Later in December 2115
A week later, Matsumoto sticks his head in the doors for Division One, and ignoring everyone else, hollers at me like I'm a kilometer away.
"Hey, Senpai, when are you off duty next?"
He's not making any vicious comments to Hinakawa or anyone else, so I respond, with much less volume.
"About twenty minutes."
"And until that time, Matsumoto," Shimotsuki says, standing up at her desk to be heard better, "he'll be working on an assignment. If you want to speak to him about something unrelated to work, you can wait those twenty minutes."
"Yes, Inspector-sama," he says, snapping off a jaunty salute. "I'll be waiting outside until GInoza-kun can come out and play." The door slides closed.
"Grr," she growls, "I hate that Enforcer. Wait until Urahara hears about this insubordination."
"Shimotsuki," Yayoi says quietly, " That was a vast improvement on his previous behavior, don't you think?"
"Well," the junior Inspector clears her throat as her cheeks flush bright pink, "Um, I guess, maybe if you look at it from that perspective… You could say he… alright, I get it. I'll let it go, but Ginoza, I expect you to make it clear that I didn't appreciate the interruption and that there are better ways to get your attention than to shout across a room."
"Of course Inspector, I'll do my best to impress the need."
But he's not outside, nor in the bathroom across the hall, all that's left of him is a whiff of Spinel cigarette smoke, but that could belong to anyone.
He doesn't answer my call either, so I head down to the dorm level and knock on his door. He answers, out of breath, like he's been running.
"Hey, thanks for coming. Did I get you in trouble?" he asks, then rushes back inside. There are a stack of boxes and the stench of wet cardboard permeates the small space.
"Your things arrived, I see."
"Yeah, in the pouring rain, so I'm trying to salvage some things before it's too late. If you're not busy, I was hoping you could help."
"Certainly," I say, pulling out the pocket knife Ko left behind and slicing open the tape.
He doesn't own much, which seems odd, considering he was married. I unpack a set of dishes and cups, a smattering of silverware, two serving bowls, and a coffee pot. He runs back and forth, throwing half the contents of one box into another.
"Success!" he grins, the mask gone, and holds up a sleeping bag. "I won't have to sleep on towels tonight."
"Where is your furniture?" I ask from the kitchen.
"Oh… um, we rented it, along with the apartment, so I don't own any." He pulls open the next box, avoiding further eye contact.
"Did you order anything with your allotment yet?"
"No, I wanted to see what I had left. I haven't seen any of this stuff in almost three years…"
"Since your wife tried to kill you?"
He stops rifling through the next box, but doesn't look up. "Did you remember finally?"
"No, I read your file."
"I tried to read mine; it wouldn't let me, I didn't have high enough authorization. Will I get that if I get to be Lurcher One?"
"No, Tsunemori opened it for me."
"Oh, so she read it too?"
"Yes, but she's a good person. She won't bring it up unless you do."
I open the box, giving him time to think about what I've said, and find clothing. I start sorting the shirts from the pants when I smell… something. I lift a shirt to my nose and take a deep breath.
"If you want to smell the real thing," he says, smile firmly back in place, "you could just sniff me."
"I think everything in this box will need to be washed." I throw the shirt at his face. "It smells musty."
"If you say so," he says. "I'm overpowered by the wet cardboard. Most of my nasal passages had to be replaced, so sometimes the filters can't handle multiple strong scents at once."
I throw everything back into the box and take it into the bathroom where I stuff it all into the refresher for a thorough washing, except for one item, which I take back into the living room.
"This looks to big to fit you," I say, holding up the enormous bra. I stretch the straps between my fingers and flick it across the room at him.
It hits the floor, a few feet from him and he stares at the leopard print monstrosity. His hand goes to the right side of his face and rubs at the scars absently.
"Why did she do it?" I ask, dismantling the box and throwing it into the pile we've made by the front door.
"Why? Probably because she'd had enough of my shit."
"I sympathize with her, all of your colleagues do."
"I didn't even know her, she was just another nameless, faceless person who watched me dance to keep their hue low. But one day, she came up to me after my shift and told me Sybil told her we were a good match for marriage. I was seventeen years old, we were married the next week, and we moved in together."
"That's… very sudden."
"It was, but Sybil's never wrong, right? So, if I was supposed to marry this woman who was five years older than me, and who I knew nothing about, who was I to argue."
"Did Sybil say that, or did she tell you Sybil said that?"
"She showed me results. It said we were ninety-five percent compatible."
"Five percent…"
"Yeah, so we mostly worked opposing shifts and I was lonely, so I made friends with the neighbor, a young man working the night shift like me. He was some sort of office worker — I don't remember what kind, but he was sweet, and listened to me complain about my day, and we shared cigarettes," he laughs. "I fell in love with him over time, even though he wasn't interested in more than a friendship, and she was jealous of how much time I spent with him and got angry when I talked about him."
"Ah, in her mind, you had jilted her?"
"When we were together, I did my husbandly duties. She wanted to have children right away, so we…" he sighs, "… we actively tried when we were together, but it was difficult for me. As you can see, she was a big woman." He points at the bra. "And I wasn't attracted to her. I took the pills to get it up, but she resented that I needed to do so."
"She came home one morning to find me masturbating to a picture of our neighbor and she lost it. She hit me, and I went down. I guess I should mention she was a professional chemical engineer who worked in recycling, but she was a big, big woman, at least your height, but with a good twenty-five kilograms on you so it's not like just anyone could knock me out with one clean hit, but when I came to, she was over top of me, and she poured something on my face, screaming at me that I would never look at anyone other than her again."
"That's when we came in," I pick up. "I didn't remember it, reading the report, but I remember that huge woman screaming."
"Do you remember me now?"
"Yes, yes, I do. I wish..."
"Don't. Just don't. It's over now, right? Thanks to you, she can't hurt me again."