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The American southwest is a dry and dusty place. No place for a wolf, Lang thinks, as he steps out of the massive house he and Shih-na just came from. It’s the house of a whistleblower for the Amano Group’s involvement in the smuggling ring who personally contacted Interpol and requested to talk to their best guy on the case’s trail.
Personally, Lang hates this man and his stupid ranch in the middle of the desert. It’s obvious that the man, the head of his own conglomerate, is doing this to save face. He probably knows that Interpol is closing in on the ring, and wants to play his cards right in case he gets caught within it and his own involvement gets revealed. Lang Zi once said that cowardice begets disloyalty begets suffering. Lang may hate this smuggling ring, but more than anything, Lang hates disloyal cowards.
The information they acquired still has much potential to be useful in their investigation, however, so Lang is at least partly grateful. He and Shih-na offer the man a bow before walking towards their rented car.
“You shouldn’t have come here.” are the first words out of Shih-na’s mouth as Lang turns on the ignition. It’s just the two of them today; no driver, no M.I.B.s, no one else. Lang may be known for his massive pack during investigations, but he knows when to apply a skeletal staff too.
“I think we got some useful intel.” The AC turns on, and Lang feels relief at the cool air currently hitting his forehead. He adjusts the setting from auto to the maximum coolness it can handle. “We already theorized most of what he said, but now there’s no need to wonder whether the theories are correct. That’s good enough for me.”
Lang starts driving. The sun is setting, and he appreciates the beautiful orange and pink cast from the clouds. Shih-na is quiet, and so is he, but it’s a silence he knows well enough. Loves well enough, even. He looks over at her, and she is looking straight ahead as the light bounces off from her platinum hair.
He has often wondered if that’s her natural hair color. Her roots are always the exact same color as the rest of her hair, but with Shih-na, meticulously dressed and made-up Shih-na, that may not be a difficult state to uphold even with a different natural hair color, despite the effort.
Her hair shines brightly, as bright as the rest of her, and Shi-Long wonders: Does she bleach it? What’s that like? Would it be unprofessional to ask?
Yes, Lang tells himself. It would be.
Lang can help it. He always can. He wants to know her better, yes, as a coworker, as a friend, as a…
But he can help it. He always can.
“Is there anything you want to do for the night before we go back? I hate that dingy place,” he asks, and Shih-na grimaces. They’re staying at a motel over at the nearest town, and since the whistleblower’s place is in the middle of Bumfuck, New Mexico, the town is also in the middle of nowhere. Obviously, Shih-na is enjoying the place as much as Lang is.
Shih-na is silent for a while, like she’s considering the proposal. After a moment, she finally commands, “I saw a bar on the way. Let’s stop by it.”
It’s almost fully dark when they reach a place that Lang has heard Americans refer to as a dive bar. He’s positive that they both look out of place: him in his leather jacket, Shih-na in her backless dress. It doesn’t bother him; he likes standing out. He has always assumed Shih-na does, too. When she first showed up for her interview three and a half years ago with a feather boa wrapped around her neck, he assumed she was teasing him. He’s used to people commenting on his attire by that point, but none of them showed up to an interview wearing a matching outfit to get the point across. The little shock on Shih-na’s face as her eyes landed on Lang’s outfit was sincere, though, and Lang was enthused by the idea of having a secretary with an attire matching his.
Not that he hired her for her attire. He hired her because she was perfect for the job. Everything else came after that fact.
The bar is mostly empty save for a couple of older men and the bartender behind the counter. Lang moves to take one of the booths, but Shih-na doesn’t even look at them and proceeds to walk over to the counter instead. She turns her head towards Lang, who is still foolishly standing by himself beside the couches, and motions him to take the seat beside her.
Shih-na takes a deep breath, as if collecting herself, before turning to face Lang. As she meets his eyes, hers land on the area right by his lips.
“You have something on your face,” she says, doing a little wiping motion with her hand on her face.
“Here?” Lang wipes his left cheek.
“Other side.”
Lang wipes his right cheek, but Shih-na doesn’t seem satisfied.
“Perhaps you should go to the restroom and check by the mirror,” she suggests, and something about this conversation is hitting Lang as weird, but he cannot pinpoint what.
A peek at the restroom mirror reveals nothing on his face. He even leans in for a closer look, but notices nothing. Feeling rather foolish, he opts to wash his hand in the sink before coming back to Shih-na.
She has already ordered a drink for the two of them. Two whiskeys, neat. She’s holding her drink close to her and looking away. Lang can’t help but feel like something is wrong. Perhaps Shih-na was shaken by the corrupt dealings shared by the whistleblower earlier.
No, Lang thinks. That can’t be right. We’ve seen worse.
He decides to ask. Asking your co-worker if they’ve been negatively affected by the work you do together is definitively not unprofessional.
“You okay, Shih-na?” He asks.
Shih-na just looks at him, her face unreadable. That’s just how it is with Shih-na, but Lang is still disappointed. He thought he was the expert at figuring out the meaning behind her poker face, after all.
“Yes,” she says. Her answer is affirmative, but her face gives her away. Something about it is screaming at Lang, but he can’t figure out what.
He decides not to push. Instead, he lifts the whiskey glass to his mouth to take a sip.
Suddenly, a hand comes flying straight to his face, covering his drink. It’s Shih-na, and for a split second, Lang sees pure fear in her eyes. Just as fast as it appeared, however, it also disappeared, and her face turned back to the stoic secretary he’s used to.
“Don’t drink,” she says. “I forgot that you’re driving when I ordered this for you. You know better than to drink and drive.”
She takes the glass from him and calls for the bartender.
“Please throw this down the sink. Thank you,” she says. The bartender looks at her quizzically, but does what he’s told.
Shih-na watches intently as the whiskey is poured down the drain and breathes a heavy sigh when the bartender finishes doing so. She picks up her own whiskey and Lang notices something so unusual as to be remarkable: Shih-na’s hands are trembling.
Lang thinks back to a particularly horrific case of human trafficking that they busted together once, and how the details made him sick to his stomach. He remembers looking at Shih-na during those times, impressed by her calm demeanor. Even during that case, her negative emotions showed no signs of physicality. And now, she’s shaking because Lang could have driven with one drink under his belt.
“Hey,” Lang says, trying on a comforting voice. “You know I would have never driven drunk right? I can handle a drink. And if I couldn’t, I wouldn’t be as irresponsible as to drive while incapacitated.”
“Still,” she says, like she’s going to rebut. “Still,” she repeats.
No rebuttal then.
“I still shouldn’t have done it,” Lang admits. “You’re right. I should know better.”
She’s still shaking. It’s starting to scare Lang a bit. Perhaps she has some trauma associated with drunk driving?
Lang decides to leave that line of questioning be. Shih-na’s hands are still shaking, though, and a small part of Lang’s brain supplies a thought: hold her hand.
Now, there are a hundred reasons why Lang should not hold Shih-na’s hand, one of the primary reasons being that he’s her boss, and another reason being that the last time Shih-na held his hand was when he got scraped by a bullet during a case in Shanghai several months ago and Shih-na patched him up. She held his hand afterward, a little parting touch, and he realized then that he may have feelings for her.
So yeah, no hand-holding.
“Do you want to eat?” He asks. Shih-na shakes her head.
He looks around. There are some dart boards and a pool table on the other side of the room. Obviously, both of them are good at darts, so that’ll be no fun.
“Wanna play billiards?”
Shih-na considers. She stands up and heads towards the pool table without answering.
Lang follows her as she picks up a cue for the both of them. Handing one of the cues to Lang, she waits for him to rack up the balls.
Shih-na breaks, and their little competition begins. Quite honestly, Lang is not that good at pool. He barely has the opportunity to play, much more practice. But Shih-na is good. Watching her play flawlessly is better than winning. Or at least, that’s what Lang tells himself after Shih-na successfully sinks the 8-ball again in the second round.
The third game has Shih-na breaking again. Lang is watching her closely this time, which is how he noticed the goosebumps all over her arm.
Lang gauges the temperature in the room. He doesn’t feel particularly cold, but he is wearing two layers of long-sleeved articles of clothing. Shih-na is wearing fewer layers, and from the looks of it, is freezing.
Lang takes off his jacket and waits for Shih-na’s turn to end.
Shih-na misses a stroke. She stands up straight and walks back from the table, her face as stoic as it has always been. Her hands are clenched in fists, like if she let go of them they’ll start trembling again.
Before taking his cue to the table, Lang walks toward her and puts his jacket around her shoulders.
Shih-na’s eyes widen. “What… are you doing…?” She asks, her voice hesitant.
“You've got goosebumps. You should have told me you’re cold.” He adjusts the jacket so it won’t fall off her shoulders. It’s slightly too big on her, but it does its job of keeping her warm.
He proceeds to play his round, and it must be the sudden lack of another layer of clothing that moderately restricts his motion, because suddenly he is sinking every single ball. He feels a giddiness rise in him, his competitive nature slowly getting satisfied. When he finally sinks the 8-ball, he howls in laughter and celebration.
He turns around to Shih-na and finds her… at the exact same place he left her. She has not moved an inch, and her face is contorted into a little gasp, almost like she’s been holding her breath the whole time Lang was looking away.
“Shih-na…?” he asks carefully, and she exhales loudly and starts… crying.
Shock is the first thing Lang feels. Next is the feeling of all his rules about no hand-holding being thrown out the window, for the next thing he knows he’s holding Shih-na’s face in his hands. He coos to her like a baby, at a loss for any words to say. He ends up hugging her, and the sobbing becomes even louder.
The third thing Lang feels is confusion. He doesn’t know what’s happening. He must be missing something big.
She wraps her arms around his waist, and Lang stops thinking about the reason behind the situation and just focuses on patting her back until she calms down.
She does eventually. Lang doesn’t know how long they stood there, or if the other people in the bar stared at them. He finds he doesn’t really care that much.
They leave the bar shortly after. Shih-na is back to her stoic demeanor, but he knows something else is brewing inside of her. She’s not a suspect, he tells himself. Don’t interrogate, and he does a good job of doing exactly that.
They arrive at the motel and walk towards their adjacent rooms. Shih-na hands back Lang’s jacket to him silently, and moves to open her door.
“Lang,” Shih-na says, right before entering her room. She keeps her eyes forward, leaving Lang to look at the side of her face. “I think the following days may be dangerous.”
“It’s always dangerous for people like us,” he replies, rather confused by her statement. In fact, he’s confused by this entire night.
Shih-na shakes her head before speaking up. “There are… things…that are not as they seem.” She finally looks at Lang, and there’s that look of fear again. The look makes the hair at the back of his neck rise. “Just, take care of yourself, alright?”
“Of course,” Lang says, and Shih-na wastes no time finally entering her room.
In the morning, Shih-na knocks three times at Lang’s door at 5:55 am. This is their routine, how their mornings are usually spent. Lang exits his room promptly.
“Change of plans,” Shih-na says as they walk towards the car. “There’s been a kidnapping in California. Lance Amano, Ernest Amano’s son. Interpol wants us to check it out, see if it’s related to the smuggling ring.”
“Great. Send our men over to California ASAP. I want every single hand on the deck in this one.”
As they drive to the airport, Lang rolls his window down on a particularly empty road. He howls at the wind. “Ernest Amano! We’re coming to get you!”
He looks over at Shih-na, expecting some sort of a smile. Something about last night has him thinking she’ll be a little bit more open with her emotions now. Perhaps smile at his antics, even.
She doesn’t. Shih-na is wearing a straight face and is staring straight ahead.
Lang rolls his window back up. It was a stupid thought anyway.
Things are clearer on the car ride to the precinct. They sit quietly for so long that Lang wonders multiple times how they haven’t gotten there yet.
It’s over, Shih-na, is what he said when he was finally convinced enough to accept the truth.
It’s over Shih-na. Except it’s not over, because the realization is just starting to pour in on him as the car accelerates. His eyes land on the dashboard clock: 12:02 am.
What a way to start the day.
“So you were going to poison me with that drink in the bar, weren’t you?”
Shih-na’s face breaks into a wide, empty smile. “I guess you’re catching up, idiot.”
Lang hums. “You’re not good at murder. You were shaking the whole time.” Lang surprises himself with the calmness in his voice. “And the crying afterward? Plus, I’m still alive. No wonder they almost caught you last time.”
Shih-na shuts up. Perhaps Calisto Yew is still a sensitive topic. She has her face turned away from Lang.
After a couple of moments of silence, Lang finds his voice again. “The hair, is it fake too?” He asks. Finally, he can ask. He hates that he can finally ask.
“You’re wasting your time. Shouldn’t you be asking me about the ring anyway?” Shih-na retorts, irritation heavy in her voice, so different from the Shih-na Lang has known to keep all emotions mild at most.
“I’m not going to bother asking you about the smuggling ring. We’re both aware of the strength of your loyalty.”
At that, Shih-na starts laughing maniacally. Her cackle is so loud that Lang, for a split second, considers covering his ears. “You think you’re aware of anything about me?” She almost can’t get her words out. “I was a spy! I was right under your nose for almost four years! And you think you know anything about me ?”
I think I know you better than anyone else, Lang wants to say. He watches as she laughs with absolutely nothing behind her eyes. He’s afraid that he’s right.
The car comes to a halt. A look outside and Lang is made aware that they’ve made it to the precinct.
As the two officers in the front seat step out of the car, Lang is quick to scour his head for his parting words.
“I forgive you,” is what he finally says, surprised by his own admission.
Shih-na’s face contorts into a disgusted look. “I’m not sorry.”
Lang stands his ground. “Whether you’re sorry or not has no bearing on my forgiveness. I forgive you for lying to me. The rest of your crimes are for the courts to forgive. But I forgive you for that.”
And… there’s that face again. The face she made in the bar, when Lang won that billiards game against her. For a moment, Lang thinks she’s going to cry again, but before she can, the door on her side swings open, and a police officer escorts her out.
Lang gets out as well, and stands by the car as he watches the local cops take her away. Her platinum hair is stark against the backdrop of the dark night and the blue light emanating from the police station. Lang wonders if it’s her real hair color. He supposes he’ll never know.
Lang turns to enter the car again, but just as he’s about to close the door, a voice calls out to him.
“Lang,” Shih-na stops walking. “It’s him. He’s in the embassy right now.”
Lang perks up. He almost can’t believe his ears.
Shih-na takes one final look at Lang over her shoulders. “Good luck,” she says, and finally enters the detention center.
Lang watches, dumbstruck, as she leaves his line of sight. He hops into the car and asks the officer in the front seat to drive him back to the embassy.
He rolls his window down a couple of minutes later. “Thank you, Shih-na” , he whispers to the wind. He likes to think that Shih-na would have smiled genuinely, if she had heard him.