Archive of Our Own ^beta

Daichi’s standing by the window port when Tetsurou steps into their room, hands clasped neatly behind his back as he looks out at the bright-lit spaceport on the horizon. He doesn’t glance around at the quiet hiss as the door slides open, then shut. Tetsurou opens his mouth to say his name, hesitates, then digs his hands into his pockets and props a shoulder against the wall, settling in to wait as long as Daichi needs. It’s been a long day, made longer by the fact that they’d stayed up most of last night talking, and he can’t grudge him some time to take it all in in peace.

He isn’t complaining about the chance to let his gaze linger on Daichi without fear of being caught, either.

The graduation uniform suits Daichi to admiration, almost unfairly so. He’s handsome at the best of times, but dressed in narrow black hakama and the forest green Ranger jacket, with the little silver buttons at his throat and the gleaming laser pistol at his hip . . . Tetsurou couldn’t look away if he tried. Daichi would, in fact, be the perfect picture of a fresh young officer awaiting his first orders if it wasn’t for the look in his eyes - distant, unfocused, somehow almost as otherworldly as the stars scattered across the deep purple night sky.

It’s rare to catch him like this, so still, so quiet. Tetsurou watches him and wonders how, over the course of four years of rigorous training and incessant bickering, they’d stopped being Kuroo and Sawamura and become Tetsu and Daichi. He can’t for the life of him remember when it happened, and he doesn’t know if he’s glad or sorry, now, for the fact that it had. For the friendship and trust that had grown young and sturdy between them, roots planted deep in brutal sparring matches and competing for first place in every exam and nights whiled away talking about everything they dreamed of being in years to come. For the way he’d fallen headlong for Daichi’s smile, his strength and his compassion, his undimming and unwavering light; for the way Teturou's pulse now hums in time with the steady flicker of neon light in the hollow of Daichi’s throat.

Daichi comes back to himself after a minute or two more, with a blink and a quiet sigh, and only then does he turn to see Tetsurou standing there. His brows lift, enquiring.

Tetsurou shakes his head, gives Daichi the crooked smile that never fails to elicit an amused twinkle in return. “Just waiting for you to finish daydreaming,” he says. “Nervous about your posting?”

“More excited than anything, but that could change when I know where I’m going. You?”

“I got mine half an hour ago.”

“Really? Where?”

“Sector seven, some medium-sized industrial planet. It’s pretty decent.”

“That’s great, Tetsu.” Daichi smiles, all warm and genuine, and Tetsurou’s heart trips on a beat, stumbles, struggles back to a rapid drum in his chest. “I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks.” Tetsurou allows his gaze to soften, just a little. “Let me know when you get yours, yeah?”

“Of course, as soon as they tell me. Maybe we’ll be close by, if we’re lucky.”

“The Territories are about a thousand galaxies too big for that kinda luck, but it’s a nice thought.”

“Well, at least we might be within a single jump of each other.”

A quip trots onto Tetsurou’s tongue - something along the lines of Haven’t had enough of me already, huh? - but he can’t quite find it in himself to tease right now. He shuffles his feet instead, lets his gaze wander across the neatly stacked suitcases, the two bunks folded down into place. “We’ll see. Looks like you’re all packed, anyway.”

“Yeah, my family will be here soon. Last week of freedom before we’re deployed, so . . .”

“Yeah, no, it makes sense that they’d want to spend time with you before you go.”

“What about you? I thought your father and sister were -”

“Ah . . . something came up.” Tetsurou shrugs with one shoulder, makes sure his smile stays steady. “They sent a holo-card. I didn’t expect much else, honestly.”

Daichi is quiet for a long moment, dark eyes scanning Tetsurou’s face. “They’re doing good work,” he says. “Even if it doesn’t allow the luxury of much free time . . . and you know they’d drop everything for you, if you really needed them.”

“I know,” Tetsurou says, and he does, but he’s still grateful. Daichi somehow always guesses exactly what kind of reassurance he needs to hear. “I don’t blame them. It’s just kinda sad that I’ll be spending the next week wandering an empty Academy with nothing to do.”

Daichi laughs. “Hit the town,” he says, going to pick up his luggage. “Have all the fun you can while you have the time. Find someone pretty for a fling, make some memories of this place that don’t involve Naoi-san yelling at us to get our shit together.”

Find someone pretty for a fling. It’s like a slim shard of glass, slipping swiftly between Tetsurou’s ribs; he’s lucky that Daichi is too busy zipping up his backpack to see him flinch. He opens his mouth to say - what, he doesn’t know, but Daichi’s persocomm chimes with his mother’s personal ringtone. He looks away while Daichi accepts the call, trying to gather some semblance of composure. There’s so much he wants to say, fuck, they might not see each other in person for another decade or two, he - he can’t just let Daichi go like this -

“They’re at the gates,” Daichi says, slinging his backpack over his shoulder and picking up a suitcase in either hand. “I’d better go.”

“Of course, yeah - do you need help with your things?” Tetsurou says, tongue heavy with everything he can’t find the words for. They’d said so much so honestly to each other last night, but how is he supposed to look Daichi in the eye now and say -

You’re the best person I’ve ever known.

I’m going to miss you so fucking much.

Don’t forget about me.

“Nah, they’re anti-grav equipped. I’ll be fine.”

“Okay, cool. Um, Daichi -”

Daichi pauses, looks back over his shoulder. “Yeah?”

I’m in love with you.

“Keep in touch.” Tetsurou holds his hand out, and manages a smile past the lump in his throat. “And stay safe.”

Daichi smiles back, putting a suitcase down to grip his hand tight. “You too, Tetsu,” he says softly. “We’re gonna make a real difference, the two of us. I know it.”

He says it with such conviction that it kindles a tiny measure of genuine confidence, a spark of real hope, and the words still ring in Tetsurou’s ears as he leaves. If that’s not much compensation for the effort it takes Tetsurou to keep his eyes dry as Daichi walks away from him, down the hostel corridor and into a new life, well.

It’s better than nothing.

There’s a knock at the door of the bathing cubicle, loud enough to be heard over the hiss of the pressurised water. “Lieutenant?”

“Yeah?” Daichi pauses in the process of scrubbing the sand off the back of his neck, flipping the water switch off with his elbow. “What’s up?”

“You remember that the ceremony’s in twenty minutes, right?”

Daichi closes his eyes with a groan. “Shit.”

“Yeah, you'd better hurry.”

“I’ll be out in five. Thanks, Suga.”

“No problem. Maybe next time we’ll see you up there, huh?”

“Don’t jinx it,” Daichi calls through the door, and Suga laughs and leaves with a cheery, “See you there!”

Daichi’s soon reasonably clean - or as clean as he can get after a field shift on the little planet Yamaguchi has recently nicknamed ‘Dustball’ - and as he steps out and starts hunting for his dress uniform, he sends a quick, grateful prayer to whichever gods helped their crew come together. Having competent, trustworthy colleagues is the greatest blessing a Ranger can have, and Daichi’s current posting might be to a dead-end outworld but the crew is the best he’s ever had the pleasure of leading. They’re certainly the only reason that the possibility of his promotion to captain even exists.

He finds his uniform jacket, towels his hair dry, runs a quick comb through it and makes sure to sit ramrod straight before switching the wall-mounted video comm on and typing in the meeting code. The lights dim as a hologram of headquarters is projected through half the room, row after row of officers appearing as they log in. Of the thousands in attendance, only around thirty will actually be there in person; the ones attending virtually will have to deal with the frequent lags and glitches that plague interstellar video transmission, worsened by the limited communication capabilities on remote planets where many are stationed.

Daichi suppresses a sigh as the Quadrant Commander clears her throat and begins her welcome speech. The whole thing will take an hour at the minimum, though it’s mere routine and the actual promotion of deserving officers could be done in ten minutes or so. The pompous ceremony of it all is a bore, but it’s really only a matter of maintaining a neutral expression even though Daichi would much rather sleep for the next twelve hours. He can manage. It’s better than tramping endlessly through the desert to ferret out another minor smuggler’s hideout, at least - and he might be able to catch a glimpse of Tetsurou.

The Commander is only five minutes into her speech, so now is as good a time to check as any. Daichi pulls up the participant list from the bottom left of the screen to type in Tetsurou’s name, letter by letter, while still staring straight ahead. He only allows his gaze to flick to the side when the search function has finished running, and he’s glad to see Tetsurou’s name show up in - wait, in dark blue? He’s not only logged into the meeting, but he’s physically present?

Daichi quickly drags his eyes back forward to the virtual stage, trying not to let his surprise show. Why would Tetsurou bother to actually travel to a sector two galaxies away from his own just for a routine promotion ceremony?

“ . . . who deserve nothing less for their part in protecting the very foundation of the Territories’ existence. I will now call upon the Homeworld Ambassador to convey Terra’s appreciation for these valiant young officers . . .”

Well, no matter the reason, it’s nice to know that he’s sure to see Tetsurou now, since the ones physically present get pride of place on the big display screen. If Tetsurou had been virtually present like most others, Daichi would’ve had to squint to search for him every time the camera happened to scan the rows of stoic officers.

“Thank you, Commander. Before I call the officers on stage, I’d like to take a minute to say that . . .”

It’s been some time since they’ve actually seen each other, but it’s not like they’ve become strangers in the five years since they graduated. They’ve been assigned to neighbouring sectors, and unlike the case with the majority of his classmates, Daichi’s kept in touch with Tetsurou even with twelve-hour shifts, a neverending mountain of tedious administrative tasks, and the occasional skirmish with cocky smugglers looking for places to stash their goods. They’re mostly restricted to texts and voice chat, given the time lag and issues with video across the millions of light years separating them, but it’s been enough to manage with. Daichi knows about everything important - the six months of patrol duty Tetsurou’s first captain had stuck him with, his roommate’s laser pistol going off in the middle of the night because she’d forgotten the safety, the sentient slime that escaped from the base lab to invade their living quarters, and the time they’d had to ambush a gang leader in the red light district and Tetsurou had nearly been nailed in the eye with a hairbrush by a sex worker with astonishingly good aim.

“ - Michimiya Yui, and Lieutenant Kuroo Tetsurou. Please come to the stage to receive your badges.”

He certainly hadn’t known about this, however.

What the fuck?! is his first incredulous, half laughing thought. But of course that’s the only reason Tetsurou would actually be there; Daichi must be much more tired than he’d thought if his brain hadn’t managed to piece that together. The bastard, I can’t believe he got promoted before me!

He only keeps his face straight by pure willpower as Tetsurou mounts the stage and accepts his badge. He bows to the commander before turning to flash a smile at the audience, boyish and charming, and the flare of amused, competitive spirit dies as quickly as it’d come alive, simmering down into something warm and affectionate and almost a little wistful. Daichi hasn’t seen him, really seen him, in so long, and the sight of him in his dress uniform, hair combed back, is - has he always been quite so tall, quite so broad-shouldered? Have his eyes always been that particular shade of honey, have they always crinkled like that when he smiled?

Daichi has long since accepted that their friendship is - at least on his part - not entirely platonic, so he grants himself the indulgence of watching Tetsurou and only Tetsurou for the rest of the ceremony without too much of a qualm. When it’s over, he hesitates before pulling up their private channel on his persocomm - perhaps Tetsurou is going out to celebrate with his crew, or perhaps he wants to rest, he might not want to hear from Daichi right now - but Daichi sees the status circle blink green, and figures it can’t hurt. If Tetsurou is busy, he’ll either decline the call or tell him to call back later.

He picks up, though, on the third ring. “Surprised?” is the first thing he says, and Daichi can’t help rolling his eyes even as he smiles.

“Yes, asshole.” He sinks back into his chair as he tugs the jacket buttons loose. “Congratulations on the promotion.”

“Thanks, Daichi!” The grin is so audible that Daichi can almost see it, wide and teasing. “You better catch up soon, yeah? It gets lonely here at the top.”

“Oh please, you’re just a captain, it’s not like -”

“What’s that? Can’t hear you over the sound of all the champagne being popped for me and my shiny new badge. And my security clearance, and leave privileges, and -”

“I’ll get there soon enough, don’t fucking worry,” Daichi laughs. It’s been too long since they’ve really spoken, too; he’d almost forgotten the lightness in his chest that only talking to Tetsurou ever brings, the way it feels like a breath of clean, easy air after a day of working in Dustball’s grit-laced atmosphere. “And unlike you, I won’t have to bribe twenty people for it.”

“That’s vile slander, I only bribed five.” There’s a pause before Tetsurou says, with a tinge of uncharacteristic hesitance, “Do you have time to talk now? It’s been a while, but I know it must be almost midnight. You have another shift soon, right?”

A lump rises in Daichi’s throat startlingly quickly as he realises that Tetsurou not only remembers where Dustball is in its 18-day day-night cycle, but Daichi’s shift schedule as well. It’s nothing to get sentimental about, it would be odder if they didn’t know it after all the effort they’ve put into figuring out times to meet, but -

“Yeah.” It comes out a little choked; he clears his throat, tries again. “Yeah, I have time, but what about you? Don’t you have celebrating to do?”

“Nah, I’ll go out with the crew tomorrow. I figured you might call today, so. You know.”

So I wanted to make sure we could talk goes unsaid. Daichi bites back the I missed you too, Tetsu, and reaches out to set a timer for three hours - the most he can carve out of the seven hours before his next shift without being dead on his feet tomorrow.

“I’m flattered. So, tell me, what else have I missed?”

Tetsurou finally lets his hands relax around the ship’s controls, and even the sting of blood rushing back into his fingers isn’t enough to dim his grin in the slightest as he watches the last of the rebel ships implode, blue and orange and blinding white blossoming among the stars before winking out fitfully.

“Kai?”

The quiet chime of the AI system sounds over the speakers. “Yes, Captain?”

“Sound the all-clear and announce a check in over the PA, please. While everyone is sounding off, get in touch with Yacchan to arrange to dock with the Karasuno.”

“Understood, Captain.”

Everyone checks in, and is reasonably fine apart from Fukunaga, whose harness had malfunctioned midway through the fight. He’d been thrown into the wall and gotten a mild concussion, but he’ll be fine with a day or two of rest. The Nekoma itself is rather battered, since its small size means that it does best with close combat, but up against several rebel ships with only one ally? They could have done far, far worse. We have the right to be proud, Tetsurou thinks, giving the walls a loving pat as he strides to the airlock doors and waits for the docking procedure to be completed.

The Karasuno is much larger, a gleaming behemoth of steel and firepower. The shields can weather a minor nuclear explosion before even flickering, the comm system is good enough for intergalactic transmission, and the whole thing is so well designed that it can be run by a skeleton crew of only ten or so. Even the rush of air leaving the airlock after Kuroo boards seems quieter than on the Nekoma. Of course Daichi, of all people, would be assigned such a magnificent ship when he made captain. It’s almost enough to make Tetsurou jealous.

And speaking of Daichi -

“Tetsu.”

Tetsurou’s gaze snaps to the end of the bright-lit corridor, where Daichi is standing with his hands on his hips, grinning broad and proud. He looks almost the same as he had eight years ago, the last time they’d been in the same room - he fills his uniform out better now, perhaps, and his hair is an unusually rumpled mess, but the easy confidence in every line of his body hasn’t changed. His only mark from the fight, thankfully, seems to be a scratch at his temple that’s bleeding a sluggish red. There are people gathering behind him, wearing colours other than the captain’s silver-grey, but Tetsurou has eyes for no one else.

“Captain Kuroo Tetsurou of the Nekoma on board, airlock three,” Yachi’s clear voice announces over the PA system, and he can’t wait for the second it takes to acknowledge her, can’t do anything but stride down the corridor as quickly as humanly possible. Daichi meets him midway, crushing his outstretched hand in his own before pulling Tetsurou into a strong hug. They sway slightly, grappling for the upper hand like they used to when they were eighteen, and sudden tears sting in Tetsurou’s eyes. Daichi smells just as he used to under the ship’s standard aerosol sanitizer, familiar pine-scented deodorant with a hint of machine grease - does he spend half his nights in the bowels of his ship, tinkering with the engines, like he used to do in the mechanics lab at the Academy?

“Hi,” he manages, gripping the back of Daichi’s jacket tight. “We fucking did it, huh?”

Daichi laughs, and it resounds low through Tetsurou’s body, like a church bell. “We fucking did it,” he says, and lets Tetsurou go to take a step back. “It’s about damn time you made it onto my ship.”

Tetsurou laughs too, an exhalation of relief. “After all the help Yacchan’s given us, yeah,” he agrees, smiling up at the ceiling. “Thanks for the assist today, Yacchan. We’d have been toast without you.”

“You’re welcome, Captain Kuroo,” she says, tone lilting a little higher in a way that could almost be called playful. “May I say that it’s a pleasure to finally meet you in person after having been restricted to only radio communication with Kai-san, yourself, and your crew?”

The Nekoma and Karasuno have been paired for multiple missions in recent months, so often that Tetsurou’s gotten to know most of Daichi’s crew - and Yachi, of course, who seems to nurse a certain amount of shy admiration for Kai - purely by voice, over the radio. They’re a chaotic but brilliant team, and to finally be able meet them in person is something Tetsurou is certainly grateful for. He’s about to say as much when Daichi cuts in.

“Okay, okay, stop flirting with my AI and get your ass in here,” he says, tugging Tetsurou forward with a roll of his eyes, but he’s clearly trying to bite back a smile. “Where’s my thanks, huh? Who’s the one in charge of the ship, me or Yacchan?”

“Hey, he should be thanking me!” a woman with cropped and bleached hair calls out. “Where would they be without Ryuu and I manning the cannons?”

“Or without Kiyoko and I piloting?” This from a slight man with ruffled silver hair and a charming smile, marked as the second officer by his dark blue uniform. Suga, Tetsurou realises, and the woman is Saeko. A few others start to chime in, arguing with each other, and the noise starts to build. Daichi silences them with a bark of “Quiet!” and a glare, and Tetsurou can’t help but smile.

“Thank you so much, all of you,” he says, with his most graceful bow. “It’s truly a privilege to finally meet you. We couldn’t have taken down half the ships we did without the Karasuno’s assistance. My crew will be here shortly to express their own gratitude, and I hope you’ll make them as welcome as you’ve made me.”

Yachi gives a little giggle, and there’s a ripple of laughter among the crew. “He’s a pretty smooth talker, eh?” Saeko grins. “Come on then, Captain Kuroo. We’ve got a good stock of real Terran sake in deep storage, and I’m sure there’s enough for your crew and ours to toast to victory.”

This gets a roar of approval, and the crew turn as one person to head off into the ship without paying heed to Daichi’s disapproving sigh. “We’d meant to save that,” he says, “but I supposed now’s as good a time as any to celebrate.”

“Of course it is.” Tetsurou gives his shoulder a friendly bump with his own as they follow in the wake of the crew’s clamour. “Come on, are you really complaining?”

“I guess not,” Daichi smiles. “Call your crew over, or there’ll be nothing left for them.”

“They’re coming, they’re coming, don’t worry.”

They walk in comfortable silence for a moment or two before a hand wraps around Tetsurou’s wrist, warm and rough. “It really is good to see you again,” Daichi murmurs, squeezing briefly. “I missed you.”

Tetsurou’s heart leaps into his throat, clogging it with something between desperation and longing - how does Daichi still do this to him so easily, after all this time? - and he can’t keep silent now, not when they don’t know when they might ever see each other again. All the words he needs to tell Daichi how much he means to him, painstakingly gathered and held close over eight long years, come rushing to the tip of his tongue.

“Daichi, I -”

“Captain, we need your keycode!” someone yells loudly, and Daichi huffs under his breath, releasing Tetsurou’s wrist as he picks up the pace.

“Of course they didn’t remember that before they went rushing off,” he says, then glances back at Tetsurou. “Sorry, Tetsu, were you saying something?”

The moment shatters. Tetsurou remembers they have work to do, the remnants of a fight to clean up, survivors to chase down and arrest. He manages a smile. “No, nothing,” he says, and catches up to Daichi to sling an arm around his shoulder. “Let’s go find that sake.”

Tetsurou’s eyes are hooded, haunted, when Daichi looks up from the last holo-file. They stare at each other for nearly a minute, silent, as the sounds of yet another bar fight filter through the ceiling.

“Are the files reliable?” is all Daichi can finally say, and instantly wants to kick himself for asking such a stupid question. Tetsurou wouldn’t have gone to such lengths to arrange this kind of clandestine meeting if it wasn’t true.

Tetsurou answers anyway. “They are. Dates, times, serial numbers, they all check out. I’ve traced leaders’ movements for the past ten cycles. Everything matches.”

“Shit.” Daichi puts the tablet down, rests his head in his hands. “Shit. All this time - I mean, we all knew the system had some amount of corruption, but this -”

His voice dies without his permission. Above, a glass smashes against the wall. Feet tramp loudly on the floorboards, up and down, over and over again.

“What do we do?” Tetsurou’s skin is deathly pale in the light of the single, sickly fluorescent bulb screwed into the wall. “How many know? How many more are part of it?”

“It must be millions.” Daichi looks up from his hands, spits the words bitterly, like bile. “Moving this kind of money, breaking these kinds of laws - it can’t be done without a huge part of the system involved.”

“And it can’t be kept quiet without the planetary governments involved as well. It could be the sector governors, the quadrant commanders, the Intergalactic Council itself -”

It’s Tetsurou’s voice that dies, now. “Who do we tell?” Daichi asks, in a thread of a whisper.

“ . . . Who would believe us?”

Daichi has to bury his face in his hands again to hide the tears rising at the hopelessness in Tetsurou’s voice. They’d truly believed in the system, both of them. They’d wanted to be Rangers ever since they could remember, and to find out now that their superiors starve civilizations, kill planets, drain the fringes of the Territories dry to fatten their own purses as they sit in the centre, gloating, it’s - it’s -

Tetsurou’s chair scrapes back as the first sob slips through Daichi’s fingers. A hand comes to rest on the back of his head, and Daichi blindly lets it guide him to press his face to Tetsurou’s hip. Tetsurou holds him as he cries, cradling him close, and Daichi clutches at the worn cotton of his shirt like it’s the only thing holding him together.

“We - killed them,” Daichi whispers after a while, when the tears have slowed for the moment. “Everyone who was trying to fight, because we thought - because we were told -”

Tetsurou’s fingers tighten in his hair. “Yeah.”

“We can’t stay, we can’t - serve any longer, but the punishment for deserting is -”

“Yeah.” Tetsurou’s voice is hoarser, growing unsteady. “We’ll - we’ll figure it out.”

Daichi sniffs, shifts back to look up at him. “Yeah, you sound really sure about that.”

A ghost of a smile touches Tetsurou’s lips. “I know we will. We have each other, don’t we?”

Daichi is abruptly aware that his arms are still locked tight around Tetsurou’s waist. Tetsurou is looking down at him, his honey eyes tear-blurred, burning with hurt, yet soft-edged as he strokes through Daichi’s hair once, slow as can be. Daichi wants nothing more - has wanted nothing more in his entire life - than to kiss him. His whole body yearns for it, pleading for him to tug Tetsurou down into his lap, to kiss his lovely mouth, to drown their grief in each other -

A tear slips off of Tetsurou’s jaw to land on Daichi’s upturned face, at the corner of his mouth, and the mild shock of it is, somehow, just enough to jolt him back to some semblance of rational thought. It’s neither the time nor the place to allow his unrequited feelings free rein; he would never forgive himself if he forced Tetsurou to reject the advances of his only ally in a situation like this.

He slackens his hold, pushes Tetsurou away gently with the most grateful smile he can muster. “Of course we will,” he says, and his voice, by some miracle, doesn’t waver. “Always.”

Tetsurou gives him a jerky nod, squeezes his shoulder once before going back to his seat. Daichi waits for him to wipe his own tears away before he says, “So.”

“So.”

“We can’t stay, so we desert. We need to make sure they don’t catch us - there’s no point in us leaving if we just get thrown into a cell and whipped till we bleed dry - and we need to make sure we’re doing some good. What’s the best way to help?”

Tetsurou considers this for a minute before he says, slowly, “Carrying supplies and information. Helping rebels and refugees.”

Daichi nods. “So we become smugglers?”

“Smugglers who damage Ranger mission ships, if we can.” Tetsurou smiles, a little stronger than before. “Pirates, then?”

Daichi can’t help but smile back. “Fine by me. Will your crew follow you?”

“Once they hear about this? Definitely.”

“So will mine. And they’re loyal, every last one of them.”

“We have the plan, then, and the people. We just need -”

“Ships.” Daichi reaches for the tablet, quickly pulling up a schematic of the station where both the Nekoma and Karasuno are docked. “We’ll have to steal them.”

Tetsurou meets his gaze across the rickety table, Daichi’s mounting focus mirrored fierce in his eyes. “And we’ll set the goddamn place on fire afterwards,” he says. “Let me see that schematic.”

Yamaguchi hurries into the maintenance room, tugging his visor up with restless fingers. “We’re good to go, Captain Kuroo,” he says.

Tetsurou nods, glancing around at the others. Inuoka is thin-lipped, eyes determined. Ennoshita looks as calm as ever, assembling his pistol piece by piece. Alisa is tapping one foot, her hair tied back tight, and Kageyama is grim, focused.

“Everyone ready?”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Yes, Captain.”

Tetsurou waits until they’ve all confirmed, then nods again. “Comms, then. Kuroo, checking in.”

Daichi’s voice hums in his ear. “Audible, no issues.”

“Ennoshita, checking in.”

“Audible, no issues.”

“Inuoka, checking in.”

"Audible, no issues.”

All their comms are fine (as they should be, Tetsurou had triple checked that they were all in perfect working order last night). “Okay, let's go,” he says. “If there’s trouble you can’t handle, just focus on making it back out. There’ll always be another chance to get the files, yeah?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Good. Daichi, good to go?”

“On your mark, Captain.”

Tetsurou’s mouth quirks. “In half a minute, then. You lot, get going. Don’t kill anyone if you can help it, all right?”

That gets a smile out of them - even Kageyama’s expression relaxes marginally - before they tug their visors down and file out, soft-footed, the most dangerous soldiers in the Territories despite their mismatched weapons, equipment and abilities. Tetsurou would like nothing more than to go with them, but someone has to stay behind to coordinate between the two forces. They won’t need him for a while now, though, so he switches Daichi to a different channel so they can speak without distracting the others.

“They’re on the move,” he says, quieter now that he doesn’t have to project confidence. “Twenty seconds.”

“Ready.”

“Mm.” They’re both quiet for a moment before Tetsurou says, “Tell Suga he better not get a single scratch on my ship.”

Daichi’s smile is warm, curling audibly through his voice. “That’s what you get for volunteering her to be the distraction.”

“If the Karasuno could get close enough without triggering every proximity alert on the station, I’d have had no problem letting you make the sacrifice for once.”

There’s a quiet laugh. Tetsurou pictures him on the Nekoma’s bridge in one of the gunners’ chairs, eyes bright and ready as they wait to attack.

“Seven seconds. Daichi?”

“Yeah?”

Tetsurou closes his eyes, swallowing steadily against the rising nerves that always precede a mission. “Stay safe.”

Please come back to me.

There’s that warm smile again, and the inevitable reply. “I will if you do.”

Tetsurou smiles too, alone in the dimness of the maintenance room. “Deal.”

It’s only in the taut, trembling moments before a mission that he allows himself to imagine, just for a moment, that Daichi means their routine exchange the same way he does.

Alisa’s voice comes through - We’re on the third floor, captain - and Tetsurou straightens where he’s sitting. “Zero,” he says. “Nekoma team, commence the attack. Let’s give them something to fear.”

“Testing,” Daichi says softly. “Noya, can you hear me?”

For a moment, there’s nothing but the beep of monitors, the whirring of the healing plasma units. Then the nondescript little box plugged into the terminal lights up, red and green and blue winking in quick succession. Code starts to scroll slowly in the window open on Daichi’s screen.

“Loud and clear, Captain Sawamura!” The voice is young, jaunty, full of energy. “How’re ya doing?”

Daichi smiles to himself as he lowers the speaker volume. The money he’d spent on a personality chip hadn’t been wasted, it looks like. “I’m doing well. How about you? Are you feeling good?”

“I’m feeling great!”

“That’s good. Are you able to access your directive?”

“Yep!” The lights flicker again. “Pilot the Karasuno is basically it, yeah?”

“That’s right. You’ll be working with Yachi, who’s already part of the ship. I’d like you to listen to what she tells you, okay?”

There’s a brief, disconcerted pause before Noya’s voice returns. “So I’m like . . . second in command?”

Yachi’s hooked up to the terminal too, and she speaks now, an urgent, apprehensive whisper, “Captain, I really don’t know if -”

“Yes, you are,” Daichi says calmly. “At least for now. I’ve brought you on to ease the load on Yachi, mainly by running the weaponry and engines so she can focus on communication, navigation, and other tasks - like hacking - which we need her for. When you’ve found your feet, we can discuss a different division of responsiblity if that’s what the both of you want. For now, she’s your senior, and you will follow her instructions when asked to do so. Am I clear?”

There’s another silence before Noya says, bright once more, “Okay, sure, you got it. Weapons and engines sound pretty cool, anyway! Were you the one that activated me, Captain?”

“I tailored your code to our needs and put your hardware together, yes.”

“Damn. So you’re kind of like my dad then, huh?”

Daichi rubs a rueful hand over his jaw, trying not to think about how his week-old stubble is liberally sprinkled with grey despite the fact that he’s just about pushing thirty-five. “I suppose I am, yes, but we’ll stick with Captain if it’s all the same to you.”

“Roger that!”

Yachi is still apprehensive, Daichi can tell by how the room’s temperature dips by a degree or two - she’s always had a bit of trouble with the aircon when she’s flustered. He’s starting to wish he’d bothered to put his shirt back on after Tsukishima had checked him over.

“Captain Sawamura, I really - I’m not sure that -”

“You’ll be fine, Yacchan.” Not for the first time, Daichi wishes she was tangible. He always imagines a short, slight girl with wide eyes, easy to hug close and soothe when she gets nervous. “I know Noya is a bit . . . much -”

“Hey!”

“ - but I did check the specs on his personality chip. He’s perfectly compatible with you, and I know you’ll work well together.”

“Yes, but -”

“And the Karasuno is technically a two-AI ship, you know.” He can’t help but gentle his voice, just a little. “You’ve been working so hard all these years, keeping us going all on your own. We did discuss that it would be nice for you to have some help, right?”

She’s quiet for a good minute before she finally says, “We did. I suppose - all right. I - I look forward to working with you, Noya-san.”

“You too, Yachi-san!”

“Thank you, both of you. I hope you’ll work well together. If you have any problems, just let me know, okay?”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Yes, Captain!”

“Good. I’m going to link the two of you up directly so you can get better acquainted, and so that you can show Noya over the ship, Yacchan. If you could acquaint him with everyone he should know as well, that would be great. Turn him over to Ryuu afterwards for a quick compatibility checkup, just to make sure there are no issues with running any part of the ship.”

“Understood, Captain.”

“I’m disabling audio output now, okay?” Daichi waits for their acknowledgement before disconnecting the speakers, and rubs at his temple tiredly as code starts to scroll rapidly on the terminal screen. It had taken the better part of five days to get Noya up and running, time that he would have ideally spent recovering from a hasty flight after Tora had bumped into a Ranger during one of their infrequent pit stops. They’d managed to refuel and resupply, but Daichi, Tetsurou and Yaku had had to steer the Nekoma through a nasty dogfight to make sure that the Karasuno got away safe.

If Noya takes to both the ship and Yachi, though, it would make everyone’s lives easier. Yachi tends to hesitate to fire their heavy artillery at crucial moments, and Daichi has spent days and nights trying to strip that characteristic from her personality without success. If Noya takes over weaponry, his gung-ho attitude would solve that problem. And with him running the engines and Yachi navigating, quick as she is, even as heavy a ship as the Karasuno would be able to outrun most ships in the Rangers’ fleet. Their next destination is a planet two quadrants over, where a megacorp has been waging war to gain control of precious metal mines. Their mission is to ferry refugees to safety, but if the opportunity arises, they could bomb the corp’s headquarters, give the defenders the help they sorely need, it could be Noya’s chance to -

There’s a quiet groan behind him, and Daichi instantly forgets all about Noya as he slews around in his chair. Tetsurou is sitting up, head bowed, shielding his face from the harsh light of the med bay with one hand.

“Hey,” Daichi says, getting up and hurrying over to his bed. “It’s about time.”

Tetsurou grunts low in his throat. “Was I out that long?” he says, and his voice is raw.

“Two days.” Daichi sits at the edge of the bed. “We were beginning to think it might not take.”

“Mm. Where’s Tsukki?” Tetsurou reaches for the glass of water on a nearby table. He’s still shading his face with the other hand. “Has he finally abandoned me like he’s always threatening to do?”

Fond, familiar exasperation steals into Daichi’s chest. “Not quite. I sent him to get some rest, he was dead on his feet.”

“Good. For a medic, the kid doesn’t seem to take care of his health at all . . . so you’ve been sitting here, watching over me? I know you’re usually the one to fix me up, but you should be resting too, you know.”

“I was working on getting Noya set up,” Daichi says, instead of Yes, I have, because you wouldn’t fucking wake up. “And there’s a terminal in here, so I figured I might as well keep an eye on you at the same time.”

He doesn’t need to bother with the lie, really. Tetsurou knows the truth anyway, because he'd have done the same for Daichi.

“So is he okay? Noya?”

“Yacchan was still hesitant, but yeah, he seems to be in good working order.”

“Good. Here’s hoping he helps her out instead of driving her up the wall.”

“Mm. I’m optimistic.” Daichi waits a beat before asking, quietly, “Does it hurt?”

“Not too much.”

“Integration?”

“A hundred percent. I can see the bones in my legs if I blink right.”

Tetsurou looks up, then, and Daichi’s breath catches painfully. His right eye is no longer warm honey, but steel-grey, and there are hints of blue light in the depths of the pupil as it calibrates, focusing. It’s a wonderful piece of machinery, and Tsukishima had done an excellent job with the procedure, and Tetsurou now has instantaneous access to X-ray scanning and facial recognition and all kinds of useful tricks, which is all - all good, but oh, Daichi mourns the loss of Tetsurou’s real eye like it had been his own. If he’d been quicker at the Nekoma’s guns, if he’d managed to take out that relentlessly pursuing ship before it had fired, Tetsurou wouldn’t have - he wouldn’t be -

“I’d tell you not to sit there blaming yourself,” Tetsurou murmurs, smiling ever so slightly. The skin at the corner of the new eye doesn’t quite crinkle right. “But now you know how I felt when you had your chest smashed in last year.”

Daichi exhales slowly, trying to school his expression into something more neutral. He’s not sure it works. “A few titanium bones and a cybernetic eye are not the same, Tetsu.”

“And half your left lung.”

“Still -”

Tetsurou sighs, and reaches for Daichi’s hand. Daichi lets him lace their fingers together, biting his lip as he squeezes tight.

“They’re not the first wounds we’ve gotten,” he says, his gaze flickering meaningfully to the many scars marking Daichi’s bare chest. “And they won’t be the last. We can’t do this to ourselves every time. You can still outgun every single Ranger in the Territories, but luck is something you can’t control. It was one miss, Daichi. You did nothing wrong.”

“But I -”

“Nothing. Okay?”

Daichi holds his gaze for a second longer - still so warm, so familiar, despite the steel and blue - and gives in with a quiet shudder, bending over Tetsurou’s hand as he presses it to his chest. “Okay,” he whispers. “Okay.”

They sit there together, comfortable - if not quite content - in the silence. The monitors beep, the plasma units whir, and Daichi’s heart beats slow and steady under Tetsurou’s hand. When he eventually looks up, Tetsurou has his head laid on his tucked-up knees, his fringe obscuring the new eye. He smiles drowsily, slow and sweet, the way he does when he’s exhausted and he’s trying not to show it.

Daichi could so easily kiss every one of his fingertips, slow and thorough and tender. He could lay Tetsurou down, stroke his hair till he goes back to sleep, stand unflagging guard over his rest as he heals. He could lay bare everything he’s felt for him all these years here, now, before they get swept up in the constant, fatiguing run-hide-fight-run of rebellion once more. Before either of them can get hurt yet again.

Surely this is allowed? Surely there is no better time, with Tetsurou smiling at him like that, cradling Daichi’s heartbeat in his palm?

“Tetsu -”

The med bay door slides open, and Daichi drops Tetsurou’s hand out of pure reflex. Tsukishima steps inside, looking slightly less tired than he had four hours ago. “Great, you’re up,” he says, tone flat as he comes to check the monitors Tetsurou has hooked up to him. “Integration?”

“Hundred percent,” Tetsurou says, almost cheerily. “Everything’s good.”

“Hm. Look here, please.”

Daichi gets up while Tsukishima shines a slim torch into Tetsurou’s eye. “I need to check on Noya,” he says, in a fairly decent matter-of-fact tone. “Give me a minute.”

Tetsurou nods absently, distracted by Tsukishima’s unforgiving fingers on his chin. Daichi walks away, and promises himself that he’ll say it later. Later, when Tetsurou is in better shape, and they find the time.

He swears he will.

“On your six,” Asahi barks into the comm range. “Nekoma, on your six - !”

Tetsurou only realises he’s stopped breathing when the last Ranger ship goes down, nosediving towards a nearby abandoned planet. The crew cheers, loud enough to echo through the whole ship, and Tetsurou joins them with a wild whoop he hadn’t known he was capable of producing. Over the speakers, he hears similar yelling from the Nekoma’s crew.

“Shall I arrange to warp, Captain?” Yachi says over the cacophony. “Kai has given me the coordinates to a planet in the Date system.”

“Yeah, go ahead,” Tetsurou says, still grinning. He can’t believe they’ve really gotten away with raiding a major supply center, so close to the heart of the Territories. There’s enough in the Karasuno’s cargo bay to last a small town through several months of famine, to keep a whole faction of rebels alive and healthy as they plan their next attack. This is going to help so many people, and with the price they sell it at, it’ll put at least a dozen black market traders who prey on unfortunates from refugee planets right out of business. The Date system is a sovereign one, too, so Rangers won’t be able to pursue them without jumping through hoop after hoop to get a warrant in time, if they’re even able to track them that far.

He can see the Nekoma keeping pace with the Karasuno, her engines firing bright as they speed away to safety, and suddenly there’s nothing he wants more than to hear Daichi’s voice. He calls from the persocomm on his wrist, and Daichi picks up almost instantly.

“We fucking did it, huh?” he laughs, and Tetsurou can see him, all fierce and beautiful with triumph, and he wants to say We really did it, you were incredible, I’m so damn glad I have you by my side -

“We did it,” he breathes. “God, I fucking love you.”

It slips out before he knows what he’s said, before he can think to stop it. Everybody else is still too busy celebrating to have heard, which is, at least, a small mercy. Tetsurou holds his breath, waiting for Daichi to reply, suddenly so nervous that he swears he can feel sweat breaking out on his forehead. It’s ridiculous, really; why is he getting so worked up, like they’re teenagers still at the Academy? He’s half sure that Daichi feels the same way, all he has to do is wait for his reply -

- which, he realizes, hasn’t yet come.

Cold crawls into the pit of his stomach. Has he just ruined a friendship of nearly two decades with four stupid, stupid words? Fuck, he never should have -

“Guys!” Asahi’s voice rings loud, commanding attention. Everyone quiets down, turns to look at him, and he says, suddenly pale, “The cheering over the speakers has stopped.”

The cold turns to ice.

“Hail them,” Tetsurou all but shouts. The call on his persocomm’s screen blinks out, replaced by a Signal Lost message in glaring red.

Asahi lunges for the comm range. “Nekoma, this is the Karasuno -”

No. No, no, no, not when they were so fucking close -

“ - please respond. Nekoma -”

The bridge is dead silent apart from Asahi’s voice. Tetsurou looks out the main bridge window to see all the lights on the Nekoma gone dark. She’s slowing down, listing dangerously to the side as her thrusters die, and there’s smoke trailing from her belly.

“Noya, disengage the warp engine,” Tetsurou snaps, striding over to Kiyoko’s seat. “We’re turning back.”

Somehow, incredibly, she hesitates. “But - the supplies -”

“Yeah, Captain,” Noya says, sounding worried, “we can’t -”

“I don’t give a damn about the supplies! We’ve only just shaken them off, they’ll rip everyone on the Nekoma to shreds if they’re left dead in space like that for much longer. Turn back!”

She looks across to Suga, who nods, lips pursed. No one else says anything.

“ - yes, Captain.”

They start to turn, infuriatingly slowly. What could have gone wrong? They were so close to freedom, why - god, why hadn’t Daichi stayed with his own fucking ship?

“They just need to warp,” Tetsurou says, almost to himself, grip tight on the back of Kiyoko’s chair as he stares at the Nekoma and nothing else, gauging how quickly it’s getting closer. “It doesn’t have to be to Date, just somewhere away from here. Kenma, Hinata, you go over when we get there. Figure out what’s wrong, how to give them that one minute of power to -”

There’s a flicker of light from the Nekoma. Tetsurou almost thinks he’d imagined it, but - no, there, the other thruster is starting to glow, the bridge lights are coming back on -

“We hear you, Karasuno.” It’s Daichi. He sounds shaken, but okay. Not hurt. He’s not hurt. “They hit us with a delayed EMP detonator, it knocked out every device on board. Ryuu managed to get us back online, but -”

Tetsurou nearly runs to the comm range, Asahi hastily stepping aside to make space for him. “Is everyone okay? Can you warp?”

“I think - yes, I think we can. Not till Date, but at least to the edge of the quadrant.”

“Okay.” Tetsurou lets his head drop as he breathes out, trying to gather his thoughts. “Okay. Yachi, what’s a friendly planet at the edge of the quadrant where they can stop for repairs?”

She comes up with a place in thirty seconds, which Tetsurou spends scanning the vicinity for any enemy ships catching up. There are a few in the far distance, approaching fast, but they’re far enough away that they aren’t an immediate threat. Kai receives the coordinates and Daichi once more confirms that they can make it, urging them to go to Date as planned. Tetsurou knows, logically, that there’s nothing to be gained and everything to be lost by the Karasuno hovering around with the Nekoma in some remote corner of the galaxy as the repairs are completed. He knows they should leave. He knows the last thing Daichi would want is for them to endanger everything they’ve just risked torture and execution for.

He hates the knowledge more than he knew was even possible.

“Fine,” he says, through gritted teeth. “But if you’re not with us in three days, we’re coming to get you.”

He shuts the comms off before Daichi can do more than splutter in protest, returning to the captain’s seat. “Prepare for warp, Noya,” he says shortly.

Asahi gives him a sympathetic look from across the bridge, and Hinata pats him on the shoulder from behind, quick and light. For once, Noya has no smart quip to make; the engines growl, then roar, without any fuss at all.

They don’t leave, though, until they see the distinct green-blue flash of a successful warp from the Nekoma. Then they drop a couple of masked torpedoes for the ships still in pursuit, and then they leave.

Take care of my ship, Tetsu, only pops up on Tetsurou’s persocomm when they arrive in the Date system, delayed by the hundreds of light years now stretching between them. He sends back a You too, asshole, and then Be safe, and only then allows himself the luxury of five minutes alone in the corridor to regain his composure before going out to greet Futakuchi and the rest, shoulders squared and chin up.

“Here?” Daichi says, whispering despite the fact that the helmets are soundproof.

“Should be, yeah,” Tetsurou whispers back, nodding to a door partly visible around the corner. “Guess we’ll find out if Tooru’s really on our side or not.”

Daichi exhales, then winces at the rush of static that must have hissed into Tetsurou’s earpiece. “Sorry. Yeah, guess we will.”

“Patrol approaching,” Kenma murmurs over the radio, sounding almost bored. “Three personnel.”

They’re new recruits, young and inexperienced, and they obviously weren't expecting to be ambushed and tasered in the heart of the Quadrant Commander’s residence. Daichi and Tetsurou take them out quickly, without so much as a sigh from any of them. They drag the unconscious bodies to a corner, out of immediate sight of anyone who might happen to wander by, then pad over to the door’s lock. Tetsurou keys in seven digits, then glances at Daichi, who’s waiting with his pistol drawn. They can’t see each other’s expressions past the black reflective visors, but they exchange a brief nod before Tetsurou types in the last digit.

The door slides open smoothly. No alarms, no shouts - it seems that the code Tooru gave them was genuine. Daichi enters swiftly, poised to shoot, unfazed when the man sitting in front of the five monitors wheels around with a startled shout.

“Nice to see you too, Daishou,” Tetsurou drawls behind Daichi as the door slides shut. “How’ve you been?”

Daishou’s eyes are wide, his knuckles white on the armrests of his chair, before he relaxes deliberately. “If it isn’t the infamous duo in the flesh,” he sneers. “Kuroo and Sawamura, vigilante captains. How can I help with your noble mission to destroy the Territories?”

Tetsurou tosses him a blank hard drive. “The Commander has access to the Council’s classified documents, yeah?”

“What - are you serious? Do you know what the penalty is for -”

“We know,” Daichi says, switching to the helmet speakers so Daishou can hear him. “Either do it, or give us the passwords and get out of the way so we can do it ourselves.”

“You think I have the Commander’s passwords?! You’ll have to hack it, and you’ll trip every single security measure in place if you so much as touch the firewall!”

“We’ll give Kenma remote access, then. It won’t be a problem. Get out of the chair.”

“You can’t just -”

“Now,” Daichi growls, striding forward to press the pistol under Daishou’s chin. He swallows, raising his hands, and carefully rises from the chair.

Tetsurou takes his place, muttering to Kenma as his fingers fly over the keyboard. Daishou glares down at Daichi. “What are you even doing this for?” he says. “Do you really want to destabilise the entire universe like this?”

“I’ll take it as a compliment that you believe two ships and their ‘vigilante captains’ can do that much damage,” Daichi says, wry. “You should know why we’re doing this better than anyone, Daishou. You were an outworlder, weren’t you?”

A muscle jumps in Daishou’s cheek. “Not all of us have the luxury of open rebellion, bastard. And it’s because I came from a miserable little backwater planet that I don’t want to jeopardise everything I’ve worked so hard to gain.”

Irritation sparks at the luxury of open rebellion. Luxury? What does Daishou know of everything they’ve faced, everything they’ve overcome?

“A mansion in a Galactic Centre?” Daichi presses the barrel of the pistol in a little harder. “The latest cruiser? A nice fat bank balance, filled with money stained by the blood of civilizations? Is that what you want so badly?”

“A stable life,” Daishou spits back. “One where I don’t have to worry about being backstabbed by some power-hungry official every goddamn day. A safe home for my wife, an education for my children. Not all of us can escape the fucking system, okay?”

Daichi stills, slightly shocked. “Your wife,” he says slowly. “Mika?”

Daishou looks away, nods shortly.

“And - children?”

“ . . . My daughter is ten. Her brother is seven.”

A silence builds between them - not quite tense, not quite angry, just . . . watchful. Daichi breaks it with a sigh, and he takes a step or two back. “I understand,” he says. “I don’t like it, but I understand.”

“Generous of you,” Daishou mutters, with a familiar downward twist to his mouth, and for a moment Daichi can see a trace of the boy who trained with them all those years ago.

“But if you ever change your mind, if it gets to be too much, you can always seek refuge with us. Or on any of the outer worlds we’ve helped, where the Council no longer has influence.”

Daishou glares back at him, gaze searing even though he can’t see Daichi’s eyes behind the visor. “I would never do that to my family,” he says, his tone like iron, and that’s that. They wait in silence, Daichi with his pistol trained on Daishou, as Tetsurou downloads the files they need.

It takes longer than they’d expected. Too long. The guard change takes place, and the new patrol begins - they’ll have to fight their way out when they leave, which is sure to be painful. The files are pure gold, though, enough to change many, many minds about the Council’s benevolence if leaked. So Daichi resigns himself to a gunfight, and listens to Kenma issuing instructions with practised patience as he waits for Tetsurou to get what they need.

When he finally unplugs the drive, Daichi addresses Daishou again. “We’ll knock you out before we leave,” he says, “so they can’t blame you too much for it.”

“And so you don’t sound the alarm,” Tetsurou adds dryly.

Daishou crosses his arms, his smirk insolent. “What a dream team. If I’d known you two would be such excellent influences on each other, I’d have been far more thankful you didn't get together back at the Academy, but it looks like you finally found the guts to tell Daichi that you- “

The butt of Tetsurou’s pistol smashes into the side of Daishou’s head, and he crumples without a sound. Daichi stares at his body in disbelief, then looks at Tetsurou, blood suddenly hammering in his ears. Had he just heard - had Daishou really said - ?

“Thought it was better to get him out of the way sooner rather than later.” Tetsurou’s voice is almost light enough to deceive, but Daichi can hear the waver, can see the rigid tension in his shoulders. “Let’s go?”

Daichi steps over Daishou and hurries after him as he keys in the code to the door. “Wait, but - did he just say -”

“It’s nothing, he was just trying to rile me up - look out!”

Tetsurou yanks him behind a corner as shots ring out, bright laser bolts leaving smoking spots on the floor, the walls, the ceiling. Belatedly, Daichi hears Kenma in his earpiece - Multiple patrols now walking their routes, you need to take a longer way out, be careful - but for once, for the first time in years, he isn’t completely focused on the mission at hand.

“It didn’t sound like nothing!” he says, voice raised as he shoots around the corner. A guard yells in pain, and there’s the clatter of weapons falling to the ground.

“Ignore it, Daichi, it’s bullshit!”

“Fucking -” Daichi pulls a stun grenade from his belt, pops the pin and tosses it down the corridor. It detonates five seconds later, and multiple people scream. “Don’t lie to me, Tetsu!”

“Is this really the time for this conversation?” Tetsurou snaps as they round the corner and hurry down the carpeted corridor together, taking down the guards still standing with a few well-placed shots.

“Yes, it damn well is! Tell me!”

“Fine! I might have liked you since we were at the Academy, and I just - you’ve always meant a lot to me, okay? But I’ve been -”

“Right, right, go right,” Kenma hisses. “They’ve heard you, they’re on your tail.”

They’re on tile floor now, and Tetsurou’s boots skid as he tries to change course. Daichi grabs him by the elbow, dragging him along. “You’ve been what?”

“I’ve been scared that - I’ve wanted to ask you for fucking years, but it was never the right place, never the right time, and I was scared that you wouldn’t - that you didn’t -”

“Do this later, both of you!” Kenma snaps. “You’ve waited since you were twenty-whatever, you can wait until you get out of there in one piece! Take the next left, you’re being pursued -”

They’re running now, thundering past bedrooms, past startled servants, past a swimming pool that could probably fill up half the Nekoma. Daichi doesn’t know if he wants to cry, or laugh, or both. “That can’t be right,” he says, and he can’t stop his voice from cracking. “That can’t - I’ve been in love with you since we were twenty.”

Tetsurou stumbles, nearly falls down the escalator they’re racing down. Daichi steadies him again, and only lets go when they run smack into a group of ten guards in the next hall.

“Twenty?” Tetsurou pants, ramming his knee into a guard’s stomach before sending her crashing to the ground. “Twenty?”

“Yes, asshole!”

“But I would’ve -” Tetsurou grunts as an elbow smashes into his helmet, snapping his head sideways. Daichi snarls a curse, lunging past him to kick the guard in the chest hard enough to send him flying backwards into the last two left standing. Tetsurou shoots past Daichi, getting one in the chest and another in the shoulder, leaving them stunned and twitching on the floor.

“You would’ve realised?” Daichi pants, limping over the bodies, forcing himself to pick up the pace as Tetsurou takes the lead.

“Yes! I can’t believe -”

“I was almost sure you felt the same, but -” They skid around yet another corner, hurtle through door after door. “Every time I thought I could -”

“- something came up -”

“ - wrong situation -”

“- I thought you couldn’t possibly - take cover!”

They’re forced to separate, diving for different walls as shots whistle overheard, decimating what’s probably priceless artwork. An alarm starts to wail, piercing and insistent. Daichi swiftly discards his empty energy cartridge and loads a new one, taking stock of his injuries. Some bruises, a mildly twisted ankle - nothing too bad. He looks across at Tetsurou, who’s shielding his head from scattering debris with one arm as he struggles to reload single-handed.

“Take your time,” Daichi says, instinctively, automatically reassuring. “They can’t get us here, Tetsu. We’ll go on your mark.”

Tetsurou pauses, and then his movements turn smooth, confident. He reloads in half a second, then looks up, looks at Daichi. His visor shimmers and goes clear, and he’s - smiling. He’s smiling, sweet and soft and a little crooked, and there’s enough warmth in his eyes to fuel all the stars in all the galaxies that have ever existed. Daichi’s heart lurches as it’s dragged willingly into that orbit, it slams against his ribcage like a wild thing and howls that he cannot fall into Tetsurou’s arms right now.

“You’re almost out,” Kenma says tersely. “If you can get past this corridor and through the door at the end, you’ll be in her private hangar and we can pick you up from there as planned. But the security system’s engaged now. It’ll stop the ones chasing you from behind, thankfully, but you have to shoot the door’s keypad to stop the barrier from coming down. You have about a minute before it closes.”

Daichi takes a long, long breath. They still have one job left to do, and then, and then -

“Understood.”

“Understood.” Tetsurou’s visor goes dark again. “Ready?”

“Yeah.”

“In three, two, one - go!”

The next several minutes are something of a blur. There are about fifty guards blocking the far end of the corridor, probably from the division that patrols the grounds, and they’re better trained than the ones inside the house. But their visors aren’t entirely blacked out, which means that stun grenades are still effective. They’re only equipped with pistols, and they have evident difficulty shielding and shooting at the same time, most likely unused to dealing with intruders who pose any serious threat to them.

Daichi and Tetsurou, on the other hand, are very used to fighting large groups, and they have the added advantage of superior equipment. Ryuu and Yamaguchi have deconstructed and reconstructed their pistols a dozen times over the years - they now shoot twice as long and pack a much better punch than the majority of standard-issue Ranger guns. Their jackets and helmets are heavily reinforced as well as laser deflective, and together with the shock-absorbent vests under their clothes, they’re not only able to stand their ground, but to gain it, taking down an opponent with nearly every single shot.

“Twenty seconds till the barrier’s down,” Kenma says, tight with tension. “If it closes, you’ll have to find another way out.”

“It’s a little hard to aim at such a tiny target when we’re being shot at,” Tetsurou growls, sidestepping a bolt that would have hit him full in the face.

“I’ll try,” Daichi says shortly, adjusting the settings on his pistol. “But try to find alternate routes for us. Tetsu, cover me.”

He drops to one knee and takes aim, sighting carefully down the barrel. Next to him, Tetsurou sets his fire to wide-range and throws the guards off balance for the split second Daichi needs to shoot once, twice -

Tetsurou grunts and staggers heavily as he takes a bolt to the stomach, and Daichi grits his teeth as he takes a third shot. It hits dead centre. The keypad bursts into a shower of sparks, the barrier shudders to a halt with an awful, echoing screech, and Tetsurou takes out three more opponents when they look around to see what happened.

“Nice,” Daichi says, the corner of his mouth quirking up at Kenma’s sigh of relief.

“Not bad too yourself,” Tetsurou pants. “Cover me, I gotta reload.”

The guards’ nerve starts to waver as the shootout wears on and they’re picked off relentlessly; one of them breaks away from the rest, lunging forward in a valiant - if ill-advised - attempt to shoot Daichi’s legs out from under him. Tetsurou takes him down instantly, and Daichi uses the gap in their formation to stun two more before they even realise what happened. Several more abandon their formation soon after to try to overwhelm them through sheer force, but this only makes them easier targets and hampers their allies; they fall quickly, and the shots from those remaining begin to miss their mark as fear and desperation take hold.

The guards are soon reduced to half their original strength, and their numbers continue to drop steadily - but it takes its toll on Daichi and Tetsurou as well. The fighting is second nature by now, the instincts burrowed bone-deep, but the pain never gets easier to bear. Daichi feels like he’s been mercilessly pummeled from all the shots he’s taken to the torso, and his visor is splintering at the edges, cutting his forehead so that blood seeps continuously into one eye. His left shoulder has taken quite a bit of damage, and his ankle is hurting worse than ever, almost certainly fractured. If their crew had been here, it would have been so much easier; Hinata could have thrown some of his inventive bombs, Shibayama could have sneaked around to shoot poisoned needles into their necks from behind, Alisa and Asahi could have charged them so fast that they would’ve barely realised what was happening before their bones were snapped or their joints dislocated.

But Daichi and Tetsurou are on their own, and there’s nothing to do but press on. When they get close enough to the fifteen or so left standing, they drop their guns in favour of hand-to-hand combat, which the guards clearly don’t expect. And because the two of them learned to fight dirty in a hundred bar fights and attempted muggings in streets where even Rangers don’t dare go, their opponents don’t really stand a chance. They drop, and drop, and drop, and then there are suddenly no more left. There’s silence apart from the still blaring alarm and Daichi’s panting, harsh in his own ears. Beyond the pile of bodies is the hangar, and the Nekoma, and freedom.

Daichi rips his helmet off and whirls around to face Tetsurou, who’s braced his hands on his knees as he gasps for breath. He straightens as Daichi advances, head tilting in wordless question.

“Helmet,” Daichi says, his voice rougher than sandpaper. He feels like he’s burning up, like flames are licking at his skin, his veins, his bones. “Off. Now.”

“What?”

“Off.”

Tetsurou makes haste to take off the helmet, and he drops it when Daichi grabs the front of his jacket and shoves him back into the wall. He opens his mouth to say something - probably what the fuck or are you okay - and Daichi drops his helmet as well, reaches up to bury a hand in Tetsurou’s hair, and yanks him down to kiss him hard.

Too hard, probably, given that they’re sweaty and injured and still panting from the vicious gunfight they’ve just survived, but Daichi is pressed against Tetsurou from chest to thigh and still, still, still, they aren’t close enough. Tetsurou groans, a quiet, guttural sound that sends goosebumps prickling over the back of Daichi’s neck, and wraps his arms around Daichi’s waist to press them even closer together. It’s hot and wet and desperate and oh, it’s fucking perfect. It figures, Daichi thinks, with what is probably a mild form of relief-fuelled hysteria, that this is how the two of them would finally confess and kiss - on a mission to steal highly classified documents, in the home of one of their greatest enemies, with blood smeared vivid on their skin and pooled metallic on their tongues.

They have to break apart eventually, for sheer lack of air. Tetsurou smiles at Daichi, that unbearably soft smile from before, and leans down to press a gentle, chaste kiss to his willing mouth. Daichi nearly tears up at the sweet pang that sings through his chest, and leans up to chase Tetsurou’s lips -

And hears the rapid clatter of boots, approaching from the hangar end of the corridor. He pulls back instantly, holding Tetsurou in place against the wall with a hand on his chest and raising his pistol with the other.

Five guards round the corner, then skid to a stop in clear dismay at the sight of their fallen comrades. Daichi takes them down before they have time to even open their mouths, shooting single-handed. One in the shoulder, one in the hip, two in the chest, and one in the head because they were the only one wearing a helmet, all in quick, precise succession. The five of them hit the ground almost as one.

When Daichi looks back at Tetsurou, his eyes are wider than Daichi has ever seen. “That was, uh. The sexiest thing I’ve seen in my life,” he says weakly.

Daichi doesn’t know whether to burst out laughing, kiss him again, or punch him from pure adrenaline. Somehow, somehow, what escapes his mouth is, “You should see what I can do in bed, then.”

They stare at each other for approximately two seconds before Tetsurou goes red to the very roots of his hair and Daichi lets go of his jacket like it’s burned him, his face feeling like the surface of a sun as he turns away.

“We should -” Tetsurou coughs, clears his throat. “We should go before -”

“Yeah, yes, we should -” Daichi picks up his helmet and jams it back on before limping hurriedly towards the hangar, his face still blazing. Tetsurou quickly falls into step beside him.

“Unbelievable,” Kenma groans into their earpieces. “I can’t believe we all had to witness that.”

“Wait. Wait, what?”

“Kenma, did you put us on speaker?!”

“Obviously. Everyone wanted to listen in to make sure you guys were okay -”

He’s cut off by a chorus of cheering and wolf-whistling so loud that Daichi wants to fling his helmet off to save his poor ears. “Fuck me,” he groans, utterly mortified, as they duck under the steel barrier. “I can’t believe they were all listening to all of that.”

“We’re never going to hear the end of it, huh?” Tetsurou sounds just as embarrassed, but there’s a hint of a smile in his voice.

“We’re so happy for you guys!”

“Congratulations, Captain! I mean, Captains!”

“Took you long enough, holy fuck -”

“I’m muting them,” Daichi sighs. Tetsurou laughs next to him, and takes Daichi’s hand as they hurry to where the Nekoma is waiting, and when the teasing doesn’t let up even after they’ve escaped orbit, he flips them all off and pulls Daichi into a long kiss right there in the middle of the bridge.

“I love you,” he murmurs, wholly ignoring the yelling and whooping around them as he cradles Daichi’s face with the gentlest of hands. “I always, always have.”

Daichi can only nod, eyes squeezed shut. His throat is so damn tight, his heart so damn full, it feels like he’ll do nothing but sob if he tries to say it back. “Let - let me fix you up?” he manages.

He means I just need a little time. He means I want you to myself.

And Tetsurou knows, because of course he does. “Only if you let me do the same,” he smiles. “Med bay?”

“Yeah,” Daichi whispers, reaching down to grip his hand, and it’s only when they’re on the elevator down that he realises he hadn’t even registered who else had been standing there with them, on the bridge.

He’ll probably cry, in the med bay, and Tetsurou will probably cry with him. They’ll bandage each other’s wounds, wipe each other’s blood and tears away, help each other heal their bruised flesh and their bruised hearts. And in the days, months, years to come, as they fight their battles with dogged spirit and bared teeth, they’ll do it hand in hand.

Like they were always meant to be.