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Being undercover in a crime organization feels like walking in the darkness all the time. Even in the early afternoon when the sun shines brightly, but especially during the late nights, heading back to the safehouse after having just taken a life during a mission, a rifle gun hidden inside the guitar case slung across the shoulder.
The roads feel endlessly dark, during those times. It’s at these times Akai truly feels how far he’s come and yet still unable to see the light at the end of the tunnel, how so much time has passed and so many things have happened, how being 15-year-old ushered onto a plane by his mother after his father disappeared seems more than a decade ago.
It was more than a decade ago.
The long road of searching for his father has finally led him here, into the organization shrouded in mystery, covered in layers and layers of crime. But just because he’d followed the scattered clues like breadcrumbs and finally arrived here, getting into the organization, climbing up and gaining recognition and eventually a codename, he had a feeling that getting a codename may really just be the end of the beginning, instead of the beginning of the end.
It feels endless - the missions that take lives, the dirty secrets they collected, the discoveries of ugly yet trivial little things and the immersion into them. The darker side of the society, hidden perfectly in the big city, stretching out its hands as if trying to engulf everything.
He doesn’t regret the road he chose - he’s not the type for regret - but there’s no denying that it’s a very tough road to walk. Not tougher than what he can handle, of course, nor tough enough to scare him away, even if he has to walk alone. And he’s been walking alone for a very long time now. (There were, of course, his coworkers, back before he went undercover, but it’s been a while since he can properly be a part of them, after he had to minimize his contact since starting his NOC life.)
He gets used to the darkness, the ugliness, the unseen side of the society, the blood on his hands, the bodycount, the coworkers who come in all forms of terribleness. It’s fine, he thinks. He knows the sacrifices that have to be made, he knows the consequences of deciding to pursue the truth, it was his own decision to be here.
It’s what he expected it would be like. It’s not fun or pleasant, but he’s not doing this for fun or pleasure, he has a goal. Everything’s going as expected, just as he predicted.
Well, almost everything.
The missions are unpleasant - Rye completes them perfectly, of course, but they are unpleasant nonetheless - and the coworkers even worse. The bloodthirsty and wild Chianti, the paranoid and distrustful Gin, the mindless follower Vodka, the beautiful on the outside but terrible on the inside rotten apple Vermouth, the dangerous Bourbon, the cold blooded Kir. Codenamed members are always trying to step over each other to get to the top, or form temporary alliances to make things difficult for a mutual rival, or ready to backstab yesterday’s ally. There is very little trust in the organization. Rye’s wide-known talents make him a very easy target, because people are always jealous towards the capable ones, especially those capable enough to impress even The Boss and Rum. And Rye’s skills as a sniper are enough to make even the ones not jealous wary of him or view him as a threat, and proceed to try to make things more difficult for him. Usually he’s the one to come out unscathed, and he knows that reputation has also led to others thinking twice before doing anything impulsive, and hopefully has impressed The Boss.
After all, he’s not here to make friends. He’s here to get into the deep and dark secrets, to find the truth, to bring the whole organization down. He doesn’t need to get along with the criminals he meets.
And then there is Scotch.
So, the thing about Scotch is this -
At first, Scotch seems just like any other coworker, except more normal. No paranoia or constantly aiming a gun at anyone who he doesn’t disagree with like Gin does, no fanciful, sickly sweet, overly dramatic gestures like Vermouth and Bourbon do, no unbearable excitement at the chance of killing people freely like Chianti. He’s cold and silent, his eyes alert and sharp, his attitude guarded - polite but in a distant way. Considering what Rye’s other coworkers in the organization are like, Scotch is almost decent enough.
Still a criminal who puts a bullet through the target’s body with surgically precise accuracy and sharp efficiency that Akai’s going to arrest one day, of course, but far more tolerable than the rest.
That was the beginning, Rye’s first impression of him.
The impression alters, takes a different form, when Rye got a cold the time when they’re sent to France for a mission. It’s a minor enough condition in Rye’s opinion that he doesn’t particularly worry about nor see any need to take any more rest than usual. After scouting the nearby area 2 days before the time scheduled for action, though, Scotch ushers Rye back to the temporary safehouse they’d been assigned to stay at during their stay in France, a slight frown on his usually expressionless face. He instructs Rye coolly to rest on the sofa, while he goes out and gets groceries, and then comes back and starts cooking, to Rye’s utter astonishment.
Overseas missions always allocate a certain budget for food expenses, and rumor around the organization is that Vermouth and Bourbon greatly abuse that budget and always head for the most expensive restaurants in the area. Never have Rye seen another organization member buy groceries back to the safehouse for cooking.
“It’s just a cold, we could’ve just gone to a restaurant - or picked up some fast food to go,” Rye says. “No need to go to the trouble of cooking.”
“At this time? Have you seen the lines waiting outside the restaurants in the area? Trust me, it’d be faster if I cook,” Scotch says drily. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to poison you, Rye.”
Seeing Scotch work in the kitchen, he suddenly looks less like the cold, silent, ruthless organization sniper. There’s something about the way Scotch moves around the kitchen of the safehouse, cooking various dishes - something so normal and mundane and part of a regular, normal, not-a-criminal person’s life. Sure, most organization members more or less know how to cook, at least the basics, but Rye’s never seen any other member put so much dedication and focus into it. It’s - weird, a little bit surreal. If they are actually friends and not unfamiliar coworkers of a crime organization, Rye would’ve thought that this is some kind of way to take care of him, because he caught a cold. But since they are actually unfamiliar coworkers of a crime organization -
Actually, it still feels kind of like Scotch is making an effort to take care of him.
“Thanks,” Rye says later, before they begin the meal. It smells good, the table full of typical Japanese dishes. “I probably would’ve made do with energy bars from the supermarket if we went our separate ways for dinner tonight.”
“I suspected as much,” Scotch replies. “You have a certain reputation.” He frowns. “It’s not ideal even when you’re not with a cold, let alone now.”
For a moment Rye wants to say “who are you, my mother?” except he’s pretty sure his own mother wouldn’t take any issue with him having energy bars for dinner. After all, it’s her preferred choice of food as well - quick and convenient. He did inherit these habits from somewhere.
So he takes one bite, and takes a moment to process exactly how good it tastes, wondering if it’s just because he’s had a long day and feeling hungry that anything tastes more delicious than it actually is, or if it it indeed true that this tastes excellent, possibly one of the best he’s had these few years.
He takes another bite. And another.
Not just because of hunger then, Rye concludes. This is actually good. Temporarily stunned, he is unprecedentedly sincere to Scotch when he says, “this is good.”
Scotch - the usually coolly polite, guarded and wary Scotch - smiles at him. It’s a small smile, but precisely because that it feels more genuine, instead of the overly sweet smile Vermouth would wear, the type that would just raise alarm bells in Rye’s head. “Glad you like it.” Scotch says.
But it’s also exactly because of the level of sincerity and mundaneness of this exchange as if they’re just normal roommates not fellow organization members, that makes the whole thing so surreal. For a moment Rye has to wonder if he’s actually sicker than he’s realized and started having hallucinations, or if he’s actually too tired and have just fallen asleep on the couch and this is all a dream, but if either were true then what does this hallucination or dream say about him, that he hasn’t eaten anything good for a very long time and has a desire for it, even if he doesn’t realize that consciously?
Rye discreetly pinches himself.
Ah. Not a dream, then.
He eats another spoonful, fully savoring the taste, before saying, “Not that I don’t appreciate the gesture, but I have to say, this is generally not what organization members do for each other. I have to wonder if this is all leading up to you planning to ask a favor or something.” He pauses. “Since I’m assuming you didn’t poison this, as you’re also eating the same things I am.”
Scotch raises an eyebrow. There’s a faint amusement dancing in his eyes that make them look brighter and more livelier than usual, a change from his usual cool wariness. “Don’t overthink it,” he says, easily. “I just need you to be in top form for the mission. Wouldn’t want to mess this up, would we?” He smiles now, but suddenly the smile is a little colder. “After all, whether the organization can extend its reach depends on it.”
The last sentence very successfully clears out any of Akai’s previous surreal feelings about tonight - all the warm atmosphere and nice gestures that feel as if they were normal people, instantly gone. It’s not pleasant, but he feels a cool wave of relief wash over him. After all, this is how things should be. They are criminals in an organization where everyone’s trying to grab more power, from outside and in between themselves.
The cold, harsh reality. It’s good. It grounds him, makes him focused and stays on his goal.
Rye returns with an equally cold smile of his own, “Good point. Very professional attitude of yours - I’ll make sure to praise you in the mission report.”
Scotch’s casual amusement returns again, with the barest hint of mischief. “Should I be wondering if you’ll be asking something of me in return, then?”
“I hardly think this is the same thing, mentioning something in a report in passing versus making such an elaborate dinner.”
“Elaborate? This?” Scotch asks. “I see,” he says, as if realization has just dawned on him. “You can’t cook at all, can you, Rye?”
“.......”
“No wonder you were acting all cynical,” Scotch grins wryly. “For the record, I’d cook for myself even if I was alone. And two people actually makes it easier to have more types of dishes.”
Rye ponders the implications of what Scotch is saying. “In that case - you’re welcome, I guess?”
Scotch rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “Sure - thank you so much , Rye.”
It is only later that night lying in bed that he realizes that somehow, despite the reminder halfway through dinner of how they are in fact both organization members and this is a dangerous organization, somehow things got derailed again, into the false sense of normalcy, with casual and lighthearted banter.
Rye decides to chalk it up to his cold causing him to temporarily let down his guard just a little.
The mission goes smoothly. When they’re both adjusting their rifle guns behind the window, aiming at another building far away, the casual friendly, nice-guy-next-door side of Scotch is gone. Replacing that is the sniper Scotch, with a certain coldness radiating off him. Every move is cleancut and precise, hand steady as he fires the shot. They finished off each of their targets at the same time.
“Let’s go,” Rye says evenly, packing up the rifle into the guitar case.
Scotch gives a sharp, quick nod.
They head back to Japan after that, each back to their own place. And as Rye chews on the always-the-same-flavor energy bar the day after the plane lands, he can’t help but think, since when did this ever taste so bland and flavorless?
They get the chance to go on another mission together, this time one at late night. Vermouth is also part of the mission, who will be luring the target from a crowded private party to an even more private hotel room a few stairs up. One of them is just here for backup and to help with assessing the current wind situation.
Gin’s instructions are for Scotch to take the lead on this one, to be the one to fire the shot.
Rye has a better record, the best in the organization, the distance he can accurately hit the target from unparalleled. Gin’s skills are almost equally as good, meanwhile Scotch, while capable, still isn’t at their level. It’s clear that Gin wants Scotch to use this chance to practice a distance he still isn’t so proficient with, so the organization can have more top-tier snipers. If he misses, Vermouth can then kill their target with the blade.
“I do envy your talents, Rye,” Scotch says mildly as he takes the rifle out from the bass case.
Rye shrugs coolly. “Practice makes perfect.”
Scotch smiles, grimly. “That it does.”
The temperature is chilly that night, and Scotch has his hoodie on. There is something about the way the blue hoodie covers his head - makes him look softer, perhaps, Rye thinks. It’s of course a delusion, as there is nothing soft about what he’s doing right now.
Scotch’s first bullet hits the target - in the left thigh. Vermouth’s voice rings in the earpiece - a sharp draw of breath and then a complaint with mild distaste in her voice. “Ugh, you ruined my dress, Scotch.” He sees, in his telescopic sight, Vermouth draws out a blade and stabs the target. “This is one of my best dresses, you know.”
“My apologies, Miss Vineyard,” Scotch says. “I’ll pay for the cleaning, if you want.”
Rye rolls his eyes. If it’s him, he would fire another shot, landing closely just beside Vermouth, to shut her up. Scotch, though, can be a perfect gentleman sometimes.
Scotch’s attitude is colder than usual on the way back that night. The two usually drive in silence - somehow, Rye finds it easy to settle into comfortable silence when it’s with Scotch. The kind of silence that even when no one talks, it doesn’t feel awkward. Today the mood is heavier than usual somehow, even if everything looks the same on the surface. Is Scotch worried about how Gin’ll have comments about how he didn’t hit the target accurately enough?
“Sorry, Rye,” Scotch suddenly says, breaking the tense silence looming over the car. “If you don’t mind, could we go to the nearby beach?”
Rye frowns. At this time of the night? “Like, right now?” He asks.
Scotch nods mutely.
Personally, Rye is hoping to get back to his own safehouse and possibly sends James a message, giving him an update about recent information he’s collected.
For some reason he can’t even explain to himself, he says, with a sigh, “Fine.”
“Thank you,” Scotch says quietly.
So they drive to the beach and get out of the car, walking onto the sands. The beach is empty by this time of the night, no one else there but the two of them.
Up above, the moon shines brightly in the cloudless night sky.
Rye watches as Scotch takes off his shoes, rolls up his pants, and walks into the water. He resolutely does not go into the water after him. The water must be pretty cold at this time, he knows.
He wants to ask why they are here, but ultimately decides to give Scotch a few more moments to himself, so he just watches on silently instead, looking over at Scotch. Scotch’s hoodie is still over his head, while his hands are tucked into the pockets of the hoodie jacket. Rye sees him stop at the point where the water is just below his knees.
He watches Scotch stand there for about a minute and half, and finally asks. “Aren’t you cold?”
Scotch turns to face him. “Yes,” he says, wrapping his arms around himself tightly. “Wanna try, Rye?” he seems to be aiming for a smirk, but it doesn’t particularly come out right.
“No,” Rye says, flat and cool. “Are you done or not?”
Scotch’s behavior is a little odd, and Rye thinks his previous guess of Scotch worrying about what Gin would say might not have been right.
Scotch makes his way back from the waters, wet feet kicking at the sand, then sits down. He gazes into the ocean, not talking.
Rye wonders how did it come to this, the two of them alone on a beach late at night when he could be back at his safehouse sending his latest update to James, and then maybe watch a cliche spy movie and criticize all the inaccuracies in his head. Rye’s not particularly known for his generosity nor has anyone ever said he’s easy to talk to, so he has to wonder how things could have gotten to this point, how the hell did he not put a stop to this sooner, how did he not say no to Scotch when he requested to come to the beach late at night after a mission.
Rye sighs, and sits down onto the sand beside Scotch. There’s something oddly, mysteriously disarming about Scotch, the way he seems to so easily and so naturally wear down Rye’s defenses and just be able to get Rye to do something he’d normally never do for any codenamed member of the organization.
“Sorry,” Scotch says after a moment. His voice is quiet, but at this time of the night with no one else here, Rye can hear him clear as day no matter how soft his voice is. “It’s just - each time I kill, it always feels like … a little part of myself died, too. Like losing something I can never get back. And I know this is the job, I chose it myself, but that still - doesn’t mean I like taking a life.” He stares into the ocean.
“Why did you join the organization?” Rye hears himself ask.
Scotch shrugs. “I just - ended up here, I suppose. I’m an orphan … my parents died when I was young, and I was always living with relatives and they didn’t pay much attention to me. And then I guess one chance to earn a little quick money led to another, then got mixed with the wrong crowd … then I discovered I have quite a talent for being a sniper. Not as much as you, obviously, but … well, yeah. It’s just, one day waking up and realizing it’s too late to ever turn back, you know?” He laughs, hollowly.
Criminals are criminals, sad tragic backstories or not. As a NOC whose goal is to take the organization down, he probably doesn’t even need to sympathize with this story. Sure, Scotch doesn’t like killing, but he did choose to continue to do so anyway. Akai thinks he doesn’t need to, and shouldn’t need to sympathize.
But he does, just a little. Maybe sympathize is not exactly the right word, but he feels something stir inside him - understanding, maybe. He can’t help it, even if he’s seen how cool and ruthless Scotch can be when killing. But Rye thinks about Scotch making dinner in that temporary safehouse in France they stayed at, when Rye had a cold. He looks at him now, being miserable over having taken a life. And he thinks, just maybe, maybe some criminals inside this organization aren’t so bad. Well they are, but perhaps some are … not as terrible as the others.
Something strikes him, suddenly.
“We’ve been on missions before, this is not our first one,” Rye says, voice neutral. Why the sudden breakdown tonight, is the unspoken question. Rye thinks that Scotch hears it anyway.
Scotch stares at the ocean, not replying. After a few moments, he says, “You’re going to think this is … very fake of me. Since the target is going to die either way. But … I try to avoid making them suffer unnecessarily, if I could.”
He gets it now, he thinks, remembering the bullet that went through the thigh of the target, and how Vermouth had to use her blade after Scotch’s failure to aim perfectly. It does sound a little fake, when he says it like that, but Rye understands the sentiment.
He’s been doing a dangerously lot of understanding tonight. The kind of understanding that might blur the line between “us” and “them”, between NOCs and criminals.
“You’re right, he’s going to die either way,” he says calmly. “No need to lose sleep over it.” He pauses, then advises, coolly, “And you’d do best to not show unnecessary softness and sympathy, wouldn’t want Gin to think you’re going soft.”
“Noted,” Scotch says. “Thanks for the warning.” He sighs. “Shall we go? Sorry again for taking up your time.”
Rye shrugs. It did take up his time and he did not particularly want to come, but if he’d really wanted to say no, he would have. Actually, he’s still uncertain of why he didn’t. But it’s not like Scotch forced him or anything. “As a thank you, perhaps you can cook me another meal sometimes,” he suggests.
Scotch blinks, surprised. The earlier vulnerability is gone now, quick as it came, replaced with the faint, dry amusement, “The dinner in France really left an impression on you,didn’t it?” He asks, jokingly.
“Yes,” Rye confirms. “You can’t expect anyone to eat it and not feel like something has fundamentally changed in their life.”
Scotch raises an eyebrow, “Never knew you’re this dramatic, Rye,” he comments dryly. “Well, maybe if you invite me to your place sometime, I’ll make you dinner.”
‘If you invite me to your place’ instead of ‘if you want to come to my place’, Rye notices the phrasing. Very typically cautious of Scotch to not reveal the location of his own safehouse and cleverly uses this as a chance to fish for more information about Rye instead. But two can play the game. “Not going to invite me over? That’s not very hospitable of you, Scotch.”
“Mmmm, sorry about that,” Scotch says, not sounding very apologetic at all. “I suppose we can always wait for the next overseas mission.”
“I’ll hold you to your word, then,” Rye replies.
He gets used to working with Scotch.
As far as mission partners go, Scotch is excellent. Rye has worked with others during this time, too, but if he has to rank who he likes partnering up with the most, Scotch is undoubtedly at the top of the list. Chianti is too chatty and loud and does not care for bystanders on scene and always eager to shoot, Calvados is a Vermouth fanboy, and Gin is competent but extremely unpleasant. Vermouth is overly seductive, and Bourbon is always for some reason oddly hostile. Kir is actually fine - she’s competent and quiet and minds her own business. A little like Scotch, before Rye got closer with him. She’s probably the second one on the list. Rye likes her just fine.
Scotch and Rye receive the assignment to infiltrate into a highly exclusive club where backdoor deals between politicians and corporations are often made. Pretending to be just a regular two-person band with guitarist and bassist, they get themselves hired to play on stage at the club every Saturday and Sunday for several weeks in a row.
Rye quickly discovers that Scotch’s bass guitar is not just a cover for carrying the rifle gun around - he actually is good at it. Skilled, in fact. When Rye brings the subject up during their practice before actually infiltrating into the club, Scotch replies, “You’re quite good yourself as well.”
“It was actually the accordion I used to play when I made a quick buck at the local pub back in college,” Rye says. “But yeah, my guitar’s not bad either.”
Watching Scotch play is enjoyable - it’s very clear he’s had practice, that it’s a hobby that he’s put effort into. Sometimes he can look very focused in the music, so focused that he doesn’t pay anything else any attention.
Rye wonders, briefly, if Scotch uses this as an escape, a way to temporarily forget the blood on his hands.
When they play a song together, Rye lets himself escape into a temporary fantasy, too - he lets himself pretend, if only for a moment, that they are two normal musicians instead of two snipers of a crime organization, that they are actually friends, instead of a NOC and a criminal.
The moments are short, lasting no longer than a song each time. During those moments, though, sometimes it feels like it can last forever. But fantasies end, people wake up from daydreams, and professional NOCs have to come back from the temporary escape in their minds and continue their missions.
Because this is the most he’ll allow himself to have - the brief and temporary escapes in his mind when the music starts, the ever so fleeting moments of daydreaming that never lasts past the end of the song. Because Rye is a NOC and Scotch is a criminal - maybe one who doesn’t enjoy killing, but a criminal nonetheless, a criminal who doesn’t let his personal feelings of discomfort on killing affect his completion of assigned tasks, in a cold and efficient manner. Anything more it’s dangerous. Any step further he might compromise his mission.
They share a cigarette outside on the balcony during the intermission. Rye takes a drag of cigarette and then passes it to Scotch, who also takes a drag, exhaling, before returning it to Rye. The city lights blink in front of them yet faraway - the lights from other buildings, from the cars on the streets. Big, crowded, lonely city. So many people and so many under the table dirty deals going on, things that are not above ground. So many fake smiles and fake identities and true backstabbing. Rye exhales, blowing out a puff of smoke. He thinks he can smell Scotch’s taste from the cigarette when he exhales, but that could also just be his imagination.
This is as close as they’ll ever get to kissing, Rye thinks. This is as close as Rye will ever allow himself to get to kissing Scotch.
“We should go inside to prepare for the second half now,” he hears Scotch say.
Rye puts out the cigarette. “Let’s,” he agrees.
During a mission with not only Scotch but also Bourbon, Rye notices his little sister Masumi following after them. Wondering what the hell is his mother thinking, letting Masumi - a child - out of her sight to do something so dangerous, Rye inwardly curses the lack of sensibility of his mother and the utterly terrible timing that Masumi has apparently chosen. Scotch is a regular mission partner of Rye’s, but Bourbon less so. If it’s just Scotch, if Masumi is tailing after them during one of the times that Rye is alone with Scotch, the situation would’ve been massively better, absolutely more preferable. But just his luck, it happens to be the time Bourbon is present too. One small comfort is that at least it’s not Gin.
But Rye doesn’t trust Bourbon either, not one bit. Scotch, albeit being a criminal, Rye believes that Scotch has some level of conscience in him and would not harm Rye’s little sister, and he can probably also trust Scotch not to use this chance to discover Rye’s secrets. Bourbon is a different matter. Rye doesn’t trust Bourbon as far as he can throw him.
To Rye’s relief, when Masumi catches up with them, Bourbon happens to have stepped away to buy a drink. Rye wants to take Masumi along with him to get her a ticket, but she has far shorter legs and would walk far slower than him, and he doesn’t want to delay too much here because they are on a tight schedule today. If it’s just Scotch here - he makes the split decision that it’s fine leaving Masumi alone with him, just a little while.
He’s a little surprised - yet also realizes that this actually is completely unsurprising and makes a lot of sense - to see Scotch teaching his sister how to play the bass. No tricks, no fishing for information, he’s just there, patiently explaining how the bass works and playing a few of the most basic tunes. Masumi’s earlier barelier concealed tears - probably due to her older brother raising his voice at her - are no longer anywhere to be seen, as she looks focused on the instrument Scotch is playing.
The bass case stands there, even though the bass has been taken out. But even then, looking at how Scotch is teaching Masumi how to play bass, somehow Rye doesn’t feel it unsafe to leave his sister in the hands of a criminal.
He starts to wonder, too, a wish he’s been thinking might be too luxurious to dream of, that maybe, just maybe, is there a possibility that Scotch is just like him? A dog biting into the organization, trying to tear it down. Could it be true? Or is that just wishful thinking.
As he sends Masumi away - Bourbon has just gotten back from so Rye has to ensure Masumi leaves now - Rye can’t help indulge in just another moment of wishful thinking for a few seconds longer. If it’s true, even if they may have some arguments and conflicts like all spy agencies do, a temporary collaboration may still be possible, to destroy the organization. Scotch’s look is very traditionally Japanese, too, and Rye has a few guesses on who Scotch might be working for - if he is indeed just like Rye.
Still, he knows not to get carried away. Sometimes one only sees what one wants to see, and there can be many different explanations to a thing that has happened, but behind all that smokescreen there is only one truth. He needs to be careful, still. Not rush into this before he has further confirmation. Besides, he’s fully aware how his views could be biased - after all, he’s recognized the affections he’s developed for Scotch. He doesn’t act on it, and he doesn’t let that blind him, but it’s there. He needs to make sure to take that into consideration, to remind himself that it’s something that can potentially affect his judgement on Scotch, something that may make him mistake Scotch for a NOC.
But then, he thinks, what if he’s not mistaken? What if his instinct actually is right?
They get the chance to escort Sherry to visit her sister Miyano Akemi.
Rye and Akemi are what people would call amicable exes, probably. Rye has some experiences with those. Jodie is another one. Rye and Akemi broke up after Rye started getting deeper into the organization, getting involved in the more dangerous stuff. Rye knows that Akemi grew up knowing about the organization, but has never really been involved, not like her sister. She mostly lives a normal person’s life. Rye’s life is hardly normal, he’s an undercover agent pretending to be a criminal, a spy, a sniper who’s taken lives. It’s ultimately a different world from Akemi’s usual world, and he thinks it best for her not to get too deeply involved with him, for her own safety. It’s an amicable breakup, they part on nice enough terms. Rye still checks in on her sometimes, when Gin needs someone to be the bodyguard escorting Sherry to meet her sister.
It’s for Akemi’s safety and making sure her life remains normal instead of deeply integrated into the organization that Rye made the decision. She understands and respects his concerns. There’s also a secret reason of how he’s actually an undercover FBI agent, and it’s just in her best interest to not get involved in that, just in case anything goes wrong and his cover gets exposed and she falls on Gin’s radar. Some might call this fear of intimacy and long term relationship, that he’s quick to falter at any obstacle. Akai would call it practical, smart.
He’s just glad that Akemi understands.
Sherry, though - not so much. Every time she sees him, she acts like he used her sister to get into the organization and threw her away at the first chance he gets. He knows that’s what she thinks, because she very directly and unambiguously tells him so.
Granted, there are probably some truths to her accusations. But still, it hardly matters in the grander scheme of things. He has to do what he has to do.
It’s the first time Scotch comes along with Rye to bring Sherry to visit her sister. Scotch nods politely at Sherry and greets her with a smile, Sherry studies him warily and then says a guarded hello to him, then turns to Rye and gives him her usual glare.
Sherry starts firing questions at Scotch, mostly about if he and Rye regularly work together, has Rye been sleeping with random women after his breakup with Akemi, does he think Rye is an ungrateful heartbreaker or not. Scotch glances at Rye quizzically, and Rye just shrugs. If Scotch can calm a crying kid down, he must be pretty good with kids, in Rye’s opinion. He’s sure he’ll figure out how to deal with Sherry.
Scotch glares at him. For a brief moment, Rye thinks he looks a little cute. Like an annoyed cat, jumpy at how someone stepped on its tail. It’s unusual to see Scotch glare, he’s always either so calm and collected or cool and expressionless or even and mild-mannered. He doesn’t lose his temper, or does anything close to that. He barely shows annoyance. But he’s glaring at Rye now, and while there should be nothing cute about a grown man glaring at another, Rye still thinks that’s a little cute of him to do so.
He’s terribly aware that some people say that if you start finding someone cute for doing things you normally wouldn’t think of as cute, it’s a sign that perhaps you’ve fallen for them. He pushes that thought away and merely focuses on how cute Scotch looks when he’s like an irritated cat.
Scotch narrows his eyes at Rye.
Rye smiles back at him, lazily.
Sherry catches this exchange between them and looks back and forth between them distrustfully, then makes a gesture for Rye to bend down so she can ask him something discreetly - because Rye is much taller than her.
Rye bends down obligingly.
“Is it him? Are you sleeping with him?”
“No,” Rye replies.
“But you want to?” Sherry persists, not letting Rye off easy.
“No,” Rye says again. It’s true - sort of. He’s a NOC, and what he wants is to be careful, not sleep with a criminal. Does he like Scotch? Sure, but only in the sense of liking him as a coworker. He likes him because he’s the most tolerable one out of them all. And because he’s still got a conscience, and has some kindness in him. He likes working with him because they cooperate well and can enjoy some comfortable silence without feeling awkward, and he occasionally finds him a little cute. In some moments he might even feel a desire to kiss him, which he never does because he’s a professional spy who doesn’t let feelings influence his judgement. But does he want to sleep with him? No. At least, not yet . He’s vaguely aware if he lets himself indulge in his questionable feelings for too long he might start actually wanting to, so he never lets himself get that far.
So when Sherry asks and he says no, Rye thinks that he’s being honest.
Sherry says, reluctantly, “Fine, then.”
Sherry turns her fire back on Scotch, who takes question after question, “we work together occasionally, yes”, “well not during missions, no, but what he does on his own time is not any of my business”, “I don’t really know the details of what happened with your sister and him to comment on it”. Sherry then launches into a story of how Rye used her sister, and Rye sees Scotch’s expression goes thoughtful and sharp for a moment, before it quickly fades away. After Sherry finishes, Scotch nods, sagely, “that does sound very terrible of him.”
“Right?!” Sherry exclaims, glad to have gained Scotch’s agreement. Rye narrows his eyes at Scotch, this surely is some kind of revenge for letting him take Sherry’s questions.
“Let’s talk about something more pleasant instead of the various crimes of Rye, Sherry-san. How about you tell me about your research instead?” Scotch suggests.
Being interested in Sherry’s research doesn’t necessarily mean someone is a NOC. They could simply just be interested. But Scotch never seems like the type to be interested in advanced biology research either. Then again, he can just be making conversations, thinking that’s what Sherry, a scientist, would want to talk about, aside from complaining about Rye.
But what if , Rye thinks, what if we really are the same -
“What do you think of Sherry?” Rye asks, afterwards.
“She’s very smart - I don’t understand even half of the biology things she’s talking about but I can tell she’s really good at what she does. No wonder she earned a codename at her age. It’s impressive, but -” Scotch halts.
“But?” Rye prompts.
“I wonder if she ever knows a different life - one that she doesn’t have to start carrying such responsibilities at such a young age. Sure, she’s smart, and I’ve never been that smart so maybe I don’t know what it’s like, maybe she’d just be bored if she grew up normally attending school, but -” he stops, abruptly. “She and her sister are orphans, I’ve heard.”
Scotch has once mentioned that he’s an orphan himself, too. Perhaps that’s what makes him more sentimental and softer than usual when it comes to the subject, Rye guesses. Perhaps he’s thinking about how they’d all fallen into the organization’s clutches, without proper guidance. Or it’s also possible that Scotch is a NOC who feels like it’s wrong to see an organization order a teenager to do this kind of work. Rye can’t really tell.
“Do you have any siblings yourself?” Rye asks, acutely aware it’s a very personal question. NOC or just a normal criminal, there are many reasons a codenamed member wouldn’t want to reveal this kind of information to another. The time with Masumi - it was an accident. He asks now, because he knows Scotch catches a glimpse into his personal life during that time, however brief that might be. This gives him a slightly wider range of freedom than he normally would have, allowing him to broach the subject he normally wouldn’t, carefully testing the line.
“No,” Scotch shakes his head. And he certainly sounds honest. But -
- somehow, Rye thinks that he’s lying. Somehow, he thinks that Scotch doesn’t feel like an only child. He doesn’t say that, though, and merely nods. “I see.”
They head to the beach once again, after another mission. The weather’s even cooler than the last time they were at a beach. Still only the two of them - it is 2am in the morning, after all - and it’s very quiet, aside from the sound of the waves lapping against the sands. They don’t really talk about it, but Rye thinks that the cold ocean waves make Scotch feel cleaner - or maybe just feel alive, Rye isn’t sure. He gets the sentiment, though, even if he himself is never the sentimental type.
Tonight they accumulated a higher body count than usual - there were 6 targets, 3 for each sniper. It’s a bloodier scene than usual.
Rye walks into the water with him this time.
The ocean is cold, and he can’t help shudder a little when he takes the first step in. The waves crash against his leg. Scotch is in front of him, and Rye sees Scotch turn back to face him, extending a hand out. And, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, Rye takes the hand. Immediately, he can feel the places with calluses, the way one sniper tends to recognize another. He clutches his hand just a little tighter, feeling Scotch’s fingers between his. Neither of them say anything, for a moment.
Then Rye breaks the silence, “I think I get why you want to come to the beach now.”
Scotch gives him an unhappy smile. Rye’s not sure when he has gotten used to seeing Scotch with emotions, but he realizes that he indeed has. It used to be that Scotch would ever only be coolly professional and polite but distant, and he still is, in front of others, or during a mission. But when they’re alone, there’s more and more chance Rye gets to see Scotch beneath the cool, expressionless mask.
They stand there in the ocean water facing each other, Scotch’s right hand in Rye’s left. It’s probably a funny image, two grown men holding hands at 2 in the morning, standing in the ocean, if anyone else were to see it.
There’s nobody else here, though.
After what feels like an eternity but in reality probably just 3 minutes, Rye says, “Do you want to get the guitar and play something - I assume you also play the guitar, right? It shouldn’t be too different.”
Scotch blinks. “Sure.”
They head to the car, take Rye’s guitar case, and go back to the sand again. Scotch takes out Rye’s guitar and sits himself down. “Any requests?” He asks.
“Are you familiar with any Britpop songs?” Rye asks.
Scotch considers, “Not the genre I’m most familiar with, but I do know some. I can play you Wonderwall - if it’s not too cliche for you.”
Rye feels himself smile, “Ah, a classic. I’d love that.”
So Scotch starts, fingers playing on the strings. “Sing for me?”
“... I don’t believe that anybody feels the way I do about you now … ” Rye chances a look at Scotch’s face at the line, but Scotch isn’t looking back, his eyes are on the guitar strings.
“.... and all the roads we have to walk are winding, and all the lights that lead us there are blinding … ”
Scotch joins in, during the final chorus. “ ... I said maybe, you’re gonna be the one that saves me, and after all, you’re my wonderwall … ”
After he finishes, Scotch gives Rye a lopsided smile, “How was I?”
“Pretty good,” Rye tells him.
“Thanks,” Scotch says. “Your turn?”
“Sure,” Rye agrees. “You ever listened to anything by Manic Street Preachers?”
Scotch shakes his head. “I’m afraid not.”
“Let me play you something then.” He takes the guitar from Scotch. “This one’s called Everything Must Go.”
Scotch raises an eyebrow, and gestures for him to go ahead.
Rye notices Scotch takes out his phone and snaps a picture of Rye playing the guitar halfway through. He doesn’t smile at the camera, but he does stare straight into it. He thinks, maybe he’ll make an excuse to ask Scotch to delete it later.
Later, he doesn’t ask Scotch to delete it.
Rye finds out that Scotch is a NOC sent by the PSB when a text from Gin orders him to “execute the traitor”. He stares at the text message for a whole minute, processing the fact that Scotch is indeed the same type as him, NOCs eager to tear the organization down. He’s glad to have found an ally, even if it’s a little late and the said ally could no longer remain in the organization; and he’s even more glad that the ally is Scotch - someone he’s been having suspicions for a while but could never be certain, someone he’s developed feelings for over the time they’d worked together, but never allow himself to do anything about those feelings. A part of him is thrilled that Scotch isn’t a criminal, and that they can work together on the same side in the future. But he knows, of course, that’s the future, and he has to focus on the current, very imminent issue right now - Scotch being revealed to be a NOC and Gin wanting him dead.
He calls Scotch on the phone.
No one picks up.
His phone buzzes - another text from Gin sending in Scotch’s location. Rye jumps onto his car immediately, ready to head over to Scotch and offer him a way to escape.
After a car chase, and running up the stairs of a building, they finally come face to face at the rooftop. It’s only when he reaches the top of the building that Rye realizes that something doesn’t make sense - he’s been so focused on trying to catch up with Scotch that he hasn’t realized earlier, but the fact that they’re both here, right now, at the top of a building feels off. Something is very, very wrong here.
Because no one who is trying to escape would ever trap themselves on the top of a building. Either Scotch is luring him into some kind of a trap, or -
Rye’s thoughts are cut short when Scotch charges at him, and he immediately reacts defensively, flinging Scotch out. And then, the next thing he knows, Scotch is aiming Rye’s own gun at him.
Despite the circumstances, Rye is suitably impressed. Not many people are capable of stealing a gun from him. In fact, it’s only ever happened once, back during the training days back at the FBI.
Rye smiles, just a little. Now he just needs to talk Scotch out of shooting him. “As expected of you, Scotch. You pretended that I’d flung you, but stole my gun instead. I don’t intend to beg for mercy, but won’t you listen to what I have to say before shooting me?”
“I didn’t steal the gun to shoot you, it’s to -” Scotch replies, and then, with a quick turn of hands, everything clicks in Rye’s head of what Scotch is planning to do, just as Scotch aims the gun at himself instead, “- do this,” he finishes.
Rye steps forward quickly, and holds the revolver’s cylinder. “It’s no use,” he says, softly, “If I hold the revolver’s cylinder, it’s impossible for a human’s strength to pull the trigger. Give up on committing suicide, Scotch, you shouldn’t die here.”
“What?” Scotch stares at him.
Time to reveal the trump card. “I’m FBI agent Akai Shuichi, I’m also a dog who’s trying to sink his teeth into the organization. It’s very easy for me to let you get away. If you understand, let go of the gun.”
Scotch looks bewildered and skeptical, but appears to be processing everything Rye’s saying. Then his posture seems to relax a little - if only marginally - which is a good sign, even if he hasn’t actually let go of the gun yet. Rye is about to say more to convince him, and just then, they both hear footsteps coming up the stairs.
Temporarily startled, Rye’s grip loosens.
And at that moment, Scotch pulls the trigger.
Rye feels his mind go blank.
He only has seconds to recover, and it’s only with excellent NOC instincts that he’s able to regain composure immediately, schooling his expression back in and pushing down all his overwhelming grief and guilt, pretending they don’t exist.
The first thing he notices is the phone in the front pocket of Scotch’s jacket - now with a hole in the middle, left by the bullet that was fired merely seconds ago. So this is why, he thinks. There’s probably important information about Scotch’s family and friends on here.
Oh, and that picture of Rye playing the guitar that night on the beach that Rye ended up never asking Scotch to delete. It seems like he no longer needs to ask, he thinks numbly.
Bourbon stands at the top of the staircase, staring at the scene. Rye knows that he needs to play the role required of him now. “Traitors should be punished accordingly,” he says slowly. Coolly. “Right?”
Bourbon ignores him, runs over and squats down, then begins checking Scotch’s body for a heartbeat. Rye looks at him, then says, “It’s pointless to listen to his heartbeat. He’s dead, since I pierced his heart with this gun.”
“Rye, you bastard,” Bourbon says through gritted teeth.
“Haven’t you heard? This guy’s a dog of the PSB.” Rye says coolly. Then he adds. “The only pity is that the bullet pierced through his cellphone on his chest as well, and as a result, we can’t find out his identity.” Ironic, he thinks painfully, how he’d revealed to Scotch his identity, told him his real name, and now he may never find out Scotch’s.
On the surface, he has to continue to keep up the act. “Feels like I’ve killed a ghost. It’s creepy …” he says, turning to take his leave, because he feels like he can’t stay on the rooftop any longer. 30 more seconds and he thinks his act might start to slip.
So he leaves Bourbon behind, and heads down the stairs, climbing onto his car numbly.
He closes his eyes on the driver’s seat and in his head starts listing all the things he could’ve done differently that would lead them to a different end result.
For the longest time, Rye resents Bourbon. He resents him for appearing there at the scene, for showing up so suddenly - for distracting him with his footsteps, even if unintentionally. But mostly, Rye resents himself - for being distracted. He keeps replaying the final scene in his head analyzing it down to every little detail - why he had been distracted, what would’ve happened if he didn’t loosen his grip. Is it because the NOC’s natural instinct took over and knows he shouldn’t be seen stopping a traitor’s death? Or was he merely just startled by the footsteps? He replays the scene in his head again.
Then takes a deep breath and puts a stop to his over-obsession with that night. He can’t afford to slip now. The execution of Scotch has gained him approval from Rum and The Boss, meaning more responsibilities and missions and if he’s not in his top form, they might start getting suspicious.
So Rye pushes down all his emotions - grief, regret, pain, resentment, and guilt - and plays the role of the perfect organization member perfectly.
Numbly.
It’s perhaps because he was too focused on resenting Bourbon for quite a long time, that he got a little blinded, not recognizing the oddities in Bourbon’s attitude sooner. Bourbon’s attitude has never been great when it comes to Rye, but it has sharply deteriorated even further after the night Scotch died. Bourbon claims this is because of how Rye stole the chance of executing the traitor, but the way he acts is less jealousy than pure fury and hatred, and it doesn’t really add up.
But Rye doesn’t notice at first, and therefore doesn’t suspect anything.
And not long after he finally notices how things don’t really add up, he quickly gets busy with the plan to capture Gin, so Bourbon becomes less of his concern. And then the plan goes wrong with Camel’s mistake, and Akai is forced to flee back to the states.
It’s two years later when he finally manages to solve the mystery to Bourbon’s odd attitude.
Inside the Kudo Mansion, Akai Shuichi pours a glass of Bourbon out for himself - after all, he doesn’t drink Scotch anymore. He thinks back to his conversation with Bourbon - or Furuya Rei he supposes - on the phone earlier. “About him, I regret what happened even now …” he’d said.
Learning Bourbon - Furuya, he corrects himself inside his head again - knew Scotch far longer he did leaves Akai feeling unprecedentedly uncertain. For so long he’d resented Bourbon for showing up there, thinking that he was sent by Gin or Rum to check on Rye’s execution or maybe to steal the credit, and now it turns out that Furuya is probably far more qualified to grieve for Scotch than him in every way.
His investigation shows that they were colleagues, but he suspects that Bourbon and Scotch’s bond runs deeper than that. The stricken way The Boy has described Bourbon to react when hearing the word “Zero” - The Boy had thought it was because of who he worked for, and Akai, being a spy himself, knew it had to be otherwise.
And while it could have been anyone’s voice saying “Zero” that Bourbon used to be familiar with, judging by all the other evidence, Akai can almost be sure that it’s most likely Scotch who once called Bourbon that. And according to The Boy, Bourbon had said it was a childhood nickname.
While Bourbon was lying to The Boy that day, the best kind of lies are often the ones with a certain degree of truth in them. And all things considered, it’s more likely that the “Amuro Tooru” name was a lie, and the “childhood nickname” part is true. And if he combines this deduction with his other guess that Scotch was the one to call him Zero, then he’s forced to reach the conclusion of how Scotch and Bourbon likely knew each other since they were kids.
No wonder he was so angry, Akai thinks grimly, finally understanding everything that didn’t make sense for a very long time.
There’s a risk that Furuya might break if he learns of the truth, and with Bourbon’s current still undercover and the organization not destroyed yet, Akai can’t take that risk.
So he keeps quiet.
The truth finally comes out after the organization is properly taken down. Akai wasn’t actually sure, at first, if he really needs to or even want to tell Furuya the truth, but Furuya confronts him, saying he’s figured out how Scotch was the one to kill himself. Since the organization is now gone, and since he figures it’s potentially too arrogant to actually claim all the blame for himself, plus he’s getting really tired of carrying all the weight of the secret, he tells Furuya the truth of what really happened that night.
Furuya looks stricken at first, and then he closes his eyes and says, quietly, “I have … wondered if it might be something like this. I think, deep down, after the night I confirmed that you faked your death …… there’s a part of me that’s always suspected if this is the real truth. That if it was actually me. I wouldn’t - couldn’t let myself dwell on that possibility, but subconsciously, I think I always … suspected.”
“Furuya-kun …”
“He liked you,” Furuya says suddenly. “I’m not sure if you knew - he said he didn’t tell you but, not everything needs to be voiced out loud to be noticed. But he said he liked you.”
“I … didn’t know,” Akai says slowly. “I guess there were moments when it felt like … there’s something, but I never let myself think too deeply about it. And then, after his death … I never let myself consider the possibility that there might have been something between us, at one point. Even if we never talked about it.”
Furuya fixes him with a gaze. “So you liked him too, then,” he surmises.
He did, didn’t he? Akai thinks. It all felt so long ago now. At first he tried to bury his feelings because a NOC shouldn’t fall for a criminal, and then when he discovered Scotch is also a NOC, it was too late. But he knows, of course, that he must have - because how else would he explain the amount of pain he felt. “I did,” he admits, for the first time to anyone ever. The truth feels raw, like an open wound.
Furuya closes his eyes. “I guessed as much.” He pauses. “Did you ever find out his real name? I know you found mine, so you probably also -”
“No,” Akai interrupts. “While I would like to know, while I’d always wondered - it didn’t feel like my place.”
Furuya opens his eyes and scrutinizes Akai. He doesn’t say anything, and quickly silence is heavy enough to make all parties involved uncomfortable. And then -
“Get to the car. I’m driving us to Nagano,” Furuya says abruptly.
Akai starts to ask why, but stops himself, realizing that this is most likely to be about one thing only. And he may finally get the chance to unlock Scotch’s past, get to know more about the real him. So he swallows back the question, and simply nods. “Alright,” he agrees.
They climb into the car.