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The first conversation wasn’t really a conversation.
Akane lay on the ground, tear-streaked cheeks smudged with dirt. After she’d heard the gunshot, after she’d realized that she’d failed in her mission on every level, the remainder of her strength gave out. She lay there for what seemed like an eternity.
The holo device on her wrist rang. It took her longer than normal to accept the transmission.
“Inspector!”
Silence.
“Inspector Tsunemori!”
Silence.
“Tsunemori Akane!!”
A pause. Then, “...Kunizuka…?”
A breath of relief from the other end. “What’s your location? What about Makishima?”
Tears welled up in her eyes again, and she let out a choked sob.
“Inspector…?”
“We failed…”
She’d failed.
“What happened?” When Akane didn’t respond again, Kunizuka continued, “Limited power is back, and I’ve locked down the facility. We have communications, and an emergency crew is on the way. I need—wait, Inspector Ginoza, you shouldn’t move—”
There was a small commotion from the other end.
Tears streamed down Akane’s cheeks again as the reality of the situation washed over her. Makishima was dead. Kougami had killed him, despite all Akane had done.
“Gi—Ginoza-sa...n... “
The commotion quieted.
“I’m sorry.” Her voice was barely above a whisper and raw with emotion. “I’m sorry.”
At the time, she thought she was apologizing for failing their mission to bring in Makishima.
At the time, she thought she was apologizing for failing to keep Kougami from becoming a murderer. For failing to bring him back.
At the time, she thought she was apologizing for everything.
Only later, when she heard everything else that had happened, did she realize that she was apologizing for so much more.
In the second conversation, they only felt abandoned.
Tsunemori was there when Ginoza woke, dozing in a chair next to his hospital bed. He knew she had visited the other members of Division 1 like this whenever they’d been seriously injured, but it was still surprising. How long had she been there? He’d been in and out of a haze for the better part of a week; surgery, painkillers, Hue deterioration, general exhaustion.
This was the most clear-headed he’d felt since…
His mind shied away from the events at the granary. They hurt too much. They were still too large, too looming to be able to address without distress.
He looked up at the ceiling, blinking back tears. He was still fragile.
Really, if he was willing to admit it, he’d been fragile for a long time. The last week had finally broken him.
He glanced back over at Tsunemori, who was waking up.
He might have been broken, but perhaps he wasn’t irrevocably shattered.
“Ginoza-san…” For a moment, there was the ghost of a smile on her face. Then her gaze dropped, and she stared at her hands. “I…”
“You don’t have to talk.”
She nodded, pulling her arms around herself, withdrawing.
Ginoza didn’t know what to say, either, nor could he tell what he had the energy for yet. Mostly, everything still felt numb. He stared back up at the ceiling, trying to find a corner of his mind to retreat into that wouldn’t hurt.
After a while, Tsunemori shifted. “How is your arm?”
He lifted the prosthetic the surgeons had fitted him with slightly. The sight of it the first time had nearly made him vomit, even through the haze. The doctors had mumbled something about phantom limbs and residual pain, but that wasn’t what had caused his reaction. It was yet another reminder of his father, yet another reminder of his own weakness. He hadn’t looked at it since. “It works.”
He glanced at Tsunemori again, who had gone back to looking at her hands in her lap.
“Have you heard about Kougami?” she asked in a near-whisper.
Ginoza looked away. “He’s gone, isn’t he.”
“Yes…”
He closed his eyes. How many times was that, now, when his friend had gone where he couldn’t follow? But even the bite of betrayal was dulled. It was hard to find the energy to be angry at inevitability.
Everyone always left him. That had always been the way of things.
He opened his eyes, but didn’t look back at Tsunemori. “And Ma… my father?”
“The Bureau took care of everything.”
Silence descended. Ginoza tried to focus on the wall, not wanting to close his eyes again. He knew that if he did, he would see those last terrible moments with his father again. He focused so intently on nothing that he nearly missed Tsunemori’s next words.
“I’m sorry.”
A pause.
“Why?”
“Because I should have known that Makishima would do something. I was the one who suggested we split up. I’m the one who let Kougami... As your partner, I’m—”
“Stop it.”
He turned to face Tsunemori once again. He wanted to tell her that she was wrong. That it wasn’t her fault for making a tactical call. That her deduction had been good, but that Makishima had just been better. That he didn’t hold her responsible.
Instead, the haze he’d wrapped himself in since all of that happened closed around him.
There were tears running down her cheeks. Some part of his mind registered that he should care about that.
“I don’t want to talk about what happened.”
Tsunemori looked at him for a long moment, then dropped her gaze. “Okay.”
She left not long after that.
It wasn’t until she did that Ginoza realized he’d wanted her to stay. That even though it was still painful, the events of a week ago were bearable when she was there.
It wasn’t until after Ginoza transferred back to Division 1 as an Enforcer that they had their third conversation, but Akane didn’t feel the same sense of abandonment.
Akane had taken Ginoza to his father’s grave. She’d visited herself a few weeks after Masaoka had died, but Ginoza had been in rehabilitation and hadn’t been able to come until now. And even then, as an Enforcer, he wasn’t allowed anywhere outside of the PSB’s tower without supervision.
The deterioration of Ginoza’s Hue hadn’t changed Akane’s opinion of him in the least, of course. It would take getting used to, was all. Despite everything that happened there was a lightness to his expression that hadn’t been there before, which was oddly reassuring in some strange way.
She hadn’t been able to see him while he’d been at the rehabilitation facility, but she’d checked on his progress as much as she could. He had officially transferred back the previous day. The difference between the Inspector she knew and the Enforcer he’d become was already clear. She’d expected awkwardness between them, but so far she hadn’t felt it. When she really thought about it, she realized that of anyone, he knew exactly what being in her position felt like.
The reminder of Kougami made her heart hurt a little. A twinge compared to the other hurts lately, knowing he was at least still alive. An old ache compared to the guilt she still felt.
She pushed the emotions down again, shoved into a hardened corner of her mind along with the growing number of secrets she had to keep, even from the people she trusted most—including Ginoza. Maybe especially from him, now.
She asked about Kougami on the drive back to PSB headquarters. It wasn’t long before Ginoza changed the subject.
When they got back, Akane followed Ginoza to his new quarters. He’d taken his father’s old rooms. There was no welcome party awaiting them, but then again, there weren’t many there who would want to give him a welcome party, nor would he want one. She thought Kunizuka, at least, would keep an eye on him.
“Can I offer you something, Inspector?” Ginoza asked, then, “Not that I’m entirely sure what all is here yet.”
Akane forced a smile. “I’m fine. Don’t trouble yourself on my account.”
“It’s no trouble.” But he didn’t force the issue. Instead, he went over to Dime’s enclosure and bent to scratch the dog’s head.
Akane looked down at her feet, wary of intruding too much into Ginoza’s life.
“I still trust you, you know.” That hadn’t come out quite like she’d meant it to. “I mean that even though our circumstances have changed, I still value your opinions and…”
“I know.”
Akane’s gaze snapped up to meet his. His expression really was more relaxed than it had been for… well, since Akane had known him. And without him hiding behind his glasses, she could see a bit of the similarity to his father in it now, too.
“But don’t let your trust hinder you,” he warned. His expression shifted, still soft, but sad. “You’ve become a good detective, Tsunemori. You shouldn’t be afraid to use me like any other Enforcer—or shoot me.”
She immediately thought of the first day she’d met Ginoza, the same day she’d first used the Dominator, the day she’d first paralyzed Kougami with it. She knew she could shoot if she needed to.
She also knew that she was the one to decide when it was needed.
“In that case, I’d like you to promise me something.”
He straightened and stepped towards her. “Promise what? Why?”
“I want you to promise that you’ll trust me, too. No matter what.” Part of her wanted to tell him what she knew. The rest of her knew that it would be a danger to them both if she did. “If you think I’m wrong in my investigations, I want you to tell me, but at the end of the day I want to know you’ve got my back, unconditionally.”
For a moment, Ginoza looked taken aback, but he quickly recovered.
He nodded.
After another moment, Akane quietly added, “I’m glad you came back.”
“There were still people to come back to.”
“Would you have come back even if there weren’t?”
He paused and thought for a few moments. “Maybe.”
Akane nodded, as if this had confirmed something. She thought that he would definitely have returned. He was more like his father than he would admit; being a detective was a part of him that he wouldn’t—couldn’t—turn away from.
“Tsunemori.”
“Hm?”
“Nothing, never mind.”
Though she was curious about what he’d wanted to say, she didn’t press. They were both still reacclimating to one another, to the new aspects of their professional relationship. And now more than ever, Akane wanted to be respectful of Ginoza’s privacy. Enforcers were afforded little of it, as it was.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”
Ginoza nodded.
Akane turned towards the door.
“Tsunemori.”
She glanced back again. “Hm?”
“Thank you.”
“For?”
He hesitated for only a moment before answering. “Just... thank you. Until tomorrow, Inspector.”
The fourth conversation was enabled by circumstance.
It had been three weeks since Ginoza had come back to Division 1. They were investigating an incident in one of the abolition blocks of the city; one of the places where Sybil’s network didn’t reach. The investigation went slowly because there was only so much they could do without fully connecting to Sybil.
However, it also meant a certain amount of freedom on his part.
“Inspector.” When Tsunemori looked at him, he nodded towards a building nearby. “I think that’s it.”
She checked her device briefly. “You’re right. Let’s go.”
Part of the difficulty of a case in the networkless zones was sometimes they had no choice but to lie in wait for their targets to emerge, with no easier way to surveil. This was one of those times. He and Tsunemori had chosen a location with a decent vantage point over the street and in sight of their target’s building. Kunizuka and the new Inspector were covering another of their target’s potential exits.
The door was rusted and creaked terribly when they opened it. They paused, listening for evidence of other people, but aside from the dampened sounds of the district around them, they heard nothing. The building was empty.
They found a room with windows overlooking the street, and began their watch.
“Does it still bother you?” Tsunemori asked after a few minutes.
“What?”
“That Inspector Shimotuski won’t work with you on her own.”
When had he said anything to Tsunemori about that? Certainly, it annoyed him that the new Inspector was being so immature, but he didn’t think that he’d been concerned enough to let anything about it slip.
Tsunemori must have been following his train of thought, because she added, “No one said anything. But I’ve known you long enough to see that it bothered you.”
She was nothing if not observant. It was one of her many strengths. That skill at observation combined with her genuine concern for others was part of what made her so unique, both as an Inspector and as a person. And on top of all of that, she bounced back quickly no matter what was thrown her way. She accepts things as they are, his father had told him, once. He admired her strength.
It was something he wished he had. But even if he didn’t have her strength, he’d learned enough to let some things go.
“No, it doesn’t bother me anymore. She’s young, and worried about her Psycho Pass being clouded. It’s not a personal slight to me.”
She glanced at him. “You’re still worried about my Psycho Pass, aren’t you.”
“Yes.”
“My Hue doesn’t cloud easily. I’ll be fine.”
“Not clouding easily and not getting cloudy are two different things.” He turned to face her more fully, his expression growing serious. “I know you don’t worry about things like that, but you should. I know how easy it is to let things slide until it’s too late. I’m…”
I’m just telling you this so you don’t end up like me. The words died on his tongue.
“Ginoza-san…”
“I’m just worried about you, Tsunemori.”
“I know.”
“Then…”
“I know you’re worried about me because you don’t want me to go down the same path as you… as Kogami, as your father. But I won’t.” She gave him a look of determination and held his gaze for a moment before looking back out the window. “In that case with Makishima… I came to understand some things about the Sybil System. I’ve come to terms with this job, and what I have to do. My Hue won’t get clouded by continuing down this path.” Something in her demeanor changed, and she relaxed. She smiled a bit, and looked back over at him again. “Trust me, remember?”
She really was an incredible person. “I do.”
Her smile brightened for a glorious moment, then settled back into her usual amiable expression. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“That day… when I asked you to promise you’d trust me, you thanked me. What were you thanking me for?”
“I don’t suppose you’ll believe me if I say I was just thanking you for bringing me to my father’s grave.”
“You already had.”
He looked down at his hands resting on the window sill and tried to come up with a way to explain himself. It wasn’t just one thing. It was everything.
He’d been thanking her for still being in Division 1. For accepting him back, giving him a place to find equilibrium again. For still trusting him.
“In my years as an Inspector, I saw a lot of changes. Not many of them were good. Usually it meant that someone was killed. I always felt like I was on the edge of a battleground, that I had to hold my place and that if I failed, if I retreated at all, I’d never find my way back. It still feels a little like that in some ways, but…” He looked up at her. “You gave me a place to come back to. I’ll always be grateful for that.”
Becoming an Enforcer should have sounded like the worst sort of failure to him, but he’d found that he was quickly becoming comfortable with it. He already felt more comfortable with himself than he had in years. Somehow, despite a demotion, despite nearly everything he’d feared becoming reality, he felt like he’d gained ground.
Tsunemori’s expression softened. She reached out and covered his hand—his right hand, the one still made of flesh and blood—with hers for a long moment.
Now that he’d gained that ground, he was going to do whatever he could to keep it.
He’d do whatever he could, so that Tsunemori wouldn’t have to suffer more.
The fifth conversation happened by design.
Early July. Nearly six months since Makishima was killed and Kougami left.
Akane continued to take Ginoza to his father’s grave on occasion. After a couple of times, she’d gone to pay her respects alongside him. He hadn’t minded. It was one of the few places where she felt like she didn’t have to embody her role as Inspector quite so heavily.
The weather was hot, and the mugginess of the rainy season was just around the corner. They lingered at the graveyard in companionable silence. With summer festival celebrations starting soon, it was probably the last moments of peace they would have for a while.
Finally, Ginoza straightened and turned to Akane. “Well, then…”
She nodded.
Once they’d gotten in the car, she said, “There’s something I need to pick up from my apartment. It shouldn’t take long.”
Something close to a smile flickered across Ginoza’s face. “Not like I have anything else pressing to attend to.”
Akane set the destination into the car, and allowed the auto-drive to take them there.
It wasn’t often that Akane had anyone else to her apartment, even for short visits. Things were clean enough, as long as no one looked too closely past the room’s holo. Being an Inspector didn’t leave her quite enough time to keep things spotless, but she did her best.
Ginoza obediently trailed after her up to her apartment. Even after all this time, it was still a little strange to see him so subservient. He still offered her advice when she needed and was one of her best resources for doing her job, but compared to the seemingly self-assured leader he’d been when she’d met him…
“When did you start smoking?”
The question caught her off-guard. She didn’t meet his gaze. She thought if she did, he’d see the reasons immediately. If he hadn’t already. He probably knew her better than she knew him.
“It won’t bring him back.”
She winced. He’d seen enough, then. “Of course I know that.”
“It’s been six months. You started smoking at least two months ago.”
“How—”
“I worked with him for years, I know the smell of those cigarettes.”
She hung her head.
“Why?” he asked. “Why start now?”
A small hiccup of a laugh escaped her. “It’s a stupid reason. You’ll probably scold me for it.” When he didn’t say anything else, she continued, “I thought it would help me think like him. I thought if…”
Her vision wavered slightly. It shouldn’t have still been this hard to talk about Kougami. She’d mentioned him in passing countless times, and it never affected her like this. So why now? Why this?
“You thought that just maybe, it would be like he was there with you. Helping you.”
She nodded as a few tears spilled over. She tried to blink them away.
“I just—I miss him.”
She wiped away the tears that had escaped with the back of her hand. She felt Ginoza step in close, and she tipped her head forward to rest against his chest. Arms encircled her, warmed her, created a buffer between her and the rest of the world.
“I miss him, too.”
This time she couldn’t stop the tears. Her fingers found folds in Ginoza’s suit jacket and clung to them.
That was why it was affecting her so much, part of her mind rationalized.
To the rest of the world, Kougami was just an Enforcer. An escaped criminal. An unknown entity.
But to the two of them, Kougami was a friend, a comrade, a mentor. He was someone they both cared about. And it was that shared understanding, that connection, that made talking about him all the more difficult.
She hadn’t really had a chance to grieve, not like she needed to. She thought she’d processed her feelings, but she hadn’t been able to talk to anyone else who understood what Kougami leaving had meant to her. It was almost as painful as if he’d died in some respects. She couldn’t tell if it was more or less painful in others. All she knew was that there was still a void in her life that nothing else had filled.
“Does it still hurt you, too?” she managed through her tears.
She felt Ginoza nod. His arms tightened around her, and she realized that he’d gone otherwise very still.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. Akane had only had to grieve him once. Ginoza had grieved for him twice.
When he replied, his voice was far from steady. “It’s not your fault.”
“I’m still sorry.”
Silence thick with emotion descended.
Akane’s mind raced, clamoring for a hold on something, anything, to keep her from spiraling off into the depths of her own sadness.
Deep down, she still blamed herself for what happened. If only she’d chosen a different tactic, Masaoka would be alive and Ginoza still an Inspector. If only she’d been a little faster, been more persuasive, Kougami might not have become a murderer. If only…
If only she felt it had all been worth anything.
All she was left with was the pieces of a broken Division, the reality that she might never see Kougami again, and the burden of knowing the true face of the monster that controlled society. All she could cling to was her duty as an Inspector, her belief that humanity would eventually move past needing the Sybil System, and…
Her fingers tightened their grip on Ginoza’s jacket.
At least she still had him, whatever the change in their situation.
“Ginoza-san…”
She felt him draw a shaky breath. “What?”
“Please don’t disappear on me anytime soon.”
“I won’t.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ve lost almost everyone else, I’m not losing you, too.”
She nodded, her tears soaking into his shirt and lapels as she did.
Whatever else happened, whatever Sybil or the cases she worked threw her way, she could steady herself with Ginoza there. And when they were both floundering, they could flounder together.
She could be strong, knowing they could rely on one another, that he had her back.
She could be true to herself, knowing she could face Sybil, that she would live.
She could fight, knowing she had something—someone—to protect.
With those thoughts held tight, she abandoned her doubts.
“I won’t let you lose me,” she whispered.