A/N: Originally done for the Tsuritama kinkmeme over on Livejournal. This story got a little more dramatic than I intended, and also contains light one-sided President/Akira at the end. …Tapioca's gender might also be wrong haha.
Prompt: Set before the Tsuritama main plot. Duck Boss and Akira get stuck in an elevator, this leads to conservations about name-pronunciation, ideals and something more.
Duck headquarters was extravagantly decorated to say the least: tall ceilings, rare and expensive art, and intricate furnishings. The flooring in the hallways was imported marble, the white colour interlaced with delicate tan veining. Every square inch was cleaned to perfection and Akira could almost see his reflection in it as he walked.
Many of the agents who spent time out in the field found the luxury somewhat disconcerting. It wasn't out of jealousy or spite, but simply because they weren't used to such things. The queen-sized beds in the guest rooms were very different than a sleeping bag or portable cot.
However, Duck headquarters could not be described as elegant. Due to the many eccentricities of the more senior members, certain rooms were a mess of conflicting styles, such as the attempt to mix Art Deco and Victorian in the main dining hall. The result was nauseating.
Even though his visit was necessary, Akira honestly couldn't wait to return to his work. Sensing his agitation, Tapioca rubbed her head on his arm and made a soft, inquiring noise. Despite his efficiency and excellent record, Akira found that he didn't cope very well with being out of his comfort zone. Adaptability was an important trait for a Duck agent to have, but he continued to struggle with it.
Tapioca started fidgeting as they approached the elevator. Akira gently set her on the floor and she immediately jumped up to press the 'down' button, unapologetically smacking his leg with her wing.
"You could've let me do it," he muttered, stuffing his hands in his pockets.
She gave him a blank look.
"What?"
Tapioca's response was interrupted as the elevator chimed and the doors opened. It was empty and extremely yellow. Smacking him with her wing again, she quickly waddled inside and then quacked loudly, signaling him to hurry up. Rolling his eyes, Akira followed her.
Just before Tapioca could hit the button for the ground floor, someone from the other end of the hallway yelled, "Hold the elevator!"
Akira, wary of Tapioca's devious streak, nudged her away from the controls.
There was the sharp click of dress shoes and then the President of Duck himself appeared around the corner, dressed in a floor-length red coat with bright pink feathers jutting out from collar. His dark sunglasses hid his eyes.
Akira inclined his head as a sign of respect. "Sir."
"Ah! Agent Yamada. How wonderful to see you again…" He leaned against the wall behind Akira. After a pause, he grinned and said, "Ground floor."
Akira nodded and pressed the button himself, much to Tapioca's chagrin. The doors clicked shut and the elevator began to smoothly descend, absolutely silent except for the subtle whirl of machinery.
It would be disrespectful to turn his back on the Duck President, but it would also be disrespectful to stare at him. Akira settled for standing by the right wall of the elevator, not facing him but also not ignoring him.
The President was a charismatic man, but there were rumors of his more manipulative side. Given this reputation and Akira's past experiences with him, it was likely that he would initiate small talk.
After a long pause, he turned to Akira. "Yamada, your partner was hatched in an incubator, wasn't she?"
"Yes," he answered, ruffling her feathers lovingly. Tapioca quacked and nudged his hand away with her bill. "There were more than the predicted number of eggs laid, and I feared that hers wouldn't get the appropriate amount of warmth and care."
The President chuckled. "Yes. I remember you being quite adamant about raising her yourself. Although I must say that it seems to have forged quite a tight bond between the two of you. It seems your intuition was right, Yamada."
Gritting his teeth, Akira resisted the urge to correct the President's pronunciation. He always stretched out the 'ma' portion, making it more like 'Yamaaaada'. Something about that drawl irritated him.
Tapioca quacked, indicating how happy she was about their partnership. Given the President's lack of reaction, he probably didn't understand what she meant. Only a small number of Duck agents were able to converse with their namesakes.
The elevator lurched and Akira heard the foreboding stutter of machinery. The sound continued to grow louder and louder, making a high mechanical whine as the compartment began to shake. Startled, Tapioca flapped her wings and Akira struggled to hold onto her. The President braced himself against the wall.
"Stop the elevator," he ordered and Akira immediately complied, going for the emergency stop button. The terrible noise started to wind down and the tremors stopped.
From the top left corner, the wall-mounted radio began to crackle. "Elevator 4? You appear to have stopped. Is everything alright?"
Before Akira could explain the situation, the President snapped, "Of course it's not! I want this fixed now and a full report of what went wrong and who is responsible. I cannot comprehend how an elite organization like Duck would allow for such an error to occur. This is an embarrassment to-"
Given how calm he was a moment ago, Akira couldn't help but be surprised. Livid, the President continued to rant, his arms flailing and his painted lips curled up in an ugly snarl. The radio operator continued to apologize as he was faced with the President's misguided anger.
"Y-Yes, sir. A maintenance crew has been dispatched to your location. The estimated repair time is twenty minutes. I apologize for the inconvenience, sir. …W-Would you like me to stay on the line, sir?"
Sourly, the President replied, "No. That will be all."
"Okay. Uh. I apologize for the inconvenience." The radio crackled once again as the operator turned the channel off, leaving Akira and Tapioca in the broken, bright yellow elevator with the President of the Duck organization.
"This is /awful/," he moaned, absent-mindedly petting the feathers on his collar. "My entire schedule is going to be thrown off, and I'm such a perfectionist. Awful, awful, awful."
Even though Akira could sympathize, he felt like the President was being slightly overdramatic. Of course, Duck agents and their superiors operated differently, and as a result they were held to different standards. The spontaneity and genius of those in charge was what allowed the agents to act so efficiently. Under no circumstances could he openly criticize the President's behaviour.
The President was looking at him, his hand still stroking the red feathers. "You really were eager to leave headquarters, weren't you? You're so painfully obvious about it too…"
Years of disciplinary training kept Akira's surprise hidden. Such an acute observation should have been impossible to make.
Calmly, he replied, "I simply wish to continue the work that was assigned to me." Telling an outright lie to the President was out of the question. A half-truth was more suitable.
While the glasses hid much of his expression, it was easy to see that he was amused. Slyly, he said, "If I decode your response, it seems like you agree with me. Agents like you aren't suited to this place, after all."
That maddening subtle arrogance. Akira gritted his teeth. It was true, so undeniably true, but Duck agents weren't designed to be so transparent.
"Oh, don't be angry. You should know that those such as myself have to understand those such as yourself. It's how the whole system works, Yamada. And of course, the system doesn't work in reverse."
"Of course," Akira replied. The President laughed.
"I almost forgot how amusing you are. I was being honest when I said how wonderful it was to see you again, Yamada."
"Yamada."
The President tilted his head, his earrings clicking sharply. "That /is/ your name, I presume?"
"Yes, but you always extended one of the syllables," Akira explained, glaring at the elevator wall.
"I know I do." He paused, observing Akira's reaction. He grinned. "But this is how I choose to pronounce your name. Does that bother you? Ha, what am I saying? Of course it does."
Tapioca quacked her disapproval. Her timing was as impeccable as always. This was still just banter and an acceptable interaction between him and his superior. As long as he remained largely passive, it would still be applicable as such.
But while he prided himself on his status as a Duck agent, Akira was well aware of his own failings. He was stubborn, argumentative, distant.
The President knew this all too well.
He was baiting Akira.
According to his watch, thirty minutes had elapsed without any updates or indication of progress. Curled up in the corner, Tapioca was taking a nap.
Sighing, the President adjusted his rings for the fifth time. "Let's talk about something, Yamada. In fact, let's talk about one of my favorite subjects."
Glancing up from his watch, he had the uncanny feeling that he was being analyzed again, like an unwitting test subject in some complex experiment. "What subject would that be?" Akira asked.
He grinned. "You. Or more specifically, your place in the Duck organization."
Akira chose not to respond. Perhaps this entire situation was a cleverly devised test in order to test his loyalty or motivation. It was plausible.
The President's grin only grew wider. "There's something about you that no one else seems to know. It's quite scandalous, really. But perhaps it's the skill involved in pulling it off that I respect. Both of us know that you're not really 25 years old. You lied. You forged documents. You changed sensitive information in order to avoid contradictions. In all actuality, you're quite a bit younger than that." He began to pace, gesturing to Akira as he continued, "Such actions violate so many of our regulations, and they also compromise the integrity of our beloved organization. Of course, you knew what you were doing, Yamada."
He should've been angry or mortified or humiliated, but there was something so funny about the President of the Duck organization parading around with all his secrets. Was he actually going to use them as blackmail? "You're right," Akira admitted, staring into the dark of his glasses unflinchingly. Perhaps this was simply about power. "I knew what I was doing."
"Following in your parent's footsteps," the President observed and Akira almost flinched. "I hope you've felt fulfilled in pursuing such a noble aspiration. Being a Duck agent isn't always glamorous, but I suppose that doesn't bother you."
As a young child, he idolized his parents. Despite their long trips away from home and despite the months of no communication and loneliness, Akira had idolized them. Even when the months stretched into years, he never changed his ways. When the letter finally came, confirming his worst fears, it felt like part of his body had been torn clean off.
Dead. Confirmed dead.
But even then he was still retelling their stories, looking at their old mission logs, and dreaming of a world outside his grasp.
Of course he had been so impatient. Duck was incredibly strict about their age requirements, but thanks to a growth spurt and information taken from his parent's logs, he was able to circumvent that.
"Why are you telling me this?" Akira asked, his eyes boring into those dark glasses.
The President laughed. "Because ten years ago I lied about the same thing."
When the doors finally opened, they had been in there for 50 minutes total. Tapioca was complaining about how thirsty she was and pecked one of the agents until they gave her their water bottle.
"We're terribly sorry, sir," one of them said, bowing deeply. "All idle agents are currently investigating the cause of this inconvenience. A full report is expected within three to four hours."
"Excellent work. I'll be eagerly awaiting its completion," declared the President, tossing his blond hair over one shoulder. "Return to your duties," he ordered.
The four agents gestured the Duck sign before hurrying away.
"Yamada."
Although his views on the President were changing, the way he pronounced his name was still an annoyance. Perhaps one day it would become endearing.
"Sir?"
The President slowly raised his hand and lowered it onto Akira's shoulder. His long blue nails looked very strange against the dull black of his jacket. "You should visit headquarters more often," he suggested. "I could give you a personal tour."
Although he did appreciate the goodwill behind the gesture, Akira couldn't help but feel excruciatingly awkward as the hand stayed firmly on his shoulder. Perhaps this was how acquaintances or friends acted?
Even though Akira couldn't think of a response, the President smiled brightly before removing his hand and walking away. His coat billowed out behind him.
"What a strange day," Akira said aloud.
Tapioca quacked in agreement.