Work Text:
Misumi Mikoto, many say these days, is a marvel in herself.
Shoji certainly agrees; certainly, she is an excellent forensic doctor. But she carries herself with a unique quiet strength — the very strength that allows her to stand as a witness with her head high despite facing endless waves of mockery in court. The very same that allows her to defy everyone else’s odds, and set hers in stone.
And Mikoto, especially, has a one-track mind. She puts in harder effort than anyone else in order to unravel hidden threads of injustice. While Shoji is ever eager to put in her own two cents, even she can admit Mikoto runs circles around her.
The ink-black sky outside does nothing to help the artificial lights inside, the sun having long dipped below the horizon. Shoji can’t help but think that currently, Mikoto looks nothing like the superwoman she is. No, she looks… tired.
The clock ticks onward, as it always does. Shoji takes a peek; it’s already 11 pm. Were this any normal day, she’s sure both of them would have been long asleep. But the comforts of warm blankets and soft pillows are nowhere to be found. Just bright lights, and clacking keyboards, and-
“...Shoji?”
Mikoto’s voice is small, but it’s clearer than any of the muffled humming of fans outside. Shoji immediately turns away from the clock. While she keeps her eyes on Mikoto, Mikoto still stares into the too-bright monitor, no doubt adding to the millions of characters typed already.
“Yes?” she asks, forgoing the lilt.
“Oh, good, you’re still up,” Mikoto mumbles, “Talk to me.”
“About what?”
“Anything. I’m shutting down, and we need this done.”
Anything? There’s a lot that fits within the label, “anything”. And Mikoto isn’t the type to go “not like this” when something’s brought up, but that especially makes picking a topic harder.
Shoji kicks the floor, her chair lightly swiveling. The monitor glaring her down when it stops is a start. She huffs and begins to type; the keyboard’s buttons seem even stickier now.
She groans, “It’s like this just doesn’t end…”
“Right?” Mikoto sinks her head, “There’s just so much!”
Endless white bores into Shoji’s eyes. She fills out another section — why on Earth did the police insist on all this being sent by tomorrow morning? Couldn’t they have given them at least a couple days?
But Shoji supposes the police don’t tend to regard anyone else in this case. As long as their job’s done, that’s enough. Who cares if anyone gets hurt in the process — Mikoto’s a prime example.
She slumps onto the back of her chair, looking up. The ceiling only enjoys its fake light, doing nothing to solace her at all.
“We’re slogging our butts off, and we’re not even getting a raise. What are we, hostages?” she scoffs.
Mikoto nods along, clacking on the keyboard.
“Pretty much,” she says, “They’ll keep us here forever.”
The clock continues to tick along. Maybe Mikoto’s right. It’ll continue to tick along, until Shoji’s forgotten a world without it. Until Mikoto’s forgotten a world without it. And still, the amount of bodies and body-related papers continue to stack up; it’s surprising how similar the piles can be at times.
But that’s how the job is. Dingy. Draconian. Dangerous. Disgusting. Disturbing. Dirt-cheap wages.
…Don’t hate it. Really, she doesn’t hate it, nor does Mikoto. But it would really be nice if they were given a break, or at least enough time off for a vacation! Or else, the two might just die on their desks.
With every day that Shoji’s had to shorten her lunch break, the possibility becomes even more daunting.
“...Hey. What if we keel over dead from overwork?” she whines.
“We’re understaffed as-is,” Mikoto snarks, taking a moment to flex her hands, “They’ll just make us do our own autopsies.”
“They’ll summon our ghosts! They’ll do a… what’s it called…”
“A séance?”
“Yes! That! And then they’ll hold our ghosts hostage, too!”
“And here I was thinking we were already haunted as-is…”
Words fade away into fits of snickering, overpowering the clock’s tick-tocks. It makes working so late into the night just a tiny bit more bearable. If she is cursed to haunt UDI’s labs forevermore, at least Shoji isn’t alone.
Maybe that’ll be the legend of the UDI’s haunting; those working in a certain corner at a certain time will hear the giggling of ghosts. They won’t be able to see it, but if Shoji can see Mikoto laughing alongside her, that’s enough.
Line by line, the documents get filled out. Shoji’s shoulders relax with the finished result, but it’s not over yet. The clock does not stop.
Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Mikoto’s screen flash the telltale colours of her email. Shoji holds her breath, watching Mikoto’s hands furiously fly across the keyboard. A loud clack on enter, and Mikoto loudly sighs, gently resting her head onto her desk.
“It’s done!” she wearily exclaims, voice muffled by the wood of her desk.
Shoji takes a few seconds to close her eyes. No longer will the clock’s ticking drive itself into her head, or the glaring light from the lamps or monitor kill her eyes. No longer will Mikoto suffer, either; they can just curl up together with much softer, warmer light lulling them to sleep.
She pushes herself out of her chair, stretching her arms up. Oh, her back hasn’t felt this good in ages.
“Finally!” she groans, just as exhausted, “Let’s just go home and get a good night’s rest!”
Normally, this is the part where Mikoto cutely nods and says something in return. This is the part where they both get up and drag each other home. But the clock ticks onward, and Misumi Mikoto says nothing.
“...Mikoto?”
Mikoto’s still at her desk, right? Yes, she is, and she does not move. Shoji cranes her head; Mikoto’s eyes are shut, her form lightly rising and falling with every whistling breath she takes.
Right, even a superwoman will succumb to sleep. Seems like Shoji will have to take the office couch tonight. She plucks her coat, draping it over Mikoto — that way, she at least won’t get cold.
She presses a kiss to the top of Mikoto’s head; her fluffy hair smells like raspberries and cream, sweet as ever.