuck you, Adachi. I just lost my only daughter, and you,” he laughs again, a little more quietly, “you let yourself get sexually harassed by-”
“Hell no, that’s not what happened!” He sits bolt upright, staring intensely at Dojima. “She accused me. I didn’t do any of the things she somehow got into her head I did to her.” He chuckles and shakes his head. “Wow, you really thought I…”
“So you weren’t involved, then?”
“Hmph. Depends on who you ask I guess.”
“I’m asking you.”
“Why do you need to know so bad? You don’t still wanna jump?”
“No.” And it’s true, Dojima realizes. He doesn’t have it in him anymore. It’s one way out of the pit his life so quickly sank into ever since the first, second and third bodies were found, since Shirogane was brought in to ‘assist’ them, since Nanako’s kidnapping, his accident, and then…the illness. It’s quick, it’s easy, it’s almost painless. But he just can’t do it; it’s stopped making even the slightest bit of sense.
He claps Adachi on the back, startling him a little. “Congratulations, detective. You did it. You talked me out of it.”
“First time you’ve called me that.” His partner beams, then stands up. “Can we please go back inside now, Dojima-san? I don’t know about you but I’m freezing my nuts off, and, well, you’re wearing less, so you probably can’t even feel ‘em anymore.” He extends a hand.
Dojima doesn’t move. “You asked me why I needed to know. It’s because I’ve been trying to figure you out. It’s easier than thinking about myself.”
“Oh.” Adachi starts clicking his tongue against the inside of his mouth again. Dojima’s face tightens as he tries to ignore the annoying squishy sound. “I’m not-it’s not that complicated. I just don’t like to talk about it. But since you really seem to want to know, well um,” he takes a breath, “we slept together a couple of times. It didn’t mean anything. Maybe, maybe I wanted it to, I really don’t know anymore.”
He takes Dojima’s hand, and Dojima lets himself be pulled to a standing position. They face each other on the side of the roof for a second, then clamber over the chest-high wall together.
“All I know is, she did it to herself. She may have blamed me, but I swear I wasn’t involved, wasn’t the reason.”
“It’s alright, you don’t have to explain yourself anymore. I’m cooperating, aren’t I?”
“Oh good, I still wasn’t sure.” He puts Dojima’s arm around his shoulders and leads him toward the stairs. “Damn, you’re almost frozen solid. We should get that coffee first thing.” He clears his throat and stifles a sneeze. “And I meant what I said, that things will get easier soon, you just gotta give it a little time, that’s all.”
“If you say so.”
Dojima leans against him as they walk across the roof, inhaling a lingering tang of sweat and aftershave. “Don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t showed up when you did,” he mutters into Adachi’s neck.
“Guess I did something you approve of, for once.”
“Mm.”
The stairs stretch out below them, spiraling down toward the door that leads back into the hospital’s top floor, where Namatame’s room is located. Adachi stops in front of the first step down.
“Let’s see if I can pull it off a second time.” He runs a hand up the stubbly skin of Dojima’s cheek, threading his fingers through his hair, and brushes his lips against his mouth.
Dojima’s eyes widen and his breath freezes in his throat. He pulls back and Adachi drops his hand and tries not to look hurt. When the revulsion Dojima expects to feel doesn’t come, he laughs - at himself, at Adachi, at the whole screwed up situation that started with him on the way to pushing himself off the ledge of the roof and ended with his partner coming on to him in that predictably clumsy way of his.
Adachi’s mouth twitches and his eyes darken. This must happen to him a lot, Dojima thinks, not without sympathy. How many times has he tried this and been laughed at?
“Now I’m beginning to see why you were…ah, never mind.”
“Why I what?” But Adachi knows what he almost said, how could he not?
“Why you were…” Dojima sees the mortified look on his partner’s face, notices his reddening ears, cracks up again and then has to grab his side and bite back a groan as his uncooperative lungs push up against his half-healed injuries.
“I’m glad I can provide you with so much amusement, Dojima-san,” Adachi says stiffly and starts heading down the stairs.
“Oh lighten up, Adachi.” Dojima stops him with a hand on the back of his neck, which he moves upward to ruffle his partner’s already thoroughly mussed up hair. “I like you too.”