Title: Words like Pale Stones
Genre: Romance
Rating: K+
Pairing: Satoshi x OC
Spoilers: N/A
Summary: Only angels have wings.
Word Count: 3297
Warnings: Potentially triggering mentions of abuse. Future verse.
Disclaimer: Not mine. "Words like Pale Stones" is a short story from the anthology Black Thorns, White Rose.
A/N: I adore Satoshi. I have such a weakness for angst-y "bad boys" and he was no exception. My previous Satoshi x OC story was entitled "Stare," but rereading it recently, I realized I hated it. So I've rewritten it as this. I also know next to nothing about how police departments work, nor do I have any history with abuse. So apologies for anything I got wrong.
The police station was filled with the usual rough and tumble sort that frequented the place on late weekend nights: drunks with black eyes and bloody lips, prostitutes in barely-there clothing, teenagers looking dejected and forlorn as they waited for their parents. Hiwatari Satoshi was the youngest Police Commissioner on record. Because of that, he often worked directly from his nearest local precinct in order to show the boots-on-the-ground police force that he knew what he was doing. He was intelligent, but nothing could stand in for experience. So he appointed assistants to run his office while he gained valuable real-world knowledge.
Oftentimes, he was wasted in this stations – dealing with intoxicated hooligans and belligerent adolescents was not only well below his pay grade, but well below his IQ. Every now and then he'd assist with a murder or a kidnapping, something that warranted his interest and skill. Nothing compared to the thrill of the chase Phantom Thief Dark had given him, but that had been ten years ago, a lifetime ago. There was no thrill in thieves these days.
But there was no shortage of ill-reputed individuals in this world, so he was never without something to occupy his time for long, no matter how interesting. This weekend he was moonlighting in one of the stations that bordered the outskirts of Tokyo, and, like every late night here, the station was full.
"Hey, Commissioner," one of the local cops called out to him, and Satoshi set down the report he was filing and stared at the man over his glasses. He was older, maybe mid-40's, hair disheveled, stubble streaked with grey, clearly stressed and overworked. "If you have a minute, would you mind interviewing the chick in Room 3? We just got a call that a few boys broke up a brawl that was pretty bad. They're bringing in half a dozen perps and I don't know where we're gonna put em."
A nod. "Of course, Detective." The man tossed Hiwatari a grateful smile, before his phone went off and he was pulled away.
The girl in the interrogation room was not so much younger than he was, but she was sitting hunched in her chair, arms wrapped tightly around herself, knuckles turned white from how harshly she was holding onto her arms. Her forearms were a mess of bruises, mottled and ink dark, layered over the yellow-green of old contusions. Her face was a mess of blood. It looked like her nose was bleeding, maybe her lip. One of her eyes was starting to blacken. He paused before entering, trying to force himself to think objectively. A police officer could not afford to make assumptions, no matter what a situation looked like.
She glanced up, a darting wide-eyed gaze, when he entered, and seemed to shrink farther into herself.
"I am Detective Hiwatari." He didn't think it would set her at ease to know that he was actually the Police Commissioner, she seemed as skittish as a new colt. "I am here to take your statement, ma'am. May I sit?" At her jerking nod, he did so. "Would like anything to eat? Some water?" She gave a slow, wide-eyed shake of her head. "Very well then, let's begin. Your name is Namura Kira, correct?"
"Y- yes, sir."
"Alright, why don't you tell me what happened tonight?"
From what Satoshi gathered, it was not Namura-san's first visit to the police station. Several years ago, she had been in a relationship with a young man who, to the rest of the world, had appeared like a model citizen: handsome and kind, always helping others. But behind closed doors he was domineering and abusive, first verbally and then physically. But because he was such a model citizen, no one would believe her cries for help. It wasn't until a pedestrian in a supposedly deserted parking structure, saw Kira's boyfriend beating her almost to death that the police listened to her, and he was slapped with nothing more than a restraining order (unfortunately one of the things that came with being an "upstanding" citizen was friends in high places).
Bu a restraining order is only as strong as the will of the person it is placed on. And in the two years since its placement, Kira had been accosted by her ex no more than a half dozen times.
Satoshi stared at the girl across from him. She was frightened and nervous, eyes darting around the room like she expected her abuser to turn up at any moment. "Namura-san, are you – " He cleared his throat, "Are you telling me that the police officers here have done nothing to help you prevent these attacks? That your perpetrator has not been prosecuted for this at all?"
She seemed confused. "There's a restraining order –"
"Which is the duty of my officers to enforce." She had nothing to stay to that, and Satoshi sighed. "I am now in charge of your case, Namura-san, and I will see this remedied. Please wait here."
Her mouth snapped immediately closed and she nodded sedately, while he left the room. A woman used to being forcibly corrected if she did not follow orders. This was not how he expected his law enforcement to operate.
"Detective, a word!" At the sharply barked commend, the detective turned, and paled under his Commissioner's flint-eyed stare. Satoshi walked briskly past the man into his office, clearly expecting the detective to follow him. Closing the door behind himself, he forced himself to stand straight as he faced his superior officer. "Would you care to explain to me why Namura-san has been continually harassed and beaten by a man who is under a restraining order without any police interference?"
"I – um, sir – "
"It is, is it not, this precinct's obligation, as the precinct that issued the restraining order, to make sure that it is followed by all parties involved, and to seek retribution if that is not the case?"
"I –"
"And until said perpetrator can be found, is it not your duty to place Namura-san under police detail to ensure the safety of one of your citizens?"
The Detective finally managed to interrupt Hiwatari's tirade. "But sir! We're up to our necks in drunks and bawlers. We've got calls coming in at all hours of the day and night from robberies and hookers and drug deals! We can't waste man power watching one girl!"
"And if her ex-boyfriend kills her, then what?" As the Detective sputtered, Hiwatari sighed. "I will perform the necessary police details until such a person from this precinct can be found to accomplish the duty. You are dismissed" When the detective merely gaped at him, he frowned. "That means you may go."
Kira leaved in an older apartment building (no key code to get into the building, Satoshi noted), that had been recently remodeled. "Is this the only entrance to the building?"
She looked over at him, from where she sat in the passenger seat of his car. "Um, no, there's doors on both sides and an entrance back by the pool."
"Hm." He had been planning on watching the entrance, alert for whomever walked in, but with three additional ways into the building, that wouldn't work. While he was watching the front, her abuser could enter through the side. "Would you be amenable to be residing in your apartment until a permanent detail can be organized?"
Wide eyes, like green grass, in a surprised face. "I – " She tucked a lock of chestnut hair behind her ear, fingers ghosting over the bruise on her face. "That's fine, I suppose." She was still looking at him uncertainly.
"I know that it might not mean much to you, Namura-san, after everything you've been through, but you have my word that I will never harm you. It is my duty to uphold the law." He stared her as he spoke, wanting her to see the truth to his statement. Honor was something neither of his families took lightly. Whether Hikari or Hiwatari, his lineage demanded it.
She bit her lower lip. "Okay."
Her apartment was bright. He hadn't expected that for some reason, her demeanor was so quiet and shy, he had assumed that her room would be tailored to match that. Her room spoke of a completely different kind of person altogether. It was bright and open, the walls were covered with beautifully rendered paintings of flowers, the shelves filled with books and statuettes. Fresh tulips livened several of the rooms and bright pillows were set against a plush couch.
"I'll – get you some things to make up the couch, Hiwatari-san." While she moved off down the adjoining hall, Satoshi stared at the paintings on the walls. They were beautiful renderings, well chosen to match the color scheme of the apartment. "Here you are." He turned and immediately took the handful of pillows and blankets from her hands and set them on the couch. "Thank you, sir." She fidgeted. "Would you like some dinner?"
She was shuffling her feet, unsure what protocol dictated. Satoshi felt a brief flash of nostalgia, a memory of how Niwa used to fidget when he was nervous suddenly blooming in the front of his mind. "That would be wonderful."
The next morning, after Hiwatari dropped her off at her job as a waitress, he drove to his own apartment to grab an overnight bag full of supplies. His own apartment was stark and bland, barely looking as if anyone lived there at all, let alone had lived there for years. He couldn't say he was too upset at getting to leave it for a few days.
After that, they settled into a routine. Hiwatari brought her to work and picked her up. If she had any errands, he brought her where she needed to go. After dusk, the remained in her apartment together. Satoshi worked on reports, Namura watched television. She was partial to documentaries and Hiwatari soon began to find the background noise soothing. One thing they soon found they had in common was a love of literature. Satoshi read biographies and historical narratives; she read fantasy and romance and mysteries. As they spoke to one another of favorite books and authors, traded well-read copies of their favorites, they both began to open up a little more.
Satoshi could see the girl she had maybe been before all of this happened. As the bruises faded, he could see what would make a man obsess over her for so many years, even at the risk of incarceration. She was beautiful. All soft cheeks and pale freckles, with a button nose and a pouting mouth. Every so often he would make a comment and get her to smile, to really smile, and it was bright and wide, crinkling the corners of her eyes and causing dimples to highlight her cheeks. It was enough to make you hate a man you'd never met for what he did to her.
"Hiwatari-san," He looked up when she paused, looking at her on the couch across from himself, chin resting atop the knees she had drawn up to her chest. "Do you think that people get what they deserve?"
For a moment, he honestly was speechless. He frowned. "You do not deserve this."
Her eyes flicked up to his and her mouth quirked upwards in a half smile. "Even if I haven't done anything in this life, I think that souls are something that are reborn again and again, don't you?" He didn't speak, not knowing how to state that he, more than anyone, probably knew the nature of those questions. Hadn't he asked himself time and time again if the Hikari (and Niwa) family curse wasn't a matter of reincarnation? Wondered if he and Daisuke were not playing out a role that had been set in place generations ago? "Maybe my soul deserves is."
"I cannot believe that." When she glanced away, he spoke more firmly. "You are a good person, Namura-san. And either myself, or one of my officers, will see that you get the protection you deserve."
A soft smile. "Do you believe in angels?" His already fair complexion hid the sudden paling of his skin. "You're like my guardian angel, Hiwatari-san."
Almost a month later, Satoshi was still watching Kira, much to his chagrin. This department was either chronically understaffed or they did not deal with crime in an expeditious manner. It was definitely something he would have to look into when all of this was through.
It certainly was a shame, he thought, as he pulled up in front of the restaurant to pick Namura up from work, that they couldn't simply arrest her ex for domestic violence, and instead had to wait for him to violate the conditions of his restraining order in full view of police.
Ten minutes later, Namura still wasn't out, so, after debating for a moment, Satoshi got out and walked inside. The girl who greeted him at the counter had the bright, bubbly smile only hospitality workers could affect – the one that didn't quite reach their eyes. "Hello, sir! How can I help you?"
"I'm looking for Namura-san," he said, flashing his badge, "I'm here to pick her up."
Her eyes widened at the site of his police credentials, but she frowned when he finished speaking. "Namura-san? She left, like an hour ago."
"Left? With whom?" Agitation. Concern.
"Um, I think she said it was her ex. He had some papers from the cops I think. He told her they were supposed to go down and fill out some stuff."
"I see, thank you," he was already spinning on his heel, pulling out his phone. Sliding into his car, he flicked on the sirens and peeled out, racing towards the address that belonged to Namura's ex that he had memorized weeks ago. Reaching the local precinct on his phone he put out an APB for both Kira and her potential kidnapper, and sent a detail by her house, just in case. He asked for a second detail to be sent to his location.
"Commissioner, we ask that you please wait until your backup arrives before trying to apprehend the perp –"
"Negative, there's no time for that." Snapping his phone closed and tossing it onto the passenger seat, he grabbed his gun from the glove box and headed in. Kira's boyfriend lived in a house on the outskirts of town, left to him by his parents when they had died. It meant there were no civilians to worry about, but it also meant Satoshi was on someone else's home turf, something that did not sit well with him.
Giving the doorknob a slow turn, quiet, controlled, he leaned around the corner, gun braced in front of him, eyes scanning the room. It wasn't a moment later he heard a loud crash, a terrified scream. Forgetting protocol, he followed the sound to stairs leading down to the basement and unerringly headed down them. At the foot of the stairs, he paused, feeling a rage so great it was almost divine course through him.
Kira was on her knees, being held up by her ex's knuckle-white grip on her hair as he yanked her around. Broken furniture was strewn about the room, thrown about in anger or in order to injure. He could already see the slow bloom of bruises forming around her throat. "Unhand her at once."
Both figures froze and turned to him. "And who the hell are you?"
He straightened. "I am Hiwatari Satoshi, Police Commissioner, and I order you to unhand that woman and escort me off the premises."
"Yeah, fat chance, nerd." He unceremoniously yanked Kira around by the hair and shoved her at Hiwatari.
In his scramble to avoid her further injury and keep her from falling, Satoshi felt his gun slip from his hands, heard it clatter between the slats in the stairs, and fall into the darkness underneath. "Damn," he muttered, even as he felt Kira pulled away from him, and her kidnapper launched himself at him, fists flying.
Satoshi was not a brawler, was not built for hand-to-hand combat, but he was angry. Angry that this happened under his watch. Angry that he broke his promise to her. Angry that this kept happening to her over and over again. Angry enough to find the strength to fight back. Glasses broke, clothes tore, fists met flesh. Finally Hiwatari managed to land a blow strong enough to send the attacker staggering backwards. With two thuds, he fell to first his knees, and then slumped to the floor. Satoshi stood over him, panting with exertion, hands still clenched into fists.
When he looked across the room, Kira had pulled herself to her feet and was staring at him wide-eyed. "Hiwatari-san… are you o- mmph!"
In three long strides he had stepped over the unconscious body between them, walked across the room and yanked her to him, slanting his mouth over hers without thinking. She stood slack in his hold and stumbled when he suddenly released her. "My apologies. I don't know what – "
It was his turn to be cut off with a kiss. Soft, hesitant, just the lightest touch of lips against his. But it was there. With a groan he sank into her, pulling her close, hands running across every piece he could reach, reassuring himself that she was whole, that she was uninjured. Her hands fluttered over his arms for one breathless moment, then settled on his shoulders, fingers clenching, against the skin left bare by his torn and ruined shirt, causing Satoshi's stomach to clench in a jagged combination of need and want. They slid down arms, then wrapped around him, sliding teasingly down his spine –
He heard a gasp and her lips pulled away. "Namura?" His voice was rugged, hesitant. He knew what she felt – great ragged scars that ran down his back, one down each shoulder blade, mementos from Krad from a lifetime ago, a memory of wings. He knew what she wanted. "Don't." But she was already twisting out of his hold to stand behind him.
There was a beat, two, of nothing but silence. Her whispered answer seemed loud in the quite room. "Angel."
At the feather-light touch of her fingertips against the scars again he spun to face her and her eyes shot to his face. They were wide, bright, shining with emotion. "Don't," he said again. "Those are from… a different life…"
"Yes, a different life…" She seemed dazed.
"Namura-san," he waited until she looked at him, "I am not an angel – I'm not – "
"But you are!" He bright-eyed gaze froze him in place, hands on his cheeks, hands slid down to shoulders, back down to his wing-scars. "You're my angel."
Satoshi stared at her, hearing sirens in the distance, knowing that this house was about to be littered with cops, and felt the part of himself that hadn't been allowed to feel for so long crack. Felt it like he had felt his soul crack when Krad had appeared in his life. But from this crack he felt light pour through – and in that light –
Joy.
Happiness.
Wholeness.
Love.