The Spaces Between
It's when he's watching them load up that it hits him—he could die. Actually, there's a pretty nice chance he could, and the thought makes his knees itch, toes curl.
I just wanted to take pictures, Okamura thinks, and fiddles with the box of cigarettes in his pocket, more out of nerves than craving, And here I am, blowing up a satellite. And about to die.
It kind of throws everything into perspective.
When he looks back Mao grins at him, almost violently, and he breaks rank because he's from a family that'll go to war, but they don't do it as soldiers. He's got the strap up and off his neck before he knows it, is shoving the lens into her hands before he's realized what's happening.
It's his father's camera, and he doesn't have anyone else to give it to. He doesn't want anyone else to have it.
"A memento? Can I sell it?" Mao asks like the stubborn girl she is, smirking and teasing and god, sometimes he'd wish she'd just shut up. It's the same kinda way he wishes he'd quit smoking, hopelessly, because he's too infatuated to quit.
And damn it, but he tries. "Just hold onto it until I get back. Keep it safe."
He stares at her long and hard because that's what's supposed to happen, and because this might be the last time he'll ever see her, and it's weird but everything's quiet when she isn't there, and he's gotten used to the noise.
If she were older, she might cry.
What's a camera gonna do for her? Okamura bites down on the inside of his cheek, You selfish bastard. What's she gonna do? She's an eighteen year old drop out on the inner circle of a hybrid extermination unit—and you give her a camera.
Mao scrunches up her nose, fingering the strap, and eyes him like he's being a particularly slow child, but she stares him back down. Her eyes are utterly clear of any fear. It's almost enough to make him believe.
"Yeah, yeah, I got it," she dismisses, and slings the thing over her shoulder carelessly, arching a brow, "Hurry up."
Okamura slouches back into the car because he's suddenly realized exactly what he just did. When David and Kai slide in back after him, he avoids their eyes for as long as he can.
David's face is a subtle mess of confused responsibility, like he's not sure if he should be playing the anxious, violent father, or warn Okamura away from impending disaster.
When the car pulls out, he looks back over his shoulder to the tiny crowd on the steps. Mao catches his eye and waves cheerfully. Bemused, he raises a hand and quirks a half-grin of his own, then turns away. Just as they round the corner, he glances back again, watching her grin slip.
He spends the rest of the car ride staring moodily out the window, arms crossed and fingers tapping, lower lip worried. He wonders what she'd do if he really did die.
He tries to imagine her older, holding hands with someone who isn't a decade her senior, taking pictures of the world and smiles and children and—
She'd probably sell it, Okamura decides, and snorts.
(He really wants a cigarette.)
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A/N: I saw episode 47. Come on, it is so obvious.