Shuuhei sighed as he stepped inside his apartment, rubbing his temples with one hand. His head ached fiercely, like it always did after it happened, and the pain had been bothering him for hours without relief.
Kazeshini seemed to sense his irritation and didn't jump on him in greeting as he normally did. Instead, the big Doberman thrust his wet nose into Shuuhei's hand and whined a little, which would have made him smile if his head hadn't been pounding so hard.
"Good boy," Shuuhei murmured, stroking the dog's silken head. There were times when he hated having such a fierce, powerful pet, but it was hard to stay resentful when Kazeshini was so unrelentingly loyal.
The young man stepped wearily into his kitchen, reaching for the dog food he kept under the sink and pouring Kazeshini a bowl before wriggling out of his uniform shirt and tossing it back behind him into the living area. He lacked the energy and initiative right then to cook, so Shuuhei dug in his fridge for some leftovers and ate leaning against the counter, too tired to even bother heating his food up. It was only after he had eaten and stripped out of the rest of his uniform to lie on his couch when he allowed himself to think about the day he'd had.
Kensei hadn't recognized him—Shuuhei was positive of that. He couldn't decide if that was a blessing or a curse. It had been over ten years, so it wasn't surprising, and since police dress code forbade him from having visible tattoos, the dark 69 on Shuuhei's left cheek had been hidden under expensive concealer. Kensei would certainly know something was up if he saw that, and Shuuhei knew it would happen sooner or later.
He closed his eyes, but as tired as he was, sleep eluded him with dark shadows of nightmares edging over his vision. Shuuhei turned over and stared at his service weapon that was laying on the table next to the couch, admiring the grooves and curves of it, wondering how it would feel pressed to his own head. After a minute he shoved the feelings down in his chest and pulled out his phone.
"Renji?" he said when the other person picked up.
"Yeah, what's up? You want me to come over?" Renji's voice was warm and reassuring, and it wrapped around Shuuhei like a blanket, immediately making him feel better.
"Do you mind?"
"'Course not. I'll be there in a few."
"Thank you," Shuuhei whispered, but Renji had already hung up. He covered his eyes with his forearm, a sinking feeling in his stomach. Renji had to be a fucking saint to put up with him, honestly.
A few minutes later there was a tentative knock at his door, and Shuuhei called for his visitor to come in, settling a hand on Kazeshini's collar as the dog stiffened and growled. Renji's bright head appeared around the door, followed by the rest of his body, and Kazeshini relaxed, recognizing him.
"Hey," Renji said, coming over to the couch and reaching for Shuuhei's head, weaving his fingers through his hair. His burgundy eyes flicked over to the gun on the table and then back to the man on the couch. "It happen again?"
"Yeah, my head's killing me," Shuuhei answered, his voice raspy. Renji's hand stroked through his hair gently, massaging the scalp underneath with practiced, smooth motions. "You didn't have to come," Shuuhei continued, his voice barely audible.
Renji was quiet for a long time. "Yes, I did," he said finally, leaning down and pressing his lips to Shuuhei's in a gentle kiss.
The dark-haired man gave a sigh, relaxing against Renji's mouth and reaching up to wind his hands in his long, red hair.
"How 'bout the bedroom?" Renji suggested after he had mapped out Shuuhei's mouth thoroughly with his tongue. "There's really not enough room to fuck on a couch, no matter what the movies say."
Shuuhei sat up with a groan. "Yeah, you're right." He pointed to the front door. "Kazeshini, guard." The Doberman moved to sit in front of the door, his muscled body tense and alert. Shuuhei allowed Renji to pull him to his feet and to the bedroom, the redhead's hand warm and comforting against his.
Three days later, Kensei pulled up to Shuuhei's apartment. The sun had barely peeked over the horizon, but Urahara Kisuke had agreed to speak with them, and he wanted to get a move on before the man sank back into his grief and refused to talk. If Shinji hadn't been good friends with Hanakari Jinta's former guardian, Kensei would have been harsher and demanded to see him sooner, but Shinji had pacified him for the time being.
Something made Kensei stay in his car for a bit rather than go up to Shuuhei's door. He leaned back in the driver's seat, crossing his arms, his brow furrowed as he turned his thoughts to the young man. He still couldn't decide if Shuuhei was crazy or just strange. He'd pulled his files after their first day as partners and had noticed that the dark-haired man had failed his police exam twice, but on the physical portion, not the mental, which was the opposite of what Kensei had expected. Even he had noticed the hard grooves of muscle that corded the younger man's arms and the way his shoulders and chest fit his shirts nicely, much like Kensei's own did. Shuuhei was not lacking in strength, that much was clear, but the way he seemed so sure of things he had no business knowing set Kensei's teeth on edge. There was very little about Shuuhei's past in the files, and so the only thing Kensei had really learned about his new partner was that he had been orphaned at a very young age and was apparently a prodigy, having graduated college at eighteen.
Movement caught Kensei's eye at Shuuhei's front door and he shook off his thoughts, watching with curious eyes as the door opened and a tall, good-looking man with long red hair stepped out. Kensei could just catch a glimpse of Shuuhei through the doorway dressed in sweats and an undershirt and was surprised when his partner leaned forward to kiss the red-haired man on the lips. Even from his distance, it was unmistakable, and Kensei nibbled on his thumbnail a little, raising an eyebrow. He hadn't pegged Shuuhei as gay, though with how tight-lipped the man was about himself, there had to a myriad of things he didn't know about him. Even so, Kensei waited until the redhead had gotten into his car and driven off before he went to knock on his partner's door.
An explosion of barking and growling sounded from inside the apartment, but Kensei wasn't dissuaded. The door opened, and the silver-haired man looked down to see a large Doberman with bared teeth, saliva glistening on his canines and lips as he strained against a hand on his collar.
"Renji, I told you, everything's fine, you don't have to—" Shuuhei broke off when he saw who it was. "Oh. Kensei. Sorry, I wasn't expecting you. Kazeshini, down." The dog quieted, backing down but keeping a watchful eye on Kensei. "What are you doing here?" Shuuhei asked Kensei.
"Wanted to get going. Urahara Kisuke said he'd speak with us. Get dressed and let's go." He noticed a dark mark on Shuuhei's cheek. "You got a bruise or something?"
Shuuhei's hand flew to his cheek, covering the mark. "No, it's a tattoo. I usually keep it covered up with makeup, but I guess I forgot to wash it off and it smudged during the night." He stepped back, opening the door wider. "Come in. I'll be ready in a few minutes."
Kensei stepped inside, keeping a wary eye on the dog, whose fur was still bristling a little at the back of his neck.
"He won't bother you," Shuuhei reassured him as he moved towards the bedroom doorway. "Not since I told him to stay down." The young man disappeared and Kensei heard the shower start.
The silver-haired man crouched down a few feet from Kazeshini, making the dog shift restlessly, ears thrust forward and legs stiff. Kensei stayed still, his body relaxed, not meeting the gaze of the skittish animal. He murmured soothing things under his breath, watching from the corner of his eye as Kazeshini relaxed further.
When Shuuhei returned, his hair damp and tattoo completely hidden once more, he saw Kensei crouched on the floor with Kazeshini nuzzling his face, his large hand fondling the dog's ears. "Whoa," Shuuhei blurted. "I've never seen him take to anyone like that. He normally just tolerates people."
"I've got a pup like him," Kensei said by way of explanation. "I know how guard dogs work."
"Doberman?"
"Nah, Tachikaze's a German Shepherd. Pain in the ass to brush, but he's a good dog." Kensei got to his feet, brushing off his pants. "Let's go. I want to talk to Urahara before he changes his mind."
"It's the ass crack of dawn," Shuuhei pointed out, pulling on a coat that covered his shoulder holster. "He's not gonna thank us for waking him up."
"I'll betcha fifty he's already up," Kensei told him as they left the apartment. "Losing someone, especially a kid, often gives people wicked insomnia."
"Or hypersomnia," Shuuhei objected.
"We'll see."
Kensei was right. Urahara answered his door immediately and looked relatively lucid, though there were dark shadows under his red-rimmed eyes. From what Shinji had told him, he and Urahara were rather similar, aggressively cheerful and silly most of the time. The man before Kensei was a man broken, face haggard from grief. The lines around his mouth that had clearly once been from laughter now only made him look older, and his blond hair was lank and greasy.
"Urahara Kisuke? I'm Detective Muguruma Kensei, and this is my partner, Hisagi Shuuhei. May we come in?"
Urahara stepped back, opening the door further. "Yes, of course. Please, try to keep it down, though. My foster daughter is still sleeping."
"We're very sorry for your loss," Shuuhei said as they stepped inside.
"Thank you," Urahara murmured, looking surprised that the young man cared. He led them to the living room and sank down on one of the couches opposite them. "What can I help you with?"
"We have some questions about Jinta," Kensei began, pulling out his notepad. "Can you tell us about when he first went missing?"
"He didn't come home for dinner, about a week ago. That was pretty normal, though. Often he stayed after school with his friends, but he always called to tell me. I just assumed he forgot or his phone ran out of batteries. Then his principal called me and said he hadn't been at school that day. We filed a report, but he'd just…disappeared." Urahara's voice caught.
"How had his mood been? Any changes?" Kensei didn't bother to wait for Urahara to gather his composure, he just forged ahead as though he hadn't noticed.
"Um…well, he had been a little moody, I guess, but that was normal for him. He had a very tough early life—abusive foster parents, neglect—but he'd been doing very well, aside from the normal mood swings of boys his age."
Kensei noticed the look on Shuuhei's face too late to shush him, and the young man broke in with, "You two had a fight, didn't you?"
Urahara looked guarded. "What makes you say that?"
Shuuhei's eyes focused again and he looked almost flustered. "Just a guess."
The blond man raked a hand through his dirty hair, a pained look on his face. "I…yes, we did fight. The morning Jinta disappeared, I found drugs in his room. Heroin, I think. He was so young—I just went ballistic, and I slapped him." Urahara's jaw tightened, shame shadowing his eyes.
"You slapped an abused kid?" Kensei said flatly, his amber eyes sharp.
Urahara looked miserable. "I know, I shouldn't have, and I apologized for it immediately. I know that doesn't make it better, but I can't live with myself if it turns out to be part of the reason he—disappeared."
"I think that's unlikely," Shuuhei said gently, shooting a look at Kensei that told him to stop being so callous. "Would you mind giving us a moment?" he asked Urahara, who nodded.
"I'll get you some tea—I should have offered when you first sat down, forgive me." He disappeared into the kitchen.
"You wanna take it down a notch?" Shuuhei hissed at Kensei when they were alone. "He just lost someone he considered his own son. I realize you have the most detective experience and we haven't known each other that long, but you're shit with people, Kensei, so maybe I should handle this."
Kensei raised his eyebrows. That had to be the most words Shuuhei had ever said to him in one sitting, and with the most passion too. "You've got some brass balls, kid," he said at last. Secretly, he knew Shinji had paired them up because people were his weakness—he didn't coddle them, and when speaking to people who had just lost someone, sometimes coddling got you where you needed to be. Kensei was a brilliant detective—he just wasn't a brilliant people-person. "Have at it," he told Shuuhei, leaning back as Urahara reentered the room with a tray of cups.
"Did Jinta tell you anything the morning you confronted him?" Shuuhei asked, taking one of the cups with a nod of thanks. "How he got the drugs, for instance?"
"He said there was a boy at the high school who dealt them, but he didn't tell me his name. He stormed off before I could get much out of him."
"How do you think he got the money? Heroin's a little steep for a twelve-year-old's allowance."
Urahara bit his lip. "I checked my safe that morning. Quite a bit of money was gone from it."
"It's not uncommon for addicts to steal," Shuuhei said gently. "May we look at his room? There might be something that helps us there."
"Of course. Here, follow me."
Hanakari Jinta's room looked much like any other preteen boy's room—messy, with posters of bands and girls taped crookedly over his walls.
"Where are the drugs?" Shuuhei asked as they stepped inside, and Urahara reached into his pocket.
"I didn't know what to do with them," he confessed. "I've just been carrying them around. I don't know why."
Shuuhei looked at the bag of powder closely, then handed it to Kensei, who sealed it in another bag and pocketed it. "Jinta's toxicology report was clean, but we'll have this tested to see what he was buying so we can try to track down his dealer."
"You think the dealer has something to do with all these kids disappearing?" Urahara asked.
"We have reports of drug addiction in the other victims," Shuuhei told him. "So it's possible." He stepped further into the room. "Do you mind if we search?"
"No, not at all. If it'll help with the investigation, I'll cooperate any way I can," Urahara assured.
Kensei moved immediately to the bed, motioning for Shuuhei to come help him with the mattress. "Kids most often hide things here," he told the younger man. "Close to them, y'know." They lifted the mattress off the box spring and Kensei held it up while Shuuhei looked. "See anything?" Kensei asked, sounding a little strained. The mattress wasn't heavy, but its bulk made it difficult to hold onto.
"A bunch of porn," came Shuuhei's muffled voice, and Urahara cleared his throat in an embarrassed way.
"He was at that age," Kensei huffed as Shuuhei collected the magazines and pulled them out from under the mattress.
"Okay, let it down."
As Shuuhei flipped through the porn magazines, Kensei bit back a comment about his partner's sexual preferences and joined him, while Urahara looked on with pink cheeks.
"Here," Kensei grunted as a slip of paper fell out of one of the magazines. He hurriedly tossed the magazine aside before he could get a hard-on and picked up the paper.
"Phone number?" Shuuhei asked, leaning closer to look.
Kensei thought it might have been because he'd just been looking through an extensive porn collection, but when Shuuhei leaned over, the older man found himself mesmerized by the sharp curve of his jaw and the short, soft-looking hairs at the back of his neck. To his horror, Kensei felt a familiar stirring in his stomach and quickly looked away, clearing his throat.
"Yeah. Phone number for 'M.' Probably the dealer," Kensei said. He got to his feet and subtly moved away from Shuuhei a little.
Shuuhei followed suit, moving to shake Urahara's hand. "We'll be in touch if we need more information. Thank you for cooperation, Urahara-san."
Urahara showed them to the door. "Of course. Please, try to find who did this soon." He looked down in surprise as a tiny hand fisted in his baggy green pants, and a little, black-haired girl of about ten peeked out from around his leg. "Good morning, Ururu." Urahara put a gentle hand on her head, smiling wanly at the police officers. "This is my foster daughter, Ururu. Please forgive her, she's rather shy." Sure enough, the little girl turned and ran at the sight of the two strange men.
"Is she…doing all right?" Shuuhei asked. He seemed to have a soft spot for children.
"She's just gotten quieter, if that was even possible," Urahara said with a sigh.
"We can refer you to an excellent child psychologist if you're interested," Shuuhei told him. "I'm sure Captain Hirako would be happy to help you if you asked."
"Thank you," Urahara said, shaking their hands again. "Let me know if I can do more."
Back at headquarters, they sent the drugs found in Hanakari Jinta's room to the lab and then went to what used to be Kensei's office. Shinji had ordered another desk to be put in for Shuuhei, even though the room was barely large enough, and so now it was their shared office. Kensei just thanked God he wasn't claustrophobic.
"Ueyama Mabashi," Shuuhei said suddenly, bent over his computer where he was tracking the phone number they'd found.
Kensei looked up from his own desk. "That's who 'M' is?"
"Looks like it. High school junior, but he was held back a couple years, so he's eighteen. He was picked up for possession with intent to sell two years ago and spent some time in juvie." Shuuhei turned the computer so Kensei could look at the mug shot of a boy with bright, orangey hair that fell over his face in long bangs.
"Most likely the dealer, then."
"Yeah. Should we go talk to him?"
"Wait till the school day's over and get him on his way home," Kensei said absently.
Shuuhei lounged in his seat, rubbing his temples. "I've been thinking," he started.
"Uh oh," Kensei said immediately, not looking up.
"Ass. What I mean is, why does this guy dump the bodies in alleyways where they're bound to be discovered? Wouldn't it be smarter to incinerate them or dump them in the river? It's like he wants them to be found."
Kensei mulled it over. "Either he's stupid, overconfident, or you're right."
"Are those the only options?"
"Can you think of another?"
Shuuhei sighed, still rubbing his head. "Guess not."
Kensei studied him for a minute, seeing the knot of tension in his forehead. "Kid. Hey, kid."
His partner looked up. "I have a name, you know. You could use it instead of calling me 'kid.'"
"Fine. Shuuhei. What the hell's wrong with your head?"
Shuuhei jerked his hand from his forehead. "Nothing."
"Bullshit, you look like someone's givin' you a lobotomy."
"It's just a headache," Shuuhei snapped.
Kensei took a chance. "A headache that happens every time you…guess what happened to someone?"
His partner's sloe-black eyes narrowed at him. "What are you saying?"
"You may be good at reading people, Shuuhei, but I'm not a detective for nothing."
"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Shuuhei said sharply.
"It means that there's something you haven't been telling me, and I'll be damned if I don't figure it out," Kensei shot back, his scalp prickling in anger.
Shuuhei fell silent. "It's not any of your business," he said finally. "Why don't you focus on this case instead of on me?"
"It's my business because you know things you shouldn't," Kensei said in a low voice. "Not just about me, but about this case."
"I make educated guesses," Shuuhei objected. "What, you think I'm a fucking mole?"
"No. Shinji vouched for you, and I trust him." Kensei crossed his arms.
"Look, just drop it. I told you before, I'm good—"
"—At reading people. Yeah. You mentioned that." Kensei's voice was flat. "Sure." His phone rang then, and Kensei snatched it up, still in a bad mood. "What."
It was the drug lab.
"Uh huh," Kensei said, writing something down on a piece of scrap paper. "Was it cut with anything? Okay. Yeah, thanks." He hung up the phone. "It wasn't heroin that Jinta was taking," he said to Shuuhei, all business again.
"Then what?"
"Fentanyl."
"The painkiller? Shit," Shuuhei swore. Fentanyl could be hundreds of times stronger than heroin, making it one of the most dangerous opiates to abuse.
"I take it you've heard of it."
"Oh, yeah."
His jaw had tightened, making Kensei curious. "Personal experience?" the older man guessed.
"Not me, personally. But a lot of kids I was around growing up were hooked on heroin, and a couple of them died from fentanyl overdose when their smack was cut with it."
"This wasn't cut with anything. Just pure fentanyl. It's a miracle Jinta didn't OD. I'd guess he hadn't been taking it long. There's no way a twelve-year-old could still be alive after abusing it for a long time."
"Where is a high school student getting pure fentanyl?" Shuuhei wondered, his brows furrowed.
"I guess we'll see when we talk to him."
"He's not going to talk willingly, you know," Shuuhei cautioned.
Kensei grinned what Shinji had long ago dubbed his crazy grin. "Oh, I know. I been in this business a while, kid. I'll make him talk."
Children flooded out of the school doors, laughing and shouting as they chased each other. Kensei was leaning against his car, his sharp amber eyes drifting over the crowd as Shuuhei perched on the hood of the car, watching as well.
"You see him?"
"Not yet. Wait, yeah. Look, at the end of the crowd." Shuuhei frowned. "He just went behind the school."
Kensei pushed off the car. "C'mon. Don't let your guard down just 'cause he's a kid. Could be packing."
"At school?"
"Can't be too careful," Kensei grunted as they approached the school.
Mabashi was crouched behind the school against the brick wall, muttering to himself, placing pennies next to each other in a row, one after the other. His skin was dead white, his body thin and gangly.
"He's tweaking," Shuuhei muttered to Kensei, sounding disgusted. "How the fuck didn't his teachers notice he's tweaking?"
"Adults see what they want to see," Kensei said back, his voice dull. "C'mon. Careful, if he's tweaking, odds are he ain't gonna be cooperative." The silver-haired man stepped forward, calling out, "Ueyama Mabashi. Can we talk to you for a minute?"
The boy's head jerked up and he watched them warily. Shuuhei crouched down in front of him.
"It's okay," the young man said. "My name is Hisagi Shuuhei. We just want to ask you a few questions about Hanakari Jinta."
At the sound of the name Mabashi's eyes widened, and his hand shot out, raking Shuuhei hard down the right side of his face.
"Motherfucker!" Shuuhei spit out, falling back a little. Mabashi leapt on him and Kensei caught a flash of metal.
"Hey!" he barked, but Mabashi was already sinking a switchblade deep into Shuuhei's middle. There was a snap as the blade broke from the handle, and Kensei's partner staggered back, making a choking noise.
Kensei had started forward as soon as Mabashi moved, sickened to see blood spurt into the air. In a flash he had pinned the boy to the ground and wrestled his arms behind his back, cuffing him quickly and fighting down the urge to put a bullet in his head. Mabashi's fingernails had been cut jaggedly, leaving them sharp, and the tips of the ones on his left hand were stained red. The broken switchblade handle lay not far away, one end bloodied.
"Shuuhei!" Kensei called as he jammed a knee into the struggling drug dealer's back.
"Yeah," Shuuhei answered roughly, picking himself up off the hard concrete. His hand was pressed to his face, blood welling behind it and dripping down his wrist. The other hand plucked at his bloodstained shirt, the shock of being stabbed not getting through to his brain quite yet. "Shit," he cursed as more blood splattered, staining the asphalt, and he swayed a little before collapsing in a heap on the ground.
"Dammit," Kensei growled, digging out his phone. "I need backup at the back of the high school," he said when Shinji picked up. "And an ambulance. Fucking hurry." Mabashi was still bucking under the knee holding him down, so Kensei couldn't move to try to help Shuuhei, though his heart was pounding in fear. The amount of blood pooling on the concrete was alarming, and Kensei hoped the stomach wound wasn't as deep as it looked.
He turned his attention to Mabashi. "Ueyama Mabashi, you're under arrest for assault on an officer with a deadly weapon. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you." Mabashi snarled and writhed under him, but no words slipped through.
Kensei's sharp ears picked up sirens and he breathed a sigh of relief as they grew louder, accompanied with running footsteps. "Take him to HQ and throw him in a holding cell," he ordered the officers who appeared around the corner, letting Mabashi up and hauling him to his feet. "Keep an eye on him till he sobers up; he's high as fuck and I don't want him hurting himself." They carted the howling boy away and Kensei was at Shuuhei's side in a flash, turning him over and pulling the young man's head into his lap. The whole right half of his partner's face was covered in blood. His eyes were closed and Kensei didn't want to risk damaging him further by trying to open the injured one. The front of his shirt was wet with blood, and he could see the broken end of the switchblade protruding from the wound, but he knew enough not to try to remove it.
Paramedics rounded the corner of the building and Kensei looked up. "Here, take him," he said, helping them hoist Shuuhei's limp body onto their stretcher. He stayed by his partner's side, climbing into the ambulance without hesitation, even though it gave him unpleasant memories of all the times he'd been half-conscious in one himself.
"What happened to him?" asked one of the paramedics, examining the wound on the young man's stomach.
"He got scratched and stabbed by a drug dealer," Kensei snapped. "Whose fingernails were sharp and fucking nasty. Now make it better!" He looked down at his hands, surprised and irritated to see that they were shaking. He balled them into fists to keep them still.
"Hell of a drug dealer," said the other paramedic, holding a gauze pad to Shuuhei's bloody face. "He's gonna need stitches on his face, and it's hard to tell, but he might go blind in the eye."
"What the fuck?" Kensei exploded. "You're fucking doctors, you better make sure he don't go blind, asshole!"
"We're not doctors, sir, we're EMTs, and you have to calm down. Getting angry isn't helping," the female paramedic said. "We'll be at the hospital in less than five minutes, so why don't you shut up and hold your friend's hand?"
Kensei glared at her, but he moved closer to Shuuhei's prone body and, after a moment, reached out and slipped his hand over his partner's limp one, squeezing gently. Shuuhei's palm was rough and calloused, much like Kensei's own, and he was surprised at how natural it felt to hold the younger man's hand.
There was faint movement and Kensei looked up hurriedly as Shuuhei's fingers tightened around his, his one visible eye cracking open a little. "You fucking idiot," Kensei whispered to his partner. "I told you he might be armed, you little dumbass. Now get the fuck better so I can yell at you."
Shuuhei's lips formed the syllables of Kensei's name before his eye closed again.
"He's losing blood," said the male paramedic. "Do you know his type?"
Kensei thought back quickly to the files he'd read on Shuuhei. "He's AB," he told the paramedic, and in a flash the man was sliding a needle into Shuuhei's forearm attached to a bag of blood.
"We're here," called the driver, and the paramedics eased Shuuhei's stretcher out of the ambulance while Kensei was herded into the waiting room. "We're taking him into surgery; you have wait here," a nurse said when he tried to follow his partner.
"You'd better make sure he keeps his fucking eye!" Kensei roared after the nurse, ignoring the scandalized stares of the other people in the waiting room.
"Kensei!"
Kensei turned, wild-eyed, to see Shinji coming towards him, his smile significantly smaller than it usually was.
"What the fuck happened?" Shinji snapped in a whisper as approached. "Why are you covered in blood? Are you hurt?"
Kensei looked down, noticing for the first time that Shuuhei's blood was smeared over his shirt and arms, drying into a sticky brownish pattern. "I'm fine," he told Shinji. "It's Shuuhei's." His adrenaline was starting to wear off, leaving him pale and shaky, and Shinji guided him to sit in one of the chairs.
"Is he still alive?"
Kensei winced at the words, remembering how Shinji had asked the exact same thing so many years ago. He was grateful he could give a different answer this time. "Yeah," he croaked, then cleared his throat. "We both fucked up. I shoulda kept a better eye on him…it's easy to forget he's a rookie sometimes, and he shoulda kept his guard up. Got stabbed by a high school drug dealer."
"Where?"
"Stomach. He also scratched him across the face. Poor boy's a mess." Kensei looked down at his hands, which were still shaking, and remembered the cold grip of Shuuhei's calloused hand in the ambulance. "They said he might lose his eye."
"Fuck." Shinji leaned back. "I don't know if a one-eyed guy can stay a cop. Have to ask the chief of police."
"I don't even know how bad it is," Kensei said, rubbing a hand over his face. "I don't know if he's gonna make it."
Shinji studied him. "You like him," the blond captain observed, propping one leg on the other. "Damn, it's been a long time since I've seen you actually care about anyone."
"He's weird as hell, but he's good at what he does," Kensei defended.
"Huh," was all Shinji said, but when Kensei looked over, there was a sly little smirk on his face.
"Shut the fuck up," he said aggressively. "I swear to god, you will not let that go."
"I just want you to admit you might be into guys too," Shinji said, grin widening.
"I fucked a guy once," Kensei shot back heatedly. "Once, in the military, when I was too hard up to care he had the wrong parts and we thought we were gonna die anyways. Now drop it."
"If you say so," Shinji chuckled, but he let the matter go. He changed the subject. "You hear about Mashiro anytime recently?"
Kensei stiffened, not happy with the change of topic. "Not lately," he said shortly.
"I called yesterday. They say she's doing better. Fewer meltdowns, y'know." Shinji's voice was gentle. "You have got to stop blamin' yerself, Kensei. We all carry the guilt."
"I'm sick of losing people," Kensei admitted, gritting his teeth. "First Rose, then her, even if she's not actually dead, the part that makes her Mashiro is gone."
"If you bothered to visit her, you'd see she's still in there somewhere," Shinji said, a little sharply. "Now you might lose your second partner, Kensei. You can't fall apart this time for something that wasn't your fault." His voice was hard and commanding.
"I know," Kensei growled, feeling his hackles rise. "I'm fine, Shinji, so shut up."
Shinji fell silent, knowing Kensei wouldn't let him offer any comfort, so he sat with him quietly, leaving only briefly to bring them both back cups of coffee.
Several hours later, a nurse approached them.
"Are you Hisagi-san's next of kin?"
"He doesn't have any family," Shinji spoke up. "I'm his boss." He flashed his badge.
"Oh, I see."
Kensei swallowed, feeling a little dizzy. "Is he—"
"He pulled through the surgery fine and is currently in a stable condition," the nurse said kindly.
"And…his eye?"
"He may have partial blindness in his right eye and a few nasty-looking scars, but barring complications from surgery, he should be fine." The nurse smiled at Kensei's obvious relief.
"Can he have visitors?" asked Shinji briskly.
"He's still under sedation for the time being, but when he wakes up, then yes."
"And when will that be?"
"Most likely sometime tomorrow morning. I'm sure he wouldn't mind if you left and came back," she told Kensei.
Shinji thanked the nurse as she left and then he turned to his friend. "That's pretty much as good as I'd hoped. He'll need some practice with his gun if he's partially blind, but I don't see why he shouldn't return to work when he's better."
Kensei let out a long breath he hadn't realized he was holding, surprised at how relieved he felt. "I'd better go interrogate Mabashi," he said, but Shinji caught his arm.
"Go home and get some sleep," the captain advised. "Mabashi will still be there in the morning."
"Every day I lose there's a bigger chance another kid dies," Kensei snapped.
"Kensei, you're exhausted and you're useless to me like this. Go home. That's an order." Shinji's eyes glinted, daring him to argue.
Kensei opened his mouth, fully expecting to take the dare, but a wave of tiredness made him change his mind. "Fine."
Shinji drove him back to his car and Kensei headed home wearily, still thinking about Shuuhei lying unconscious in a hospital bed. When he unlocked his apartment door, Tachikaze was there, eager to see him and sniffing at the blood on his shirt and arms, but Kensei pushed him away so he could shower, impatient to get the sticky feeling of Shuuhei's blood off of his body. He tried not to look at the brownish water swirling down the drain.
The flashback hit him like a high-speed freight train, unexpected and swift and with enough force to knock him to his knees. Rose, smiling at him over the barrel of his sniper rifle before taking aim, his golden hair like a halo in the harsh sunlight. The sharp, numbing pain as a bullet shattered part of his right hip, sending him to his knees. Rose dragging him to safety, keeping the enemy soldiers off them even though they were outnumbered ten to one. Lying there, dizzy with pain, trying to take up his gun again to help but his blood-covered hands too slippery, too uncoordinated. Bullets tearing through Rose's slender body, just seconds before Shinji had shown up with another squad to help. Rose's blank eyes, once so beautiful, staring into Kensei's as he bled out in a rush of blood.
Kensei came back to himself on the floor of his shower, curled up and shaking, fighting for breath as Tachikaze flung himself at the shower curtain, worrying it with his teeth until he could get to his master. The big German shepherd ignored the water still pelting down on them and thrust his nose against Kensei's trembling hand. The silver-haired man fumbled with the shower handle until the water ceased, leaning back against the sweating, tiled wall and closing his eyes, fisting a hand around Tachikaze's thick fur. The dog sat by the tub, gently slurping Kensei's face with his tongue a couple times until Kensei patted his head.
"I'm fine, boy," he told the dog, pulling himself to stand on quivering legs, still struggling a little for breath. It had been a long time since his PTSD had kicked in, but it had hit hard this time. Kensei toweled down and pulled on some sweatpants, dragging himself to his bed and curling up with his arms around Tachikaze, the only other being who would ever see him so vulnerable.