Author's Note – Takes place after Episode 35, very mild spoiler alert for hints at events in the episode (nothing that couldn't be easily guessed at on one's own).
As always, MUCH THANKS to "MyAibou", my amazing beta, for her work. Especially being willing to beta fics in fandoms she's not familiar with. XD
Disclaimer – "Brave Police J-Decker" and all related characters, events, and concepts belong to Sunrise, Nagoya TV, and any other related owners/distributors/producers. I get no monetary benefit from this. My benefit is the enjoyment of dealing with beloved characters.
"Enough"
by DragonDancer5150
Rain poured down in the proverbial sheets and buckets. Deckard hadn't truly grasped either of those conventional phrases until about a half-hour ago when "the skies opened up" (another odd phrase he'd recently learned) right before he managed to get Yuuta home and himself parked under the cover of the carport. Since then, the sheer amount of rain coming down – blanketing the roof in running layers of water and overwhelming the gutters along the edges – did indeed seem as though some giant robot was just standing there upending bucket after massive bucket of water over the whole house. And with the wind blowing down the street in front of him, if he ignored his more logical sensors and stuck to his video input, he could make out the impressions of curtains or sheets made of rain seeming to "billow" across the asphalt.
It was a strange sight, and beautiful in its own way.
A deluge dropped without warning over Deckard's front fender, pounding the forward edge of his hood and blurring the feed from the cameras in his headlights. With a soft, startled yelp, Deckard rolled back a few more inches on his tires, rear bumper tapping the back wall of the carport, as he got as much of his hood as he could manage out from under the sudden waterfall. A seam in the gutter must have cracked or loosened under the pressure, he guessed.
Mrowr...
Deckard started again. He'd been paying so much attention outward that he'd missed the small body moving from the side yard into the carport with him.
A little male tuxedo cat had settled by his rear driver's-side tire. The cat rumbled with loud purrs as he trotted forward, then leaped up onto Deckard's hood. The wide, bright-red ribbon tied around his neck was as bedraggled as his fur, the ends of the bow knotted behind his head hanging limply over his shoulders. He gazed at the windshield, almost seeming to smile, then set to shaking the water from his fur.
"Urunyan!" Deckard complained as his boss's pet splattered water all over him. Not that it mattered much – he was still covered in rainwater as it was. Only his upper hood just over his still-warm engine block was clear. Urunyan knew it too, stepping right over to the spot, circling once, and settling to curl up and enjoy the warmth. Deckard could feel the vibrations of the cat's purring all the way down through his pistons. It was soothing in a way he wouldn't have guessed before experiencing it the first time.
Urunyan had been one of the first of what Deckard used to consider "the outside world", those outside of the underground warehouse and the project that created him, to accept his presence, truly and fully. The ten-year-old boy who was his handler, his "boss," Yuuta, had from the start. Of course he had – it had been because of Yuuta, because of their clandestine visits together over those months while he was still under development, that he was what and who he was at all now.
Yuuta's sisters had been a little longer in coming around, though thankfully they finally did without too much persuasion. Deckard had been listening to the conversation in the living room as Saejima talked to Yuuta's elder siblings about allowing their brother to take the position that Saejima was offering, indeed insisting on, with the newly-forming Brave Police. When the front door opened for the girls to come meet Deckard for the first time, they'd been alarmed to see him change from patrol car to giant robot. But their cat, who had bounded out the door with them, merely jumped into Deckard's hand along with Yuuta when offered it, readily climbing up his arm before leaping to perch on the bill of his helm as if he belonged there, almost as much so as Yuuta did sitting on his shoulder. It was as if the cat were saying "This is a good one. I approve, and you should too."
Deckard wished some of those he had to work for recognized the same.
There'd been another conflict with Vice-Commissioner Azuma again today. Deckard still stung from the man's words.
Deckard's marksmanship was superb. On the firing range, his accuracy was 98.91%. In fact, none of his team shot less 98.50%. That was better than the same percentage of human officers in the entire police force. But that wasn't good enough for Azuma. They were "just machines". Their accuracy should have been 100% . . . and try as he might, Deckard just couldn't get his accuracy up higher than it was. Not on his own, anyway. He'd told Azuma that maybe that remaining 1.09% was his "human" side. Part of him regretted saying that, knowing technically he shouldn't have. He'd taken his leave before the offended man could form a retort, either to rail at him for daring to talk back or the more usual, subtle "assurance" (rather, threat) that there would be consequences.
For the most part, though, Deckard didn't care. It was true, after all. The man's demands on him and his team were unrealistic and unnecessary. And to be so angry at them that they had – respectfully! – turned down the proposed upgrades that would have meant what amounted to permanent amputation of an entire limb, plus brain surgery? The man was –
Lightning flashed, followed closely by a clap of thunder that startled Urunyan back to his feet. The cat leapt off Deckard's hood and ducked under his carriage, rain-matted fur bristling. It had startled Deckard too, derailing his train of thought. That was just as well, though. He'd started going in a direction he knew he shouldn't, no matter how "right" he felt he might be. Things were what they were, and getting upset about them didn't change the situation. The team had avoided the horrific "improvements" that Azuma and the board of directors had wanted to impose on them. That was enough. Azuma might never see the Brave Police as anything more than property of the city's police force – as glorified, updated versions of the SP tactical drones and robotic vehicles that the other departments used, maybe – but there were plenty of others who did. Yuuta, his sisters Azuki and Kurumi . . . the director of the Brave Police, Commissioner Saejima . . . and others. Many, many others. That was enough too.
Mew . . . mrowr . . . Urunyan pawed at the bottom edge of Deckard's front passenger door.
Deckard chuckled and obliged, the door swinging open. "And you," he murmured, adding his furry little friend to that list of people as the tuxedo milk-treaded his passenger seat before flopping over on his side. Deckard turned on his heater, setting it to low, and Urunyan's purring doubled in volume, vibrations rumbling into the seat springs.
Deckard had read once that cats were often considered smarter and wiser than many people realized or wanted to admit. Much like we Brave Police are, I suppose. Urunyan gazed at his dashboard, blinking and staring almost as if he understood something Deckard could only guess at. Then he yawned widely and stretched long and hard, limbs shuddering with the effort. That done, he relaxed completely, limp and content across the seat.
"I could stand to learn from your example, I'm sure," Deckard whispered under the continuing drum of rain on the roof and pavement around them. Urunyan cracked open one eye, gaze glittering behind the lids, before he huffed softly and slipped into sleep. Deckard too resolved to relax and let go of the cares of the day. Tonight, Yuuta was safe. His team was safe. The city was safe.
Another proverb crossed his mind as he settled to put himself into a defrag cycle. 'You can't please everyone all the time.' For some people, like Azuma, it simply wasn't possible to please them at any time, no matter what he or any of the rest of his team did. Not if they were to stay true to themselves and what mattered the most to them. What he had to remember was whose opinions of him and his team actually counted. Who did they really want to impress and make proud of them? Those to whom they didn't have to keep trying to prove themselves over and over again to little or no avail, those who loved them already, imperfections and all.
In the end, Deckard knew, that was enough.