a/n: Done for missaishu for the 2014 Tokyo Ghoul Secret Santa. It's gone through some tweaks since then, though, so if you've read this before you may find it a little different.
hmu at merrykirishimas on tumblr if you want to cry with me about tokyo ghoul, or just cry in general. I'm a total crybaby so chances are I'll be crying too
title is a translation of a lyric from seacret cm, a ling tosite sigure song, and you should definitely check them out if you like jrock or psychedelic rock. I highly recommend their just A moment and i'mperfect albums because they are an amazing, amazing band
i. (:re)commence
In a blue breeze the coastline sways;
If I look into it, it'll turn to night.
Look now, can you see something?
The night colors dye the coastline;
If I look into it I'll forget all my memories of you.
They'll dissolve in the night.
"Look at me," someone says.
I close my eyes, my breath stops and freezes,
Because after a while you'll be gone.
–Ling Tosite Sigure, "Seacret CM"
"His name was Kaneki Ken," Arima tells her, in the same voice he'd use to tell her it was raining outside. "Alias Centipede, or Eyepatch. A victim of Doctor Kanou's ghoul-hybrid experimentation."
Akira stares at the file in front of her; Kaneki Ken smiles back past the black lines stamped over his face. "And he doesn't remember anything?"
"No," Arima says, "And we intend to keep it that way." He pauses, contemplative. "He wasn't truly at fault for his actions. He could be a great asset to the CCG. With time and rehabilitation, perhaps he can live as a human again."
She looks at the picture again, thinks about her father, about Amon, about Takizawa, and all the goodbyes she's never managed to say.
He peers at her over his glasses, like Kaneki does from behind the word erased. "Do you think you can handle this?"
(She is Mado Akira. She is the valedictorian of her CCG Academy graduating class. She is her father's daughter. She is strong. She is cold.)
"Sure," she says, and it's not quite a lie.
The countless flower arrangements in her apartment are wilting, petals crumbling to white dust. The floor has not been cleaned for several weeks.
(She is so, so tired. Tired of everyone's sympathy, tired of the way Houji checks in on her, tired of the mechanical routine she's found herself in.)
She stares out the window at the moon. Inhale. Exhale.
Why is it that Kaneki Ken, who ripped her life apart, gets a second chance, while she is left with nothing?
She is a child again, with no mother, no friends, only half of a father, and the age-old adage, life isn't fair, echoing through her head.
She is Mado Akira. She is strong. She is cold.
She is alone.
Maris Stella curls snugly against her as she cries herself to sleep.
She lays the flowers down carefully, like they're glass that will shatter against the dull stone. She's not sure why she bothers, because it's stupid, this tradition of visiting their graves that she's started. It's not as if there's anything beneath the drab grey headstones anyway.
She tells herself every time that this will be the last visit she makes, and yet, she shows up the next week, like clockwork, anyway.
What is it she's seeking here? She's not really sure anymore, and now she wonders if she's ever been sure of anything.
"Good afternoon," a voice stutters from behind her, one day, when she's on another useless visit, and she peers at the newcomer from her peripheral vision, carefully eyeing the black roots of his white hair.
Ah. So this is what Arima meant, then.
He bows, deeply. "First Class Mado Akira, I'm Third Class Inspector Sasaki Haise. Please take good care of me."
And so it begins.
He's not quite what she expected, but she's not entirely certain what she was expecting, anyway.
(What can she expect, really, from the suspected murderer of the three men who meant the most to her? It's not like this is typical, like there's protocol in her textbook or a standard socially-acceptable reaction for this kind of thing that she can search for late at night on the Internet, computer screen light flickering on her face as she digs through advice columns and forums.)
He's good company, she hates to admit it. In less than a month they fall into an easy rapport, and she wonders if this counts as fraternization.
"Non-combative or investigative interaction by Investigators with enemies, especially the aiding and abetting of ghouls, is a serious, prosecutable offense. Sentences range from court-mandated retraining to life imprisonment" reads her Academy textbook.
Well, she hasn't been prosecuted yet and protocol seems to have been blown to shreds in the curious case of Kaneki Ken and Sasaki Haise, so she thinks she shouldn't be so inclined to care anymore.
She envies him, a little. He has no remembrance of his past, no painful memories that flare up and settle in his chest like lead. He doesn't wake suddenly in the middle of the night, suffocating, like there is a heavy stone on top of him and he is sinking, sinking into the sea.
(Even if he had memories though, she wonders if he'd feel that way. Do ghouls feel? Do half-ghouls?
She should leave these questions to Division Two, though, because where, exactly, has empathy ever gotten her?)
She does not think about the fact that the happy memories he had are gone as well.
She tells herself it's better off this way, that he's happy here and can make an attempt at human existence, and then she reminds herself that his happiness is inconsequential to her, that it is merely her job to keep him in line.
Sometimes, at night, she wonders if there are people who miss him. If, somehow, he misses anyone, noticing some days that there is an odd, empty feeling in his chest, like a piece of the puzzle has vanished.
They're eating at her favorite ramen shop one day, and his eyebrows raise briefly at her choice of dish.
"You like your food mild?" he asks.
She shrugs, food lifted halfway to her mouth. "I guess so. Why?"
"You seemed like someone who would prefer it spicy, is all." He twirls his chopsticks with his fingers like a child. The absence of the dish he did not order leaves a gap between the two of them, and Akira does not mind.
Gaps remind her; gaps keep her focused.
(I used to, she wants to say.)
The seconds tick by, and he stares at her, expecting an answer.
"That was a long time ago," she says finally, flatly. She takes another bite of her noodles.
His chopsticks still. "I see," he responds.
He doesn't ask her any more questions, after that.
"Does that naan resonaant with your taste buds?"
She laughs. It's a full, genuine laugh, and, she's sure, the first one in a while. "I think you're in need of some retraining."
She's not becoming fond of him.
Not at all.
She shouldn't have expected things to last as long as they did. It's what she deserves for becoming so comfortable, so complacent, she supposes.
See Mado, she thinks to herself, not quite bitterly, this is what happens when you let your guard down.
"Akira," Hirako's voice sounds in her ear. His tone is careful, and she hates it, hates him, hates that everyone has treated her like glass since the raid.
"Leave it to me," she says, in monotone. She raises the rifle and aims carefully, one eye closed.
"Take a rest for a while," she murmurs. And then she pulls the trigger.
"Try thinking your situation through slowly," she tells him calmly, as if she isn't the one who just shot him. Compartmentalization is her strong suit, after all.
His breath is ragged, and he glances upwards as if in search of something. "I am… investigating Torso. As the mentor of the Quinx."
It seems there's hope for him yet. "And who are you?"
"I am," he pauses, lost, and Akira's breath hitches, finger twitching on the case of her quinque. "I am Sasaki Haise."
She breathes out, not sure if she has the right to be relieved. "That's right. You're Sasaki Haise." The lie tastes sour in her mouth, but she's gotten used to that bitter flavor, lately.
"He's starting to remember." It's not a question.
She doesn't meet Arima's eyes, choosing to stare at the wall behind him instead, as she says, "He wants answers. And by searching for them, well. It won't be long now."
His face is emotionless, as always, but there is something underneath that is almost like regret. "You know what you have to do?"
She exhales. Sharply. "Yes."
It's her duty. It should be easy. But knowing something and being eager to do it are two very different things.
"Mado-san," he says, cheerfully, almost, as if she isn't poised to kill him. "Come to put me down?"
She gazes at the floor, watching him only with peripheral vision, because if she doesn't, she will waver. "It doesn't have to be this way."
He smiles ruefully. "But it does, doesn't it? I need to know who I am, and the CCG can't let that happen. Conflicts of interest aren't prime breeding ground for cooperation, you know."
"I'm sorry," she says–and that's a bit of a lie there, because a part of her is rejoicing at being able to finally engage in this act of catharsis–and then swings Amatsu at his head. It's a nice attack, she has to say, weight balanced and angle flawless.
His kagune intercepts it, pushing back against her, and there it is, the irrefutable truth she's been avoiding ever since that day in the damn graveyard.
"I don't want to hurt you," he says, his left eye colored black.
He already has, but she's in no mood to talk to him about it in the middle of a fight.
Her quinque catches the edge of his torso, drawing blood before he twists away, wound already beginning to heal. She swings at him again, and he ducks, narrowly avoiding being sliced. He could probably overpower her with his kagune, if he tried.
But he's not trying.
She ignores that thought, and swings again.
"Akira, please," he dodges again, "There are people waiting for me. And I need to find them."
Indignation courses through her, because he really has no right to ask anything of her, and who the hell is he to think that he does? She swings; he blocks. Again, and again.
He steps back, out of range, and glances at her carefully. "You should know better than anyone what it feels like to wait for someone."
His words barrel into her, and she takes a step backwards. Another gap between them. "You have no right to say that."
"It's the truth, isn't it?"
She tries to muster up the anger to deny it, but comes up with nothing. It's strange, because usually she's not this empty inside, despite what others would say of her disposition.
She hates him.
Well.
She wishes she could hate him.
Her lack of a response seems to worry him. "Mado-san?"
"Go," she tells him, lowering her quinque.
He hesitates. "I–"
"Don't make me change my mind."
There's a pause.
"Thank you," he says. "I hope we can meet again one day. Not as a ghoul, and not as an investigator. As people."
She thinks she'd like that, maybe; the words fail her, so she nods instead as he flees past her, a brief dip of the head like an echo of the bow he first gave her in the graveyard.
She never sees Sasaki Haise again; Kaneki Ken is a different story.
okey doke so as of right now this is a oneshot but lately, as I've been heavily revising it, I've gotten the itch to write more for it. it won't be anything big, just tiny things, and nothing more than two more chapters at the most (a tiny intermediate thing and then an epilogue), but keep an eye out for it!
fun fact: I purposely referred to Sasaki/Kaneki/Haiseki as "he" throughout the whole fic (minus people directly addressing him). This was partly because I couldn't think of what to call him exactly, and also, I couldn't think of what Akira would think to call him. So, in the end, I've attributed his lack of a name to a manifestation of Akira's own uncertainty of who he is.
also, some people have been asking me if I ship Akira/Haise, and the truth is, I don't. I love their dynamic, how they're two people with a complicated relationship, whose actions have hurt each other, but neither of them are aware or able to mention it. So I love their relationship, but I don't see it as anything more than platonic. Feel free to see this as shippy as you'd like, though.
my tumblr is merrykirishimas, so feel free to hit me up there or at my askfm (renjutori) with questions about tg or my fics or anything, honestly. like. ask me about anything. rice. kpop. whatever.
actually. please hit up my I am a sad and lonely user who has only ever answered the site generated questions except for like… one that I got from a real person. I crave that human interaction!