Work Text:
you've got time to think it over
you've got time to think it through
it's a circumstantial outcry
it's a failure to pursue
it's a sentimental nonsense
it's a thoughtless way to love
it's a blossom in mid-winter
it's a poor man's cure for touch
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It's always made Yosano just a bit uneasy whenever the Agency is too quiet.
They're making all the necessary preparations to move to the safe house and make a plan for this war that's now undoubtedly beginning—and yet it's quiet, somehow. Kunikida's shuffling all his papers into a file and sliding his laptop into a briefcase, and Kenji's tucking a plant underneath his hat, and Haruno is scurrying around trying to find something for Director Fukuzawa—and yet the loudest sound is still Ranpo munching on a few of his emergency snacks.
"Is she still in there?" Yosano asks him. "That Mafia woman?" It hasn’t been long since she’d heard Dazai was going in the infirmary to talk to her—the Mafia Executive he’d captured after their run-in with the Guild. Yosano had revived everyone once they’d returned to the Agency, and Dazai and Atsushi had gone in almost immediately afterwards to confront the woman. The confrontation (or whatever it might have been) had been quieter than she’d expected, too.
Something’s certainly off.
Ranpo unwraps another hard candy before he nods. "I haven't heard a peep out of the infirmary since Dazai walked out."
Yosano wonders about that. She knows that man's history—knows that if he wanted information from that woman, he had an arsenal of ways to get it—but it's still strange to think that an apparent Executive of the Port Mafia could be silenced so quickly.
She wonders if she has any wounds that need tending to—it certainly won't do to have one of the younger Agency members walk in to find a puddle of blood on the floor. It wouldn't bother Yosano, of course—not much bothers her these days—but she'd hate to hear a startled shriek from someone like Atsushi, or...well, probably just him. The rest of the Agency seems fairly used to things like that now.
"I assume we're just leaving her here, then?" That doesn't seem entirely right—but Yosano isn't about to question the Director's motives.
Ranpo shrugs, preoccupied with shoving half a dozen bags of honey butter chips into his snack safe.
Well. Maybe she'd better go investigate before they leave—if nothing else to ensure that the Port Mafia Executive won't up and leave while they're all packed into the safe house. "I'm going to go check on her," Yosano announces, but Ranpo is entirely disinterested by now, his attention fully focused on downing his second marble soda as fast as he can. He waves his hand goodbye in lieu of responding.
Her heels click down the marble hallway as she makes her way to the infirmary, knocking on the door. Strange, Yosano thinks—she doesn't usually feel a need to knock before entering a patient's room. She hasn't in a long time, really—but she shakes the thought out of her head as soon as it appears. Right now is certainly no time to be thinking about the past.
There's no response from the other side, but Yosano pushes the door open anyway. "I'd heard something about some kind of torture going on in here, but...it looks like you won't be needing my services after all."
The Executive—Kouyou, Yosano finally remembers—does look completely fine, now, actually. The scarlet bangs that cover her forehead are perfectly in place, swooping over her delicately pale skin. The rest of her hair is pulled back in that tight bun, held by two golden pins that Yosano can see poking out near the back of her head. Everything about her is regal, elegant, her head held high despite her situation—if Yosano hadn't known, she would have never guessed the woman was being held prisoner by her most despised enemies.
"Oh, no," says Kouyou. "I was tortured. Terribly. I can no longer move a single muscle, in fact. I've been paralyzed."
Yosano frowns. "You don't look too paralyzed to me."
The scarlet-haired woman allows a faint smile to appear on her lips. "I suppose that was meant to be a joke."
"Oh," says Yosano. That was...peculiar, to say the least. Yosano hadn't known an Executive of the Port Mafia could attempt a joke. "I guess I hadn't expected that from you."
"I imagine there's plenty your people wouldn't expect from me."
Yosano frowns, but she doesn't respond. Instead, she takes notice again of Kouyou’s condition. "So...you're alright, then? I thought I would have needed to come in here and mop up a puddle of blood."
A hint of a smile appears on Kouyou's face. "That's not the kind of torture that man conducts. He simply wanted to orchestrate a deal."
"A deal?" Yosano echoes, surprised. "Such as?"
The smile widens. "Why on Earth should I tell you?"
Well. Yosano supposes that’s fair.
"Besides," Kouyou adds. "There's not a thing that man could have done to get me to talk if he had actually been seeking information."
Yosano snorts, despite herself. "I don't doubt that. Still, though—I suppose I was expecting more of a fight from a famed mafioso."
She doesn't mean to antagonize Kouyou—rather, Yosano's unusually intrigued by her. There's a strange magnetism about the Executive, an air around her like nothing Yosano has ever felt before.
Or has she? Now that she ponders on it—it's almost familiar. She's an enigma, Yosano thinks—dressed in a silk kimono of the softest, pinkest shades, but she knows that the woman could annihilate a swarm of armed forces with a few blows. Kouyou has been perfectly poised the entire time Yosano has had her eyes on her, her chin at a perfect angle, her cherry red eyes set forward—yet Yosano can see the undercurrent of contained rage behind those eyes, too.
Yes, she realizes—there’s definitely something familiar. Something about Kouyou that Yosano finds herself recognizing all too well. “You're angry, aren't you?"
Kouyou nearly scoffs, although it seems choked. Noises of displeasure must not be common for her. "Of course. I wouldn't expect you to feel perfectly happy if you were being held captive, either."
"It isn’t just that, though," Yosano says, realizing. "Is it? You're upset about the girl—Kyouka." There's so much of Yosano's old self in Kyouka that it sometimes almost pains her to look upon her—that pain and hatred towards her own ability, caused by that man—is once again all too familiar. But she can only hope that the more time Kyouka spends in the Armed Detective Agency, the more she can find renewed appreciation for her ability, the way Yosano has. Ranpo and Director Fukuzawa...they'd saved her. She knows that. She wants to believe Atsushi and Dazai can do the same for Kyouka—and she thinks that's exactly what's causing the scowl on the face of the Port Mafia Executive in front of her.
Kouyou's eyes dart to the side. "I wouldn't expect someone like you to understand."
"I think you'd be surprised," Yosano says before she can stop herself, and Kouyou's face changes after a moment. She can tell she's caught the Executive by surprise.
Her head tilts as she looks up to meet Yosano's gaze, really meeting her eyes with hers, staring at Yosano with an almost teasing expression—analyzing her, she realizes, just like how she imagines the Executive analyzes those poor interrogation victims she’s heard about. But Yosano steels herself before she continues. "That's what the deal with Dazai was about, too—wasn't it?"
And that elegant smile appears again—Yosano can't help but notice how it seems so natural, so at home on her lips. "I must admit you're a bit more perceptive than I'd expected, Doctor..."
"Yosano," she says. "Yosano Akiko."
"Yosano Akiko," Kouyou repeats, slowly.
She nods.
"Well, Doctor Yosano—if you're all going to be leaving soon, do you suppose it would be too much to ask for a pot of tea before you go?"
Yosano feels a small smile creeping up the corners of her mouth. She knows there's no point asking how Kouyou knew the Agency was about to leave. "I suppose not," she replies.
Later, when Kouyou finds the Detective Agency to be perfectly quiet, she pours the pale yellow liquid out of the Agency's chipped red pot. She finds that she's not entirely surprised to discover a tea leaf standing straight up in the middle of her cup, and she smiles at it before she can stop herself.
Well, she supposes—there's time to think that over.