Archive of Our Own ^beta

The large, ornately-carved door took up Ryuunosuke’s entire field of vision.

This close, he was able to discern every meandering line and tiny whorl in the polished wood that decorated the entrance to the grand London home. Smooth, and rich, and dark, it had probably cost more than his current stipend. The bronze knocker gleamed dully, a hair's breadth from his nose.

He supposed that he ought to thank the servant who had closed the door in his face for allowing him the opportunity to study English carpentry technique in such fine detail.

Ryuunosuke mustered a deep breath, dispelling any lingering indignation with a sigh. Well, there was no question about it now: Lord Van Zieks was clearly avoiding him.

He hadn’t been sure, at first. They’d seen enough of one another in the busy weeks that had delayed his return to Japan—meeting inadvertently in the halls of the Old Bailey and Scotland Yard, or at Sholmes’ suite as Van Zieks made tentative attempts to get to know his newfound niece. Between dealing with the aftermath of the Reaper trial, and their freshly overlapping social circle, they’d had ample chances to talk—haltingly, but with growing familiarity, about safe topics such as law.

Now that Van Zieks had shed his bristly animosity toward him, Ryuunosuke had found himself able to hold conversations with his old adversary without tripping over his own tongue. Van Zieks was sharply intelligent, and had a dry wit that was much more entertaining when not pointed in his direction. And although clearly out of practice, he was far kinder than he pretended to be, which was never more evident than when he was interacting with Iris.

Admittedly, Ryuunosuke had been enjoying their wobbly first steps toward friendship, and the opportunity to get to know him better. And that had only made it all the more obvious—and jarring—when the conversations had stopped.

Ryuunosuke bit his lower lip, worrying the soft flesh between his teeth. He’d hoped to catch Van Zieks here, at his city address, but the brusque dismissal from the servant who’d opened the door had quickly squashed that idea. He didn’t think that Van Zieks would be so rude as to bar him from the residence without even a message, so that meant that he probably wasn’t at home.

This made a full week of trying to hunt the man down, and Ryuunosuke hadn’t come any nearer to cornering him. The closest he’d gotten was two days ago, when he’d dropped off a stack of completed paperwork at the courthouse. He’d felt eyes on him then, a familiar, piercing gaze that made the hair on the back of his neck tingle and stand on end, but when he’d turned—expecting to catch a glimpse of a cape fluttering at the edge of his vision—there’d been nothing. It was like chasing a ghost. A tall, scowling, and surprisingly stealthy ghost.

He’d mentioned his recent difficulties to Kazuma once, only to be treated to a pair of crossed arms and an inscrutable glare. He’d stared, stony-eyed, at Ryuunosuke and ordered him to take responsibility before turning back to his work, which hadn’t done much to clear things up.

The whole thing was starting to ruffle his feathers, if he was being perfectly honest. Ryuunosuke could endure hard words and glacial expressions from the prosecution, but he didn’t enjoy running around half of London in some enigmatic cat-and-mouse game, nor had he ever expected to have been cast in the befuddling role of the cat. He’d gained a new understanding for Wagahai’s reluctance to catch the mice that ran rampant in the attic office; the chase was exhausting.

He had come up with a theory as to the ‘why’ of Van Zieks’ avoidance. It was only a suspicion, but Ryuunosuke had pinpointed the last time he had seen the other man as last week’s gathering at the Baker Street residence.

With Van Zieks unable to attend the post-trial party, Iris had insisted on holding another proper celebration, and without the excuse of a cold jail cell awaiting him, Van Zieks hadn’t been able to wheedle his way out a second time.

At the dinner, he'd been distant, but cordial. The jarring revelations of the trial, and subsequent fallout, had no doubt weighed heavily on his mind. Still, he’d conversed pleasantly with everyone around the table—even Sholmes, if only when directly addressed—and had treated Iris with a gentleness that Ryuunosuke had been quietly engrossed by. Seated beside him, he had gotten a front-row view of the way Van Zieks’ perpetually furrowed brow smoothed out in her presence, making him look years younger.

Their own conversation had been stilted—Van Zieks stiff and himself floundering, pinned by the intensity of his gaze—but by all accounts they had been fine. Ryuunosuke had even made the other man laugh once, a short bark that had caught both of them by surprise, and left Van Zieks unable to meet his eyes for a time. He didn’t think that he’d imagined the brief spark of pleasure there.

And then, Ryuunosuke had mentioned his plans to return to Japan. It had hovered between them all for weeks now, a somber, unspoken inevitability, but it hadn’t seemed real until that moment—when he’d confirmed that they had booked their passage for two weeks hence. He and the Mikotobas had concluded giving their testimonies, and now that Scotland Yard no longer required their cooperation there was nothing else to keep them from their voyage.

Van Zieks had turned his head away at the news, face cast in shadow for a brief moment. When he’d raised it again, his expression had been as carefully composed as ever. He’d thanked Ryuunosuke once more, and wished them all a safe journey. But as Van Zieks had sat there, sipping his wine in silence, Ryuunosuke hadn’t been able to shake the lingering impression that he had upset him.

He hadn’t seen Van Zieks since. It seemed arrogant to assume that he’d made such an impression on the man that he would be distressed by his departure, and yet…

Ryuunosuke squared his shoulders and turned back to the street. Van Zieks clearly didn’t want to see him, and perhaps he should respect that boundary, but—well, it seemed a shame to part on bad terms. Besides, his stubbornness had paid off before when dealing with the reticent man. It was the reason that Van Zieks was still here and able to avoid him today—and wasn’t that a sobering thought.

The sun had set hours ago, and there were few people about—especially in this affluent part of town, where no one had business after dark. A few empty carriages sat parked at the mouths of the expensive townhouses—thrice the size of Sholmes’ modest lodgings—waiting for their owners to make use of them. The amber glow of the streetlights cast long, shadowy fingers across the neatly cobbled streets, and it was eerily quiet compared to the hustle and bustle that Ryuunosuke had come to expect of London. All the night seemed to be holding its breath, waiting to see what he would do next.

Where could Van Zieks be this late? It was unlikely that any restaurants were still open at this hour. Clubs, certainly, but he wasn’t exactly known for his sociability. No, from what Ryuunosuke had come to know about the man, he was probably busy working himself into an early grave.

With determination, he turned and set off in the direction of the Prosecuters’ Office. It would be a long walk, but it was easier and cheaper than hunting down a hansom at this hour. At the very least, he wasn’t likely to get mugged along the way. He didn’t make a very tantalizing mark, in his nondescript black uniform and with Karuma at his hip. Though he had the distinct impression that he might want to avoid any patrolling bobbies, who were liable to take poorly to an armed foreigner wandering the wealthier streets in the middle of the night.

By the time Ryuunosuke arrived at his destination, his feet had begun to ache with protest, his pulse throbbing in his tired soles. It had grown even later still, and he realized his mistake as he stood facing the locked entrance to the building. He had no key to enter, and the daytime staff now all lay bundled snugly in their beds. Shivering slightly in the crisp November air, he was beginning to think that they had the right idea.

He looked around furtively, but saw no wandering guards or otherwise that could lend a hand. Well, he thought, desperate times called for desperate measures. It was the kind of excuse Sholmes would have given, but since it was his fault that Ryuunosuke was even considering this he felt justified shifting the blame to his friend. He rummaged around in his pockets and pulled out the necessary tools—carried on him at Sholmes’ insistence, after he’d left his own at home one time—with a small triumphant aha, which he followed with another guilty glance at his surroundings.

Picking locks was much more difficult in practice than Sholmes made it look, but after some fumbling the door eventually released with a faint click. Well, at least he couldn’t say the lessons hadn’t come in handy… though he wasn’t sure it was fitting behaviour for a lawyer. Better than pick-pocketing, perhaps.

Ruunosuke turned the handle, and nudged the heavy door until it swung slowly inward on its hinges. He did his best to close it softly behind him, but the bolts still settled into place with an audible thunk. He tensed momentarily, but there was no one to hear in the vast, deserted foyer.

The gas lamps that lined the walls were still lit, though they were barely enough to dispel the shadows that spilled like ink at the edges of the great room. Unwilling to linger in the dark, Ryuunosuke hurried onward, down the hall that led to Van Zieks’ office.

He wasn’t sure if there was anyone else still on site, but he dreaded having to explain himself if found out—by ghost or living creature. Even though the deposed Lord Chief Justice had spent most of his time in his fortress of an office, Ryuunosuke half-expected Lord Stronghart to loom suddenly from around one of the corners and ask in his booming voice just what he thought he was doing. He hardly knew himself.

And then, before he knew it, he was standing in front of Van Zieks’ door.

It was firmly shut, and for a moment Ryuunosuke despaired that his foray into a life of crime had been for nothing. But then he looked at the floor and it was with a burst of relief that he spotted the faint, flickering light at the edge of the doorway.

He raised a hand to knock, and briefly hesitated. It wasn’t too late to simply turn around and go home. He didn’t know why he was so intent on confronting Van Zieks about this; chances were that he was about to make a fool of himself. But then he heard Susato’s voice in his head—you shouldn’t let him intimidate you, Naruhodou-san—and he drew himself up with a deep breath.

Ryuunosuke knocked firmly, rapping thrice against the sturdy frame. He waited.

And waited some more.

He frowned. Surely Van Zieks had heard him. Unless, perhaps he had fallen asleep at his desk? The thought was as concerning as it was unexpectedly endearing. The man’s back would certainly not appreciate it come morning—Ryuunosuke could attest to that from experience.

He knocked again, and this time called out, “Lord van Zieks?”

There was another long pause. And then Ryuunosuke heard the faint scrape of a chair’s legs sliding across marble, followed by the sharp click of a set of familiar iron heels approaching. He held his breath until the door opened, revealing Van Zieks’ tall form.

Van Zieks clearly hadn’t been expecting him. The two chips of ice he claimed for eyes melted briefly with surprise, or perhaps dismay, before refreezing. The expression was gone before Ryuunosuke could really catalogue it, replaced by a formidable frown.

There was an awkward pause, wherein Ryuunosuke realized that he hadn’t really prepared an opening statement for this conversation. He struggled to produce an explanation for turning up at Van Zieks’ door past midnight that wouldn’t seem ridiculous said out loud, and in the end only managed a weak— “Erm, good evening!”

Van Zieks’ expression said that he wasn’t so sure about that. But after witnessing Ryuunosuke’s struggle to follow up the greeting, he mercifully took pity on him.

“I confess, I wasn’t expecting you to grace my doorstep at this hour.”

Ryuunosuke recognized the lifeline for what it was, but found himself distracted by Van Zieks’ phrasing. “Who were you expecting?” he asked.

Van Zieks’ expression remained impenetrable. “Mr. Asougi.”

He felt an unexpected jab of jealousy at that, and wasn’t entirely sure who the feeling was directed toward. He hadn’t seen much of Kazuma since the trial; his deeper involvement with the Reaper’s operations had necessitated a lot of meetings with Scotland Yard and higher-ups, and he’d relaunched himself into his role as Van Zieks’ apprentice with a zeal that made Ryuunosuke suspect he was trying to distract himself. Regardless, it was only natural that Kazuma and Van Zieks would be spending much of their time together; as a defence lawyer soon to depart the country, Ryuunosuke was the odd one out.

“I see,” he said. “Well, really, I’m not surprised. Kazuma is almost as bad about overworking as you are, Lord van Zieks.” Ryuunosuke still recalled how he had found Van Zieks in his office immediately following the last attempt on his life, working in spite of the drained look on his face. Then he flushed and crossed his arms behind his back, wondering if perhaps that had been too familiar.

If Van Zieks thought so, he didn’t say. Instead, he narrowed his eyes and said, “There is also the matter of how you entered the building, seeing as the registrar locked up nearly three hours ago.”

“Ah, well…” Ryuunosuke rubbed at his cheek, suddenly embarrassed. Breaking and entering wasn’t really a laudable skill—at least, not when it was a man of the law asking.

Van Zieks raised an elegant hand to his own face and shook his head in an exasperated gesture, one that Ryuunosuke was becoming quite well-acquainted with. “Stop there,” he said. “I’m sure I don’t want to know.”

That was… probably for the best, yes.

“I called on your London address,” said Ryuunosuke, to direct the subject away from his flagrant, if well-meaning criminal activity, “but I was told that you were unavailable.” He tried not to sound too reproachful—it wasn’t his place to criticize the hours that Van Zieks kept—but wasn’t sure that he was entirely successful.

“So you sought me here, instead.”

Ryuunosuke nodded, and tried not to squirm under the penetrating gaze.

“There is still a great deal to take care of in the wake of the Reaper trial,” said Van Zieks mildly. “As you well know.”

“Yes, of course, but—” Ryuunosuke stopped, and took a moment to really study Van Zieks. He marked the state of his attire—his wrinkled waistcoat, his slightly askew cravat—and concluded that he was looking at a man who should have been in bed hours ago. “Surely, it can wait until morning,” he finished.

He knew better than to propose that Van Zieks not shoulder all responsibility for the Stronghart investigation; if he was determined to bear that additional burden, then Ryuunosuke couldn’t hope to stop him. But he couldn’t possibly take offence at the suggestion that he rest?

Van Zieks’ mouth assumed a bitter twist. “I must say that as of late, I rather feel like I have become something to be minded.”

Like a dog, he didn’t say, though Ryuunosuke heard the words clearly enough. He wondered who else had been keeping an eye on Van Zieks. Gina? Kazuma? Or, more likely, he was still weathering the distrustful gaze of the judiciary, who waited with baited breath to see what he would do next.

“I cannot say that I enjoy the feeling,” Van Zieks added.

If he thought that Ryuunosuke would back down in the face of his pointed words, he was about to be sorely disappointed. As imposing as Van Zieks was, standing in the long doorway, blocking the dim light from his office, the guise of the Reaper had been torn away and what remained was simply a man—haggard, and grim, and stubborn beyond belief. Now, when he looked at his once-frightening courtroom rival, Ryuunosuke found that his primary emotion was exasperation.

“That’s not it,” he said fiercely, like he could brand the words into Van Zieks’ mind. “You have people who care. People who are concerned about your well-being. You should be glad of that.”

His words were met by heavy silence. Ryuunosuke crossed his arms, raised his chin, and met Van Zieks’ stare head on. Sensing that he’d knocked him off-kilter, he once again gathered the resolve to be bold.

“May I come in? I’d really prefer not to continue this in the hall—erm, that is, if it’s all the same to you.”

Van Zieks exhaled sharply through his nose. “Fine,” he said. “You might as well.” His tone was clipped, and his face stony, but he stepped back and gestured magnanimously for Ryuunosuke to enter.

He nearly brushed against Van Zieks as he passed, suddenly cognizant of his closeness, and the warmth radiating from his large frame. Ryuunosuke unfastened his cloak with clumsy fingers—still a little stiff from the cold—and removed his cap, and stilled when Van Zieks held out a hand to take them.

“Oh,” he said, a little surprised. “Thank you.” Their fingers met in the exchange, which prompted the awareness that Van Zieks wasn’t wearing his gloves. The shock of seeing any small part of the usually buttoned-up man’s skin threw him momentarily, but the part of Ryuunosuke’s brain that was still working noted that Van Zieks had surprisingly soft hands.

It was a dangerous train of thought. Keen to derail it, he turned to observe the room instead.

The office was… well, chaotic was an apt description. It was in a much greater state of disarray than when he’d seen it last. The low table in the centre of the room had been cleared of any miniatures, and was almost entirely hidden under the various books, papers and folders that littered its surface. Presumably, they were all related to Stronghart’s clandestine dealings. He’d had his fingers in many pies, to borrow an English phrase.

Ryuunosuke very deliberately didn’t make eye contact with Klint van Zieks’ looming portrait, which seemed to cast its smirking gaze down at the amassed evidence.

His eyes darted instinctively to Kazuma’s small writing desk—kept in predictably neat order—but of course, there was no one kneeling there now. Ryuunosuke had the sudden realization that this was the first time he’d been truly alone with Van Zieks. It was as nerve-wracking as it was invigorating.

The cavernous space was warm, despite the lack of a visible fireplace or stove. He supposed that a building as grand as this one had the money and means to supply heat in other ways; he would have to ask Iris if she knew the mechanism later. Regardless, it helped to relax him, as did the lingering scent of black tea and warm tallow that hung in the air.

Ryuunosuke turned his gaze to Van Zieks’ desk. The candles had burned down significantly, their bone-coloured wax dripping to pool on the polished surface. It was one of the few sources of light in the room, save the dim sconces on the far wall. The darkness seeped along the edges of the office, like black water creeping over a deck, but the desk remained as a faint, golden island.

Van Zieks strolled past him to the cabinet where his hallowed chalices glittered in their neat ranks. He fished one out, and placed it on the desk beside another half-filled glass. In the dim office, the deep crimson liquid looked more like blood than ever. An empty bottle sat at the corner of the desk, another freshly opened one beside that.

“I’m being ungracious,” sighed Van Zieks. “Pray, forgive my boorish behaviour and allow me to offer you a drink.”

“Ah—yes. Thank you,” said Ryuunosuke again. This was another first. He’d never seen anyone partake of Van Zieks’ vintages save himself. He seemed awfully particular about them, when he wasn’t using them to stain the Old Bailey’s bannisters and carpets.

As Van Zieks poured the wine, Ryuunosuke pulled a chair up to the side of the desk. He wasn’t sure how familiar he was allowed to be, but he didn’t want to stare at Van Zieks across the intimidating expanse of wood all evening.

If Van Zieks was bothered by his proximity, he didn’t mention it. He merely handed Ryuunosuke the chalice, and then sank into his own plush seat. He regarded him for a moment, before raising his glass. “A toast, then? To my learned friend’s… persistence.”

Although the words were sardonic, Van Zieks didn’t seem to be mocking him. The words were almost… teasing?

Ryuunosuke’s face felt very hot all of a sudden. He was grateful for the excuse to bury his nose in his glass and take an experimental sip of the wine. From the smell, he'd expected it to taste like fruit, and he fought not to wrinkle his nose at the tart liquid that rolled over his tongue. It had the odd effect of drying his mouth out, which felt counter to the purpose of a drink; he’d had the same argument with Susato about her tea before.

Still, Van Zieks had been kind enough to share something that he clearly enjoyed. Ryuunosuke didn’t want to insult him. He took another sip—this time more prepared for the astringent flavour—and studied Van Zieks over the rim of the chalice.

The faint purple that usually painted the underside of his eyes had settled into deep bruises. His complexion, pale under the best of circumstances, had a kind of waxy pallor to it even under the golden glow of the candlelight. His hair was slightly dishevelled; a few strands of the normally neat coiffure hung wild, as though Van Zieks had run his fingers through it.

He looked, thought Ryuunosuke, like someone who’d had his entire world ripped out from under him over the course of a few short days, and was still coming to terms with it. He looked terrible.

“Have you come to my office simply to insult me, or was there some greater purpose to your visit?”

Ryuunosuke scrambled to recover, speaking so quickly that he was only half-aware of the words falling from his mouth. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—that is to say, you look tired, yes, but it’s not—well you’re still very… striking? Erm.” An inane quip about striking the defence down in court materialized in his head, complete with awkward laugh, but he bit his tongue before he could embarrass himself any further.

“...quite.” In the low light, Van Zieks looked almost flushed, but surely he had nothing to be embarrassed about. Ryunnosuke chalked it up to the wine.

Van Zieks took what seemed to be a fortifying sip from his chalice, and Ryuunosuke hurried to copy him, but he was too quick, and ended up swallowing more than intended. The wine flooded his palate in a rush, and the acidity made his eyes water. He barely managed to keep from coughing.

If Van Zieks noticed his struggle, he chose graciously to ignore it.

“While your concern is appreciated, I somehow doubt that you’re making house calls merely for the sake of my health.”

The remaining dregs of Ryunnosuke’s embarrassment drained from him as he considered how to broach the subject at hand. He wanted to be forthright, but wasn’t sure how Van Zieks would respond—if he would retreat further into his polite shell and leave him without his answers. In the end, he approached the topic from the side, like one might a skittish animal.

“You’ve been difficult to get a hold of recently, my lord.”

Van Zieks appeared unmoved. “I’m a busy man. Now, more than ever.”

“Ye-es,” Ryuunosuke allowed. “It was admirable of you to stay on to assist with the Stronghart investigation, as well as your prosecutorial role. I’m sure the judiciary is very glad that you decided not to retire from public office again.”

Van Zieks’ mouth set in a hard line. “Mr. Asougi was correct when he implied that I had a responsibility to stay on.” He closed his eyes, and his ensuing sigh was little more than a soft breath. “What that trial made readily apparent, is that the cracks in our justice system run deep, all the way down to its mouldering foundations. This did not begin and end with Stronghart. There is a great deal of corruption to root out, and rebuilding will take time.”

It was a monumental task, on par with the one that Ryuunosuke had waiting for him back home. He only hoped that Van Zieks wouldn’t try to handle it all on his own. A dam could only withstand so much pressure before it broke, and he’d stood unsupported for too many years.

“Still…” Ryuunosuke said, “Forgive me, if I’m overstepping, but I hope you’ll keep in mind that you’re not alone. You have Kazuma, and Gina, and others who want to help. I don’t know how much I can really offer, in terms of advice, but please don’t hesitate to reach out. I won’t be disappointed to hear from you.” He hesitated, and then impulsively tacked on— “I’d be pleased, really.”

“In Japan.” Only two words, and yet they felt so large in the silence.

“Yes,” Ryuunosuke conceded. “That’s part of the reason for my visit, actually. I wanted to see you again before—well, before I leave.”

There it was, out in the open. And something about Van Zieks’ expression—the downward slope of his mouth, the minute tightening at the corners of his eyes—led Ryuunosuke to believe that he hadn’t been wrong about upsetting him that night at Baker Street.

“I suppose you’re looking forward to returning to your homeland.” The words were innocuous, but there was something tense about Van Zieks’ delivery, like a bowstring pulled taut.

Ryuunosuke hesitated, and drank more of the wine as he composed an answer to that complicated question. It was growing on him, the more he fed into his belly. He appreciated the warmth it ferried throughout his body, at least. It helped to fend off the chill of disappointment, when he thought about leaving his friends behind.

“It’ll be nice to return to some things,” he admitted. “To see home again, and my family. But my time in London has been so incredible; I’m disappointed to have to leave it behind so soon. I’m going to miss everyone very much.” Here, he couldn’t help but smile, and look slyly at Van Zieks through his lashes. “Including you, my lord. Somehow, I doubt that my trials in Japan will be half as, ah—exhilarating.”

Van Zieks snorted softly. “If you’re looking for someone to insult you, I’m sure it will be simple enough to find an individual to oblige.”

Ryuunosuke frowned at him, trying to determine whether that had been intended as an insult. He was rewarded by the sight of Van Zieks’ mouth curling upward at the corner, just a hint. He grinned widely in return, and didn’t hold it against Van Zieks when the elusive evidence of his amusement slipped away again.

“I do wish that I was staying longer,” Ryuunosuke admitted, “But Professor Mikotoba asked me, and I feel that I have a—well, as you said, a responsibility.” For some reason, it was important that he convey this to Van Zieks—that he knew that it wasn’t personal desire that drew Ryuunosuke back to Japan so soon.

“Duty binds us all. I’m no stranger to it.” The exhaustion in Van Zieks’ words was almost tangible—so strong that it threatened to drag Ryuunosuke along with it.

“Will you be alright?” he asked. It felt a little cruel, to have been the one to unmoor Van Zieks like this and then leave him drifting. But the tenuous cord that bound them wasn’t enough to tether him to England, and Van Zieks had been explicit: he didn’t want a minder.

Van Zieks closed his eyes, the furrow between his brows etched deeper than ever. “I will endure. As ever.”

Now Ryuunosuke was the one that felt a bit unmoored. He’d asked, but he hadn’t expected an honest answer. The admission felt akin to the one Van Zieks had delivered in prison—about his ten years of misery—and Ryuunosuke found himself once again in the unexpected role of confidant.

“Would you like to, ah—talk about it?”

Van Zieks’ guard snapped back into place. He straightened his shoulders, hardened his gaze, and whatever small glimpse of vulnerability Ryuunosuke had glimpsed was shoved brusquely back into place. “Absolutely not.”

The ensuing silence was awkward. Van Zieks busied himself with refilling Ryuunosuke’s chalice for him, all the while avoiding his eyes.

“Mr. Naruhodou—” he began, and the formality felt like a wall. Ryuunosuke envisioned himself as a battering ram, splintering on the ramparts. “—why are you here? Surely, you have people you should be spending time with. More pressing farewells to make.”

“Well…” Ryuunosuke trailed off. It was difficult to pinpoint why Van Zieks’ avoidance had needled him so sharply—or why he had felt addressing it was important enough to chase him halfway across the city. He felt like he often did in court, uncovering one piece of the puzzle at a time, waiting for the entire truth to reveal itself. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

Van Zieks stilled, and Ryuunosuke wondered when it was the last time someone who wasn’t a peer from his youth had called him that. He certainly didn’t make it easy. At times it was like trying to coax a feral cat, offering it morsels of kindness in hopes that it might let him draw near.

“Certainly, I am pleased to count you amongst my acquaintances,” said Van Zieks, after he’d cleared his throat.

Ryuunosuke waited.

“...Yes, I suppose so. I would be remiss to not call the one who saved my life a friend. No colleagues could claim the same.”

Ryunnosuke nodded. He met Van Zieks’ gaze firmly, because if he looked away he might lose his nerve. “Then, if you respect our friendship, would you please tell me what it is that I’ve done to offend or upset you?

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he added, when Van Zieks merely looked at him.

This time, Ryuunosuke was treated to the sight of Van Zieks’ nostrils flaring—perturbed by his boldness, or perhaps the way he’d turned the tables, trapping him with that courtesy he so loved to use as a shield. The spike of victory that Ryuunosuke felt witnessing it was very similar to the kind he felt at the bench, dealing the final blow to the prosecution’s argument. A sacrificial lamb, Van Zieks had called him upon their first meeting, but at times like this he felt a stronger kinship with the lion.

“To offend me, he says,” muttered Van Zieks. “Mr. Naruhodou—”

“Ryuunosuke,” he blurted out. “I mean, if we are friends. Then please, call me Ryuunosuke.” It was shockingly, inappropriately forward. He wasn’t brave enough to ask Van Zieks if he could call him Barok in turn.

“...Ryuunosuke,” Van Zieks amended. The syllables were clumsy on his unpracticed tongue, but hearing his name in Van Zieks’ rich baritone warmed Ryuunosuke more thoroughly than his next sip of wine. “Nothing could be further from the truth. I hold you in great esteem. If anyone has been the cause of innumerable offences during our short acquaintance it is I. Indeed, I believe you are often far too lenient with me.”

“Maybe,” admitted Ryuunosuke. “But that’s my choice.” He tapped thoughtfully at the chalice in his hand, and the delicate tick, tick, tick mirrored the quick beating of his heart. He became very aware of the hot rush of blood in his wrists and ears. Perhaps he had better slow down soon. He was beginning to feel a little light and loose from the wine; too much more and his common sense was liable to float away from him.

“What’s that English saying?” he asked. “To forgive and forget? The second seems unlikely, or unwise, maybe—memory is what teaches us isn’t it?—but really, I’ve already done the first.”

Van Zieks shook his head. “As much as I would like to lay the past to rest, you have no obligation to me. I would not take offence if you wished to simply end our mutual acquaintance here.”

Ryuunosuke felt an unexpected rush of frustration. They were going in circles now. He pointed an accusatory finger in Van Zieks’ direction and exclaimed, “Hold it! That’s the last thing I want. I just made you admit that we’re friends, didn’t I?”

It was then that he realized his finger was hovering perilously close to Van Zieks’ face, though the fact that it was still attached to his hand meant that he probably wasn’t going to lose it for his impoliteness. “Erm,” he said, pulling his arm back sheepishly, “Sorry. I just—I meant it, when I thanked you in court. You have taught me a lot, whether you meant to or not, and really, I’m honoured to call you a friend.

“And,” he added firmly, “if you really admire me as you claim, then you’ll trust me to make my own judgments.”

Van Zieks turned his head, but not before Ryuunosuke had glimpsed the storm of emotions gathering behind his eyes. “I still don’t know what I’ve done to instill such fierce conviction from a man such as yourself,” he murmured, “But I will not take it for granted.”

Van Zieks was… a very handsome man, thought Ryuunosuke, as he watched the candlelight play along the planes of his face. It wasn’t the first time he’d made the observation, but it was the kind of thought that was inconvenient to have in court, and easier to dismiss when the person in question was hurling vitriol your way. He seldom had the opportunity to observe Van Zieks this close—to study the high curve of his cheek, or the sharp line of his jaw. Now, he had both cause and proximity to notice.

Ryuunosuke laughed, a little overwhelmed, and suddenly unsure. “You keep saying things like that.” A lawyer of absolute integrity and boundless talent he’d called him, during the trial. As flattering as it was, Ryuunosuke wasn’t under any illusions about how much he still had to learn. “I don’t mean to undermine your opinion,” he said, “but the truth is, I’m really nothing special. I was simply in the right place at the right time.”

Van Zieks’ gaze snapped back to him. His eyes were like steel, and they cut to the heart of Ryuunosuke like the keen edge of a scythe. “There it is again—that damned humility of yours,” he said. “If you’re going to insist on foisting unearned praise onto me, then I won’t allow you to diminish yourself either.”

Ryuunosuke had thought Van Zieks unaffected by the wine until now. A tolerance, he’d assumed, borne of years of practice. But something about the fierce delivery made him reconsider. The signs were subtle—a faint flush high on his cheeks, a deliberateness to his speech as if to keep from muddling his words—but they were there. He had gotten quite a headstart on him. At any rate, it explained his willingness to be so candid.

“I… didn’t realize you felt so strongly,” said Ryuunosuke, after several seconds of fighting the instinctive urge to duck his head. It had been less surprising, if equally embarrassing, to receive Van Zieks’ compliments in the aftermath of saving his life. Gratitude caused people to say all sorts of things, after all.

Van Zieks glared at his wine. “Then let me make myself clear. I, too, meant every word. You are a man of exceptional moral character. I was blinded by old ghosts, as well as my own miseries, but when I finally lifted the veil and allowed myself to see it became readily apparent.” He crossed his arms. “Japan should be grateful to have a lawyer of your calibre at the forefront of its reforms. You have a bright future in front of you, and I have no doubt you’ll accomplish much.”

Although Van Zieks had nothing but praise for him, there was something in the way he avoided looking in Ryuunosuke’s direction, and in the way his fingers tightened around his chalice. It was almost as if Van Zieks had become the one nervous around him. The idea was almost too far-fetched to entertain.

He was missing something, thought Ryuunosuke through his flustered haze. Some crucial piece of evidence that would complete the puzzle and reveal the final image. “Why were you avoiding me?” he asked, convinced more than ever that it would lead him to the truth.

Rather than answer, Van Zieks busied himself again with refilling their glasses, only to frown when the stream ran dry. He looked at the bottle’s empty depths as though it had personally offended him, but didn’t rise to get another—perhaps wisely. “I am not obligated to answer your inquiries,” he said at last, “Seeing as I am no longer on trial.”

“That… sounds like what someone who wishes to hide the truth might say.”

Van Zieks’ response had all but confirmed that he was on the right track. But what was it that he felt he couldn’t tell him? Ryuunosuke had seen the man at his lowest point; he’d thought—or hoped—that by now Van Zieks knew that he could trust him.

“I would prefer it,” said Van Zieks, “if you contained your relentless hunt for the truth to the courtroom.” But the rebuke held no real bite.

When Van Zieks swallowed, Ryuunosuke’s gaze wandered to the top of his cravat, where skin met collar, and tracked the subtle movement of his throat. “You’ve already been very truthful with me this evening,” he pointed out, mouth inexplicably dry. “Once more couldn’t possibly hurt.”

Van Zieks put his face in his hand this time, and made an inarticulate, frustrated noise—more of a groan than a snarl. “You are a menace,” he accused. “Is confession the only thing that will satisfy this dogged pursuit of yours? Very well.” He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. “I have been avoiding you for the simple, shameful reason that I am a coward.”

Ryuunosuke disagreed on that point, but he remained silent, unwilling to interrupt.

Van Zieks looked like a man marching to his own funeral. His words, when they came, were delivered with grim sincerity. “I had been living in the darkness for so long that when you first appeared, your light—it burned me. Yet, I was still drawn to you, like a moth to flame, guided by what I thought to be hatred. And now that I have finally grown used to the light, have come to welcome the way it illuminates my waking hours, I wonder how I will go on when it is once again snuffed out.”

Ryuunosuke wished that he could see Van Zieks’ expression. From the way his eyelashes fluttered against his cheek, and the subdued nature of his breath, he suspected that he had said more than he’d wanted to. It was… deeply flattering. Though, he thought that perhaps it might have been said without the convoluted metaphor.

“London will be worse without you,” continued Van Zieks. “As will I. And I wish…” He trailed off momentarily, only to finish simply— “I wish that you were not leaving.”

The admission hung suspended between them for a long moment. Then the gravity of it took hold, and the thread snapped. Van Zieks sat almost preternaturally still, awaiting his response.

He was so curious about this man, thought Ryuunosuke. About all of his sharp edges and soft corners and contradictions. He’d gotten his answer at last, and it had only stoked the coals of his interest higher.

“Well…” he mused, “snuffed out is a little dramatic. I’m not planning on dying, after all.”

Van Zieks opened one eye in order to cast him a baleful look. Now the cat comparison felt more apt than ever; he really did remind Ryuunosuke of Wagahai when he was sulking.

“I like you,” he blurted out, in lieu of anything else to say.

“I—what?” Van Zieks’ other eye snapped open, and his gaze went muddled with confusion.

Ryuunosuke forged on. He knew that his cheeks were rosy with his blush, but he didn’t feel bashful—he felt determined. Van Zieks had given him the honesty he’d asked for, and he felt compelled to return it in kind, no matter how embarrassing.

“You terrified me at first,” he admitted. “You still do, a bit. Though, maybe not in the same way.” He propped his elbow on the desk, and his chin on his hand, leaning into the hard surface for support. “Even so, I thought you were… well, fascinating.”

There was a slight curl developing at the edge of Van Zieks’ mouth. “Yes. Your incessant inquiries into my private affairs made that quite clear.”

Ryuunosuke sat up again, and scooted his chair closer so that there was less space between them. Van Zieks was just a little fuzzy at the edges, courtesy of his third glass of wine, and for this he wanted to look at him—clearly and earnestly.

“I can’t say that I thought fondly of you,” Ryuunosuke said. He wouldn’t lie to the man; the constant barrage of bigoted condescension had been both infuriating and exhausting. “But I still found things to admire. Your intelligence. Your tenacity, and your integrity.”

Ryuunosuke reached out, breath held, and placed a hand on Van Zieks’ where it rested on the desk. Van Zieks twitched away from him briefly, and then shockingly, settled, allowing the touch.

He’d half-expected the hand to be cold, but there was no chill, only the velvet-soft sensation of skin on skin. Ryuunosuke couldn’t feel Van Zieks’ pulse like this, but he wondered whether it was as steady as the man’s expression, or if it fluttered like his own.

“You once said that you thought fate had brought us together. I think you were right. But even now that we’ve accomplished what it brought us together for, I can’t help feeling… Well, I don’t want this to be the end of our journey.” Ryuunosuke tilted his head. “Do you?”

Van Zieks stared at him for a long time, like Ryuunosuke was a mystery that he could unravel if he simply plucked at the thread long enough. His pupils were large, and dark enough to drown in. After half a minute, Ryuunosuke began to wonder if he’d made a terrible mistake.

When Van Zieks finally spoke, it was lower and rougher than Ryuunosuke had ever heard before.

“Pray, forgive the vulgar display that you are about to witness.”

Van Zieks raised his chalice to his lips once more, and tipped back the rest of the wine. Ryuunosuke watched his throat work as he drained it in one fell swoop.

“I felt that I needed the courage,” explained Van Zieks, setting the glass down again with a firm clink. “As well as the excuse.”

Excuse? Ryuunosuke furrowed his brow.

Van Zieks leaned forward, closing the scant space between them. He laid a firm hand on Ryuunosuke’s shoulder, and Ryuunosuke barely had time to parse his alarming proximity, or the fact that Van Zieks was willingly touching him, before he was pulled into a kiss.

He froze on instinct, spine stiffening with surprise. His sharp intake of breath was audible in the quiet office, even stifled against another pair of lips. Van Zieks’ mouth was hard at first, unyielding as marble, but when Ryuunosuke relaxed into the kiss—shock melting into acceptance—it softened.

Ryuunosuke hadn’t allowed himself to consider this scenario before—kissing Lord van Zieks—but if he had, he wouldn’t have envisioned the care with which he approached the task. He would have neglected the small details which he catalogued now: the soft rush of Van Zieks’ breath, the warmth radiating from his skin, the gentle insistence of his wine-stained and slightly chapped lips.

He didn’t linger nearly as long as Ryuunosuke would have liked. When Van Zieks pulled away after a few seconds, his expression was as untortured as he’d ever seen it, the tension in his brow smoothed away. Ryuunosuke imagined that his own expression was familiar to Van Zieks—wide-eyed and darting in the face of new, incriminating evidence.

“Apologies.” Van Zieks’ voice was low and dark with emotion. “I have been thinking about doing that since…”

“Since—?”

Van Zieks’ brows knit together once more. “I would like to say since you exposed Stronghart for the man he truly was, and delivered justice in front of Queen and country. But in actuality…” Van Zieks sighed slowly through his nose. “Since the day you appeared at my cell like some divine providence, and told me that you trusted me enough to put your faith in me—though in my stubborn enmity I had never given you any reason to.”

Oh. Ryuunosuke mouthed the word silently.

“Knowing that your departure was imminent, I…” Van Zieks trailed off momentarily. “I found that I couldn’t allow this final opportunity to pass, regardless of the consequences.”

Ryuunosuke’s mind spun with the evening’s revelations. The full explanation for the mystery of Van Zieks’ avoidance was more improbable than even Sholmes could have dreamt up. Or, perhaps not. There’d been a tension simmering between them for a long time now; he supposed that this was but one natural conclusion. He hadn’t seen the signs before, but in hindsight, countless small clues in his own behaviour, as well as Van Zieks’, appeared obvious.

Van Zieks’ expression had closed off again. With the return of his furrowed brow, the scar that stretched across it seemed starker than ever.

Ryuunosuke realized that he had been quiet for too long—his thoughts tightly corralled in his own head, for once.

“If my indiscretion has offended you, we need never speak of it,” said Van Zieks, averting his gaze. “Blame the wine. Similarly, I understand if you wish to break off our association, knowing what you do now.” This last part he bit out, as though the words pained him. “I only ask that if you have any remaining regard for me, that you keep this lapse in virtue to yourself.”

With an icy shock, Ryuunosuke acknowledged that Van Zieks had just taken a rather sizable risk by acting on his feelings. It wouldn’t take much to burn the remaining tatters of his reputation, before he’d even had the chance to stitch it back together. Ryuunosuke knew that England had strong opinions—legal opinions—about this sort of thing. The idea that Van Zieks’ trust could be so easily weaponized made him feel briefly sick.

“No, I wouldn’t—that’s not…” Frustrated by his inability to transmute his racing thoughts to words, Ryuunosuke ran his fingers through his hair. “I’m just trying to wrap my head around it.” He laughed, softly, incredulously. This is why you’ve been running from me?”

The idea of the former Reaper of the Bailey hiding from him like a schoolgirl with a crush simultaneously inflated his ego and made him want to flee. In the back of his mind, Kazuma fixed a warning gaze on him and told him to be a man.

“It was not something that I wanted brought to light.”

Judging by Van Zieks’ expression and stiff delivery, the idea had been something of a torment. It stole some of the wind from Ryuunosuke’s sails.

“I see…” he said. “Was the idea so distasteful to you?” Doubtlessly, Van Zieks would prefer that his interests lay in another direction. Not in a young foreign lawyer who couldn’t hope to match his social standing, and a man besides.

“No,” responded Van Zieks slowly. Ryuunosuke got the sense that he’d thrown him off again. “I had thought, rather, that it would be the opposite.”

Ryuunosuke almost laughed. Unexpected, yes. Thrilling. But not distasteful. Exhilaration swept through him anew; it drew phantom fingers along the back of his neck until he tingled all the way to his toes. He was buzzing, with wine, and nerves, and excitement.

He suspected that it would take more than pretty words to convince Van Zieks, however. Ryuunosuke licked his lips, and decided that a practical demonstration was in order. He could only hope that Van Zieks would excuse him for throwing all propriety out the window for the sake of proving his case.

He stood, and his chair almost tipped backward in his eagerness. The drag of the legs along the tile was loud, and Van Zieks flinched almost imperceptibly, but maintained his wooden posture in his chair. Ryuunosuke felt a brief spark of guilt to witness it, and resolved to immediately make it up to him.

Hardly believing his courage before the man that, just a few short months ago, would have had him shrinking in his shoes, Ryuunosuke climbed into Van Zieks’ lap and caught his surprised noise with a kiss. He wasted no time curling his fingers into the soft hair at Van Zieks’ nape, threading them through the silky strands, and Van Zieks' mouth slackened against his with a soft exhale.

Ryuunosuke leaned into Van Zieks' sturdy frame, letting him bear his weight while hoping absently that the furniture was up to the task. He almost believed that he could feel the beating of the other man’s heart through the countless layers of cloth and flesh in the way. His own blood pulsed in his ears until the drumming drowned out any other noise.

He let himself be braver, pushing forward with his tongue to deepen the kiss and chase the lingering hint of wine in Van Zieks’ mouth. An arm snaked around his waist, and Van Zieks’ fingers splayed at the small of his back, urging him closer. The touch seared him even though the thick material of his suit.

Ryuunosuke’s world narrowed to a kaleidoscope of sensations—soft, dry lips, the warm, wet slide of someone’s tongue, gentle fingers at his jaw, tilting his chin just so. Van Zieks seemed content to let him set the pace, and that made a heady sensation coil in his belly. He curled his fingers a little tighter at the back of Van Zieks’ neck, tugging at the strands there, and the low, punched-out noise that it garnered surprised them both. They broke apart, flushed and out of breath.

Van Zieks looked almost like a living man, like this—eyes and cheeks bright, his hair in disarray. He was like a furnace, infectious warmth seeping from him to Ryuunosuke at every point of contact. He had very solid thighs.

“I’ll write,” Ryuunosuke said in a rush, before his thoughts could lead him farther astray. “And I’ll visit, as soon as I can. And when my work in Japan is well underway and they can do without me, I’ll come for longer.”

His heart fluttered within his ribcage like a caged bird. He’d always gotten attached too easily. He’d loved Kazuma from the first day they’d spent arguing over sukiyaki. Loved Susato the moment she’d faced down Stronghart that first time for his sake. Sholmes and Iris and Gina had all worked their way into his heart in equal measure. After all of their willing and unwilling intimacies, it wasn’t a surprise that he’d carved out a place for the erstwhile Reaper as well.

“I couldn’t possibly hold you to a promise like that,” said Van Zieks. “For all my… unexpected admiration, we are little more than strangers still. And I know I do not have the right—” his jaw worked briefly— “after I have treated you so deplorably.”

Well… that was a bit conceited.

“…I beg your pardon?”

Van Zieks’ face displayed such offence that Ryuunosuke had to bring a hand to his mouth to keep from laughing. He moved quickly to soothe the sting.

“I, well—I only mean that you’re not the only thing that anchors me to London.” It was an increasingly enticing factor, but his patchwork family at Baker Street, Kazuma, the opportunities for learning that would help him better both himself and his nation’s legal system... they all provided ample excuse.

“Ah,” said Van Zieks, frowning. “You’re correct, of course. I should not have… presumed.”

He seemed contrite, sheepish almost. It made Ryuunosuke wonder how much of Van Zieks’ attention—ill or otherwise—he had consumed over the past year. How much obsession and longing and misplaced anger.

“All the same,” continued Van Zieks, “it’s—this—is ill-advised.” He sounded like a man trying to convince himself.

Ryuunosuke allowed his fingers to creep up underneath Van Zieks’ cravat, where only a thin layer of fabric separated them. He felt, rather than heard Van Zieks' breath hitch. “Why?”

“It would be a great deal of sacrifice on your part, for some fleeting attraction,” said Van Zieks. “It would be easier to forget this—to let time and distance do its work.”

Easier for whom? wondered Ryuunosuke. In all his life, he had never met a man so determined to exist as a phantom. Well, he wasn’t going to sit by as Van Zieks dug his own grave.

“In my experience, feelings don’t really concern themselves with what’s easiest,” he mused. “Our meeting has already changed the trajectory of both our lives. I don’t think it would be easy to forget you, Lord van Zieks, and for what it’s worth, I wouldn’t like to.”

Van Zieks had yet to relinquish his hold on his waist. “I’m a difficult man,” he said, like Ryuunosuke wasn’t acutely aware. But his argument lacked the confidence it carried in court. “I’m not as I was. I’m difficult to… care for.”

Personally, Ryuunosuke didn’t think Van Zieks’ old self was as buried as he liked to think. He could see the shoots pushing through the man’s hardened shell, something of the gentle, mild-mannered man his contemporaries had spoken about unfurling in the light. He had all the opportunity in the world to grow again—to become someone who might allow himself to be loved.

Ryuunosuke didn’t say any of that. Instead, he brought a hand to the back of his head and grinned. “Have you ever known me to shy away from a challenge?”

Van Zieks studied him with a piercing gaze, and Ryuunosuke tried not to sweat. He’d always had too readable a face. But then Van Zieks took his other hand and lifted it to his mouth, turning it to press a kiss into the palm. “Then, I will endeavour to become worthy of your esteem, while you are away.”

The English concerned themselves a lot with worth and deservedness, thought Ryuunosuke, even as he flushed to the tips of his fingers. Though, thinking on his year-long aspiration to prove himself a lawyer, perhaps that was another way they weren’t so dissimilar.

“Well… at the very least, I hope that you’ll take care of yourself while I’m gone,” he said, thinking aloud. “Or else I’ll have to ask Kazuma to keep an eye on you.”

This time, Van Zieks’ look was long-suffering. “Pray, refrain from mentioning my apprentice whilst we are… fraternizing.”

Ryuunosuke tried to imagine the look on Kazuma’s face, should he walk in on this scene—his best friend straddling his sworn enemy-turned-mentor—and this time failed to contain his mirth. It spilled out unheeded, and Van Zieks had to pull him in again to smother the helpless laughter with his mouth.

He tasted like wine, and new beginnings.

When Ryuunosuke left later—escorted by Van Zieks, who’d insisted on walking him to the nearest cab stand—he’d still failed to shake the grin from his face. In the moonlight, Van Zieks’ face was as mask-like as ever, but Ryuunosuke thought that there was something softer about the corners of his mouth. He adjusted his step so that their arms brushed as they walked, and Van Zieks made no attempt to draw away.

Ryuunosuke looked back once he had clambered into the hansom, admiring Van Zieks’ tall figure under the glow of the gaslights as they pulled away. He pulled his cloak around him to fend off the wind, but his renewed sense of purpose kept him warmer still, embers stoked by all that he had to look forward to. This wasn’t the end of his adventures in London, merely an interlude. He would be back before long.

And if Van Zieks thought to try and run from him again, well… Ryunnosuke knew where to find him.