Chapter Text
There’s a superstition among many types of workers—food service, medical, emergency response, and more—that using a specific word under specific circumstances will curse the rest of your shift. Toto’s a little superstitious, so it’s a genuine mistake when he plants his forehead on the desk and says:
“It’s so slow today.”
Kiku gives him a sympathetic smile in passing but says nothing, because Toto’s the only one suffering. He’d fallen so far behind on paperwork that Amamiya had assigned him desk duty until the stack of files on his desk was short enough that it could be mistaken for just one file. At this rate, he thinks he'll be stuck through the end of the week. And it’s only Tuesday
“One. Single. File,” she’d glared at him over a pointed finger on Monday. Amamiya had taken on a major case that came in that morning, some kind of business tycoon murdered in his penthouse with a written confession from an unnamed stranger who promised there would be more. It was exactly the kind of thing Ron would love.
That thought comes with a pang of guilt—Ron must be so bored. Is he waiting for a call from Toto? Should he have let Ron know there wouldn’t be any new cases for a minute? Ron is famously bad at finding healthy ways to cope with downtime—once, Toto had stopped by to fetch him and found Ron hanging upside down by one foot in front of a camera, waiting until his slow spin brought him to just the right angle for a photo. For Kamonohashi tarot cards, he’d said.
It’s a silly memory, but Toto would like to not repeat that if he can manage.
As if summoned by thought, Toto’s phone lights up with a very familiar caller ID. He closes the folder in front of him and answers, a smile still on his lips.
“I should have called,” Toto says first, “there won’t be any new cases for a bit. We should find something for you—”
“Is this Isshiki Totomaru?” The voice on the other line is decidedly not Ron. It’s a woman’s voice, and she speaks to him in a measured, professional tone.
“That's me,” a knot takes shape in Toto’s gut as he speaks. “Who is this?”
“My name is Tanaka, I’m calling from East Japan Integrated Hospital.”
The knot climbs like a vine from Toto’s gut up into his diaphragm and then his chest, wrapping itself around his lungs. His vision narrows until all he can see is his own hand on the desk, gripping a pen. His knuckles are white. He’s shaking.
“Why are you calling from Ron’s phone?” Toto only asks because he’s desperate for any answer but the one he knows is coming.
“You’re listed as the only emergency contact for Kamonohashi Ron. Kamonohashi was recently admitted via the emergency department, and it would be best if you came to the hospital soon.”
“What happened?” Toto can’t even see his hand anymore. Everything is static. “Is he okay?”
“I’m sorry, I can’t say more on the phone.” Her voice takes on an undercurrent of genuine sympathy. “A doctor will explain more when you arrive.”
“I understand,” Toto says. His voice comes from someone else, somewhere else, as he watches his own body stand up at the desk. “Thank you, I’m on my way.”
Tanaka might have said something else to him, but Toto hits the disconnect button in a haze without hearing it. He lets himself give up the driver’s seat as his body takes the wheel, putting one foot in front of the other for him and knocking at the closed door of Amamiya’s office.
His body opens the door at her answer. His body stands in front of her desk. His body opens his mouth and speaks words he still can’t quite believe:
“Ron is badly injured, and the hospital asked me to come right away. I’m his emergency contact.”
Amamiya’s face blushes a vibrant red at the mention of Ron, but by the end of his first sentence she’s deathly pale.
“Kamoo-sama?” She starts to stand, pausing as her attention falls on a blown-up photo on her desk. Even from this angle, Toto can see that it was a brutal murder. “I… can’t go.”
Of course not! Toto thinks. You’re not his emergency contact.
“Please let me go immediately,” Toto pleads. “I promise I’ll work extra hours to finish all that paperwork when I come back!”
Amamiya stares at him for a long minute, lost in thought. He resists the urge to grab her by the shoulders and shake until he gets an answer. This isn't the first time Ron has been hospitalized, but it doesn't feel like last time. Last time, Toto was in just as bad of shape. Waiting, physically whole, was infinitely worse.
“Make sure Kamoo-sama is okay,” she finally says. “I’m sending you because I’m too busy, so this is your top priority right now.”
Because you’re too busy? Toto bites his tongue, keenly aware that this isn’t the kind of thought to have out loud. They called for me! Instead, he bows.
“Thank you.”
Toto barely makes it two steps out of the building before a familiar head of purple hair springs on him, sending his heart racing.
“Spitz!” He exhales his startled breath. “What are you doing here? No, it doesn’t matter. We have to go—”
“—to the hospital,” Spitz cuts in, “I know. Come on, Tototo, I know a shortcut.” It’s an uncomfortable reminder that Spitz has his phone bugged, but Toto shoves the feeling aside as he buckles himself into the passenger seat of a non-descript sedan parked at the curb.
Unfortunately, Spitz’s idea of a shortcut is driving almost twice the speed limit. Toto’s pre-existing nausea and anxiety spike with every sharp turn until he’s sure he’ll make a mess in the passenger footwell, but he doesn’t ask Spitz to slow down. He’ll throw up if he has to, but he won’t slow them down. By some miracle, Toto keeps his lunch for the entire drive, and even manages to swallow back the nausea as he pushes through the doors to the emergency department with Spitz half a step behind him.
He spots the registration desk immediately. The woman sitting behind the desk looks like she’s been waiting for him, leaning over the desk in his direction and giving a small wave. When he beelines for her, she types something short into her computer and hits the “enter” button with finality.
“Mr. Isshiki?” She looks between Toto and Spitz.
“Me,” he says, then looks back for a second. “This is… another friend of Ron’s.” She sizes him up and nods with apparent satisfaction.
“Please take a seat. The doctor who treated him first will be out shortly.”
Toto doesn’t sit. He stands in a corner and crosses his arms, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. Spitz takes a seat nearby, but he isn’t any less tense. When it gets to be too much, Toto paces the length of the lobby back and forth until he knows it well enough to close his eyes and measure by paces. He loses track of time.
“Isshiki Totomaru?” Toto opens his eyes. The new voice belongs to a woman who might be in her 40’s or 50’s, with straight black hair that cuts off just below her jawline and frames a stern face. “I’m Dr. Kimura, please come with me.”
Toto follows wordlessly and Spitz falls into place beside him. Dr. Kimura leads them down a short hallway and into a room so spacious it might be half again as large as Toto’s living room. The walls are beige, tastefully decorated with abstract paintings and landscape photos. When the doctor gestures towards one of the many plush armchairs arranged in a loose circle, Toto finally allows himself to sit. Spitz takes the chair to his left, and Dr. Kimura the chair directly across. The armchairs are absurdly comfortable. It’s probably supposed to help people relax when they receive bad news.
It doesn’t seem to be working.
“Mr. Kamonohashi was admitted to the emergency department about two hours ago.”
His eyes flick to a clock across the room. It must have happened around 3:30. Ron was in bad shape—and Toto’s brain can only fill the gap in his knowledge with horrific images—while Toto was hunched over an arrest report he should have finished two weeks ago. If he’d been up to date on his paperwork, if he’d been able to take a case, would Ron still have..?
“He sustained severe blunt force trauma to the face and head, as well as a broken arm and a few other, smaller injuries. It seems he was the victim of a violent attack.” Dr. Kimura is straightforward, her face and voice neutral as she delivers the news. Toto wonders how she does this, day in and day out, talking about people’s loved ones like the world isn’t falling apart each time she opens her mouth. Does it get easier every time, or harder?
“He was conscious, though his speech was incoherent. I assessed his condition and provided initial treatment, but a CT scan determined that he would need surgery to repair the damage to his face and assess potential swelling in the brain.”
“Can we see him?” Spitz leans forward, elbows on knees. For the first time, Toto notices his expression: tight, even a little afraid. He wonders what his own face looks like. Probably just as bad.
“He’s in surgery now, and there’s no fixed timeline for how long these procedures will take. He has the best surgeon on staff, and right now we feel there’s a good chance that he’ll survive the surgery.” Now Dr. Kimura hesitates, glancing at her hands. Toto looks too, almost believing that he might find some evidence of Ron’s blood under her nails, but of course not. She’s a doctor, so she must have washed them very thoroughly.
When he looks up, she’s focused on him again.
“But?” Toto knows there’s another shoe waiting to drop, and he just wants it over with.
“But the trauma to his head was significant, and we don’t know what the lasting effects will be. He may not wake up, and if he does wake up, he may not be the Kamonohashi you know. Unfortunately, only time will tell.”
Toto feels himself nodding, not for the first time today becoming someone outside his own body. An observer. And what a horrible thing to observe.
“Do you have any questions for me?”
“No,” Toto says. He looks to Spitz, who shakes his head as well. “Thank you, Dr. Kimura.”
“You’re welcome to stay in this room as long as you need,” she says. “Take your time.”
Everyone stands, everyone bows, and then Spitz and Toto are left alone in a ringing silence.
Toto can think of a million things to say, but none of them matter and none of them will make any difference. He chews on each thought thoroughly and swallows every one until he feels nauseated again. Ron is injured. Ron is having surgery—brain surgery—as they sit here. Something happened to Ron and Toto doesn’t know anything and he can’t do anything except sit and wait and think about the fact that his friend may never wake up. May wake up someone else. Would that someone else want to be his friend?
Would that someone else want to help Toto? Would he even be able to?
Spitz shoves a garbage can into his hands just in time for Toto to empty his stomach. Lunch and his afternoon snack and everything he wants to say (but can't) fills the bottom of the can until there’s almost nothing left inside him. Nothing except for a burning question that he doesn’t know who to ask: what happens next? Stomach acid paints his teeth gritty and sour until Spitz saves the day again, holding out a thin plastic cup of water where he can see it. Toto thanks him quietly.
Toto is frozen in place, but he feels himself thawing next to Spitz’s quiet action. He needs to get it together. He has to. For Ron.
“Okay.” He pulls in one deep breath, exhales, then takes another. And a third. “Okay, let’s do this.” Toto ties the liner of the trash can shut, sealing off the evidence of his weakness, then stands. Spitz is giving him an odd look—approving, but something else that Toto can’t quite read.
“Where do you want to start, Tototo?”
Toto hits a number on speed dial and puts the phone to his ear.
“Where every investigation starts. The scene of the crime.”
The Metropolitan PD’s desk sergeant doesn’t even bother to verify Toto’s badge number when he answers. He asks about Toto’s grandparents, talks about his own daughter, and finally gets around to business—where… whatever … happened. Toto repeats the directions out loud for Spitz, and then they’re on their way.
There’s a park about four kilometers from Toto’s apartment, almost directly on his route from home to work. He’s stopped there at least a hundred times over the past few years. It’s large, a wide sloping field that’s perfect for yoga, tai chi, or simply running and playing field games. On one end of the park is a small baseball field with batting cages, on the other end a dog park and a playground. Toto has endless memories of peaceful evenings he’s spent watching the citizens of Tokyo enjoy everything the world has to offer.
He’s fond of the place.
Maybe not so much, anymore.
An officer is waiting for Toto when he arrives and leads them down a dirt path that winds through a dense stand of trees. Toto knows it stretches the length of the park. He’s spent hours on shaded benches down this path with a book and a snack. The crime scene is a short walk through, far enough that no one standing outside the trees would be able to see it. The privacy he’s always loved turns to a sour thought in his mind when he sees it: yellow tape around a section of the path, half a dozen police officers and four civilians standing by. No—five. Toto feels something akin to relief when he spots Chikori with the civilians, deep in conversation. Her camera hangs around her neck.
The officer—Sasaki, Toto thinks—levels a questioning look at Spitz. When Toto gives a placating thumbs-up, he shrugs and explains the scene.
“A few hours ago, a couple of park-goers heard somebody yelling on the path, followed by three loud shouts. They approached and found the victim unconscious on the ground, but didn’t see anyone else in the area. Those two,” Sasaki points at two of the civilians, a couple of middle-aged women holding hands, “called for help and flagged down the other two,” he gestures at the other two civilians, an older man and a young woman that must be a daughter or a niece.
“Did they come from the opposite direction?” Toto asks. He’s listening, but he’s looking at the scene with everything he has. What’s out of place? What’s supposed to look like that? What’s going to give them their first clue? He’s walked this path countless times, but has he ever paid enough attention to know what it looks like?
“No, everyone came from the same direction. Someone could have easily run down the path away from them and disappeared into the park unnoticed. As far as physical evidence, there was a monogrammed handkerchief under the bench, but we’re not sure it’s related. The initials are in English: H.M.” Sasaki consults his notepad. “Emergency services took the victim away, and police arrived shortly after. The scene has been preserved and witnesses are waiting for interviews. Amamiya assigned this to you?”
“No,” Toto says, too fixed on memorizing the scene to think through his answer. “I’m on desk duty this week.”
“Um.” Sasaki shifts on his feet. “Then we’ll let the assigned detective interview the witnesses. You can look, but I don’t think Amamiya would be thrilled to hear about you working on this.”
That brings Toto down to Earth. Everyone on every floor of the police department is aware of Amamiya and her no-nonsense reputation. It’s unlikely that anyone would bring it up to her with ill intent, but it would be all too easy for someone to mention this offhand in her general vicinity. She may be especially fond of Ron, but she doesn’t feel the same way about Toto. He’s not willing to push it.
“Right,” he says. “Just one more thing.”
Toto steps carefully along the path to avoid disturbing potential evidence and kneels down at the loosely-taped shape of a man where Ron had been. When victims are already dead, there’s no reason to tape their position, you just leave the body until the scene is processed. But Ron was alive when they found him, and the white lines in the dirt are evidence of that. That’s what he tells himself over and over, trying not to think too hard about how much blood dried into dark muddy clumps around him.
He rests a hand in the depression in the dirt where Ron had lain and bled. It’s only Toto’s imagination, but he swears he can still feel the warmth of Ron’s body when he touches it. Toto brushes away the feeling— it’s all in your head —and scans the surroundings up close. Looking for something, anything that can tell him who did this.
He may as well be blind.
“I promise to avenge you,” Toto says quietly. It doesn’t sound the same coming out of his mouth as it does Ron’s, but he feels better for having said it.
Then he stands and looks for Spitz. He finds him at the edge of the path, staring intently at the foliage around the base of the bordering trees. He looks for Chikori next and catches her bowing to the young woman, business card in hand. She catches his eye when she turns and gestures back the way he came. Toto follows.
“I was surprised to see you here,” he admits when they’re out of earshot of the crime scene. Chikori’s eyes are bright, as usual, but red-rimmed. There’s a slight pout at the corner of her lips. Toto’s reminded of the friend she’d made at the research lab, Himeno, and the way Chikori had cried on the phone after her death.
“I came as soon as I heard,” she says. Her voice sounds steady; she’s holding it together just as well as Toto. “I got photos of everything and talked to all four witnesses, so you shouldn’t be missing anything.”
Toto marvels. Her journalistic instincts and foresight are immensely helpful. She may have collected information that detectives can use to crack the case. He’s not confident he’ll be that detective—after all, any clues present have escaped him. But when his efforts fall short he can ask for help, and someone else will do what he can’t.
“Wowza! Chikori, this is amazing!”
“Anything I can do to help.” She fidgets with her camera for a second. “Did you see Ron? How is he?”
“I didn’t see him.” He sighs. “Ron’s in surgery right now, they said he had a pretty bad head wound. His brain might be bleeding.” When Toto looks up, he catches Chikori’s stricken look. “They think he’s going to pull through, though!”
“Oh, Toto…” She tilts her head. “I’m sorry. I know how close you are with him. Anything I can do to help, you tell me, okay?”
“Thank you, Chikori.”
Chikori pats his arm for the briefest moment, then looks at something behind him.
“Looks like your friend is coming over. I’ll send you my pictures and all my interviews as soon as I can!”
“You’re a lifesaver.” Toto forces a smile and waves goodbye.
“Learn anything?” Spitz comes to a stop beside Toto and stares at Chikori’s retreating back. “She’s a journalist, right?”
He can probably tell by her shoes.
“Not much. Nobody saw a suspect, and I didn’t see anything unusual. They found something, but can’t be sure it’s evidence.” Toto turns to face him. “A monogrammed handkerchief, initials H.M.”
“M.” Spitz tenses. “Like Moriarty?” Neither of them like the idea at all. It’s possible—the presence of something written in English is either a huge coincidence or evidence of Moriarty interference. Something feels off, though, something Toto can’t put his finger on. Maybe about the crime? Is he thrown off by the mention of the M family? Is it something else? Every thought tangles with the other until he’s pulling his hair.
“I don’t know,” he moans. “I don’t know. Maybe?”
“Don’t worry about it now, Tototo,” Spitz says. “I want to chase down a lead, but you should get rest. A lot happened today.”
“Yeah…”
Toto watches Spitz leave, then drags his feet down the path and towards the main body of the park. From there, it’s a short metro ride and an even shorter walk to the hospital. He’ll go and wait. The doctor said there was no timeline on the surgery or on post-op recovery, but the last thing Toto wants is for him to wake up alone in the hospital. With the sun starting to fall below the Tokyo skyline, there’s nothing else he can do. Toto goes back to Ron.
There’s a different clerk at the desk when Toto finally gets back to the emergency department. It’s later than when he meant to arrive and almost fully dark. The previous woman must have passed on the news at their shift change, because the young man behind the counter knows exactly who Toto is and what he’s there for.
“The family sitting room is still available to you,” he says. His smile is soft but oddly impersonal. “Mr. Kamonohashi isn’t out of surgery yet, but I’ll make sure the surgeon is notified of your arrival. We have your phone number, so if you need to go home, we can contact you there.”
Toto finds the sitting room on his own this time. The overhead lights make his eyes ache, so Toto pulls the chains on a couple of desk lamps before flipping the switches by the door. He sighs in the dim, warm light.
The armchairs are arranged exactly as they were earlier, and Toto drops into the same chair he claimed a few hours ago. It’s comfortable now, he thinks. Much more comfortable than it was the first time. Maybe it’s the exhaustion, or maybe it’s growing on him.
“I’ll just rest my eyes for a little bit,” Toto murmurs to himself, fully meaning it.
The shrill ring of his cell phone startles Toto out of a doze some time later. This ringtone is reserved for only one person, someone he never ever wants to miss a call from. Amamiya starts talking as soon as he answers.
“How is Kamoo-sama?” She sounds eager, but not as urgent as he expected her to be under the circumstances. “Do you know when they’ll let him go?”
“You didn’t hear?” Toto’s surprised that he’s still capable of a yelp at this point, but that’s definitely what comes out of his mouth. “I mean, no one told you?”
“I’ve been waiting for you to tell me, Isshiki. You’re the one I sent to check in on him.” Toto’s exhausted brain briefly toys with the idea of correcting her on the events of this afternoon, but he’s awake just enough to know how much he’d regret that. Best to leave it be.
“Ron was the victim of a violent assault in a park.” Toto pauses, expecting Amamiya to cut in. She doesn’t. “Uh… he’s in surgery right now, but they’re pretty confident he’s going to make it. I’m waiting at the hospital, I don’t want him to be alone if—uh, when. When he wakes up.”
“This is your job for the next few days,” Amamiya says, her voice stern now. “I don’t think you can handle this case, so I’ll make sure it gets into capable hands. That’s an order.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Toto closes his eyes after the call ends. Even Amamiya thinks he’s not a skilled enough detective for something like this. It stings. He’s earnest and he works hard, and that’s something he can be proud of. But Toto’s not a genius—the closest he’ll ever be to that is working with a genius. He’s proud of that, too.
He just knows it isn’t him. And right now, he resents that more than ever.
Toto flashes back to Spitz and Chikori, taking charge with their own skillsets and pushing the investigation forward in ways only they can. He can’t allow himself to fall behind them, can’t allow himself to be dead weight in this. Toto nods to himself. Whatever he can do, he will do. Whatever it takes.
For Ron, he’ll give it his all.
That’s the last thought in Toto’s mind as the fatigue takes him again and pulls him into restless sleep.