Chapter 2
"No jogging today?"
Ichigo had, once again, wandered over to the artist. His fluffy tail beat against the grass as he was treated to a vigorous rubbing, ears flat against his skull in lazy content.
"My leg isn't fully healed yet, unfortunately."
"Hmm. It was a rough fall."
"Yeah…"
Neither spoke, unsure of where to take the conversation from there. Ichigo was left to roll in the grass, the artist setting up her easel with a whistle and smile that held any awkwardness at bay.
"You're starting a new painting?" The officer couldn't stop herself from noting the blank canvas, for lack of better topics.
The artist shrugged and gave her a sheepish grin, rubbing the back of her neck with some embarrassment. "I'm not actually painting this park, just whatever comes to mind."
"Huh." She wondered why the artist would come all the way out here for that, instead of staying home. The question was at the tip of her tongue, but, "That's interesting," was what came out instead.
It must have been the right thing to say, because the woman's grin became slightly brighter, her eyes lighter, and back a little straighter, at her declaration. She felt her own lips form a smile.
"Do you mind if we watch?"
"Not at all! Not at all."
~X~
"Having fun with anger management, Someya?"
Tanuki, whose real name was never used, smacked her shoulder with a laugh. Her hand twitched in an effort to keep herself from responding with a punch.
"...I got a free stress ball."
And that was literally the only good thing that had come of her forced classes. Judging from the snorts of others in the area, she wasn't alone in doubting the effectiveness of having to sit and listen to a therapist tell her why she was angry. The sessions tended to have the opposite effect on her, even. The condescending attitude of the woman set her on edge as everything from daddy issues to a need to prove herself to the men were offered as explanation for her tendency to make people cry in shame and fear.
The day that the therapist had suggested sex, she had promptly walked out. Scolding be damned, she did not get paid enough for this bullshit.
"Just sit there and nod every so often. They take silence as agreement. Gets you outta there faster. Throw in the occasional, "never thought of that." Makes them feel like their degree was actually worth something."
"Our records read like a damn psych book though, let me tell ya."
"They come up with new reasons every time you get sent in, I swear."
"What the hell is this? Storytime?! Get back to work!" The chief scowled at them from his office entrance.
"And Someya? Just finish the goddamn sessions. I hate that woman, but she's who we're stuck with, got it? My advice? Get yourself a hobby like the rest of us."
"Get yourself a ball of yarn and knit like a proper woman."
"Knitting is useful, you chauvinist pig."
"Pfft. And you wonder why the last therapist claimed you were gay, Kataoka."
Tuning out the argument, she wondered if watching an artist paint could be counted as a hobby.
~X~
She sat on the park bench, staring off into space. Winter was rolling on in with a vengeance this year, and it was cold, too cold to be safe outdoors, but she didn't feel like moving. Another long shift. Another sleepless day. She needed the peace, needed the solitude that the empty park offered.
The slow, white puffs of her breathing were almost invisible in the cloudy morning. Ichigo whined from his spot next to her on the bench. He was restless and confused. She blinked. Birds were rustling nearby, but there was no sign of any other human.
The artist hadn't shown up, for the fourth time this week. After three weeks of near daily interaction, she was allowed to be disappointed, right?
"...Let's go, boy."
~X~
"He can't get a scent."
"Useless animal. That's what happens when they let rookies play around. Why don't you go back home to your mommy, little girl, and play with your dolls? This isn't a damned game, and we don't have time to sit around watching you fail!"
Kataoka snarled at the detective. "Shut your damned mouth, you arrogant bastard. If you hadn't let the media stomp all over this place before we could get here, there wouldn't be a problem! But no, your incompetent ass just had to go ruin the entire goddamn crime scene! I don't know how you even passed the academy, but you are done with this case!"
Yukari let Kataoka tear into the guy, jaw clenched tightly and muscles tense in an effort to keep herself from punching the detective who had the gall to scold her for his idiocy.
Her canine partner sat at her side, ears lowered with the weight of his failure. She pet him comfortingly. It wasn't his fault, after all, no matter how the others had glared at her until Kataoka had stepped in.
~X~
Ichigo barked, slowing his jog by a few beats. She followed suit, instantly spotting what had attracted his attention.
"We're only halfway through."
His tongue lolled as he panted at her, clearly not understanding her point.
"...Fine."
She slowed to a walk, letting her partner outpace her a few steps. The artist, having only just put her bag down, happily greeted the dog with a scratch behind the ear.
"You didn't have to stop for me," she said with a smile.
Was she ever not smiling?
"He insisted." It had been two weeks since the last time they had seen her, and the dog was pleased to see his partially adopted human.
The artist laughed, scratching Ichigo with fervor. His tail thumped against the ground heavily, and his excitement was rewarded with a peanut butter treat. She had half a mind to protest the treat, but it was only one, and she wasn't sure she could say "no" to the artist herself.
She sighed, but sat next to the still nameless woman and examined the current work. The art seemed to change every day, as did the medium. Today, it was charcoal. She rather enjoyed watching the artist at work. Observing every stroke of her brush, pencil, or hand was far more therapeutic than anger management sessions, the memory of those alone inciting leftover irritation.
They had helped improve her behavior, at least. If only because she was determined to avoid a repeat of the punishment.
A small mug was held out to her.
"Uh, thanks."
She held it close to her face, the scent of hot chocolate wafting from the small opening. It was with caution that she took a small sip, unsure of the temperature. It was hot, but not unbearably so, warming her throat and stomach when she took a full drink.
Ichigo dozed off with his head resting on the artist's leg, content with his simple life after gulping down his treat.
She continued to sip from her mug with a hint of the same content, savoring the smooth drink while she watched the woman work. The hot chocolate kept her warm as the sun continued its rise. The urge to question the artist on her whereabouts the last two weeks rose, but it came and went before she could fully recognize it.
Their chats every morning were vague and superficial. Names were never exchanged, neither mentioned what they did for work, or if they even worked, and personal facts came as small, unimportant tidbits in the natural flow of conversation.
The artist was older than her by a year, she preferred charcoal and paint, had a younger sister, and enjoyed spoiling Ichigo.
That was all she knew, and all she needed to know.
"Ah, I can't feel my leg."
"...Just move him then!"
