Much like "The Blue King's Knight", this story was prompted by my love for Fushimi and Scepter 4 as well as a desire to toy with my favorite surly, megane-wearing psychopath. XD. Until I finish "Fruits of Your Labors: Reborn" for Hakuoki, this will be updated infrequently, but I hope to have that wrapped up soon since my unplanned sabbatical from writing to take care of some health issues has resolved. I'm still not sure if I'll continue it or not, so in the interim I'll be using any reviews it gets to make my decision if I'm going to pursue this particular story or not since it would be another multi-chapter endeavor I hadn't planned.
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing but Ise, the Special Unit's glorified gopher-monkey.
Chapter I
There were very few people truly stupid enough to call on him at almost four in the morning.
Saruhiko despised mornings. There was nothing that couldn't easily be done at a reasonable hour that really needed to be done at such ungodly times. Munakata could call it whatever he wanted; he would never convince him there was a purpose for it. Even so, it was his job to get up at these ungodly times, so he dragged himself out of bed for work at six-fucking-am with only a few choice grumblings.
Today was different, though. Today was his day off, so Saruhiko was already plotting a vicious death for whoever was ringing him at this ridiculous time of night. Even Misaki, for all his obliviousness, knew not to call him this late unless he was in dire straits. Were it an emergency case, as was known to happen from time to time, the klaxons would be sounding inside Scepter 4's dorms even louder than the shrill ring of his PDA that was the only sound currently disturbing the otherwise silence of his room.
Without looking, he smacked it into silence and exhaled, sinking back under his covers and shutting his eyes. It always felt like an eternity before his body could relax enough to sleep, but just as he could feel the edges of his consciousness being tugged away...
Knock. Knock.
Oh for fuck's sake. His mind snapped back into awareness with a jolt, scowling at the wall above him before he slid out of the top bunk, a light green glow crackling around his hand. Though the Dresden Slate was well and truly destroyed during that mission two years ago, those with power showed no signs of losing it, making his job as important as ever. He felt as strong as he had 2 years ago, though Saruhiko theorized that while new strains and Kings couldn't be 'born' any longer, those who had powers bestowed upon them already would most likely have them until the day they died. It made him wonder what the actual source of power was, however, since the Slates obviously weren't it. It was a puzzle he toyed around with in his free time, but not at four in the gods-be-damned morning.
And...Of course it's him. Opening the door, he glared at Munakata Reisi, his King, though he swallowed the snap he would've delivered if it were anyone else. Why he was in full uniform this late was beyond him, though Saruhiko knew it wasn't completely unusual for him to work late. Still, his unusually serious expression was setting alarm bells off in his head and making Saruhiko tense.
The last time he'd worn this expression, he'd ordered him to infiltrate JUNGLE – a mission he'd nearly died completing, though it rankled to even admit he'd even come that close to letting someone get the upper hand over him.
"Captain?" Mentally, Saruhiko tried to run through all the active cases they had, though none were severe enough to warrant that expression. Munakata was always smirking and smiling as if all the world was his playground. He was absolutely insufferable in the month or so after he'd returned to work 2 years ago, as if he'd known all along that Saruhiko would do exactly as he'd planned. It probably never crossed his mind for longer than a few moments that he seriously might betray them and truly join JUNGLE to save his own skin.
I have faith in Fushimi-kun. He said it all the time, smiling in that secretive way of his, and for some reason Saruhiko could hear his voice saying it again as he stared at his solemn expression and knew something was wrong.
Munakata's eyes trailed over to where his PDA lay discarded, half hidden under his pillow, and huffed in amusement. "I suspected such might've been the case." He seemed to be talking to himself more than anyone before the amusement bled from his face entirely and he said simply, "Please get dressed, Fushimi. Anything will suffice at present."
It was a pointless request considering Saruhiko was already in the process of donning his uniform. He'd reacted habitually once he realized there was something wrong, though he didn't bother styling his hair. The quick glimpse he caught of himself in the mirror as he moved to grab his sabre made him think he still looked the same as he did six years ago, though he was noticeably taller…among other things.
Taller…stronger.
"Awashima-kun is waiting for us in the car," Munakata stated simply, turning and striding down the halls as he was known to do, fully expecting him to follow without word; which he did, catching up in a few quick strides, all notions of sleep forgotten. He'd had more than enough to be functional, anyway. Saruhiko still remembered those nights in the 24 hour internet cafes well. Given a choice, he did actually prefer a decent rest, but his body didn't require it. "There has been a murder. Local law enforcement believe it is one requiring our...special kind of talents."
Wonderful. Cops who don't like us. The way he spoke the last part was more than enough for Saruhiko to get the gist of it. It was hard to say if that ever bothered his King, though he doubted it. Munakata wasn't an easy man to offend. "Hnn. Why call me?" Akiyama and Benzai are on call tonight for these things and are more than proficient at dealing with law enforcement. Saruhiko watched his face, hoping for some sort of clue.
Munakata gave nothing away, though his lack of expression did say more than words. He's hiding something. When isn't he hiding something? Saruhiko sighed under his breath, rubbing his forehead. It's too early in the morning for this.
"You were...requested by name." His tone said clearer than words he would say no more, though it was obvious he knew more. Saruhiko knew better to ask, though, sliding into the backseat. Awashima had her coldly professional face on, looking at neither of them as she began driving once Munakata was inside fully. "It's a fairly gruesome scene, as I'm told, and I was asked to bring the best investigator we have."
Saruhiko leaned his head against the back of his hand, staring out the window. It was neither a total lie nor absolute truth, but then, most of the words out of Munakata's mouth could be described like so at any given point in a day. Saruhiko was his best investigator. Though his duties within the Special Unit extended far beyond what his duties in the Intel Division had consisted of, a lot of it was largely the same but simply on a grander scale. Compounded with his position as third-in-command, it made the amount of paperwork he had to deal with on any given day enough for him to simply want to burn it. Deciphering the riddles that Munakata tended to spew from his mouth was almost relaxing in comparison. After six years of it, Saruhiko would even cautiously say he was reasonably proficient at hearing the layers of subtext in what his King didn't say; certainly good enough to have picked up on it and use it for his own advantage when he had dealings with people.
So it both baffled and annoyed him that Munakata sounded as if he were trying to…prep him like some ignorant newbie on his first case. This wouldn't be the first murder scene he'd go to by any means; dead bodies meant very little to Saruhiko. Totsuka's had been startling because he'd known the man in life, but even his had been easily handled once his initial surprise had receded. Blood and gore didn't particularly bother him either, other than the smell tending to cling annoyingly to his clothes for days afterwards. Munakata knew that, though, having personally ordered him to investigate some of those very cases before.
What the hell is making this so different?
The neighborhood they came to a stop in was one of Tokyo's more affluent areas; Saruhiko recognized the familiar stink only the wealthy seemed to possess easily enough. The house he'd grown up in was in one such area, though it was clear across the other side of town from where they currently were. Last he'd heard, it'd gone to that woman upon Niki's death, but Saruhiko hadn't cared enough to inquire further about it.
Far as he was concerned, that house and everything in it could just burn.
Habitually, he lagged just behind Munakata and Awashima as they crossed the crime scene barrier and entered the mansion that was crawling with technicians logging evidence and taking notes of everything. Saruhiko let the analyst in him take over as he looked around, staring at the scene before him once they hit the living room. He didn't even twitch at the blood that had sprayed the walls and soaked into what was once pristine white carpet. The victim was female, early to mid-forties at a guess, and had been pretty savagely gutted on top of being stabbed several times. Saruhiko's face turned up at the sight in disgust; the brutality itself didn't bother him so much as the lack of thought in it did. It was messy – sloppy even – and implied a level of impulsiveness that suggested it was spur of the moment.
By nature, Saruhiko despised such impulsiveness; it was a large reason he'd left HOMRA which was full of idiots that embodied the terms impulsive and foolish. Scepter 4 had its fair share of impulsive and foolish idiots too, but at least here they weren't glorified thugs.
Here, his skills were needed.
Saruhiko barely listened as Munakata greeted the inspector in charge, focusing instead on the crime scene. Her face was hidden from his view, though he could see long and wavy black hair peeking out from underneath the cloth. He blinked, long and slow, frowning as a thought crossed his mind. He wasn't even sure what prompted it, but it nagged at him every time his eyes inevitably came back to the body. It's improbable, but…
One step. Then two. He wasn't entirely cognizant of his feet moving towards the body, but his hand moved as if controlled by somebody else to remove the drape over the face once it was in reach…
A shadow fell over him as he knelt down, bent over to remove it, and he glanced up to see Awashima there and her face…soft. Sympathetic. She was one of the most ruthless people sometimes, but at other times she was softer than most too as her hand fell gently to his shoulder and squeezed. Right then, Saruhiko could see the answers in her face that Munakata had kept silent, so it wasn't such a jolt when he turned his gaze downward and tugged the drape away.
He knew before he even saw the glassy gray eyes that it was her.
That woman. Calling her his mother would be a stretch and laughable at best, though legally speaking Fushimi Kisa was still considered his mother. She still managed to retain that poised air of dignity, even in death, though the supposed beauty he'd once heard others murmur about so enviously was lost in the vacant stare and slightly slack-jawed mouth that was open as if in mid scream.
Later, Awashima would tell him he paled at the sight of her face. Akiyama and Benzai, who he hadn't even noticed were actually there, came to stand on either side of him, sympathetic but silent as they stood like two bodyguards, silently bolstering him. Saruhiko was slightly grateful for that, considering he wasn't sure what he'd do if anyone tried to say anything to him in that moment. Idiots like Hidaka might've tried to hug him or some such stupid thing…
He felt very little at all, though he could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. It was shock, Saruhiko realized; it was the same reaction he'd felt at Totsuka Tatara's murder scene initially. This one seemed…worse in some ways, however. He didn't remember the hollow feeling in his gut being there or the way the smell of entrails suddenly hit him, assaulting his senses strong and fast. He didn't generally notice the smells at scenes like this at all, so it was something of an unwelcome surprise as his stomach rolled when the smell of rotting intestine and iron hit him like a freight train.
"Will that be all, inspector?" Munakata's voice, distant and vaguely displeased, broke through the static white noise that had arisen around him, staring down the inspector who was looking at him. Saruhiko had no idea what expression was on his face, but he saw the inspector nod and shoot him a sympathetic look that made Saruhiko want to punch him.
"Just doing the job, you understand," he said lightly. "Sorry for your loss, Fushimi-san. We will keep you in the loop, of course, during the investigation."
…Best investigator my ass. He glared at his King who met his gaze unrepentantly, silently gripping his arm as he came over and helping him stand. The worst part of it was he could even see why he'd chosen this particular path. Saruhiko was annoyed at being blindsided, but it did take care of several issues. I was a person of interest. Makes sense. Spouses…family…are always first to be ruled out.
Saruhiko allowed himself to be led out of the house, mostly to reinforce the image Munakata had obviously meant to show for the inspector, but the minute they hit the pavement outside he pulled away, inhaling deeply as his mind processed...everything. Emotionally, he felt fairly numb; while he held a great deal of resentment towards Niki, Saruhiko felt nothing at all for Kisa who was always so far removed from his life that he'd never once felt the need to refer to her as mother. She was just one of Niki's many women, in his mind. That he'd sprang from that unholy union was simply a joke of nature.
They're both dead. There was a certain relief in that; personally, they may as well have been for years now. The last time he'd seen or spoken to Kisa was right before he'd moved out. She'd been throwing another of her lavish dinner parties, completely ignorant to the fact that he was upstairs just a few feet away. In her world, he didn't even exist; he was just Niki's son.
Saruhiko didn't wish the violent death on her that she'd had, however. Kisa was little more to him than a stranger and he wasn't that heartless. It was laughable that he was a suspect at all, truthfully, considering their limited history.
You had to care about something to actually want to kill it with that level of anger.
Briefly, he wondered if they'd moved ahead of him, but just thinking of Munakata and the rest brought their auras to the center of his mind; steady and unmoving just a foot or so behind him. Watching. Gauging. Like one might a wild animal.
Or a monkey.
The thought was a stray one and not funny at all, but the laughter bubbled out of his throat without warning, head tilted back as he ran a hand through his hair that made him a living reminder of Niki's previous existence upon this world. He could see Akiyama and Benzai share an uneasy glance, clearly concerned by his sudden laughter. Awashima stepped forward, her face a picture of concern for him, but halted as Munakata put a hand on her shoulder, shaking his head minutely. He was the only one who didn't change expression, violet eyes assessing him like an appraiser would a curious antique.
Sometimes, Saruhiko really did hate his King.
"You're an asshole." He didn't feel a need to specify or even turn around, staring ahead blankly to the night view of the city stretching before him from their elevated location. She always stood on high balconies or at the top of stairs to look down on all the little people beneath her.
"Perhaps." Munakata wasn't offended – when was he ever offended?
"Fushimi..." The lieutenant wasn't a stupid woman by a long shot. His past was no one's business but his own, but Saruhiko was aware that Munakata and, to a lesser extent, Awashima, had at least some ideas about what his formative years were like. It was enough to know their condolences in this situation were both unwanted and unnecessary.
His laughter turned slightly bitter – almost caustic – as the shock wore off and the more familiar calm of reason took over. Shocked as he was to see that woman's face as the victim, he'd felt the telltale lingering of an aura in the air the minute they'd stepped into the house. It was like humidity – it had no form you could see, but you knew it the minute you felt it in the air. For Saruhiko, he likened it to walking through cobwebs.
It wasn't that cloying feeling that made him sigh explosively however, annoyed in general with this whole situation. There were laws – protocols – put in place for this very type of situation that Saruhiko didn't much appreciate as his position began to sink in fully. They might not seriously consider him a suspect – his alibi for the last 48 hours was actually as solid as they came, considering he was working with about six other officers of the Intel Division on a massive server screw up and Kisa's body was, at a guess, no more than 12 hours old – but he would stay at the very least a person of interest as a blood relative. With the involvement of a Strain, Scepter 4's assistance in the investigation would be unavoidable as well.
Assistance he could not be allowed to be involved with at all.
"I will leave from here, Captain, if it's all the same to you?" He looked back to meet Munakata's gaze and was startled to see an almost vexed expression on his face. Without realizing, Saruhiko's shoulders unwound from their tensed position slightly, a wave of fatigue that had nothing to do with being tired falling over him.
I'm merely removing myself before he can tell me to himself. He wouldn't go so far as to say anything whimsical like his place to belong was with Scepter 4, but it at least kept him alternatively amused and annoyed by turns. His skills were also...useful among the blue clad idiots that were his subordinates. Enomoto was the best of them with a computer, but Saruhiko could run circles around him blindfolded in a test of knowledge. The current computer system that Scepter 4 ran and relied on was the fruit of his knowledge and labors, implemented during his time in the Intel Division to make his life easier because the old system was laughably ancient and a thorn in his side from the first day. The previous division head hadn't appreciated the unauthorized upgrade by the end of that first week (having to deal with the old system any longer than that would've led Saruhiko to slit his own throat otherwise), but Munakata had just looked at him with that annoying smile that he'd eventually figured out meant he'd done something good, albeit unexpected.
At the time, he'd merely wondered if he'd just passed gas or something though.
The month he'd been away to infiltrate JUNGLE had all but solidified his necessity – at least in the alphabet squad's minds, who'd somehow made such a fucked up mess of the system in that short time without him that he'd nearly used them as test dummies for his brand new sets of throwing knives that were procured for him as he'd requested. It'd taken two months to get it back in order and a lot of all-nighters running through lines upon lines of code, though he hadn't lacked for help.
Saruhiko had no idea why they thought the undercover mission would've changed anything about him, fundamentally. He still found their presence to be a distraction and irritating, though he'd noticed they were less apt to run away from him now. It wasn't unusual for one of them to linger behind and attempt to help him with the mountainous stack of reports he went through on a daily basis, though Saruhiko usually ended up kicking them out about an hour later – sooner, if it was Domyouji. He still scared the shit out of Enomoto and pissed off Fuse just by breathing, but they always asked him to join them on their ridiculous outings or drunken parties too; it wasn't just Hidaka now. To date, he'd only agreed to join them on some outing or another twice and lived to regret it both times.
Somewhat, anyway.
They're a pain in my fucking ass, but a tolerable one. Even so, Saruhiko found himself annoyed as hell as he realized he couldn't actually work until this case was solved. Any evidence that was so much as glanced at by him could be considered corrupted. And while he could, in theory, be sent to work in a different department until the case was over, he still lived in the same dorm hallway as the others of the Special Division and they were worse than pre-pubescent school girls about keeping secrets.
He was used to things being taken away from him, but he hadn't thought his job could be taken from him too. Temporary as it was, relieving him of his duties was the only feasible option Munakata had available to him in this situation and he knew it from that expression he currently wore.
"Where will you go?" Awashima asked him, point blank, and Saruhiko clicked his tongue in annoyance. Of course she would ask.
"…Somewhere." The minute it sank in that he'd have to leave the dorms, a place came to mind. The door was always open to him, supposedly, though Saruhiko hadn't been able to bring himself to take advantage of the offer since it was made two years ago. He hadn't needed to. There were always the internet cafes too, but he wouldn't put it past Awashima to tail him just to make sure he was going someplace suitable. The lecture he'd get on proper sleeping habits and taking care of himself if she found him there just wasn't worth the risk.
She didn't stop him when he turned and moved away, then. Akiyama nor Benzai did either…not that he expected them to. They knew the protocols better than anyone in Scepter 4, except for Munakata. He actually almost expected his King to call out or say something to keep him from leaving, but Saruhiko wasn't entirely surprised when no such words came.
Even Kings had to abide by some rules, apparently.
It felt like an invasion of privacy.
"I wanted to know about Fushimi-san more, but not like this," Hidaka grumbled unhappily, sitting at the table with the rest of the squad as they stared at the information on the screen. Their first order of business had been to clear their comrade's name in his own mother's murder beyond a shadow of a doubt, but to do so they'd had to dig into his background.
Well, he and Enomoto did the digging. The rest of them were more or less collating the information as it came. Akiyama disliked invading his privacy about as much as Hidaka did; Fushimi had PRIVATE stamped in big bold letters on his forehead to anyone with half a brain, but his mother's death made him a key figure in the case so they had to research his history. They needed to know what type of relationship they'd had, but the picture being painted by the information they were getting was…unpleasant.
It does explain a lot. He'd seen the signs, of course, though Akiyama hadn't really thought about it until now. He generally tried not to think too in depth about Fushimi as a rule since the more people seemed to try and understand the inner workings that made up his mind, the more agitated Fushimi became and he hadn't actually wanted to upset the youngest member of their team. Fushimi was…difficult to know, though they all tried. Before the JUNGLE mission, most of them weren't even sure he really thought of them as his clansmen. He fought beside them easily enough and was more than competent at his job. His position in the clan as third-in-command despite being the youngest member was well deserved and unquestionable, but there was always a distance to him as if he didn't really want to be one of them. There were flashes even before, though – Akiyama had seen them – that would sometimes show the truth of it.
He is one of us. He just doesn't know how to deal with any us outside of a professional scope. It occurred to him that his childhood might be lonely, considering how awkward Fushimi was in more social settings. His was not a personality that had been shaped by a lot of socialization. Akiyama also figured there were some issues regarding his parents from comments he could remember him making whenever cases involving parents with children who were Strains came up. It wasn't an unusual thing, but the picture painted of Fushimi's early life was worse than even Akiyama had thought and he'd suspected at least some of it.
"He'd be more annoyed if we didn't do our job thoroughly," Benzai pointed out reasonably as Hidaka shook his head, still visibly uncomfortable.
"Fushimi does tend to put work before anything else," Enomoto noted, though he looked as uncomfortable as Hidaka did as they read through the notes Akiyama had written up of his and Benzai's interviews with many of Fushimi Kisa's associates. They'd essentially spoken of a beautiful, intelligent, and cunning woman who was quite business savvy and well-mannered, though the answers they'd had to their last question were all the same and the current cause of Enomoto and Hidaka's unease.
What was her relationship to her son like? It was a standard question, but each of the sixty three people had answered more or less with the same thing.
"Fushimi-san has a child?" Every face, to the last, was shocked to even hear she had a son. As far as they knew, Fushimi Kisa had no child – a fact reinforced by the office he'd gone to look through. There were no pictures on her desk or walls; nothing. Her wallet held no pictures and a detailed inspection of her house had brought up much the same thing.
In Fushimi Kisa's world, Fushimi Saruhiko may as well not have existed.
Every parent, however estranged, usually has at least some sort of keepsake. A picture. Something. In depth searches of her house, office, and personal effects showed NOTHING though. To all those in her life, she was a single business woman with no children. Akiyama was no expert in psychology by any means, but that level of disconnect from her own child was a clear warning sign to him. Of course, there was one more place they'd yet to see – a house on the other side of town left to her by her late husband – but Akiyama wasn't expecting much to be different there at this point.
He wasn't sure what to expect at all, really.
"Akiyama with Scepter 4!" The sun was making its way high into the air as he knocked on the mansion's doors the following morning; predictably, there was no answer. Unlike the first house, this one showed signs of abandonment; flora was overgrowing and wrapping around the house almost entirely. The paint showed signs of chipping and wear; a thin film of dirt and dust covered all the windows.
"What a waste," Domyouji whistled under his breath, staring at the time-worn house. "I could fit five of my mother's house in just the garage alone."
"The Fushimi's are quite a wealthy family," Benzai noted with a sigh; the quirks of the rich and wealthy never failed to exasperate him. "A lot of politicians, doctors, and scientists in the family. Fushimi Niki was a bit of an oddball; by all accounts, he had a genius level IQ but did nothing for a living while his wife, Kisa, more or less built her corporation from the ground up through a combination of her first husband's family connections and her own willpower."
"They sound charming," Hidaka muttered, moving to turn the knob of the front door. It surprised them all when it actually opened with a shrill groan, as if it'd been a long time since it was last used.
"It's…clean." Enomoto, the last of their group of five who'd decided to come look for clues here, blinked at the surprisingly clean, if empty, foyer. Akiyama ran a finger over a small side table, eyes narrowing as it came back clean too. Though it was empty and looking in desperate need of some TLC, there were clear signs of recent occupation. He glanced over at Benzai who nodded mutely, already walking up the steps while Akiyama turned to Enomoto, Hidaka, and Domyouji and said, "Search the first floor and basement. We'll search the top floor."
"Yes sir!"
"Squatters?" he wondered out loud as he caught up with Benzai who was checking out the master bedroom at the very end of the hall. Unlike the rest of the house, it had inch thick layers of dust on it and a musty smell that showed more than words how long it'd been since anyone had occupied it. Akiyama found it odd that it hadn't been touched, unlike the rest of the house that was at least clean, but everything about this entire situation struck him as odd.
"There's more personal touches here," Benzai mused, though his tone gave none of his thoughts away. His friend typically kept his personal thoughts close to his chest at work, though Akiyama knew him to be perhaps one of the most opinionated men he knew. Asking him about his thoughts on Fushimi tended to be both long and brutal; he actually respected him a great deal, though Fushimi's personality tended rub him the wrong way. "Old, though. Probably belonging to the husband."
"Probably." Browsing through the closets, he frowned and admitted, "I'm not liking what I'm seeing."
Benzai paused in his own search, though he didn't ask him to clarify. They both had the same training and years of partnership had allowed them to form an almost unspoken way of understanding what the other was thinking. "You did guess along these lines," he finally pointed out. "Neglected. Under socialized. At least some level of mental abuse."
"Yeah." He'd wondered after his first few interactions with their then-new member of the clan; he'd kept his thoughts mostly to himself, though he'd been torn over saying something considering there was a certain fragility about Fushimi that had always made him seem...unhinged. Erratic. Their King had clearly seen it though and wasn't concerned, but he'd tried to at least keep an eye on him despite being in an entirely different division at the time. "Didn't think much on it, since he got...better. Just as sullen, but not quite so lost or apt to have a mental break."
"Everyone has their secrets." They moved on to the next room, pausing as the door creaked open. It was a young boy's room, sparsely furnished but filled with subtle little touches. Gaming posters from several years ago; electronic bits and pieces that Akiyama recognized from another room he'd glimpsed only a handful of times before.
"This must have been Fushimi's childhood home." Benzai picked up and eyed the motherboard left on top of the desk, actually smirking just a bit. "Reminds me of Enomoto's side of his dorm."
He is very handy with technology. Akiyama recalled how quick he'd repaired the kotatsu he and Benzai had found, or the speed with which Fushimi repaired their servers when random glitches happened. Computer language seemed to come even easier to him than it did Enomoto, who Akiyama had always thought impressive when it came to computers. There's a lot we still don't know about him.
While he was lost in thought, Benzai had finished searching Fushimi's old room because when he spoke, his voice came from the room across the hall with an odd undertone. "Did the files mention if Fushimi has a brother?"
"No. He's an only child." Brow furrowing, Akiyama moved to join him but nearly ran into his back from where he stood just inside the doorway. "What's...?" The words died as he followed his partner's gaze, eyes widening in surprise. Not a few feet away from them, sleeping soundly under his covers, was a boy no older than three at most and oblivious to their presence. "Who's that?"
Benzai's PDA was to his ear as he shrugged. "Let's find out."
Pins and needles.
For once, it wasn't Saruhiko who was the one feeling tense. He felt…remarkably little at all beyond a vague sense of lightness as he downed the glass of…whatever it was that Kusanagi had put in front of him. Alcohol wasn't his usual choice of a vice, but the suggestion had seemed sound when Misaki had offered it up as an idea at the time. HOMRA's own alphabet squad were the ones staring at him in unease, clearly unsure of what to do with him. Though he often visited Misaki, it was usually just the two of them. As if he knew without asking, HOMRA's other members didn't tend to be around if he came by. Kusanagi was, sometimes, though Saruhiko didn't actually mind his presence for the most part. He was the least irritating of HOMRA's members, usually, and actually thought with his head rather than his fists.
Anna was there too, on a handful of occasions, and while she was a King it was actually a little difficult for him to feel the same level of irritation towards her that he did towards other Kings. Her ability to see right thru people unnerved him, but then she reminded Saruhiko of his own King in that way. Always seeing a bigger picture the rest of us are ignorant to.
"Ah, cheer up, Saru!" Misaki slammed a hand on his back, laughing drunkenly as he sank into the seat beside him abruptly and more or less leaned on him to remain upright. "Those Blues will clear things up in no time! They might be stuffed shirts, but they like you, so they're good people, right?"
"Hnn…good people, huh?" He took a drink from his refilled glass, narrowing his eyes. "They're annoying," he sighed without heat. Saruhiko felt warm all over, realizing with only a vague sense of concern that he was buzzed – enough that he didn't even care either upon realizing it. It was only Misaki…who wanted him to talk more clearly to him, anyway. "The lieutenant is crazy…anko-covered mochi, anko-flavored sake, anko-spiced rice cakes…" He almost gagged, eye twitching as he recalled the anko chocolates fiasco. Eyeing Kusanagi, who he saw smirk slightly, Saruhiko griped irritably, "You don't help, feeding her unhealthy addiction."
"I'm but a humble bartender, Fushimi," he chuckled, though his expression looked slightly pained as he said simply, "I only make what my customers want." His eyes trailed to the small fridge beside him, grimacing. "Personal preferences aside."
Saruhiko opened his mouth to retort to that, but the shrill ring of his PDA stopped him, half glowering at the number he could blurrily see pop up on his screen. In a fit of petulance, he grabbed the phone and dropped it into a nearby wastebasket.
"Oi, Saru! What are you doing?!" Misaki nearly tripped over himself going to get it out despite being more than a little unsteady on his feet. "It could be important!"
He rubbed at his head, grimacing at the headache starting to form right behind his eyes. They're probably relieved I'm out of the office, anyway. "It's not. If it were, they'd-"
"Fushimi-san."
Saruhiko jumped, startled, though he grabbed onto the back of his seat like death to keep himself from falling out of it. Drunk or not, he wasn't about to make a fool of himself in front of anyone, least of all the people here. "What the hell are you doing here?" he snapped irritably.
"Now, now, Fushimi," Kusanagi sighed in exasperation. "That's no way to talk to a woman."
"Tch." He turned away, headache forgotten. What was her name again? She was one of the newer transfers, he recalled. One of the ones transferred to make up for his absence during the JUNGLE mission two years ago. Saruhiko didn't generally have much to do with any of them, though of the three transfers who'd stayed on with the Special Unit since then he had the most interaction with this one. Something with an 'I'…
"Hey, Little Lady Blue!" one of the HOMRA idiots called out, waving with a flushed face. "Come join us!"
She sighed, raising a hand in acknowledgment but otherwise ignoring their summons. Scepter 4 personnel and HOMRA mingling was a lot more common these days with their tenuous truce. They still tended to arrest HOMRA's people more often than not for being rowdy idiots, though the fighting between their groups was notably less intense. Saruhiko knew for a fact most of the Special Unit stopped by this very bar at least once a week for drinks, since Kusanagi preferred making his drinks with enough kick to leave the average patron gasping. Even Munakata was known to occasionally drop in, though the expressions on HOMRA's low-ranking member's faces when he did so were always somewhere between a mix of horrified, shocked, and awestruck. "You didn't pick up your phone," she stated simply, eyeing the discarded PDA Misaki had just fished from the wastebasket dryly. "We've got something of a problem regarding…your mother's case that requires your presence back at headquarters."
The reminder of the case made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, scowling. Saruhiko knew and detested the fact that his past was more or less going to be dragged up by his own subordinates. He understood and even agreed with why, but it didn't make him like it any better. "What now?"
Despite his blatant hostility, she didn't even bat an eyelash at him. "I don't know the specifics, Fushimi-san. Special Unit's senior members have been…handling the case exclusively. I was just told to come get you."
Without thinking, Fushimi snorted derisively. "Who'd you piss off?"
"No one, sir." Again, she sighed softly with no small amount of exasperation, "It was unanimously decided I might be the one to piss you off the least, thus the unanimous choice. I believe it is meant to be something of a boon in deference to your situation."
I should turn them all into practice dummies, he thought with a sigh, shoulders slumping. I told them to stop doing such pointless things. "Fine. Ready the car."
"It's already done and waiting outside at your command, fuku-chui."
Annoyed as Saruhiko was, they were right at least about one thing. Ise – that was her name – did annoy him the least. She kept things to the point and generally speaking didn't waste his time. She unnerved him, however, and he tried to avoid dealing with her whenever possible…though that was decidedly difficult when Munkata had more or less made her his permanent 'assistant'. It's not like he didn't damn well know how much work I did before so why would I 'need' an assistant all of a sudden now?
"Saru." Misaki came to stand behind him, flushed from intoxication but looking remarkably serious despite it. "I'm coming too."
It was on the tip of his tongue to tell him to go shove his head under a showerhead; he didn't need someone there to keep him calm or be his crutch. Years of letting the venomous snake inside him do the talking in regards to him was hard to break, even now, though he didn't actually want to shove him away. They were in a good place, the two of them; not quite the same as what they were in junior high, but something just as pleasant. Saruhiko was still waiting for the other shoe to drop – for Misaki to realize he wasn't worth the trouble despite his painful efforts to actually explain himself – but thus far it hadn't come yet.
"You hate going to Tsubaki-mon," he pointed out, eyes narrowing. It made Misaki twitch uneasily whenever he came by, though Saruhiko couldn't actually blame him for that. The average blue clansman was so uptight they vibrated from the stick up their ass. It was annoying as hell dealing with them, which was fortunately rare in his case. That honor went to people like Hidaka and Fuse, who were much better suited to dealing with the rank-and-file.
He flushed in agitation, crossing his arms over his chest with a scowl. "Yeah, well, I'm not going just for a visit, right?"
"I don't need a sitter," Saruhiko scoffed, annoyed, and stared him down with an irritated click of his tongue. It wasn't hard, considering he was a good head and a half taller than him.
"Never said you did, Baka Saru!" Misaki scowled at him now and a very small – miniscule, really – part of him twitched in unease at the expression. It was the same part of him that was still waiting for Misaki to turn his back on him; to decide he wasn't worth the effort to stay around.
"Tch." He looked away, sighing as the fight drained out of him. This whole thing was giving him a headache. "Do what you want." Misaki grinned in victory, pleased with himself, and Saruhiko most certainly did not smile as he turned away, though he glared at Ise when he noticed she was still looking at him. "What?"
Her eyes flickered to stare at his face for a moment before turning away, giving nothing away. "Nothing, Fushimi-san. Just an inconsequential idle thought. It would be prudent that we make haste."
"Great." Without a word, he snagged the keys to the car from her hand and slipped into the driver's seat, glaring as she stood beside him with a frown, mouth opened to protest. "No. 'Great haste', right?"
She opened her mouth to argue, stopped, and finally sighed in defeat. "Very well." She hopped into the passenger seat and immediately buckled herself in, turning slightly to warn Misaki who climbed into the back, "I would hang on to something."
"A…Ah." He did so, though he looked more confused than anything else. "I've ridden in a car with Saru before. He's not a fast driver."
Ise didn't respond, though he doubted she would've. She was the only one of his subordinates that was someone of few words and she'd already warned him.
The rest would just be his own fault.
"I told you to hang on."
He left an irritated Ise glowering at Misaki in the situation room as he leaned miserably over a waste basket that would likely be getting tossed out along with its contents. It wasn't his fault people were stupid drivers. And aggressive driving didn't mesh well with being drunk, apparently.
It was late, so the hallways of the office itself were mercifully bare aside from the occasional straggler putting in overtime. Those who recognized him froze, torn between offering condolences or snapping to attention out of habit, but Saruhiko paid them little mind. He couldn't remember any of their names, so obviously they weren't important for him to remember.
"You're drunk," Awashima said by way of greeting, frowning as she met him just a few paces away from Munkata's office door. She sniffed in his general direction and crinkled her nose up; clearly, whatever he'd been ingesting had left a scent on him, which meant he should probably shower once he got back to the bar. There was something fundamentally unsettling about staying in the room once occupied by Suoh Mikoto, but his alternative was to stay with Misaki and his place and that was…complicated. As good as their relationship was after years of bitterness, there was a part of him that actually hesitated when he seriously considered it. Taking Kusanagi at his word had seemed less objectionable, though Saruhiko should've realized the only room above that bar he could stay in would be his.
"I wasn't expecting to be heralded so soon, Lieutenant." He sent her a dry look full of meaning and he could see her eyes flash briefly in vexation before she simply sighed heavily. "It was you who sent Ise to fetch me like a good little dog, after all."
"I forgot you get like this when you drink," she huffed, his tone seemingly bouncing right off of her as she gripped the handle to Munakata's door and twisted. The click of the knob seemed particularly loud to his ears…or maybe that had something to do with the pounding headache that was starting to throb right behind his eye. "Do try and remember yourself, Fushimi. The Captain is waiting for you." Despite her curt tone as she held the door open for him, Saruhiko didn't miss the pat on his shoulder as he slipped past her. Were he not so focused on trying to reassemble his brain cells into working order despite their alcohol-induced laxity, he might've even relaxed a bit at the gesture.
It was the same alcohol-induced haze that actually made him convinced that he was seeing things. Munkata sitting behind his desk fiddling away on a puzzle was hardly strange, but the small boy sitting so seriously opposite him in pajamas clearly fashioned to resemble a monkey was not so common. Saruhiko blinked a few times just to make sure it wasn't the alcohol making him hallucinate; it wouldn't be the first time, which was why he avoided drinking like the plague usually.
"Ah, Fushimi. I see Ise-kun found you without issue." Munakata looked up from the puzzle and gave him his usual smile, though Saruhiko didn't miss his gaze flicker from the young child across from him briefly before settling squarely on him. "There's been a few…developments in the case. Large enough ones that I thought it best to call you in."
As opposed to Kisa's murder? Saruhiko couldn't quite keep the sarcasm from his tone as he said dryly, "Thank you so kindly for your consideration, Captain."
Of course, it only made Munakata's eyes twinkle in amusement, and he ground his teeth slightly at the chuckle he uttered before settling his gaze on the boy who'd turned to stare at him quizzically. He had longer-then-proper black hair for a boy that had been pulled back into a small tuft of a ponytail and solemn gray eyes that studied him in unconcealed curiosity. "Who's the kid?"
Munakata didn't pause as he said simply. "He's your younger brother."
Saruhiko paused and shook his head. I know I just didn't hear that right. "I don't have a brother." That woman would never have the time to actually be pregnant.
"And yet you do." He motioned to the young boy whose gaze bounced between them rapidly, unblinking. "On paper, anyway. Akiyama-kun and his group found him in the home left to Fushimi Kisa by your late father, Niki. After some digging, we found that his name is Kokiyama Itachi, the son of your mother's late second husband. After his car accident last year, and lacking any living relatives, he was put under her care. So I suppose step-brother would be the more accurate term."
And so history begins to repeat itself again. Saruhiko narrowed his eyes as he regarded the boy more seriously, striding over until he was standing behind the chair he was in. Any lingering haze from the alcohol was gone at this point, his brain firing rapidly as he assembled the pieces of information in his head. "Turn around," he demanded of him abruptly.
If his tone scared him, Itachi gave no indications of it and did as told, hands on his legs as he turned to face Munakata obediently. Saruhiko tugged the monkey-eared hood of the sleeper back off of his head and glanced at the tag in the back, mouth thinning. FS. It is one of my old things; one of the sleepers that bastard used to make me wear so he could laugh at his 'little monkey'. The memories made the blood start to boil under his skin and Saruhiko snapped his hand back abruptly as if just touching the article of clothing burned him. "What else?" The question lacked the deference he usually addressed his King with, but he didn't care as he tried to focus on anything else at the moment as he tried to remember how to breathe properly.
Suddenly, the air in Munakata's office felt awfully stuffy.
He wasn't even aware Munakata had gotten up at all until he felt his hands on his shoulders, physically pushing him down to sit in his seat that he'd dragged over. Saruhiko felt incredibly small as he stood over him, his face impassive as he looked down at him but not unkind. He hated that the most about him, but he'd hate him even worse if he were the opposite way. "There was one other thing Enomoto and Akiyama found while digging through the records trying to find Itachi-kun's identity, though it would be understandable if you didn't want to know just yet, Fushimi."
"Just tell me, Captain." He saw the conversational out for what it was, but Saruhiko would be damned if he took it. He wasn't some weak-willed victim who needed to be coddled from the facts. Shocking facts, even. And he sure as hell wouldn't be treated like one by him. Just the thought aggravated him enough that the cloying feeling in the air dissipated; as if his irritation alone had wrapped him in a protective little bubble and forced away those stirrings of shock.
Munakata understood that – it was clear on his face as he kept looking at him. As much as Saruhiko positively despised that ability of his, it did prove useful in certain situations. Like this one. "Itachi-kun wasn't the first child she'd taken on as a ward of sorts. There was another petition of guardianship connected to her, though it seems it was blocked from public access."
"Who else?" There was a heavy feeling in the air, not unlike that cloying feeling that lingered in the air at the murder scene from the usage of a Strain-related power. This one was different, however – a heaviness that he'd only felt once before. Saruhiko had felt it the day he'd stood before Misaki in the alley and ran his fire-covered fingers across the HOMRA brand on his chest in a physical attempt to rip his association with the clan from his body. That it was the closest he could come to making Misaki feel even a fraction of what he did hadn't even occurred to him until after the fact; the sense of betrayal that ran so deep because it was done by someone you trusted.
"You, Fushimi." Munakata didn't sugarcoat it, speaking simply as if he were telling him the weather. "Fushimi Kisa is not your biological mother."
So…yeah. That gives you an idea of the story's premise, potentially. I can't even tell you how the idea started in my head, though I found it interesting that Kisa always thought of him as "Niki's Son". She could be just that apathetic to a child I suppose, or maybe he literally IS "Niki's son". Not hers. I'm not sure if canon-wise they've ever said it outright, but since this is fanfiction (and I can use artistic license to bend history however the hell I want for the sake of entertainment) my brain went with the latter idea.
So what do you think? Crappy? Intriguing? Please let me know.
~ Runa Rose Dempsey