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It felt as though events in SEAUn had torn a hole in the silent peace they had worked so hard to create.
So much time had passed since he had last been more than a passing subject of discussion. There was only so far speculation could go with no news, and Nobuchika Ginoza doubted that Chief Kasei would tell them if he was found and finally eliminated. Not unless it served some agenda. And what power would Chief Kasei have over Akane anymore, if she lost the threat of Kou’s life? So they had stopped talking about him, even when he saw the cigarettes in Akane’s apartment (Spinels, of course) and knew that she wasn’t over it.
He wasn’t over it either, of course. They had been hurt in similar ways, and he was less resilient. That final deterioration in his crime coefficient was proof of that. But for him, this had been a betrayal long in the making, starting the day Kou had run after Sasayama and come back an Enforcer. The wound of his father’s sudden death was rawer for having been unexpected. But with Kou, this had always been inevitable.
So he had done what he always did: worked to the best of his ability. Put himself in the line of fire to protect his Inspector, because that was what Enforcers did, wasn’t it? He might be nothing but a hunting dog now, but at least let it be said that he was a loyal one. He might not like the leash, but if Akane’s the one holding it-
It’s more than he deserves, really, after the way he behaved to his own Enforcers. And there’s something rewarding in being the one who knows what order a certain look is meant to convey, to be the one trusted to watch her back against enemies and allies alike. Though at times the irony threatens to choke him, that he works best with her as her subordinate rather than as an equal. And if he thinks of her as Akane, instead of Inspector Tsunemori, well. No one else will know.
He’s punishing himself too much, the counselors try to tell him. He was under a lot of stress in those days, having to manage both his father and his former partner, with a mass murderer loose, trying to keep it all together. He was afraid. And that fear was what made him a latent criminal.
Nobuchika knew all of that, though. And he knew what the counselors weren’t saying too: that he was calm now because all of his worst fears had come to pass. Well, all except one. He wouldn’t go back to that life of fear for anything.
But the fear was back, and with it came the certainty that everything would change, and leave him with nothing. There was something different about knowing for certain that his old partner was alive and well, hell-raising in some other country. What before had been only a distant possibility was now a painful reality: Kou was alive, and an active enemy of Sibyl. Worse, Sibyl knew all of that.
If any of them ever saw him again, another member of the old Division 1 would be dead at the end of it. He was certain of it.
And that was the problem. Akane might act like everything was normal, but how could it be? He hadn’t expected her to come back. Why had she come back?
He had forgotten how painful the constant fear was. He had not missed it. But there was work to do, and if he couldn’t work, he might as well go back to an isolation facility and let go of it all. And he couldn’t do that as long as Akane was out there risking her life and her health to make the world a little better.
At this point, it no longer surprised him that trouble seemed to find her, that criminals both latent at otherwise seemed drawn to her. He was the same, after all. Who couldn’t have at least some reaction to someone so good?
That was all it was. The only reason he was relieved beyond words that she had actually come back.
“Your shift was over two hours ago.”
Nobuchika blinked, suddenly aware that he’d been staring blankly at the screen, not really seeing the words he was supposed to be writing for one of his endless case reports. Turning, he saw Akane watching him from her desk, her expression a strange mix of amused and worried, as if she wasn’t certain which was more appropriate. No one else was in the office. But of course they weren’t: these were the hours Division 3 covered.
“I wanted to finish this,” he said, clearing his throat to cover his embarrassment. “Apparently I got distracted.”
“You shouldn’t overwork yourself,” Akane scolded, her expression now firmly in the worried category.
“I don’t think you have room to criticize, Inspector.” He rarely addressed her by her title, and when he did, it was more of an instinctive reaction. Putting the wall of rank back in place that they were too often content to ignore. But he needed that wall. Without it, he could start to hope.
But Akane always surprised him. Instead of letting the wall come back up, she grimaced and rolled her shoulders. “You have a point.” She paused, a thoughtful look crossing her face. “Tomorrow’s your day off, right?”
“Which is why I’m working so late,” Nobuchika replied, not following her train of thought. “I don’t want to leave it undone for those who are working tomorrow.” Not that he had made much progress in the last hour or so.
“I’m off tomorrow too, so I had the same thought,” Akane admitted. “I don’t think we’re getting anywhere, but I need to decompress before I can relax enough to sleep. Do you still have some of Mr. Masaoka’s liquor?”
He knew he should deny it. Not that they hadn’t had a drink together before, but now? So soon after seeing Kou again, that wound reopened for the world to see. He wasn’t sure he could behave as he ought.
But that was why he had become an enforcer, after all. Too rigidly adhering to the rules had made it impossible to bend when stress came his way. All he could do was break.
So instead, he said, “More than I can drink on my own.” Which was true. But he had the unsettling feeling that he would have scrounged some up if it hadn’t been, just to see that smile.
“Then let’s have a drink. Between friends.”
That was an offer he couldn’t refuse. Still, he unlocked the door to his room (his cell) with some trepidation. This wasn’t the first time, he reminded himself as he shrugged off his jacket, set out the glasses and poured. But things were fragile. When he clenched his fist (his good hand), he could still feel Kou’s face under it as he knocked him off his feet. And what could Akane feel?
“I’m glad you don’t scold me for drinking anymore, Ginoza,” Akane said after her first hearty gulp. At some point, she had discarded her jacket, as if settling in for a long night.
“At this point, you can’t think I’d believe something like alcohol could cloud your hue.” The liquor still burned as it went down, but the burn reminded him that he was still alive, even if he was broken and unwanted by society. Sometimes he understood why Kou had settled into such an unthinking rhythm as an enforcer. Sometimes it was easier that way.
Akane’s smile was short-lived. “You’re not going to cloud it either,” she assured him in that quietly confident way of hers. “Believe me.”
And on some level, that lack of belief was why he always put the wall back up, even if he did value the trust and understanding they had developed. He had been dragged down, but he’d die before letting the same happen to her.
But emotional honesty had never been his strong point, so instead he let his tongue run ahead of his brain.
“You slept with him, didn’t you?”
If their peace was to be disturbed, why not shatter it completely?
He expected her to yell, tell him it was none of his business. Like she had once, so long ago. It had been deserved then, and would have been deserved now. But instead, she looked into her glass.
“I did,” she admitted, her voice soft but steady. This almost hurt him more, but she continued. “It was like a goodbye. Like we both knew that if we ever meet again, I’ll have to enforce him. This was just a stay of execution, and I think I’ve finally accepted that.”
He wasn’t sure he could believe what he was hearing. But Akane wasn’t a liar, even when it was easier. But he knew how it could be with Kou. No one knew better. Really, there was no one in the MWPSB, or in their lives at all, better able to understand the mess that the last few years had been. A truth they both knew, but left unspoken.
“You’ve given up, then?”
Akane shook her head. “No, I just realized that I might’ve been spending all this time chasing someone who doesn’t really exist anymore. Maybe I can save him, but I can’t stop him, and my life shouldn’t stop for him. I’ve grown up a little, I guess.”
Nobuchika took a long drink before he trusted himself to speak again. “It was rude of me to ask,” he said, though he was glad to know the answer. Too glad. His heart was fluttering like a hummingbird’s wings, even as he tried to slow it. Just because she was over Kou. That was all it meant.
“I wanted to tell you,” she admitted, a faint flush coming into her cheeks. But maybe that was just the drink. “But it’s not something you can just bring up. Especially not in the office. How would that sound?” She laughed, but there was a strained quality to it. As if there was more that she wasn’t saying.
“Shimotsuki would pop a blood vessel,” he agreed, taking another drink. “Sometimes I wonder how my dad would have handled her. Or what he would have thought about the way things have changed.” He let out a short bark of laughter. “Probably disappointed that grandkids are off the table now.” After all, there was no way Sibyl would let a latent criminal raise a child.
Akane took another sip, before asking thoughtfully, “Do you think about that a lot?”
“Only when I’m not working.” He let his lips curl into the smile he had been holding back.
“So almost never,” Akane said with a giggle. “I guess I’m the same. I’m not glad my grandma is dead, but at least I never had to explain to her that I’m not likely to get married.”
This was dangerous territory. If he wanted to keep their partnership intact, he should let the conversation naturally move on to more neutral topics. Yet, he had to know why. Why, when she said she was over Kou?
“You still have time. And unlike me, you’re not a latent criminal.”
Akane shook her head. “Time doesn’t really matter when it seems like I’m only interested in latent criminals.” She was well and truly flushed now, and there was no way she had drunk enough for that. Nobuchika’s heart sped back up again, it's beat painful in his chest. Stupid thing.
“One datapoint isn’t enough to extrapolate from.” Logic was safe. Logic had no feelings.
A trace of her old annoyance was back, though not without some amusement. Her cheeks puffed out slightly as she said, “I wouldn’t have said it if there was only one datapoint.”
He definitely wasn’t drunk enough for this conversation.
“It’s not unusual for an inspector to feel almost married to the job-” He certainly had. Though clearly it hadn’t been a stable marriage.
“Ginoza.” Akane interrupted him with a frown. “Why do I feel like you’re deliberately misunderstanding me?”
“You’ll cloud your Psycho-Pass talking like that.” The answer was automatic, requiring no thought at all. A reflex built up over long years. Even if he doubted very much that just talking about something could make Akane a latent criminal. But he definitely did not want to hear about which of their colleagues had attracted her attention now.
Her hand found his knee across the table, and he froze. “Ginoza. If you’re not interested, you only have to say so. You know I’d never force the issue.”
She’s your boss. She’s not a latent criminal. She’s eight years younger. A mantra he’d repeated for years, when it became clear that his feelings were more than just mere camaraderie. But none of it seemed to carry any weight with her touching his knee and looking up at him with those large, earnest eyes.
Everyone else had left him. But Akane hadn’t.
“I thought you were talking about someone else,” he admitted, brushing his hair out of his face with a sigh. “And I really didn’t need to hear about your crush on Hinakawa.”
“Hinakawa!?” Akane gave him a playful shove, laughter lighting up her face. “How could you even think that?”
“I hardly have enough evidence to determine a type for you,” he replied with a wry smile, catching her wrist in his prosthetic hand when she went for another shove.
Normally, he avoided touching people with it without his glove on. The mismatch with his natural body temperature could be unsettling. But while Akane seemed surprised, her eyes suddenly wide, she didn’t seem bothered by it. Her gaze had snagged on his mouth, and he knew it wasn’t the warmth of the liquor that suddenly spread through his veins. They were too far apart-
Dime barked, breaking the moment. Akane looked startled, as if her good sense had finally taken over, and he dropped her hand.
Nobuchika closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. Then he stood, and said, “He probably heard us talking and decided it was time for a walk-”
Akane stood suddenly, fisted her hands in his shirt and pulled him to her, cutting off his words with her lips. For a moment, he stiffened in surprise, and he felt Akane pulling away in response. That wouldn’t do.
Wrapping one arm around her waist, and cupping her cheek with his other hand, he kissed her back with all of the frustrated longing that had been simmering under the surface of their partnership. He supposed he should consider his willingness to do this at all proof of how far he’d fallen, but-
But. With Akane practically melting into him, her lithe body pressing against his, none of that seemed to matter. They’d both lost so much, and only the other could truly understand.
Even with all of his sins, he deserved some small piece of happiness, didn’t he?
Then Dime barked again, and they broke apart laughing.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed so much.