Gin, like many of his coworkers in his position of employment, wasn't particularly fond of dreaming. The subconscious liked messing with what you see and do, and so, it could have a field day with what Gin had seen in his lifetime. Usually, he got around it by not sleeping for as long as he could stand it; by the time he did crash, dreams weren't really a factor. An easy thing to do with such a hectic schedule.
But when that schedule becomes less hectic, and things kept piling up on top of his already interesting history…dreams became not only unavoidable but also extremely personal. Which just made the night even more stressful. Having pulled several all-nighters in a row, Gin's body was ready to quit on him. It was already half past midnight, and no matter how much he tried to focus, it was clear that he needed some sleep. Against his better judgement, he crawled into bed, adjusted his pillow, and after another half hour, fell soundly asleep…
Mist crawled throughout the forest, like long fingers, clawing onto anything they could reach. The ground was covered with a thick coat of vines and roots which wrapped up and around the trunks of the tall trees that blocked the sky. Their branches were gnarled, some of them twisted with one another. Their trunks, roots, and even their leaves were a stark pearly white. These woods were clearly ancient, not young and green. It looked like it stood for an extremely long time, and it would remain that way. It was unclear if there were any trails or paths in the forest, as the trees were in thick clumps, blocking the view in every direction.
The dream moved, as dreams often do, into a clearing. While it was still humid, foggy, and generally unpleasant, the clearing radiated a calm aura. This grass wasn't choked by vines and roots. Rather, it was soft, and a gentle breeze started to blow, sending a fresh scent in the thick air. It felt like one of the first days of spring, where everything is still fresh. Even to Gin, who wasn't a fan of nature, this place seemed to be comforting in its own way. A secretive place in nature, where, if one were to scream, no one would be able to hear it. One would think this would be the place to hide a murder if they were an amateur. This forest seemed to be alive. It would not like blood on it.
Just when things were starting to look okay, just when the nightmare feeling was easing off, a person appeared in the clearing. It was Vodka. To many, his only notable feature was that he was the partner of Gin. To Gin, Vodka meant something different. Something extremely different. This version of Vodka was dishevelled, a descriptor that seemed to be quite the understatement. His blistered hands were smeared with a combination of blood, sweat and dirt. Along with that, his clothes were torn almost to shreds, revealing torn skin and bruises. His face was gaunt, showing protruding bones, and his eyes, no longer covered by his trademark sunglasses, were bloodshot. When he spoke, it was in a low, raspy voice, like it hurt him to say the words. The words were lost in the wind as the forest slowly morphed into a black void.
Gin woke up with a gasp. Although he knew it was only a dream, he could have sworn Vodka's was still glaring at him. He clutched at his sheets and at his skin, both slightly damp from sweat, desperately trying to control his knowledge of reality. As his heart raced, and his head pounded, Gin sighed. This was beginning to be a constantly nightly routine; whenever he slept, he was being haunted, and it was getting old extremely quickly. If he couldn't get over Vodka's death soon, he stood the risk of having a complete mental (and maybe even physical) breakdown.
After flipping over his pillow, and after pushing all thoughts about the perils of his situation out his mind, Gin tried going back to sleep. It wasn't working. His skin was clammy, and chills kept going down his spine, making it impossible to feel at ease. Besides, the clock said it was already 5:23 AM. To him, that seemed to be a reasonable hour to wake up and start the day. But, before he could do anything, he needed a shower. To centre himself, to focus, and ultimately, to wash the nightmare off.
He put on a robe, an unneeded act of modesty before he slipped out of his room. In the dark, cold, and empty hallway, he stood there for a moment, listening. Listening to nothing. It was still uncomfortable to hear nothing but silence, even though it's been a week since Vodka's passing. The apartment seemed too large now for one person, though it felt too small for two not that long ago.
Gin placed his hand on the doorknob to the second bedroom and soon drew it back. It wasn't going to help. He had to move past this, make a new normal for himself. Vodka was gone, and he couldn't, wouldn't, and shouldn't come back. Gin dealt with death, in one way or another, every single day. He even lost previous partners to death before; he could trace that all the way back to his childhood if he wanted to, although he often did not. Somehow, things were different this time around. It's already been a week and a half already and he still found himself wrapped in a cloud of memories that should have been forgotten long ago.
He managed to avoid talking about it so far at work, but he could tell that the higher-ups were starting to get annoyed. They were always restless around him, and the situation wasn't one that could be dealt with easily. He dodged every request for a meeting so far, and he even managed to get out of a fair number of assignments. It was a temporary fix if it could be considered a fix at all. If he kept it up, he would drown in paperwork and might even become the next target for his coworkers. They were getting tired of picking up the slack; the few people that didn't hate him before we're going to start changing their minds soon. He had to do something. He had to do a lot of somethings. Right now he just needed to take a shower.
The rest of the apartment seemed to be full of memories and signs of Vodka. When he showered, however, Gin seemed to be at peace for once. After all, though they were close at times, they never found themselves showering together. As he began the lengthy process of washing his hair, Gin found himself relaxing, something that didn't happen often these days. The remaining effects of his nightmare seemed to melt away as the hot water burned into his skin. His muscles were starting to relax as he turned off the water to apply his conditioner.
As he waited for it soak through, his eyes wandered over to the plastic caddy that held an assortment of shower related products. Most of it was familiar, as it was his own, but one bottle was set apart from the rest. Even after picking it up, and studying it closer, it took Gin's senses a moment to recognize what it was. When he did, his grip loosened, sending the bottle to clatter against the slick tiled floor. It was Vodka's shampoo. They lived together for who knew how long, and it was now, just now, that Gin fully recognized it.
He didn't know why his emotions were changing so rapidly but it was evident that they were; first he wanted to launch that stupid bottle out of the nearest window, then he wanted to just crawl under his covers to stay there, and finally, his body told him to start crying. That was the last straw. Turning the water on again, Gin drenched himself with a flood of freezing water. The impact caused himself to stop everything he was feeling, as he hoped it was. As the conditioner started to wash out, down his skin and into his eyes, Gin sighed deeply. He couldn't handle any more of this.
Stepping out of the shower, Gin didn't feel anything in particular. A thankful void of all thought and emotion; this is what he wanted but still, something kept him from relishing it completely. He towelled his skin and hair before slipping into his robe again and started the tedious process of combing out his damp hair. As he studied it carefully in the mirror, looking for anything amiss, something started to happen. A memory. A memory of long ago, when he was dying his hair silver for the first time…with Vodka's help.
Gripping the sharp edge of the vanity, Gin forced himself to think about the pressure exerted onto his hand, the coldness of the surface, anything but the memory lingering in this space. When the feeling went away, Gin finished his business and left to get dressed. He turned on the hallway light. It was no longer the time to dwell in the darkness.
After slipping into his regular outfit and tying his still wet hair into a low ponytail, Gin gathered up his business materials. He would be going into the office in a few hours, and it would pay to do some reports before then. Something told him that he wasn't going to be able to avoid a meeting today if he went in and something else told him that he couldn't stay at the apartment without doing something drastic. He was getting extremely fed up with all of these somethings.
At the kitchen table, Gin got into a rhythm of filling out forms, assigning tasks, and managing those that remained under his command. When his stomach lightly growled in complaint a half hour, Gin didn't look up from his laptop's screen as he started to ask for coffee. This wouldn't have been out of place a while ago. It was now, as he sat alone, in a large and silent apartment.
He made the coffee himself.
When he set off for work at seven, he was alone. Similarly, he was alone on the drive over. The deafening silence was quickly replaced by the din of people going about their usual morning illegal activity when he stepped into his place of business.
Sometimes it seemed like four or six people worked here. Sometimes it felt like the whole damn population of Japan was crammed in this building. This morning, it was somewhere in the middle, but leaning towards the latter. As he started for his office, something small collided with his knees. Once he caught his balance, Gin glanced down…at a small chrome robot.
"Sorry about that," A flustered scientist apologized as he rushed over. "Moonshine isn't exactly ready for the field just yet. Or, uh, the lobby I guess."
"Moonshine?"
"Yeah, 'cause he's homemade."
Gin lifted an eyebrow, but made no other response, and instead turned to leave. A plan that was interrupted by Moonshine's harsh electronic beeping.
"Oh hush," The scientist scolded as he lifted the robot up to power it down. "We're working on a robotic messaging system."
"What does this have to do with me, exactly?" Gin asked, feeling strangely interested in all of this robotic nonsense.
"Oh, Moonshine had a message for you. Apparently, Snakebite wants to see you right away. Something to do with Vo-"
Not wanting to hear the end of that sentence, Gin turned on his heel and started towards Snakebite's office, leaving the scientist and Moonshine behind without a word of goodbye. He wasn't a fan of goodbyes, especially not at the moment.
Snakebite's office did not reflect his status in the organization, in its secluded and isolated location, but it did reflect his personality. Gin didn't like knowing much about anyone, but he usually found something to learn about his co-workers; in Snakebite's case, the man liked having snakes in his office, was in charge of managing several departments, was close with the thief Champagne, and was only twenty-nine. Not a lot of facts, but then again, they didn't exactly have much time for casual conversation in their relationship.
Gin knocked, and after hearing a muffled reply, opened the door, spilling the light of the hallway into the dim office. Snakebite was behind his desk, signing some papers while also drinking what appeared to be a cup of tea. "Have a seat," He offered, not looking up from his pages. "This shouldn't take long, I'll be ready in a moment."
While he bristled at the offhandedness of it all, Gin did as instructed. There was something about Snakebite that let him get away with a lot of things, things that others couldn't. That's the most likely reason for his success. He stared at the man, just for something to do. Snakebite wasn't particularly threatening looking; he seemed to like colourful button-up shirts with expensive looking vests. Although Gin never carried much for fashion, he recognized that it certainly set off Snakebite's dark brown skin quite nicely, and completed a polished appearance. His rich, dark hair brushed his shoulders, and often got tied back; this morning, however, it hung loose, hugging his necks with loose tendrils. The sudden and sharp noise of a pen being clicked back brought Gin out of his observations.
"So," Snakebite said, pushing a lock of hair behind his ear as he set the papers aside into a folder. "Vodka's dead."
In an effort to conceal his surprise at the boldness of this statement, Gin simply nodded. "He is. What does it mean to you?"
"For one thing, there's the case you could have been seen by…the outside party. I'm supposed to tell you to consider changing your appearance, to curtail any investigation." Snakebite paused to take a drink of his tea. "As well, I have to know whether or not you want to submit a request for a new partner. There's paperwork either way, and that should be done as soon as it can be."
"How long do I have for that?"
"In theory, as long as you need. In reality, before the end of the month, or else there's going to be trouble. Do you have any questions?"
Gin had been doing a lot of thinking, thinking that he did not want to do. Amidst all that thinking, there rose questions. Only one of which seemed to be appropriate at the moment. "What will happen to his body?" Gin asked, gripping the fabric of his coat to steady his hands. "Is there any chance of retrieval?"
For the first time in the meeting, Snakebite looked as though he didn't know exactly what to say to that. And that was the most telling answer he could have given. Before he could go on to weave some sort of lie, Gin stood to go. "It doesn't matter," He said, cutting off any possible response on Snakebite's part. "I have work to do."
"Of course. Come in when you have your response for me."
Gin's hand curled around the doorknob, and with a twist, he released himself into the hallway. With the firm click of the door behind him, he felt as though he could breathe again. He didn't want to give himself time to go over the events of the meeting, so he made sure to get to his office quickly.
It wasn't truly his office, as it was meant to be a shared space, but it usually came pretty close, given that not a lot of people wanted to work beside him. Vermouth showed up there sometimes, the sniper trio too, ever so often, but this morning, it was empty. Vermouth hadn't been around since Vodka's death, and the trio had extra work to do, thanks to his absence in the field.
Sitting at his desk, Gin began the work he started earlier the morning. Aside from a few short breaks for food and related purposes, he worked steadily throughout the day. A few came by to pick up a file or to check out a piece of information, but none spoke to him or even acknowledged his presence. Usually, he would have thought it was because of his commanding presence. In this case, he knew it was only out of pity.
Later, in the early hours of the evening, his phone buzzed to inform him of a message. To his surprise, Vermouth texted him, although not directly. He and a number of others were invited to, in Vermouth's words 'a memorial for Vodka while we all get drunk'. Far from her usual wording, but, still seemed to be accurate in the expectations for the night. He set his phone down, not even bothering to text his rejection of the invitation. A minute later, it buzzed again. This time, Vermouth was texting him directly…and also threatening him directly. Knowing from past experiences that it was better not to argue and just go for an hour or two, he texted back his approval. She didn't say anything in response.
The location of the 'memorial', although unfamiliar in location, had about the same interior that Gin expected. Inside, the lights were dim, the air was thick with a fog of cigarette smoke and the scent of various alcohols was almost overwhelming. Some sort of music was playing quietly. A bar took up the left half of the main room; on the other side, a long table was dressed with various drinks in front of hastily scrawled nametags. The bartender looked vaguely familiar, maybe a former agent of some kind. People, some of whom Gin recognized and some he couldn't remember, were scattered throughout the room. Some were at the bar, others were already seated at the table, and still, others were in the back corner of the room, casually playing darts, cards, and pool together.
As he took in the scene, Gin felt someone sharply poking him in the back. Spinning around, he saw that the sniper trio were back from their assignments. And none of them looked all that happy to see him just then.
"Oh, so you can show up for a party, but not, y'know, work?" Chianti all but spat, adjusting the rifle case on her shoulder. She was wearing shorts for once, revealing her legs; her multiple tattoos seemed to swim almost, in the smokiness of the atmosphere.
Just as it seemed clear that Chianti was about to get physical, one of her boyfriends grabbed her by the wrist to pull her back. Once the man came into clearer focus, it became apparent that it was Calvados. "Step back on this one, Chi, let me take him." He said, removing his sunglasses to reveal a stern glare in his eye. "What the hell kind of game are you playing, you sick son of a-"
This time it was the third partner that stepped into the fray. Korn pulled both his partners back into a harshly whispered conversation. Gin could have left during that, but he got the expression that he was meant to stay. Soon enough, Calvados turned towards him again.
"Sorry about that," He sighed, rubbing his eyes. "It's...just been a couple of long days for us."
"I can understand that," Gin replied, choosing his words carefully.
Calvados made eye contact. He radiated the world-weariness that all of them experienced daily as he spoke. "I just hope that things can be alright."
His words were sincere, so far as they could be considered as such. The look in his eyes still had a bite of fire to them, like if Gin did the wrong thing, his forced politeness could vanish in an instant. The tense moment was interrupted, as it usually was, by Chianti.
"Right, great, all is dandy, can we go drink now?" Impatiently, she grabbed the hands of her lovers and pushed past Gin to get to their assigned spots on the table.
Gin, after taking a moment to collect himself and to hang up his coat, followed behind them. His spot was at one of the ends of the table. Vermouth herself was seated across from him but was too busy making conversation with the man beside her to acknowledge him. The empty spot to his left was marked Martini- the sharp accountant Gin himself helped to recruit; the one beside that was occupied by Champagne- the notorious thief. Apparently, according to the rumours around the office, the pair recently became a couple. The match seemed to be an unlikely one, but Gin didn't know too much about dating. He didn't want to.
After a couple more minutes, giving everyone a chance to settle in and find their places, Vermouth stood up to address the assembled crowd. "Thank you for coming," Her rich voice held captive her audience. It often had such an effect. "As you know, Vodka died recently, so you can finally settle your betting pools now."
A wave of uneasy laughter rippled through the crowd, and Gin couldn't help but notice a few bills being exchanged. Smiling at the scene, Vermouth continued speaking, "So, to honour that idiot we all put up with in one way or another, let's drink together."
Wordlessly, everyone held up the glass that was placed in front of their place card. Normally they wouldn't drink something they didn't inspect themselves but this seemed to be a time to forgo their normal cautions. Like everyone at the table, Gin held up his glass, which appeared to hold a gin and tonic. Fitting.
Just as Vermouth was about to give her final toast, the door to the bar banged open. "Sorry I'm late," Martini smoothly apologized, lightly twisting raindrops from her braids. Apparently, the weather took a turn. And apparently, she wasn't easily embarrassed- a far cry from when she was first introduced.
When she took her place at the table, Vermouth began to speak again. "Please join me in a drink, of our namesakes, as we remember Vodka and what he meant to us. To Vodka!"
"To Vodka!" Everyone, after echoing her sentiment, took a long sip of whatever beverage they were named for. Those gathered were truly, the elite of the organization. And many of them didn't seem to have taste for what they were named for, based on the swears heard around the table.
After the initial toast, everyone seemed to relax in their own ways. Korn convinced his partners to start a game of pool; Champagne pulled Martini toward the dartboard, where a number of their thieving partners were starting a round; and Vermouth turned her attention to Gin. They were now alone on their end of the table.
"So," Vermouth began, taking a sip of her drink, prompting Gin to do the same. "What have you been up to? The higher-ups were getting pretty restless, last I heard."
"Get fresher information. I talked with Snakebite this morning. Speaking of, shouldn't he be here as well?"
"If I invited him, no one else would want to show up."
"Fair enough," Gin said, taking another drink. The bitter taste stung his tongue, but it gave him something to do with his hands.
Vermouth opened her mouth to speak, but the man from before came from behind to mummer something in her ear. Gin gave a wave of his hand as a sign for her to leave. The man helped her up and slipping his hands around her, before leaning in for a kiss. Gin averted his eyes merely due to reflex. By the time he looked up again, they were both at the bar, laughing together. He decided to turn his attention elsewhere. His eyes landed on Champagne, who appeared to be cheering on Martini on a game of darts.
Two of her three darts landed in average positions, and one of Champagne's thieves came by and put his arms around his waist. "You see, you gotta shift your weight like this…" He started to twist her towards him before she wrenched herself from his grasp with a glare. She and Champagne shared a look; when she shook her head, Champagne stepped back. After a moment to gather to herself, she threw her final dart. It happened to land in the ring outside of the bulls-eye. Then, she nodded her head towards her lover.
Quick as a flash, Champagne grabbed the man who touched her and proceeded to shove him up against the wall. "Listen here," They sneered, playing the part their position required. "If she wanted your advice, she would have asked for it. Do something like that again, and you're not gonna even live to regret it. Got it?" Without waiting for a response, Champagne flung the man to the floor, before returning to Martini.
"Nice shot, babe," Champagne grinned as she nuzzled against their shoulder. "I bet you could take just about anyone's job here with your aim."
"Mm, yeah, but who would manage your paycheck?"
"Oh. Oh yeah, you should probably be an accountant then, stick to what you know."
Laughing, she kissed Champagne's kiss, her smile expressing her clear joy. "Thanks. For being you back there."
"Not a problem," Champagne smiled back, taking Martini's hands in their own. The song shifted then, to something more upbeat, and their eyes lit up. "Oh, we have to dance to this one."
"You read my mind just now," With a laugh as Champagne delicately spun her, Martini leaned into the moment, and they started to dance. On the surface, taken out of context, they would have seemed like an average couple, having a dance together in a bar. The context made the moment all the more special.
They were happy together, despite their differences, or maybe even because of them. A couple that could trust each other so strongly and with such affection was a considerable rarity in their business; it was what made Chianti, Korn, and Calvados so interesting. Well, one of the reasons anyway. Gin watched as Martini smiled up at her lover, clearly feeling safe in their embrace. A pang of remorse hit Gin's heart then containing not exactly a memory per se, but rather, a strong sense that things could have been different for him…
The night wore down; Gin finished his drink but didn't ask for another. He would have to drive home soon. Several people braved the distance to talk with him, but their conversations weren't of any importance to him. Soon, a large portion of the guests took their leaves. Champagne and Martini stopped dancing, and after gathering their things, walked out hand in hand. The thieves sulked out long ago, and while a few others remained gathered by the bar, Gin couldn't recognize their faces let alone their names. Soon, Vermouth's latest toy left, prompting her to continue her conversation with Gin.
"So," She repeated her opening line, as she swirled a new wine around a delicate glass. "I guess three isn't a lucky number for you, huh?"
"What are you trying to say?" Gin asked steely, knowing full while she wasn't hinting at anything good. That wasn't her style.
She took a long drink, setting her glass down, before looking at Gin with scorn in her eyes. "I mean, first there was me. We didn't last long together in any sense of the term. Secondly, there was Brandy…who turned out to be yet another FBI rat. Thirdly…Vodka. I thought that one would stick for sure, but here we are. Shame he died in front of you, isn't it? No one else to take the blame…pity."
If Gin was drunker, if he was younger, if he was even a bit angrier, he would have slapped Vermouth then. Maybe even do something more drastic. But he wasn't. He was tired of it all. He merely stood. "I have to go." He said stiffly. "It could have been worse."
He wasn't just referring to the party with those final words.
Once he returned home, the rain still spilling from thick clouds, Gin realized he hadn't eaten much of anything that day. And he knew he lacked the patience and skill to cook something meaningful. As he searched through the various cupboards, while the coffee brewed, he found a strange mark on the door of one. Tracing the scar in the wood with his fingers, he identified it as an old stab mark, one that was made long ago. He knew where it came from, the exact condition of its making, and most importantly, he knew that Vodka had been the one to make it. Inside the cupboard, he found a slightly old but still edible cup of ramen. It wasn't much, but it would do.
Within minutes, he was in the armchair by the window, drinking coffee as the rain poured down the window panes. It wasn't exactly peaceful, given his present condition and mood, but it came close to being so. His noodles were warm and relatively tasty, the coffee was better than the cup he had in the morning, and best of all, the day was almost, finally, over.
The fragile peace of the scene shattered as his phone started to ring. "It's me," He answered, mouth still full of the last bites of his dinner. He rarely said hello these days.
"It's me," The voice on the other line echoed. Vermouth. "Look, I'm sorry for before. You know, I wasn't trying to say that you couldn't keep a partner for yourself. I was just…reflecting on the past history you had. Seems like there's really something to be addressed there."
"Why do I even need a partner in the first place? And why do you think it's your business to even talk about this with me?"
Ignoring the second question in favour of the first, Vermouth answered. "I still remember what happened to you, after me, and before Brandy. You were an absolute wreck, Gin, it was a nightmare for everyone that knew you. You see, you're the type of person that needs someone with you, and you're also the type of person that can't handle a partn-"
Gin hung up on her then. He didn't need someone to tell him what he already told himself, time and time again. Against everything he was taught, he turned off his phone and returned to his coffee. He sat there for what seemed to be half an hour at most, but in reality, when he snapped out of his reflective state, it already turned quarter past eleven. Wearily, he organized the things he would need for tomorrow, and tried to make the place a bit more presentable. Soon, he found himself collapsed in his bed, eyes heavy, heart beating steadily, as he entered into another troublesome dream…
This was a realistic dream, he soon came to notice. This was a replication of what happened not too long ago; the death of Vodka. He had to watch, yet again, the root of all of his latest issues.
It started out just like any other mission. They were stationed in an old warehouse across the street from a narrow alley, a dirty sidewalk, and a small convenience store. Gin had already set up his rifle, and there wasn't anything to do but wait for the target.
After a while, Vodka stood up and dusted himself off. "I need a smoke. I'll be quick." He said, glancing over at his partner. Gin didn't bother to look back.
Next thing Gin knew, Vodka was out of the store, about to light up. Everything seemed to be okay. And that's when the cops showed up. Gin still didn't know why there were there. Maybe it was a regular patrol. Maybe they got a tip about the target. Whatever the case, they did not take a liking to Vodka. They pushed him into the alley, in perfect range of Gin's scope. The situation seemed to be hopeless; they couldn't take all of these cops by themselves and it was far too late to call for backup at this point.
Gin levelled his rifle. He knew he might have to do this someday and someday turned out to be now. Before he could take the final shot, Vodka took out from his coat, his own gun. Much to Gin's surprise, Vodka seemed to take a deep breath, looking as calm as ever. Tilting his head up towards where his partner was watching, Vodka spoke, clearly, his last words, which appeared to be in English; No Regrets. With that, Vodka did what Gin was prepared to do.
The next minutes were a flurry of motion; the cops outside swarmed the body, Gin quickly pulled his equipment out of view in case someone looked up. After a hurried conversation with headquarters, he pressed himself against the wall, waiting the situation out, heart beginning to race.
Then, the dream moved back into the mysterious forest clearing. In the clearing this night, the ground gaped open to reveal a massive crater of a pit. The dirt at the edge moved to reveal a single hand, clawing to get up, stained with both dried and fresh blood. When the dirt gave way to mere air, the hand fell into the pit, and with it, a horrified screech pierced the air.
Like the night before, Gin woke up in a sweat. Unlike the night before, he now was shaking. He shook with tremors that he couldn't control or stop, and his thoughts were a spiral of chaos. This was unlike anything he had experienced…apart from his first kill.
Forcing himself to forget, for the time being at least, what started his career as a killer, Gin tore the bed sheets from his clammy skin. He wasn't going to be able to sleep again that night. Taking a glance at the clock on the desk across the room, he saw that it was 5:34. Again, he thought it was an appropriate time to get up. This time he couldn't be bothered to take a shower, and instead put on one of his last sets of clean clothes.
After relieving himself, Gin found himself staring into reflection once again. This time, the advice of Snakebite echoed in his mind. "What can I do to be less recognizable…" He muttered to himself. The obvious choice was his hair. But he knew he couldn't dye it again, not on top of his current colour, it would be too risky. So, he decided to cut it. A simple but effective solution. It would work. That's all that mattered.
Going back into his bedroom, turning on the hallway light as he went, he tied his hair into a low ponytail and grabbed the scissors from his desk drawer. Settling his nerves, he opened the blades, placed them in position, and closed them sharply. The result was…underwhelming. Either his hair was too thick, or the scissors were too cheap, but no matter the reason, a new course of action had to be taken. Refusing to give up, Gin slammed the scissors down, and once in the kitchen, grabbed a sharp knife. Without a second thought, he began to saw away at his ponytail. In what seemed to be both no time at all, and a lifetime, he was holding a significant portion of his hair in his hands. He studied it in the low light for a while, before he threw it out.
He returned to the bathroom, where he combed out the remainder of his trademark. It fell, quite raggedly down to just below his collarbone. Still enough to tie back if he wanted to, thankfully. As he exited the bathroom once again and leaned against the doorframe, he felt overcome. There were memories in this apartment. Memories of the times he spent together with Vodka, of a range of emotions. He had been trying to deny them, to move past them, to believe that he could live here with someone else. It hadn't worked out.
It was time for him to leave the past behind.
This was a night of impulses, he acknowledged that, as he entered his bedroom with both an emotional and physical weight off his back. Impulses had a habit of ending in disaster, that was true enough, but they also made things go a whole lot quite. He pulled his suitcase out from its spot in the corner, opened it on the floor, and proceeded to start packing. He needed to get ready to move. As soon as he could.
The majority of what was in the room stayed there. He only needed his limited wardrobe, a few of his toiletries and their small weapons cache hidden in the closet. Once everything found its place, neatly folded in the suitcase's various pockets, he started to zip it up, before he remembered the room across the hall. He didn't have to go into Vodka's room, he could easily just leave it for the people that would clear out the apartment. Still, a thought persuaded him just to see what exactly Vodka kept. This latest impulse found him across the hall, hand on the doorknob. After a moment, he turned it, opening the room which had been closed for a good while.
He flipped on the light, removing the dusky darkness from the room, along with its secrets. The room closely resembled his own, with a couple key differences. It was a good portion smaller than his own; there was a large green rug on the floor which Gin didn't recognize; it didn't have a desk; there was a full-length mirror against the wall by the wardrobe; and the bedside table's only drawer had a keyhole in it. The other differences paled in comparison to the last one. "If I had something to hide, it wouldn't be there," He reflected, tracing the keyhole with a finger. "Which means Vodka must have kept something in there."
Gin felt under the table and behind it, but couldn't seem to find the key. Using deduction, he realized it had to be around the bed. It wouldn't make sense to hide a key so far from its lock, especially if the key was used often. Gently, he sat on the neatly made bed, wincing as it creaked. After lifting up the pillow, he saw that his line of reasoning was correct; a small brass coloured key was nestled under it.
Without standing on ceremony, Gin unlocked the drawer, shifted through its contents, and displayed them on the bed. He stared at them. A box of spare ammunition. A bundle of money. A carton of cigarettes. A lighter. And an old, cheap looking, leather watch. Picking up the last item to study it closer, Gin's cloud of confusion vanished as he remembered what it was and where he had seen it last. Unlike before, Gin, this time, allowed himself to fall into memory.
At this point in time, they were partners, him and Vodka. Vodka's trial period at the organization was successful and was made to be Gin's partner. Although he wasn't as scrappy unlike when they first met, Vodka hadn't yet begun to see Gin as someone to be feared, respected, and worshipped. He still expressed his thoughts openly.
They had just finished moving into their apartment, the one they would end up living in for the rest of their partnership. As they were sitting together at the table in the kitchen amongst the various boxes, having a cup of coffee, Gin asked Vodka for the time.
"Twenty past two," He reported after checking the watch on his right wrist. "I think."
"You…think?"
"Well, it isn't exactly the best watch, you see."
Taking his phone out of his pocket, Gin double checked the time. "It's half one."
"Thanks." Vodka adjusted the time on his watch, and that was the end of their conversation for the moment.
Gin thought nothing of it, but, a few days later he was walking alone, and found himself drawn towards a small but tasteful watch store. He spent an awkward five minutes looking at the dazzling displays inside before the clerk offered her assistance in the matter. Acting under her advice, Gin proceeded to choose a watch. According to her, the silver commanded a certain presence, whatever that meant. He just cared whether or not it told the correct time.
He forgot about the watch until he and Vodka came in after a long mission. Wordlessly, he handed Vodka the small box it came in.
"Oh! Is this for me?" He asked, not hiding his clear surprise at the gift. "Thank you."
Vodka took off his current watch, and began to put the new one on the same wrist, but was interrupted by Gin's hand closing around his wrist.
"You're right-handed," Gin explained, as he slipped the watch off and started to put it on the left wrist."It has to go on your non-dominant hand, so it doesn't get in the way. It has to be tighter too, given the situations we get ourselves into. My appointments require an extremely accurate sense of time should make sure you take care of this one." With that he finished putting the watch on, and dropped his hands, turning away to leave.
As he reflected on this moment, still holding that old leather watch in his hands, Gin came to realize that moment may have started something. Something to do with Vodka's emotions towards him. But that was a something not to be debated right now, not in this place, not at this time.
Moving on with his business, he placed the watch back in its resting place, locked the drawer, and put the key back. The lighter and the cigarettes could come with him, in a pocket of his coat. The ammunition would go with the rest of the weapons in the suitcase. With nothing else keeping him here, Gin left the room, for the last time, and firmly closed the door behind him.
A couple minutes later, he stood by the door to the apartment, his coat on, his suitcase beside him. This was it, he realized, looking around. He could see the memories of the past years displayed as he remembered the various adventures that happened here. He knew that Vodka also had many memories here. This is where they became true partners. They had dealt with an awful lot of shifts in their power balance and their relationship as a whole. It would be one of Gin's regrets that they would never figure out exactly what they meant to each other.
With these thoughts plaguing his mind, Gin opened the door and began his journey. He would go to the office first and foremost, arrange both for someone to take of the apartment and for a place to stay before he found another place. Before he set about fulfilling these arrangements, he had something else to do first. And that something took him to the door of Snakebite's office.
Once again, the man was bent over some important documents. Once again, his tone was that of efficient directness. "So, do you want another partner or not?" He asked, holding two different folders of paperwork.
"I don't," Gin said, still standing by the door. "I'm going to need a new place."
"Actually, there's an assignment that might be the right thing for you at the moment," Snakebite didn't look up as he flipped open one of the folders and scanned the contents. "Starts in two weeks, an extended assignment in Marseille, France."
"I thought Vermouth was assigned to that."
"She failed her language test. I would have to get you to take one, but if you pass, the assignment's yours. You in or out?"
"In."
"I'll get someone to you to sort things out," He glanced up for a moment, and his eyes widened. "Well. You certainly did change your appearance. Looks good."
Gin didn't bother with a thank you, or a goodbye, and instead slipped out the door, and headed for his office. Along the way, he spotted Vermouth, leaning against the wall, looking at something in her hand. He would have just passed her by, but she reached out and grabbed his arm. A tense silence hung between them, as she revealed what she held. A familiar silver watch.
"How did you get this?" He demanded, snatching it from her grip, carefully putting in a pocket.
"I got myself assigned to frisk his corpse. I had to turn in his phone and his appointment book, but I snagged that…for myself." She looked at him, right in the eye. "I wasn't going to give it to you."
He caught the urge to ask her why, and was about to, but then he looked at her closely. She, Vermouth the mistress of disguise, had a poor complexion. A clear sign that she hadn't been sleeping well and that she couldn't be bothered to cover up the traces. It hit him; she was affected by Vodka's death, just like was.
Her arms crossed, she rolled her eyes. "Figured it out yet?" She snarled, a light pink covering her cheeks. "I may not have been as attached to him as you were, but I still had a relationship with him. All those nights he wasn't with you, chances are he was with me. We became drinking partners…and friends. It took a while."
"When did it start?"
"The night after your assignment at the Unlong. He came to me. Needless to say, he had some words to say to me about the events of that night. And so, we drank, and we talked. Later, it turned out we liked each other's company."
The silence that enveloped them after her confession wasn't an uncomfortable one. Instead, it resembled one of understanding. As the climax to the moment, Vermouth closed the distance between them, both physically and emotionally, by grabbing Gin into a tight hug. He, after a second of shock, hugged her back in turn. They could have stood there for longer, but they both heard a door open at an end of the hallway. Breaking apart, they each walked in a different direction. Their moment of unity together had served its purpose.
Gin found himself in his office for the rest of the day, much like the day before. The only irregularity came much later, at eleven in the evening. He got a request for a rush job. And this time, he didn't refuse it. As a consequence, it was half past one by the time he got to the hotel he would be staying in. His language test was a success, and therefore, in two weeks, he would be going to France. For the time being, he simply collapsed into bed and found himself falling asleep quickly.
Gin got the impression this would be the last time he would see the forest. He would turn out to be correct. The trees were just as tall and foreboding as before, but in this dream, rain poured down, hitting the leaves with a soothing rhythm. The trees parted, to show the clearing. Here, there was no monstrous figure, no chasm, but rather, a simple park bench. A bench Vodka was sitting on.
He looked better than before, wearing a t-shirt and jeans, not seeming to care about the rain as he smoked a cigarette. (Gin didn't question how that cigarette was lit. It was dream rain, not actual rain after all.) Vodka slung an arm around the back of the bench and smiled up at the rain. He turned his face forward, before he spoke, his true last words, and like before there were in English.
"Don't forget."
Gin woke up, not with sweat or tremors, but rather with a sense of sincerity, and of peace. He looked at the clock. It was half-past seven. After he dressed, he began to leave the room, before he spotted Vodka's watch on the dresser. He forgot leaving it there. Something compelled him to put it on his wrist. Touching the face of it gently, he responded to Vodka's final words. "I won't."