Work Text:
Robin had been in Tokyo for nearly a month and she still felt like she was on another planet, except it was more like everything around her was normal, all human and bustling and moving forward, and she was the alien stuck in place.
She'd learned a few words of Japanese, enough to demur politely when anyone asked her anything she couldn't answer in English, and she'd finally figured out all the secrets of her tiny, tiny apartment. She'd discovered the joy of Japanese convenience stores. She knew the most reliable places to get good cigars and quality scotch.
She'd taken to watching hockey when she couldn't sleep, though she deliberately turned the volume up loud on the Japanese announcers so she could tell herself she was studying the language rather than soothing herself with something that reminded her of home.
She ate, she read her lines at work and tried to have an expression to match, she drank, she watched hockey, and then, on a good day, she slept.
Then came the day when she was invited to a coworker outing after the show. No matter how many polite refusals she gave, in either language, it seemed that this was a case in which she was not socially allowed to say no. She gave in.
She found herself in a bar (not even that different from MacLaren's...) with a scotch in her hand, staring into the eyes of one of her fellow newscasters.
Robin had been so out of it that she'd only managed to relate to her coworkers in the sense of remembering their names and when she was supposed to turn to which one and bow during the show. This one, she remembered, was Sakurai-san, and he was there once a week to ease her life by taking up enough time with his segment that hers, the experimental culture report in English, was cut in half.
Looking at him now, she realized that he was a full-on person that she had to try to relate to outside of work. He had laugh lines around his eyes and he was wearing a shirt that said NEWS BOY. She'd only ever seen him in a suit.
She noticed him considering her. She lifted her glass and grinned. "Scotch." It had nothing to do with anything, but he wouldn't understand anyway.
He lifted his beer and said, deadpan, "Beer."
She narrowed her eyes at him, immediately competitive. "Scotch is better."
He tilted his head and almost smiled. He said something brief in Japanese.
Not being able to understand made her so frustrated for a moment that her vision seemed to white out.
When she came back to herself, he was walking away, and she found herself looking at the way his jeans clung to his body.
Huh. He was not only a person, he was an attractive person. Belatedly she realized that his laughing eyes, his almost-smiling mouth, the weirdly perfect hair, it all lived up to the excellence of that ass. Even his voice had been nice, all rumbly and amused.
On an impulse, she abandoned her drink and went after him. She touched his arm and said, "Wanna get out of here?"
His eyes went to her hand touching him, making her suppress the urge to jerk back self-consciously, and then to her other hand, which was still making the motion of let's get out of here with a thumb pointing toward the door. Those dark eyes widened.
He put down his beer and crossed his arms in front of his chest, making a vehement X, then mimed someone taking a picture.
"You can't leave with me," she guessed, pointing at the door again before making an X of her own, "because someone ... might take your picture?" She snorted. "What are you, the presid--prime minister? The emperor? Wayne Gretzky? Buddy, no one cares where either of us go; our show might be classy but we're just jerks in suits reading lines."
He looked around the room like someone might be able to explain either of them to the other, then pointed at himself and said slowly, "Do... you... know..." and then a word in Japanese that she indeed did not know.
"Look, I just want to leave," she sighed and pointed at the door. "So I'm leaving. See you next week, News Boy."
Sakurai said something very long and serious-sounding in Japanese, eyes darting around the room, then grasped her elbow gently and steered her to the door. It seemed like he was putting on a show of some sort, like he was helping her because she didn't know which way to go or was drunk or something, but she let him. It gave her a way out of the work party without it even looking like her fault.
Outside the bar in the cool night air, Sakurai pulled out a face mask and put it on, then gestured for her to do the same.
She pointed to her face. "I don't have one of those, and frankly you kind of look like a serial killer in it, all of you; my dad taught me only to wear that thing if you're doing impromptu surgery in the wilderness on one of your hunting buddies--"
Sakurai stepped closer, intent on her, making her stumble over her words and finally stop. He carefully pulled her scarf up and wrapped it high so that it covered her mouth. When he was done, he looked up and met her gaze, and instead of looking surprised, he did something with his eyes that made her suspect that under the mask, he was smirking.
She decided aloud, "You're a ridiculous human being! I do have a lot of experience with that, having dated many and slept with more, and my best friend is secretly the most ridiculous person ever--which you don't need to hear about, and it's not like you understand anyway, ugh. So maybe we'll get along fine, but watch it, okay."
His laugh lines creased deeper. He said something in Japanese, sounding pleased, and started walking.