Chapter Text
It was as the weather grew colder and the close of the year drew nearer that Lord Van Zieks had first broached the subject of taking a winter recess.
They had been toiling feverishly for over a month then, bound to their work by the gravity of their personal investments, trying to clean up some of the wreckage left behind in the wake of Lord Stronghart’s depravity. Meticulous documentation, policy drafting with members of the judiciary, press releases and damage control— somehow every loose end of this ordeal seemed to find its way back to the prosecutor’s office these days.
Even the combined efforts of two gifted minds could only salvage so much of a situation saturated this thoroughly with corruption, and Van Zieks was no stranger to the signs of fatigue in his subordinate (and himself, for that matter), which could only be held at bay by the fuel of personal grudges for so long.
When the days were so short, and their working hours so long, the prosecutor’s office felt even more frigid and foreboding, if it were possible— Van Zieks himself could admit he was affected by the dismal atmosphere, occasionally distracted by thoughts of a holiday in Germany or tending to his family’s estate rather than being shut up like inmates, sentenced to mountains of paperwork as penance.
Yet his young protégé, stubborn as ever, displayed no hesitations or missteps, never voicing even the ghost of a complaint… Other than the slightest loss of color in his complexion and a hardened, mature look in his sunken eyes, Van Zieks could almost believe the young foreigner was immune to the effects of a dreary British winter.
But there was one evening in particular that had cemented his decision on the matter and prompted him to bring it up, now with a sense of urgency.
He had walked back to his office from some meeting or other with dinner for the two of them, the same as many other nights prior at that point— except, upon arrival, rather than being met with tea, or an astute legal inquiry which would then take him the remainder of the evening to respond adequately to, or a new crisis of the day (all things which the young prosecutor had a habit of shoving in his face in place of a greeting), he returned to a silent, almost pitch black room.
The lamp Asogi had been using to study had dwindled to almost nothing, causing him to stumble around a bit as he tried to get a proper light going. Once he had, he was stunned by the sight of the young prosecutor laying face down at his kneeling desk.
A surge of panic ran through Van Zieks’ chest as he stood over him. His first thought was that someone had come in and murdered the man— which was a testament, first, to the haunted state of his own mind… but more relevantly, to how deeply unusual such a sight was. Even when they worked into the small hours some nights, and Van Zieks could feel his own body failing him as he wrestled over his consciousness, Asogi remained unfailingly guarded and alert, not even so much as yawning in his presence— let alone something like this.
But he heaved a sigh of relief as he observed the rise and fall of steady breathing in his sleeping subordinate, using the sound to ground himself.
From such an angle, swallowed up in his cloak (which he must have drawn around himself, no doubt, because of the chill running through the whole courthouse), he seemed… remarkably small.
Naruhodo had a clumsy humility and earnest vigor to him that, regardless of his skill and the gravitas he possessed in the courtroom, made it difficult to forget his lack of experience… That is to say, he acted like a student. A kid, even, energetically running around with the even younger legal assistant in tow.
But it was all too easy for Van Zieks to forget that the same applied to the person sitting before him— when he stopped to consider it, this must have been how Klint often stumbled upon him growing up, asleep in the middle of study, a frequent lapse in judgment for an overzealous student to make.
The memory caused an unwelcome feeling of guilt to wash over him and settle in the pit of his stomach as he realized how severely he had been neglecting his young pupil, equally caught up in the torrent of their shared workload.
He hated to wake him, but this wretched office was no place to turn in for the night, and especially not in that contorted and tense posture.
Feeling awkward, he cleared his throat.
But considering how deeply exhausted he must have been to fall asleep in such a position, it was no surprise that wasn’t enough to rouse him.
“…Asogi.”
He had his arms crossed and his gaze slightly averted, not wanting to draw unnecessary attention to him upon waking, but he couldn’t help but stare as his subordinate remained resolutely asleep, even as he repeated his name a few more times, with increasing volume.
His slumber was so unyielding he was beginning to think the man had gotten himself poisoned or knocked out when, without thinking, he nudged him with the tip of his boot— this being the thing to wake him all at once and then some, as he startled upright so hard he knocked over a small pot of ink.
“Eh— uh?” he stammered, grasping at the desk to clean up the mess even before he was fully conscious, panting heavily as he tried to get his bearings. Evidently he was as surprised by his own conduct as Van Zieks was— which was all the more concerning.
“S-Sir,” he breathed, taking a moment to compose himself, and then, almost seamlessly apart from the gravel of sleep clinging to the edges of his voice: “My apologies. I’ll get this sorted straight away.”
That was all he said as he stood and left the room, presumably to wash the ink off his hands.
Van Zieks set himself to cleaning the desk and salvaging some of the poor kid’s notes— taking them back to his own desk to review and sort them while he waited.
Asogi returned shortly, looking a little disappointed that everything had been cleaned up in his absence as he took his place at his desk.
“…Sorry about that,” he reiterated without looking up, sounding especially cold as he tried to recover from the embarrassment of the compromising position he allowed himself to be found in. “Did you need anything from me? … It won’t happen again.”
Van Zieks sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose as though annoyed, but he was really only annoyed at himself for pushing him too hard.
“Perhaps your remorse feels a bit exaggerated to me by way of a cultural difference…” Van Zieks ventured slowly, an attempt at gentleness as he tried to voice his thoughts in a way that Asogi wouldn’t find too objectionable. “But if you’re expecting me to scold you or deliver punishment for something so innocuous, I have nothing to offer you.”
Actually, I should probably be the one apologizing, he thought, but it was a bit difficult to find the words when Asogi wasn’t even facing him.
“Don’t flatter yourself; remorse is too gratuitous a description,” Asogi said, but it was clear the more he spoke that he was still bristling from embarrassment, overcompensating for it by doubling down on his usual sternness… though unmistakably tinged with lingering exhaustion. “I just want to reassure you that I take my work seriously and can be trusted. That’s all.”
At that, Van Zieks might have cracked a smile or rolled his eyes if he wasn’t also fatigued to his bones at that very moment.
“You should know better than anyone that you would not be in my presence right now if it weren’t for the profound trust that I and a significant handful of people have in you and your abilities.”
It certainly wasn’t very warm as far as praise went, and only expressed a fraction of Van Zieks’ true feelings on the matter, but it was enough to render Asogi silent for the time being as he dutifully returned to his work.
Did I say something wrong? he wondered after a few more minutes, feeling a little oppressed by the change in atmosphere. Or maybe it was just the uneasy feeling of night falling over London while they were still downtown working.
“Actually…” he said after a bit, standing from his desk, “I brought dinner from a nearby restaurant.”
“Hm.”
He sounded painfully indifferent, not moving his eyes away from his notes.
“Leave my portion behind, I’ll have it after I—“
The faint stirrings of another memory rose to the surface of Van Zieks’ mind— this one of calling his brother to dinner in some feeble attempt to pry him from his work during those utterly lonely years before his death. Even before Asogi answered, he had no trouble imagining the look on his face. Although this time he had no intention of replicating the outcome.
“You’ll have it now, with me, in the mess hall. Maybe senseless toiling is the way of things in your homeland, but it won’t earn you any favor here— I only see it as a liability at this point, knowing all too well the hazard of an ambitious spirit rendered delusional by overuse,” he said, standing overbearingly over his subordinate’s desk, the shadow he cast looming larger since the station was so near to the ground.
Maybe that was too harsh, since Asogi did not answer him immediately. But it was difficult to suppress the uncanny feeling that sometimes crept up on him, the more time they spent alone together.
For a foolhardy young upstart, he really does remind me of…
He shook his head, then turned on his heel to leave.
“…Besides. I actually remembered some business I would like to discuss with you, sooner rather than later.”
So that was that, Asogi realized, biting back a sigh as he stood wordlessly from his station and followed after the head prosecutor toward the courthouse’s small dining area.
…
Van Zieks felt a mild sensation as they got into their meal— relief, perhaps, at the sight of the young man eating with a healthy amount of enthusiasm, some of the hardness leaving his features. He had come to learn that while Asogi was not a highly particular eater, he had no qualms making it clear when he wasn’t a fan of something— although sometimes, as a courtesy or a reluctance to waste food he wasn’t sure, it seemed like he would trudge his way through his meals in spite of. So it was always a bit heartening to see that he was learning his subordinate’s palate, slowly but surely.
Allowing the thoughts to run through his mind was almost enough for the faint impression of a smile to appear on his face, but just as quickly it was dispelled by a few cold words—
“So? What is it, then.”
Van Zieks bristled. Was this what it was like to interact with himself, he wondered…? Although he knew the young prosecutor possessed a personable warmth he was well aware he lacked, it rarely seemed like it came through in their interactions… understandably so, given the touch-and-go foundation of their newfound working relationship. Maybe only when they were having a truly interesting discussion about some legal hypothetical did Asogi look upon him with something approaching friendliness, and even then he was quick to reel it in, reminding him that theirs was just that— a working relationship, rendered functional only by the young pupil’s voracity for the abundance of knowledge of which Van Zieks happened to be the holder.
And yet.
Perhaps it was a misplaced feeling of familiarity from spending a year with the lad’s best friends in the courtroom, or it was some redirection of his lingering guilt toward the Asogi name as a whole… but it was difficult to not feel some kind of protective instinct when he looked upon him, and beyond that, even pride when he saw how far Asogi had come in such a short while, in spite of everything he had to endure.
…These were all very uncommon and disorienting emotions to him, though, a person who had spent the first portion of his life always looking up to someone, and the latter portion of it blinded and isolated by phantoms and delusions.
So maybe it was somewhat inevitable that any attempt to convey this budding fondness was doomed from the start, because it was him.
“…It’s December now,” he said tentatively. “Is it customary in Japan to celebrate… well, likely not Christmas of all things… New Year’s, then?”
Judging by the way Asogi’s shoulders tensed, this was probably not going very favorably.
“This is the important business you wanted to discuss with me?” he asked frankly.
“In Britain it’s common to plan a holiday around this time of year. You’ll notice others slowing their work around you,” he responded, not dignifying his passive aggressive sarcasm with a defense. “If you have a desire to travel, you ought to start thinking about it in advance and save me some trouble along the line.”
Of course Asogi had his own independent interests and the keen senses required to conduct himself almost anywhere, so he could have his pick of destinations and Van Zieks was likely to approve of it. But it was abundantly clear that there was really only one place either of them had in mind that Asogi might want to go.
“I’ll save you all the trouble and remain right here, then, seeing as the window of departure for such a lengthy voyage is already well past, and I wouldn’t risk it during the thick of winter anyway,” he said, a touch of bitterness in his words which Van Zieks realized was probably there to mask homesickness. “Not to mention our work has barely begun— it’s hardly appropriate to be thinking of a break.”
He returned to his meal with defiant purpose as he crammed a mouthful of food into his face, chewing with a kind of spite about him.
A pair of two dramatics, it seemed they were.
Van Zieks sighed a little, giving him a moment to stew while he thought about how to go about persuading him.
But before he could give it another attempt, Asogi piped up on his own.
“If this is your version of discipline for my… conduct earlier,” he said, hesitating as the embarrassment resurfaced briefly in his mind, “consider it taken care of. As I said, it won’t be happening again.”
Van Zieks was a little stunned at the impenetrable and defensive pride of the young man; it seemed like he couldn’t do or say anything without putting him instantly on guard. Although honestly that could be said of many of his interactions with people, so Asogi wasn’t wholly unique in that regard.
Still, being used to it didn’t mean he knew how to remedy it, and good god was this kid stubborn.
“You’re evidently set on doubting me, but I assure you it has nothing to do with that, and I was being sincere when I said it was innocuous,” he said with a gentle sigh. “As you’ll recall I mentioned that business everywhere in Britain will soon begin slowing; the courthouse is no exception, barring matters of utmost and imminent danger. Which rather describes last month, I know— so I apologize… albeit belatedly at this point… for the tireless workload you’ve already been assisting me with, even if it’s a good opportunity for you to study.”
He cringed at himself. Was apologizing this difficult for everyone? No, probably just him.
“…But it’s time that you— and I, for that matter— take on a more reasonable pace,” he concluded anticlimactically, feeling a little defeated by this degree of social interaction. “This is a matter of importance to me for reasons I’m sure I’ve made obvious, so even if you disagree, I at least expect you to consider it as my subordinate.”
“Okay. I’ve considered it,” he answered, not missing a beat, and no less bitter. “I’ll concede to a brief respite in my studies, for however long is so customary here in Britain. But in the absence of your explicit instruction, I won’t promise a thing about how I’ll spend my time, and I’d rather not idle when we both know I’m here with a singular purpose. So I would appreciate if you didn’t interrupt me with trivialities, even if you’re going to pursue them.”
A very elegantly delivered and elaborate rejection. Of course.
…This would be easier if Naruhodo were here, Van Zieks thought suddenly, then felt exasperated at his own inadequacy. Which was frequently how he felt when he thought about Naruhodo, actually.
But the passing thought brought a brief idea to his mind, though it would take a bit of effort to orchestrate on his end.
“Do as you will,” he said, seeing no point in entertaining his stubbornness any longer for the time being. “…Though frankly I’m not sure how capable I believe you to be of, as you described, ‘idling.’”
Asogi only narrowed his eyes in response.
…
“And to what so-called ‘important business’ do I owe the pleasure of a highly coveted personal meeting with the Reaper of the Bailey this evening?”
Ah. If there was ever a man in the world more capable of idling…
“Lose the attitude, Detective…” Van Zieks sighed, his patience worn thin as he slouched over a tall glass of wine while they sat in the far corner of a quiet pub.
He must have been truly exhausted, Sholmes realized, to allow his brooding to affect his usual stately and proper posture. He softened a little. (But not too much, of course.)
“It’s just been a bit challenging to get a hold of you these days,” he said, taking a swig out of his own drink, already on his second one since the whole affair was on Van Zieks’ tab. “Are you and young Kazuma well? I at least see your face when you need something from me, but I fear you have that boy chained to the courthouse.”
At that Van Zieks had to scoff.
“Please. What I wouldn’t do to rid myself of that miserable place for good,” he said without a hint of irony or exaggeration. Then, quietly: “…Actually I find myself dealing with rather the opposite at present.”
“Oh? Isn’t that something,” Sholmes said, sounding far too smug. “I’m pleased to hear the illustrious Reaper seems to have met his match in a zealous young foreigner.”
And it wouldn’t be the first time, would it… thought Van Zieks, only to be interrupted as though his company could read his thoughts:
“…Twice!” the detective added merrily, making no effort to contain the bubbly fit of laughter that tumbled out of him as he clanked his beer on the table for emphasis.
Ugh. Why did he think this was a good idea again…?
He sighed deeply and tried to collect his thoughts— convince himself that the man sitting before him wasn’t some imp or demon concocted in hell specifically to annoy him— no, remind himself that actually, he was several times in his debt, not only for saving his skin during that trial last month, but more significantly for the splendid job he did raising that little girl— his blood niece, of all the damned things in the universe, because it seemed Klint was keener to rely on any wretched fool than on his own brother—
…but that was taking it too far, wasn’t it. That wasn’t what he was here to ask about, and that wasn’t anyone’s fault at the end of the day. Least of all Sholmes, even though his face was so easy to blame.
He inhaled and sipped his wine, letting it sit on his tongue as he slowly grounded himself in the present.
“Yes. You must be as acutely aware as I am how formidable our foreign friends can be at times,” he responded as genuinely as possible to Sholmes’ jeering. “Which… is why…”
He felt his resolve falter as he hesitated to say something which would once again put him in this idiot’s debt. But this was the whole reason they were here anyway, and the reason he’d made it clear from the onset that the night would be on him.
…Really, he knew no amount of drinks and hors d'oeuvres he could possibly pay for would ever scratch the surface of repaying him; it was merely a courtesy, his attempt at scraping together some dignity from the situation. (And yet there was still something grating about watching the man order caviar, seemingly just to get a rise out of him. At least that made him feel less guilty for accepting help.)
“Well, I can easily speak for Naruhodo, having lived with the lad— though I suspect you don’t need me to at this point,” Sholmes cut him off prematurely, startling him a bit.
It wasn’t clear if he had heard Van Zieks and was doing it intentionally, or if he was genuinely speaking too softly just then.
“But I’m rather disappointed— or is the word jealous?— that I haven’t had the same pleasure with the prodigy prosecutor in training,” he went on, a sharp look in his eye which put Van Zieks on edge. “You simply must regale me with all the tales you and he have no doubt collected over the past month.”
Van Zieks felt a bit like he was being put on, so he retained his silence, preferring to just let Sholmes get to his point.
…It was just a little unsettling how keen his intuition truly was, he thought, as he listened to him broach the exact subject he was struggling so much to bring up himself:
“Or, even better,” Sholmes said, lowering his voice as though on the verge of a truly delicious conclusion. “…he could spend a short while on Baker Street, if it pleases you.”
At that, Van Zieks could just curse. He didn’t, of course— having at least the sense to hold his tongue in public. But there was something impossibly irritating about being outdone by this man. Again and again, it seemed.
But a beggar has no right to complain, so he only swallowed his annoyance, clutched his chalice, and released his grievances in the form of a hot-blooded exhale through his nose— which did not go unnoticed by a very self-satisfied Sholmes, who could tell instantly that he had hit the nail on the head.
“The only question, then, is if it would please him,” he replied, finally. “He seems intent on opposing me on this; I worry if I bring it up directly, he’ll dig his heels in.”
Sholmes swirled his drink a little, and it well could have been a fleeting delusion borne out of the effects of mild intoxication, but he looked a little mature just then— before ungraciously stuffing his face with some overpriced finger sandwiches, shattering any momentary feelings of respect Van Zieks might have entertained.
“…Well perhaps it would interest both of you to know that Iris has expressed her interest in getting to know the fellow, too,” he added upon swallowing, his gaze averted as if distracted.
Van Zieks clutched his chest a little and wondered if Sholmes’ diverted gaze might’ve been out of consideration, knowing full well that that particular comment would strike its target especially hard.
“Has she, now…” he murmured, allowing the thought to dance across his mind’s eye for a moment.
His brother’s child, that brilliant little girl, getting along with his gifted protégé who was all too unexpectedly becoming a person he had a similar urge to protect and encourage— emotions he never considered he would have the privilege of feeling in this lifetime now washed over him in abundance.
It could almost make him smile, if he weren’t so bogged down by exhaustion and the cruel embarrassment of having to rely on Sholmes to make up for his own inadequacies.
“Not just Kazuma, in fact— or Kazu, as she seems to have coined him,” he said. “She’s also recently developed a habit of pestering me for the whereabouts of a certain reaper. You did promise to visit, you know.”
“I know, but—“ he began a mild protestation, a struggle he’d had with himself internally on numerous occasions. “Of course I want to see the child, Sholmes. But it’s not like she can recognize the true nature of our relationship; as things are now I’m nothing more to her than a fearsome and unpleasant stranger.”
Actually, that was probably his status in a good number of minds. Though it stung a little more in this instance.
“Moreover…” he added slowly, throwing back the rest of his wine before continuing in an uncharacteristically bashful way, “…I don’t trust myself not to— that is, I just don’t want to risk… well, I’m sure you’re more aware than I of what treacherous waters we’re treading here.”
“Certainly I am,” he said, completely unintimidated by Van Zieks’ doomed expression. “So you should really defer to me on the matter then, as an expert on such things. Whether you believe me or not, the girl’s sharper and more determined than the two of us combined, and she’s set her mind on it. Historically speaking, no amount of unapproachability has proven any effective in deterring her… in fact I might even hazard that she’s endeared herself to those chilling looks so customary for you prosecutors.”
Van Zieks blinked at that bizarre affinity. Perhaps some things could be inherited by way of parentage… although parentage of what type, he wasn’t exactly sure.
“…Fine. Expect a visit when the moment avails itself to me,” he conceded, his own heart harboring the same desire too fiercely to continue denying it. “But, the matter at hand—“
“Yes, yes, your apprentice— you still haven’t caught me up,” he said. “Is he quite alright? Are his current lodgings not suitable to him? Because I’m more than happy to arrange something more permanent, for the small consideration of—“
“You’re not getting a roommate, Detective,” he said with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. Was it really possible that a celebrity of his social stature could be struggling to make rent? Surely this was some kind of ill-conceived joke, right?
It was hard to convince himself of that as he watched the man shamelessly consume a month’s rent worth of calories before his eyes, as though food and drink could be made more delicious by virtue of not having to pay for it.
If he thought about it for too long he felt the beginnings of a headache.
“…A break. He needs some time away, that’s all,” he said, exasperated, and it was plainly obvious that this assessment of Asogi readily applied to himself, too.
“But he doesn’t want to visit his dear companions in the East? Surely you have the means to arrange it?”
“The idea was struck down instantly,” he recalled unpleasantly. “But I suppose he’s right; it’s reckless to test one’s luck with the seas during the worst of this unforgiving season. I’ll offer again in the spring when he may be more amenable to it… but that’s a ways off. So do you think…”
He frowned deeply, unable to look Sholmes in the eye.
“Do you really think he could stay with you for a bit…? Perhaps just while the courthouse is closed for the holidays.”
“You’re acting like I didn’t already lead with my answer,” he said, offering a rare sincere smile.
Van Zieks seemed to decompress a little, leisurely pouring out a new half glass from the bottle of wine sitting on the table.
“…That was all I wanted to ask,” he said. “You have my thanks.”
“It’s hardly a trifle to me, considering you’re not even the first to float the idea my way,” he said, dismissing what he saw as an excess of gratitude. “Had a bit more time elapsed, I’m sure you would have eventually gotten the same request from me— you’ve only saved me the effort of chasing you down. But if I might pry a moment— did something happen recently?”
Of course the image of Asogi sleeping like the dead on his work desk leapt to his mind instantly, and his grimace must have given him away.
“Ah.” Sholmes quirked a brow. “You must truly be worried about him.”
“I sensed it when I was first acquainted with him— before he ever spoke or revealed his identity. He’s more relentless— and more reckless— than even myself… and by no slim margin,” Van Zieks said, shaking his head. “Perhaps this will hold no weight given my past… but at times it seems he’s on track to lose sight of himself. I’m not sure if you could sense it during that trial, or if it was a presence only perceptible to those in the room…”
He shuddered to speak such unpleasant memories aloud, but he realized it was the first time he felt he could confide this in someone.
“…he has a darkness about him,” he said, keeping his voice low in an almost superstitious way.
“Hm…”
Sholmes considered it thoughtfully, understanding the implications and the gravity of Van Zieks’ assessment.
“Given what the lad has been through, would you not be infinitely more alarmed if the opposite were the case?” he said, hand on his chin as he imagined the hypothetical. “It’s rather more surprising to me that he hasn’t committed murder. Yet.”
He laughed mirthfully despite the grim topic of conversation, allowing the anxiety which plagued Van Zieks endlessly to roll off him as smoothly as water. It was strangely comforting, even if his laugh was as irritating as ever.
“Still, I do sincerely hope he can resist the urge— at least until Iris and I have had our fun with him,” he joked, before swigging some of his drink.
“Sholmes.”
The detective felt an exhilarating little chill run down his spine when he saw how Van Zieks was looking at him just then. It didn’t wipe the smile from his lips, though.
“Relax, my good man,” he waved him off, trying to dispel the heavy gloom that had collected in the air around them. “I mean that you need only turn your thinking around to realize that what concerns you so deeply may actually be a sign of something positive.”
“I… I suppose that may be true,” Van Zieks conceded after a moment, a little too subdued by the wine to resist the draw of the other’s optimism. “But that doesn’t change the fact that, for the moment, he’s hell-bent on contradicting me— and I don’t feel like forcing his hand on the matter, either.”
“Yes, I imagine if you attempted to, you might very well end up losing one of your own— what with that sword he’s always brandishing,” he said, barely containing his laughter at his own quip, earning himself another icy glare, though this one dissipated much more rapidly.
“…Will you talk to him?” Van Zieks said, a gentleness in the request that Sholmes found rather endearing.
“With great pleasure, rest assured.”