Chapter Text
When Barok draws the curtains back, the sight that greets him is one he’s extremely familiar with: the well-kept garden of the van Zieks town house, and a thick fog that obscures the rest of London from view. He knows the fog will grow lighter as the hours pass, just enough sunlight permeating the haze to keep the city from looking too gloomy, before the fog rolls back in during the evening. It’s a pattern Barok has seen repeated countless times, broken only by the rain (a frequent occurrence) and the sunlight of a clear day (a less frequent occurrence).
How odd, that this view remains unchanged when Barok’s world has shifted on its axis.
An entire week has already passed since the Reaper trial. On paper, it seems ample enough time to review the outcome in its entirety and begin moving on from it, yet Barok is embarrassed to find he’s spent most of it in a daze, barely remembering any of it. That the sentiment is echoed by those he considers allies is a source of comfort, unexpected as those allies are. Holmes. Young Iris. Asougi. Naruhodou’s judicial assistant Mikotoba. And Naruhodou himself. It’s a small circle that Albert would have been included in, had Barok not so hastily shipped him back to Germany, but besides that, Barok never would have imagined he’d place his trust in another Japanese person, let alone three. Four, if one stretches the imagination and counts Holmes’ partner in the mix.
More than any individual conversation, Barok remembers the sense of relief that permeates the group now that the truth has been dragged into the open. Like the release of a breath that’s been held far too long, the relief comes with a bittersweet ache that will take some time to fade. The reality is, though certain secrets have finally been brought to the light, the dead are still dead, and nothing will undo that. Barok is still without his beloved brother, Asougi without his honourable father, and the Professor’s victims will not have the chance to return to their families either.
In the end, all he and the others can do is take their lessons from the dead and carry that knowledge with them in their fight for justice.
-*-
Life in London continues on as before, most of its inhabitants unaware of the coming storm—something that changes as soon as Stronghart is brought to trial publically. Despite all their scrambling to prepare for the inevitable fallout, there’s only so much they can do against the sudden swell of distrust. Some part of Barok finds it fitting that turmoil marks the end of Stronghart’s stint as the Chief Justice when it had begun in much the same way.
What follows, to Barok’s bemusement, is an undeniable shift in the public’s opinion of him. When once he’d shouldered the burden of suspicion on his own, he manages to escape most of it now, the rumour mill turning to other parts of the justice system. Though he had known there’d be some change to his reputation with his name cleared, Barok hadn’t expected it to be reversed so thoroughly.
“It’s not so surprising. You’ve always been respected for your work,” Naruhodou says in that straightforward way of his, when Barok mentions it one day.
Barok pauses, taken aback. “I would hardly call it respect when it’s borne out of fear.”
Naruhodou looks up from the documents in his hands, still remarkably alert despite the hours they’ve already spent poring over the previous Chief Justice’s files. Absently, Barok notices the way the afternoon light plays across the man’s cheekbones and catches in those dark, expressive eyes.
“Ehh.” The simple pondering sound is slightly accented, like Naruhodou had gotten caught between the English and Japanese utterances and landed somewhere in the middle instead. “I don’t think that’s completely true. Even if they feared the rumours, watching you from the galleries must have reassured them. You’re a fair prosecutor, Lord van Zieks. Anyone can see that.”
“Fair but terrifying,” Naruhodou adds when Barok remains silent, his lips tilting in a tiny smirk. “Besides, if your reputation with the people had suffered that much, I don’t think Her Majesty and her Attorney General would have trusted you with this task.”
It’s a smile that Barok’s seen across the courtroom before, when Naruhodou’s confidence builds just before he turns the case on its head. When he’s certain he’s got the upper hand. Familiar as it is, there’s absolutely no reason for Barok’s stomach to swoop when he sees it.
As Barok wrestles with his confusion, the silence drags on until Naruhodou’s smile fades, replaced with a concerned frown instead. “I hope I haven’t overstepped—”
“No.” In his haste to respond, Barok’s voice comes out sharper than intended. He exhales through his nose, hands tightening their grip on the papers he’s holding. “That is, you haven’t overstepped,” he tries again, mindfully softening his voice.
From the way Naruhodou’s expression had brightened already, the clarification was unnecessary, though Barok feels better for having said it. The banter, the easy flow of conversation—all of it is still new and tentative. After the effort they’ve put into bridging the chasm between them, Barok couldn’t bear returning to the awkward fits and starts that had plagued them at the beginning. No, he much prefers Naruhodou’s candidness to the hesitance he’d briefly seen in Naruhodou’s face just now.
“Oh. Good.” The smile returns, and Barok marvels at how effortlessly Naruhodou seems to navigate his emotions. It’s enviable, really, though he’s aware how he would’ve cast such a trait in a negative light before, refusing to see any of Naruhodou’s strengths for what they were.
Blind to all but his own prejudices, Barok muses with rancor. Prejudices that his thoughts still lean into out of sheer habit at times. He’s gotten better at catching himself now, but it’s more reason to be equal parts uncomfortable and grateful for the regard Naruhodou somehow still holds for him. The feeling only worsens when he considers how little regard Naruhodou seems to hold for his own accomplishments.
How could Naruhodou sit there, trying to convince Barok of his worth, and not do the same for himself? It’s maddening.
“Have you considered,” Barok says suddenly, no longer able to hold his tongue, “that the same applies to you?”
Naruhodou tilts his head, puzzled. Barok can practically see him mentally running through their conversation, trying to find where the two points connect. “What do you mean?”
“You say this assignment is a sign of trust from the Queen herself.” His hand makes a sweeping gesture at the desk and shelves behind it, the surfaces cluttered with the documents Stronghart had kept so meticulously before he was stripped of his title. Naruhodou isn’t wrong; Barok would not have been allowed anywhere near the Chief Justice’s office without special permission, van Zieks name or not. Which brings him to his next point.
Barok leans forward in his chair—it’s identical to the one Naruhodou’s using because neither of them were willing to take the one already in the office—and watches as Naruhodou’s eyes widen. The desk between them doesn’t stop Barok from pinning the other lawyer with his gaze.
“So tell me, my learned friend, what does it mean that you’re here working on the very same task?” He waits for the flicker of laughter in Naruhodou’s eyes to give way to realisation before answering the question himself. “The only logical conclusion we can come to is this: you, a Japanese exchange student, are held in the Queen’s high esteem.”
There’s no need to emphasise what an impressive feat it is, when Naruhodou’s stunned silence says it all.
“You aren’t serious…” Naruhodou says weakly, denying it just like Barok had expected. “That was all Mr. Holmes and Iris. You saw how they won her over! Of course she’d accept their recommendations after everything.”
Barok finishes reading the scroll he has in hand, letting Naruhodou’s protests peter out as he does so. By the time he’s rolling the document up, he can sense the other’s fidgeting get worse. When Barok turns his attention back, he’s unsurprised to find Naruhodou already watching him, no doubt waiting to hear Barok’s explanation. What does surprise him is the amusement Naruhodou’s expression sparks in him. For the first time in years, he has to fight to keep his expression neutral.
“Well?” With Naruhodou’s tone and narrowed eyes, it’s practically a demand. “You clearly have something to say about it.”
His companion’s never been particularly shy about standing toe to toe with Barok in court, his determination to help his client overriding everything else. But working closely as they are, he’s grown bolder and more confident with Barok outside of it, too. Barok can’t say he dislikes the change.
“Her Majesty is no fool,” he finally says, taking pity on Naruhodou. “I doubt she’d be so easily charmed, however convincing a duo the detective and...Miss Watson...make. Have you forgotten their invention allowed the Queen to view the trial herself? If she’d had any misgivings about you, you would not be here, scouring through Lord Stronghart’s documents alongside me.”
If Naruhodou notices the way Barok stumbles over Iris’ name, he mercifully doesn’t mention it. Instead, he’s quiet, mouth trembling, before his lips part on a shaky laugh. “It’s still strange hearing you say all of this, but...thank you.”
Given Naruhodou’s sincere nature, Barok should have expected such a reaction and prepared for it, but he’s left awkwardly floundering for a proper response. Barok crosses his arms over his chest to give his hands something to do. Without his bottle of wine and chalice to reach for, to shield himself with, he feels too open, too vulnerable at times.
“I was merely stating the facts. No thanks are necessary.” Miraculously, his voice stays even.
Only after Naruhodou shifts his attention away does the odd tension thrumming through Barok drain out of him. It’s been clear since day one, and only grown more so recently: something about Naruhodou unbalances him too easily. At first, Barok had assumed it a product of his hatred of the Japanese people, but now he isn’t so sure. For a man who prides himself on being grounded in reason and poise, as a proper Lord should be, the way Naruhodou gets under his skin with little effort unsettles him. On most days, there’s a prickling awareness of the other lawyer that Barok can’t shake off, no matter how hard he tries, and it only worsens in close proximity.
Barok doesn’t dwell on the feeling; he fears he’ll regret it if he digs too deeply.
-*-
As London recovers from Stronghart’s trial, Barok finds his time divided between Naruhodou and someone else he didn’t foresee. While Asougi isn’t exactly a stranger to his office, they’ve never had the chance to talk like this before: with their pasts laid bare between them, and their resentment swept away by the truth. Like Barok, Asougi walks as if a great weight has been lifted from his shoulders. The stern, unforgiving expression he’d worn during the Reaper trial has given way to something kinder, and even familiar. This Asougi feels more approachable, and without hatred clouding his judgement, it’s easy to respect his sharp mind and wit.
At times, Barok can see in him the echoes of another Japanese man he’d admired before the Professor case changed his life for the worse. He keeps these thoughts to himself, not knowing if Asougi would appreciate the comparison. Genshin Asougi’s name has been cleared to the members of the judiciary, but this particular wound might still be too raw to touch for the two of them. For now. That he can even believe it might eventually be a safe topic to broach is nothing short of a miracle, and none of it would be possible without Asougi’s willingness to mend the bridge. Starting anew was never an option for them; too many of their years were spent letting their hurts fester. Barok prefers it this way. Mending implies healing, and healing, not forgetting, is what they both need.
“I noticed you haven’t requested an office of your own,” Barok says one afternoon, while the two of them craft the pieces for a new, miniature crime scene replica. It’s already beginning to take shape on the table in the middle of the room: a small house not too far from Scotland Yard that’s still missing its furniture and other various pieces of evidence. Bits of scrap wood and paper litter the table and the floor around it, though neither of them pays the mess any mind. They both know it’d be pointless to tidy up before the replica’s completely done.
Asougi pauses in the middle of glueing a chair together, glancing up at Barok with an eyebrow raised. “Of course not,” he replies, once the tiny piece of furniture has been safely set aside to dry. “I’m still your apprentice, aren’t I?”
Immediately, Barok scoffs. Although Asougi acts as if it were self-evident, the idea could not be more ludicrous. “You, an apprentice. Remind me, for you seem to have forgotten, who was it that prosecuted the Reaper case?” When Asougi doesn’t reply, Barok sighs, pressing his fingertips to his temple briefly. The mask and cloak might be gone now, but he finds Asougi as unknowable as ever in moments like these. No matter how he looks at it, Asougi wouldn’t gain anything of value from staying an assistant, of all things.
“Mr. Asougi,” he says, considering his “apprentice” with a knitted brow, as he would a puzzle. “You and Mr. Naruhodou handled that case with a brilliance acknowledged by the judge himself. No one would deny you the prosecutor position if you asked for it–there is no reason for you to remain an apprentice now that Stronghart is gone.”
Asougi rubs his thumb against his chin thoughtfully. “You’re wrong. I told you I intend to learn all I can while I’m in London, and that’s exactly what I’m doing now.”
“Preposterous. There is nothing I can teach you that you haven’t already learnt on your own.”
“Wrong again.” Asougi sounds as confident as ever, which is simply galling, in Barok’s opinion. “I can learn more from you. The years of experience you have over me should be proof enough. Unless…” To Barok’s surprise, a ghost of a smile flits across Asougi’s lips. “You’d like to get a second opinion? From someone like Naruhodou, perhaps.”
Barok scowls, disliking the smirk Asougi directs his way. Why does he feel like he’s just lost the argument? First Naruhodou, and now Asougi. He must be losing his touch.
Unwilling to give Asougi the satisfaction of further argument, Barok picks up another furniture replica–a table this time–and sets about putting it together. “Fine. Do as you will.”
They work in silence for a little while, the way they had when Asougi remembered nothing of himself. But there’s no pretending things are the same as back then when, unlike before, Barok knows exactly who he shares his office with. Whether it’s because he notices the unhappy tilt of Barok’s mouth or the way Barok’s shoulders grow more tense as the uncomfortable silence drags on, Asougi finally decides to put him out of his misery.
“It really bothers you, doesn’t it? Not knowing what my reasons are.” Asougi pushes his chair back with a scrape, not even flinching when Barok narrows his eyes at him. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to tell you, even if I don’t owe you anything.
“You’ve been working closely with Naruhodou since that trial, and lately, you’ve even put in the effort to talk to Mikotoba regularly when you didn’t bother before. Detective Holmes and Iris speak well of you, too.” Asougi turns a piercing gaze on him, as if trying to see right through Barok. “I admit, I’m curious to see what I’ll learn about you, if we continue working together.”
Barok stares. Asougi’s eyes glimmer with amusement when he notices. “Don’t misunderstand me. None of this erases what you’ve done, but it would be foolish not to try and get along when we all have the same goal in mind.”
Though the reasoning is sound, it still surprises Barok that he’s been given this much. Even more surprising is the way the proverbial olive branch makes something squirm unpleasantly in his stomach. Why, he wonders, when this is a favourable outcome. It eats at him that he doesn’t understand his reaction, feeling as if he no longer knows his own mind. “If keeping the peace is what you’re after,” he manages to say, voice dipping low right alongside his mood, “then you needn’t concern yourself with my affairs. I’ll keep you on as my apprentice if that is what you truly want, regardless of my own feelings on the matter.”
Perhaps sensing the change in Barok’s attitude, Asougi nods curtly while looking unsatisfied with the answer. That should’ve been the end of it, but the conversation continues to weigh on Barok’s mind the rest of that day. Like an annoyingly persistent gnat, it resurfaces whenever he lets his thoughts wander, buzzing around his head and denying him any peace even days later.
Ironically, Barok finds himself spending even more time with Asougi after so coolly rebuffing his overture. With things in the Prosecutor’s Office slowly returning to normal, Naruhodou and Mikotoba take it upon themselves to see their friend in the shared office, often staying for a good hour or so. Barok doesn’t have much to say during those visits. It would be too easy to interject with some wry commentary for their ridiculous anecdotes, but he refrains, preferring to let the easy banter of three friends who have too much to catch up on wash over him instead. Yet they don’t seem to mind, occasionally trying to draw him into the conversations despite the wall he’s begun to build back up. Naruhodou in particular is guilty of this, looking increasingly more stubborn each time Barok refuses to take the bait. On days when he works late into the night, with no one but his brother’s portrait to keep him company, Barok can admit it feels like taking a large step back.
The problem is, something about their easy acceptance rankles him. It’s a quiet discontent that grows as he wonders how they could so easily put the past behind them and show him a kindness he certainly doesn’t deserve.The truth strikes him one afternoon, when he has the office to himself. That, perhaps, what festers in him isn’t discontent at all, but a shame that they’ve carried themselves through the mess with far more grace than he, choosing to see past his mistakes rather than hold onto them as fuel for hatred, the way he did. The realisation is a bitter pill to swallow, even if it’s a relief to finally know the root of his anguish.
The more he reflects, the more he misses Albert, someone who had known him before he gave into the darkness that surrounded him after his brother’s death. It would be safe for Albert to visit, he thinks, now that matters have been cleared up. Despite this, Barok hesitates, his hand stilling whenever he fetches the paper and ink to pen the invitation to his friend. As much as he’d like to see Albert, to have a chance to properly talk, the idea of letting Albert see him when he’s so lost leaves a terrible taste in his mouth.
-*-
“What do you think of him?”
Naruhodou is watching him expectantly when Barok looks up. His mind still half-occupied by the report in his hands, Barok wonders if he’d been so deep in his thoughts, he’d missed some crucial point in Naruhodou’s chatter. Then again, it wouldn’t be the first time Naruhodou’s silently followed some train of thought, only to blurt out his conclusion to a confused audience. Deciding to humour him, Barok sets his papers aside and gives Naruhodou his attention. “Who?”
“The new Lord Chief Justice,” Naruhodou says, leaning his elbows on the desk. “You’ve already met him, haven’t you?” At Barok’s raised brow, he clarifies, a touch sheepish: “I heard it from Mr. Holmes, who heard it from someone in Scotland Yard…”
Barok sits back in his chair, caught between exasperation and amusement. He never would have suspected Naruhodou to have such an interest in gossip, but he supposes the defence attorney’s curiosity is natural. For one, they never would have ousted the previous Lord Chief Justice without his help. And, Barok suspects, what happened during the trial is still fresh on Naruhodou’s mind, as it is on his. One doesn’t easily forget how the members of the judiciary had nearly capitulated to Stronghart’s demands. How willing they were to sweep everything under the rug and keep Stronghart in power, simply to save face. No, asking after the new Lord Chief Justice is well within reason; they can’t afford to be complacent while they undo the years of corruption in the system.
“Yes, I’ve met him.” Barok runs a finger over the feather of his quill pensively. Though the fountain pens have gained popularity among the peerage lately, he still prefers the feel of a quill over them on some days. “Lord Forthright will serve well enough.”
It’s a lukewarm description for a man who’s to take such an important position, and from the way Naruhodou’s brows draw together, he was hoping to be reassured by a glowing recommendation from Barok. Naruhodou’s trust in his judgement shouldn’t touch him, but it does exactly that, leaving behind a contentment that he has no idea what to do with.
“‘Well enough’?” Naruhodou repeats, scooting his chair even closer to the desk. Barok tracks his progress warily, fighting the childish urge to move his chair back in response. His desk, ornate enough to suit someone of his standing, is large enough to preserve a certain amount of space between them, but Naruhodou is still close enough to make Barok antsy. “That doesn’t inspire much confidence, to be frank. Do you not like him?”
What a question. It’s one Barok doesn’t have a definitive answer to, as much as he wishes he did. He thinks of the tall, lanky man he was introduced to, who had lacked a certain authoritative presence, but had gripped Barok’s hand with surprising strength as they exchanged pleasantries. Perhaps it’s unfair to have judged the man on such shallow observations: compared to Stronghart, almost anyone else’s presence could be deemed feeble.
“We rarely crossed paths before this. Just as he’d begun to preside over trials in the Bailey, I took my leave of absence. I’ve been told he has good standing with the members of the judiciary,” Barok says. The wry twist of his lips gives away exactly what he thinks of that. Where once he would have respected his peers’ judgement, he now has reservations, save for a precious few. “For what it’s worth, my colleague Lord Lawrence seems to think highly of him. As does your friend, the great detective.”
The troubled expression on Naruhodou’s face eases at that, though some confusion lingers. “Lord Lawrence? Is he another prosecutor?”
“Lord Rufus Lawrence. You know him as the judge who oversaw most of your trials.”
“Oh, him!” Naruhodou says, eyes lighting up with recognition. “Strangely enough, Miss Susato and I never thought to ask for his name. Though it does make me feel better, knowing he and Mr. Holmes think Lord Forthright is suited for the position.”
A second later, Naruhodou grins, one hand ruffling at the short hairs at the back of his head. “Not that my opinion matters. I must sound terribly presumptuous.”
This again. Barok sets his quill down, levelling a stern look at his companion. “We’ve been over this before, have we not? Your opinion matters, else you would not be here.”
“Haah,” Naruhodou half laughs, half exhales. “What a frightening face you’re making right now. Have I really upset you?”
“Mr. Naruhodou.” That mix of quiet but cross is particularly effective, Barok notes, seeing the defence attorney’s smile freeze in place. “I dislike repeating myself, and that’s already twice I’ve told you how valuable your insights are. Do not make me say it again.”
The office falls back into a fragile sort of silence, though Barok doesn’t regret speaking so harshly. At the moment, what he dislikes more than repeating himself is the way Naruhodou refuses to see the good he’s already done. Barok knows first hand the effect of those self-deprecating thoughts, unpleasant and thick like tar, leaving residue that clings to everything it touches. Though Naruhodou has enough confidence when he has a trail of contradictions to follow, Barok would rather not risk him losing even a little of it. Besides, he’s never had to coddle Naruhodou by softening his words before this. He sees no reason to start now.
“I’ll… keep that in mind.” While soft, Naruhodou’s voice sounds more pensive than hurt. It makes Barok smile to himself, knowing he’d read Naruhodou correctly. “I don’t mean to doubt you, it’s just difficult to believe everything you’ve said, when a year ago, I was a nobody. Just an exchange student who wasn’t even supposed to be here, taking the place of a friend.
“It was always Asougi who was supposed to go on and make a name for himself.” Naruhodou’s hand drops down to rest on Karuma’s handle, the katana hanging at his side once again. Barok had silently noted its reappearance a few days prior. Clearly something significant had happened between Asougi and Naruhodou, if his apprentice has once again relinquished his family’s blade to his friend. Something that Barok has no business knowing, no matter how fiercely his curiosity burns.
“And he still will,” Barok says, forcing both his gaze and his thoughts away from the sword. “There’s no reason you can’t do the same.”
“No, I suppose not.”
The defence attorney’s thoughts are clearly elsewhere now, his dark brown eyes unfocused and faraway. Satisfied that he’s finally cut through Naruhodou’s insecurities for the time being, Barok picks the report up again, intending to read the rest of it. If he’s quick enough about it, he can make use of the last of the day’s sunlight before evening begins to set in.
“Speaking of the Lord Chief Justice…” Naruhodou shifts in his chair when he has Barok’s attention, as if having second thoughts. “Aren’t you a bit surprised you weren’t approached for the position? I know I am.”
Barok inhales sharply, managing to disguise his shock as a discrete cough instead. Naruhodou’s shoulders curl in just enough to make him look even more uncomfortable than before. “What?” he asks, the way he avoids Barok’s eyes lending him an air of sulkiness that Barok isn’t familiar with. “You said my insights were important! If you didn’t really want to hear my thoughts, you shouldn’t have said it.”
Barok clears his throat, chagrined. Despite knowing he shouldn’t underestimate the defence lawyer, he’s still caught off guard far too often. “My apologies, you simply…took me by surprise. Why do you ask such a thing?”
“It makes sense, doesn’t it? Erm, at least I thought so.” Naruhodou toys with the red ribbon around the katana’s handle, twining it around his index finger. “Stronghart was so worried about keeping the faith of the people, to preserve the justice system. He had the right of it, even if he went about things the wrong way. When you take all of that into consideration, that makes you the obvious choice, Lord van Zieks.”
The longer Naruhodou talks, the more his back seems to straighten, voice gaining confidence and momentum. The occasional flourish of his hand–a gesture certainly adopted from the great detective–only serves to punctuate the points he’s laid out.
“You noticed it yourself, how the public’s opinion of you has completely changed since Stronghart’s trial, They all know what you endured to keep London safe.” Naruhodou frowns, cupping his chin in one hand. “I was so sure you’d be recommended on that basis alone.”
Uncertain how to respond, Barok stays silent. Some of the guilt he’s harbouring must bleed into his expression, because understanding dawns on Naruhodou’s face a moment later. Naruhodou’s eyes grow comically large as he gapes.
“You were recommended!” he says, voice loud and brimming with accusation. The finger pointed at Barok completes the picture of indignation.
“I was recommended,” Barok admits with a sigh.
“Then…why didn’t you accept it? It’s considered quite the honour to be considered for that position, isn’t it?”
Reactions like this are the reason Barok had preferred to keep his near-promotion to himself. The fuss around it isn’t something he particularly wants to deal with now or any time soon. And while Barok can’t fault Naruhodou for his questions, it doesn’t stop the discomfort from creeping back in. Suddenly, he feels too boxed in, with his desk framing his legs and his tall chair pressed against his back. Barok pushes his chair back, getting to his feet.
“Is it so astonishing that I would pass up the opportunity? I happen to like being a prosecutor. As Lord Chief Justice, I’d no longer have the time to handle the sort of cases I do now. ” The heels of his Wellingtons click against the tiles of his office floor until he comes to a stop in front of the window behind him. Outside, the people go about their day as the afternoon’s meagre sunlight begins to dim. Some Londoners stride over the pavement at a quick pace, no doubt hurrying home or to a local restaurant for a meal. Barok is unsurprised to see most of them already sport cloaks for the winter; though they haven’t had their first snow yet, the weather has been steadily growing colder over the past week.
Feeling Naruhodou’s questioning eyes on him, Barok partially turns away from the window and shakes his head. Truly, the man is a force to be reckoned with. That intuition alone is enough to keep Barok on edge at all times, wondering what secrets of his he will be forced to divulge and what he will be allowed to keep. So what if he’d like to avoid the Lord Chief Justice title at all costs? So what if being offered the very position that Stronghart manipulated his brother to gain had made his skin crawl? He no more wants to explain his unease than he wants to tell Naruhodou that he fully believes the public’s opinion will turn on him again when he reveals the Professor’s true identity. That even if he had wanted the position, their system of justice would be better off with someone whose family wouldn’t be considered a disgrace in the near future. Those thoughts belong to him, kept in the privacy of his own mind. Knowing Naruhodou might cut through his layers and see to the heart of him, that he has the ability to at all, makes resentment well up in him at times. Whether Naruhodou deserves it or not.
Naruhodou, not entirely oblivious to the dark turn Barok’s thoughts have taken, says carefully, as if to gauge Barok’s expression, “And you wouldn’t have the opportunity to use those chalices of yours in court anymore.”
“It would be a waste,” Barok agrees. Naruhodou, to his credit, says nothing of the numerous chalices Barok breaks over the course of one trial. He does, however, raise his brows in disbelief, which Barok chooses to ignore.
The bit of light banter does nothing to lessen the weight of Naruhodou’s stare when their eyes meet. Still attempting to sniff out what the problem is, Barok thinks, trying not to feel stifled by Naruhodou’s well-meaning concern. He realises then, he’ll have to offer something else up to placate the man’s curiosity. “I must also admit, I enjoy our exchanges in court,” Barok says, so slowly it couldn’t be interpreted as anything but reluctance. Crossing his arms, he gazes out the window, looking at nothing in particular. “Losing the chance to face a barrister of your calibre would be…regrettable.”
“Oh.”
It’s said quietly, barely audible, like the tiny hitch of the breath that had preceded it. Barok doesn’t have to look to know that Naruhodou is smiling; the surprised warmth in that single word is proof enough, and inexplicably, his face grows hot to the touch.
You’re a fool, Barok van Zieks, he thinks irritably. Months ago, he had said he was taking on cases that would bring him face to face with Naruhodou. At the time, he had been driven by the festering need to understand what could have changed an honourable friend like Genshin into a horrible serial killer, not caring at all what Naruhodou thought of him. Now, the situation has completely changed, and admitting the same thing has new implications he didn’t take into account.
He listens to the drag of Naruhodou’s chair, followed by the sound of his footsteps moving further from the desk. There’s a restless quality to them that immediately catches Barok’s attention. As if he’s pacing, he realises. The footsteps trace the same handful of steps over and over, growing predictable, especially in the way they skirt around the area at the front of the room. The area where Barok’s desk sits. Right then, it strikes Barok that whatever had just passed between them, he isn’t the only one affected by it. The realisation shocks him, a burst of satisfaction thrumming through him before settling in his gut.
It inevitably turns sour when he remembers he shouldn’t be encouraging any attachment to him.
Cursing himself for his miscalculation anew, Barok seizes the opportunity while Naruhodou is looking elsewhere to take the few short steps to his desk. Barok busies himself with the papers there, sorting the ones he’ll end up taking home with him. It’s clear now that he won’t get any work done while Naruhodou is here, making Barok feel so vulnerable with so little effort.
Is it really the best course of action to push his allies away? The traitorous part of him wonders. Sighing to himself, Barok brushes the thought aside. Preferring to keep his distance does not mean he’s pushing them away, he thinks, not knowing why he’s even bothering to justify his actions. He works well with them and treats his Japanese allies with the courtesy they deserve now. What would be the point of seeking more than that when it isn’t necessary to their objective? Yet, even when he believes this firmly, Barok hadn’t had the heart to turn Naruhodou away when he turned up at the office earlier that afternoon. Nor does he seem capable of it any other time Naruhodou shows up unannounced. More than needing a good working relationship with the other lawyer while they sort through the mess Stronghart left behind, Barok simply didn’t realise the depth of his gratitude until now. Giving Naruhodou the cold shoulder would feel wrong after the man advocated so passionately for him, never mind that he cracked the justice system open and dragged the corruption surrounding a case that has plagued Barok for years into the light to do so.
“So this is where you’ve been keeping it!” The exclamation, accompanied by a soft huff of laughter, cuts through Barok’s melancholy like a knife through butter. For a moment, Barok keeps his head down, his hands braced against the desk. It seems a fitting metaphor, when he needs to brace himself for whatever else Naruhodou has in store for him.
Finally, he lifts his head. “What have you managed to get into this time?”
Cheerfully, Naruhodou lifts the small plush in his hand for a closer look. “I had wondered what happened to it after Iris gave it to you. I knew if you couldn’t bear to dispose of it back then, then the chances of that happening now are as good as none.”
Naruhodou’s hands are exceedingly careful as they handle the toy cat, barely letting his fingertips skim the tiny top hat or the rest of the clothes that are replicas of Barok’s own, stunning in the amount of detail that’s been put into them. “Iris really is talented,” Naruhodou says, voicing Barok’s thoughts without realising it. “She made them for Miss Susato and me, as well, you know? I’m worried about losing mine if I carry it around with me, so I’ve left it in my office.”
“Yes… she certainly is talented.” Barok wonders how much of his brother and his sister-in-law he’ll see in the young girl once he gets past all the mannerisms she’s picked up from Holmes. Reflexively, his hand reaches up to touch the badge on his chest. “Already an accomplished author and inventor at her age…one wonders what else she could do given the time.”
“You forgot to mention her special tea blends. They’ve done a world of good for all of us.”
He nods, frowning slightly at the plush. He’s included in that number, he knows. Iris’ kindness toward him had been as soothing a balm to his frayed nerves as her famous tea during that stressful trial. Barok hasn’t forgotten it, despite not having any idea how to approach her yet.
“I believe she’s still hoping you’ll stop by the suite,” Naruhodou says, in a tone softened by understanding. “You did promise her you would.”
Barok nearly doesn’t manage to suppress a flinch. Of course Naruhodou has managed to pinpoint exactly what’s on his mind. It’s uncanny, at this point. Perhaps the members of the jury weren't wrong about the man’s use of witchcraft, or some sort of ability that would reveal the secrets one has locked away in their heart. “How the blazes are you doing that?” he asks, unleashing the full force of his glare on the defence lawyer.
Naruhodou, the cretin, has the nerve to actually laugh at him. “It’s just logic, Lord van Zieks. Or would Mr. Holmes call it ‘the art of deduction’?” An impish light shines in his eyes. “You give away a lot when you’re distracted. It wasn’t difficult to guess what was on your mind, especially when we were already talking about her.”
Barok’s glare does not relent. “Never mind all of that. I am a man of my word, Mr. Naruhodou. I have every intention of presenting myself to the Baker Street residence.”
“Of course.” Naruhodou nods, looking entirely too reasonable for one as vexing as him. “No one is accusing you of being otherwise.”
The conversation is left hanging like a needle that hasn’t been threaded properly, but Barok goes back to gathering his papers anyway, thrusting them into his leather briefcase unceremoniously. It’s far less care than he would normally give to the documents in his possession, and soon enough the guilt is enough to gentle his actions. Enough to rethink whether dismissing Naruhodou’s reminder so quickly had been the right choice. After all, the deterioration of his social graces has been obvious to everyone, but especially to him, as of late. Iris is the only family he has left, and no matter how dearly Barok would like to know her, he is utterly out of his depth whenever they cross paths. There is a simple solution to the problem, one that has been at the fringes of Barok’s awareness for some time, that he does not want to admit.
The truth of the matter is this: Naruhodou is the best person to approach for help with his dilemma. Had Iris’ adoptive father been anyone other than Holmes, Barok would have started there. However, the detective perplexes him on the best of days and gives him a terrible headache on the others. Grateful as he is for Holmes’ help with serving Stronghart the justice he deserves, Barok is loath to speak with him outside of absolute necessity. He doubts Asougi, being a relative newcomer, would be much more familiar with Iris than he. No point asking, even if their relationship weren’t strained as it is. Mikotoba, with her good nature, would likely be willing to assist him, and her close friendship with Iris only adds more points in her favour. The only problem is, he feels far less at ease with her than he does with the defence attorney she works with.
Barok bites back a weary sigh. No matter how he looks at it, everything circles back to Naruhodou in the end.
“About Miss Watson,” he says, securing the straps holding his case together to keep his hands from fussing and giving away his uncertainty. Naruhodou already notices too much without being handed more information freely. Not that it’s any secret how uncomfortable Barok finds it to ask for any kind of help. He’s certain Naruhodou deduced that easily enough when Barok was arrested for Gregson’s murder all those weeks ago. Iris, however, is more important than keeping his pride intact. “I find myself in need of… a favour.”
“What kind of favour is it? I’ll do what I can,” Naruhodou immediately replies.
It’s somewhat anticlimactic getting the answer he wanted from Naruhodou so easily, not that Barok is complaining. Even with Naruhodou’s earnest desire to help easing the way, Barok finds himself tongue tied and reluctant. It takes Barok a good second or two, his hands gripping hard at the edge of his desk, before he can get the words out.
“Before I fulfill my promise, I want you to tell me what you know about her. You’ve been living with her and Holmes for the better part of a year. Surely you must have noticed the things she’s particularly fond of.” In short, Barok has no clue what sort of gifts she’d appreciate from him.
What starts off as a thoughtful frown on Naruhodou’s face changes drastically the more he listens, turning into a smile that only grows wider.
“Wouldn’t you rather find out for yourself?” With the same care as before, Naruhodou sets the plush on Barok’s desk, arranging it so that it sits upright against a bottle of ink. Barok frowns, tempted to tell him to put it back where he had first found it. He has a feeling this is a rather pointed hint, though; instead of tucking it back on the bookshelf where Barok wouldn’t usually see it, Naruhodou has moved it onto his desk, where it couldn’t be missed. Despite himself, Barok feels a prickle of fondness for the man alongside his exasperation. It’s incredibly alarming.
Tilting his chin up impatiently, he replies curtly, “I would prefer it this way. Will you do it or not?”
“All right, all right. I won’t ask again,” Naruhodou says, hands raised placatingly. “And of course I’ll help. You aren’t the only one who likes to keep his promises here.”
Naruhodou looks out the window, absently adjusting the lawyer’s band around his arm. The growing dimness of the office is hard to ignore by then, and though there is still enough light to see, it will not stay that way for long. Had he not been so caught up in Naruhodou’s presence, Barok would have lit the candles already.
“It’s getting quite late, isn’t it? I didn’t mean to keep you from your work this long,” Naruhodou says, looking genuinely apologetic. “Perhaps it would be better if I stopped by again tomorrow, to talk about Iris.”
The suggestion is a reasonable one, considering he visits often enough. There’s every possibility of Asougi being there, though, and something in Barok’s chest clenches at the thought of anyone else knowing his struggles. Not to mention, anyone could overhear them when the Prosecutor’s Office is bustling with its usual activity. More than that, Barok knows himself, knows the way he’s become accustomed to shying away from the people around him. If he’s to keep himself accountable for his promise, he must seize this momentum Naruhodou started for him and see it to completion.
“There is another option,” Barok says, swallowing past the sudden lump in his throat. “If you aren’t opposed to it, we can take a coach to my town house and discuss it over dinner.”
The ensuing silence is so thick with incredulity, Barok nearly picks up his case and leaves.
“I-I’m sorry, I could’ve sworn you just invited me to your town house for dinner.” Ah, that stammer. Barok remembers the days when Naruhodou had stumbled so often over his words just like this. If he weren’t feeling apprehensive enough to do the same, Barok would be more amused. Naruhodou catches sight of his expression and straightens up, eyes wide. “You’re…serious.”
“Dinner is the least I can offer for demanding your assistance at this hour,” Barok murmurs in reply, resigned to his impending humiliation. It’s what he gets for acting on impulse.
He doesn’t look away while Naruhodou studies him, the defence attorney’s face uncharacteristically unreadable. Then, to Barok’s surprise, his eyes light up with a delight that quickly spreads to the rest of his face until he’s practically beaming.
“I’ll have to send a message to Baker Street first, but after that my time is yours.”
It’s not the refusal Barok had expected, but the nervous churning in his stomach does not abate at all; it gets worse. Barok can’t help but think that does not bode well for him.