After Darkness Falls
By Clorinda
Rated: PG
Category: Drama
Summary: The bird cannot fly free forever.
Author's Note: The idea was inspired by The Invader Androgynous's "My Boyfriend," which actually had me thinking that even if Akabane wasn't a wanted man, what would do if he was one. And more importantly, who would he turn to for help?
Believe me, answering those questions is pretty neck-breaking if I want to keep Akabane in character. (Somebody please tell me if I botch him up.)
Chapter One
Himiko Kudo doesn't sit curled on her couch at nine o' clock in the night, letting the tendrils of beckoning sleep caress her. Himiko Kudo does not even stay at home, the tiny, messy, littered flat she lives in during the day, at nine o' clock in the night. For Himiko is the Lady Poison; she is the bat that sees in the light; she is never not working on a job.
But even the Lady Poison cannot control minds ... Criminal minds, to be true. And by no fault of hers that she can fathom, no one wants her for a transport job at nine o' clock in the night.
And so one may espy her on her battered, ancient couch, wrapped in a blanket she had saved from that ancient, abandoned, sun-filtered house she had inhabited with her brother and Ban. But time has passed, and she does not shiver and recoil with pure fury at the Mido boy's name anymore.
In fact, she has come to associate it with many things of importance to her thawing heart. Money, blueness, sophistication neither of them had then, good fun, and of course, Yamato, although it wrenches her to think it. But the good times shared with the two men in her old life cannot be pushed away like the gentleness of Ban's touch on her shoulder, and she dwells on it less, but treasures it more.
The light on the television screen changes and flickers, falling against the tanned complexion of Himiko's face, the young teenaged girl, folded miserably amid the cushions and a barely-salvaged blanket.
This is why the Lady Poison hates not having a job. Because without the burning taste of danger in her mouth, the scent of her perfume lining the clouds, constant movement and fear that keeps her mind from sifting through the sand and settling on memories— Himiko is only a sixteen-year-old child with some scraps of education and an empty life.
And she doesn't want to wake up in the morning, barely conscious, just able to see her own hand pressing the kitchen knife into the inside of her wrist, until she slumps on the floor, only to be found hours later as dead.
When the doorbell rings, she nearly screams.
Tearing the blanket off herself, and switching the television off, she answers the door in a loose man's shirt and baggy shorts. She is half-expecting Hevn, the woman's hair resisting the dampness of the night outside, her voice clipped and amused as she explains the job that requires the Lady Poison.
The door swings open on well-oiled hinges, and the dusty lights from the corridor spill onto Himiko's floor, on her bare, brown feet. Her gaze travels slowly upwards in true, dramatic fashion and her voice is falsely cheery as she greets,
"Oh, hey. Can I help you with something?"
He smiles, the small, ever-tactful, I-feel-so-rude-when-I'm-imposing gesture. "I hope it's not too late to be calling, Lady Poison. Could I come in?"
"Sure," and because she feels no animosity for this man who has given her little cause for hate except for the occasional, unintentional delay, she steps away from the doorway to grant his entrance, closing the exit behind him, following the sweeping black coat of Kuroudo Akabane.
Dr. Jackal seats himself on the couch, smiling at her with eyes closed, his hat resting lightly on his knees, as she sits near him, pulling out an art deco chair. He looks at it, before remarking, "I wasn't aware that the Lady Poison was so fond of the Cubists."
She flushes a dull red, before quickly saying, "It's a hobby."
"You're interested in art, then?"
She looks at him, her eyes trying to ascertain what he's leaning towards, and he smiles back with that same benign smile she's used to seeing each time she does a job with him. The same smile he gives to his people before he murders them in icy-cold blood.
"Why the sudden interest, Jackal?"
He looks properly abashed; perhaps it is just the right mix of mild surprise at discovering his own obtrusiveness and embarrassment for it. It is too believable a blend to be believed.
"My apologies; I have only recently found how deliciously little I know about my colleagues and associates ... To say, for example, I know that the Get Backers often bill at that little, poorly-paid café, and yet I cannot say what are Ginji's tastes in food. Do you see what I mean?"
And it takes a lot out of Himiko to keep her eyes from rolling. "Pizza," she informs. "No anchovies, or Ban will be quick to steal them." Then again, she forgets Akabane frequents the richer diners of Shinjuku; he does not see the illustrious Get Backers every day, they are like ... celebrities, idols, to him. To be beheld and admired, but never to know up close enough to feel their breath.
Himiko prays that she will not be there when Akabane should find out that the Get Backers, despite their rolling success rate, have no money and have to mooch off a young waitress who is younger than themselves.
"Oh, I see. It is ... illuminating, although, I for one, prefer something more mellow."
There is something in his voice, and when Himiko glances up at him, uncrossing her legs again, she sees that his eyes, piercing blue-violet, are open.
And they are looking right into her.
"Akabane," she says. "This isn't really a social call, is it?"
He gives a mock-sigh. "Ah, I probably am getting old."
She shrugs. "You might. After all these years of not being concerned, why start about Ginji's personal life now? ... So, if there's something I can assist with, don't hesitate. Ask."
He smiles at her, but she doesn't feel the ghostly shiver trace her spine. The drowsiness of the night is gone; Lady Poison is alive. "Of course ... But first, could I trouble you for a cup of coffee? It has been a rather long night for me."
She nods quickly, and goes into the kitchen. She comes back later with a steaming mocha. "I hope you like the chocolate," she says with a wry smile.
"Very much actually," and his white-gloved fingers raise the cup to his lips.
The silence swirls around them, like waves and a rock in the sea, under the harsh-white light illuminating the flat. Akabane makes no move, casually sipping at the cup; Himiko feels her skin grow cold because a man like Akabane is proud, and proud men do not go on their knees.
Something is wrong, and she'll be damned if she cannot sense it right, after all those years of locking herself in a dirty basement with only her poison perfumes.
The soft sound, the gentle tink of china against wood echoes. Himiko starts to see the cup on the table, Akabane's eyes on her; the sand clock had been turned.
"You were saying, Jackal?"
"I was." He smiles smoothly, and without the hat to obscure his upper face, the black coat holding to his thin shoulders, his eyes are placid, with the first and faint hints of trouble. No, apprehension.
"I would like to ask you for help."
Himiko freezes. The mercury has suddenly fallen too fast in this drawing room, under the harsh-white light.
Akabane does not ask for help. Akabane does not concede to weakness. Akabane will estimate the odds before he takes his gamble. Kuroudo Akabane will never drown in the ocean, because he will never walk on water.
Dr. Jackal cannot be afraid.