This is my favorite chapter so far. Just letting you know.


Chapter 7: Yes, because drugging him is clearly the answer


Early the next morning, Leblanc was surprisingly busy. Sojiro couldn't figure out why all his occasionals and half his regulars had decided to show up on a random Thursday morning, but he'd take it as it came. If the steady stream of customers continued, however, he was going to make Akira go on a baked goods run from the local grocery store—he baked a little, but his shtick was coffee and curry, he wasn't a goddamn Starbucks.

"Hey, Sojiro! Another cup of joe!" His Posturing Female Customer (or so he liked to think of her) called rudely for a refill. Sojiro sighed as put his crossword down for the umpteenth time—cursing Akira's luck for not being scheduled until noon, today—and walked behind the counter. He was halfway through the process of pouring the brew when he realized the whole store had fallen silent.

Uh oh, he thought, this can't be good.

Assuming he'd see Goro Akechi holding some sort of weapon on Akira (the kid was creative, he'd give him that. He and Futaba had stopped him from two, very diverse suicide attempts over the last few days, and he was not-so-eagerly awaiting another one) but what he saw was so unexpected he had to blink a couple times to make sense of it. Akechi was there, as was Akira . . . connected at the wrist by a novelty pair of fuzzy black handcuffs.

Akira sailed on by, Akechi stumbling after him, Morgana mewling excitedly in their wake.

"Morning, Sojiro," his self-styled successor said as he breezed on by. "Be back by noon!"

"Let me go!" His ward struggled. "Does no one see what's happening? Does no one care?"

Morgana mewed something that was no doubt important and plot-specific, but Sojiro still couldn't understand him. He was giving serious thought to teaching the cat kanji, and then having him spell out his thoughts on a table thickly-dusted with flour.

Sojiro made no vocal response to all this. As the patrons of his shop stared at them in shocked fascination—two of the older ladies looked intrigued to an unseemly degree—he put his head in his hands and groaned.

How is this my life? He wondered for at least the 32nd time. Tell me, Wakaba. What did I do to deserve this?

His inner Wakaba made no reply, but that was ok. The real one probably would have only laughed at him.

...

"That went well," Akira remarked lightly to his companion, reaching back to grip his wrist more firmly as he led him down the winding backstreets of Yongen Jaya.

"What universe do you live in?" Goro replied scathingly. "Every single customer of Leblanc will consider us deviants engaging in acts of sexual impropriety!"

For a man who'd sported an impressive hard-on while being pinned down to the bed last night, Akira thought Goro was talking pretty big. As it was, he merely turned and flashed him a wink, delighting in the way his surly companion fought for composure.

"And what if someone had recognized me?" He continued, seeing that it was impossible to fluster Akira at this point. "Then your game would be up."

"Not with that charming skullcap you're wearing," Morgana pointed out from his position in Akira's messenger bag. "And no one would recognize you at all if you just let us cut your hair short."

"No one is touching my hair," Goro said darkly, and his petulance made Akira grin. Everyone was so touchy about their hair—Ryuji kept it bleached, Ann was still sporting the pigtails, Makoto refused to stop wearing the blend in hairband, and Haru may or may not be perming her hair, Akira had never quite determined if it was natural or not. Yusuke cared not at all about the state of what was on, rather than in, his head, but his agent made sure he always looked presentable, and Akira did the best he could with his own (natural) curls . . . but Futaba put even Goro's insistence on keeping his hair long and floppy—it was almost to his shoulders, now—to shame.

It was red for god's sake. She was Japanese. How had that even happened?

"Where are we even going?" Goro asked, just this side of whining.

"To see an old friend," Akira replied mysteriously, although the mystery was undone when he dragged a protesting Akechi up the clinic steps.

"No, not her again!"

"We're not here for a checkup this time," Akira explained, knowing that Goro hadn't taken to Tae's dark humor. She had done a few house calls at Leblanc when Goro had first came, and had seen him under the influence of his nightmares, as well as at his weakest. Tae never judged, but Goro did, and he didn't deal well with others seeing him weak, even doctors.

"Don't take me for a fool—"

"Should I take you for something else then?" Akira said quietly, arching an eyebrow at his rival. That got through to Goro, and he choked on his words.

"Let's go, guys," Morgana prompted them. "We don't have all day!"

Thus reminded of his duties, Akira lugged Goro up the stairs—he wasn't fighting all that hard, not when Akira put his free hand around his waist, he noticed—and stumbled into the front office.

Takemi Tae watched them with a shade of interest coloring her deadpan expression, and elegant eyebrow raised. Her sharp eyes rested on the fuzzy handcuffs. "I wasn't expecting to see this side of you so soon," she quipped.

Akira bowed his head. He'd always liked Tae and her sass. "Good morning, Doctor. I have two problems I hope you can solve."

The office was deserted so she nodded them in. "Into the exam room, then. I have a feeling we shouldn't do this out in the open."

As soon as they were all situated in the exam room, Akira and Goro sitting side by side on the bed, she languidly stretched one leg over the other.

"How can I help you?" She asked, with a veneer of professionalism.

Akira got right down to business. "First, I'll need an array of bondage materials—"

"What?" Goro and Morgana squawked, in just about the same pitch and level of indignation.

Takemi re-crossed her legs, the surest indicator of her interest in the proceedings.

"How else am I to ensure that you don't run away?" Akira asked, sounding far too innocent for the level of grief he had just put them through.

"I—but—she's getting the wrong idea!" Goro argued, flustered.

"So am I!" Agreed Morgana.

"Oh, I hope not," Takemi said. "I haven't enjoyed myself this much since that young grocery store clerk took triple the viagra dose and then had an erection that wouldn't go down, no matter what I did. It took 6 hours," she said, her smile turning predatory. "And you wouldn't know it to look at him, but he is hung."

Goro and Akira glanced at each other, unnerved. Wielding a continuous erection for more than 30, perhaps 60 minutes at most was enough to make them nervous. But 6 whole hours?

Morgana had other concerns. "I bet I'll be hung when I'm human," he muttered. "Then Lady Ann will have no choice but to fall for me!"

And moving on, Akira thought. It was one thing to tease Goro and Morgana, but thinking about his best cat friend and best lady friend together was a step too far for him. "So, yeah, bondage materials. I also require more sedatives to put him out," he said, pointing with his free hand at Akechi.

Compared to the bondage materials, this didn't concern Goro nearly as much. "Now she's really going to get the wrong idea," he groaned, but his tone was not nearly as biting as it could have been.

Akira chose to see this as a sign of progress.

Takemi did, in fact, get the wrong impression. "Yes, because drugging him is clearly the answer," she admonished him sarcastically. "No means no, my little guinea pig."

The ex-leader of the Phantom Thieves knew how to turn situations to his advantage, and this was no exception. "Did you hear that?" He asked Goro. "No means no, so the next time you have a knife in your hand—"

All the blood drained from his face. "Don't tell people that!"

"You're the one who wants to do it!"

Takemi sat up straight in her seat, she was so invested. "You boys are into scarification? Hidden depths, indeed. Isn't that moving rather quickly, though?"

"No!" Goro and Akira yelled in unison.

Morgana, because he was absolutely of no help to anyone, snickered.

"Let me explain," Akira said, pinching the bridge of his nose. Five minutes later, Goro's attempts on his life were revealed and Takemi's excitement had dialed back a notch. Akechi was mortified, but Akira figured that was appropriate. His pride was legendary, and maybe these initial attacks to it would keep him from offing himself.

"I know Sayoko-chan said the situation was serious, but I didn't realize it was this bad," she admitted, watching the angry ex-villain thoughtfully. "I'm surprised you didn't just lead with that, actually. Remember I am a doctor, and you can ask me for help anytime."

"I did ask you for bondage materials," Akira pointed out. As for the psychological aspect of things, he wasn't sure how much help Takemi would ultimately be. While she knew he was a phantom thief, she had no idea what that really entailed, nor how Goro had figured into all this. The less people knew of his past crimes, the less chance there was of someone taking offense and turning him into the police.

"And you have absolutely come to the right woman. I can get you some good stuff for pretty cheap," she allowed.

"You're just going to do as he says?" Goro asked, appalled. "I'm right here! Do my wants and needs count for nothing?"

She glanced over at him, her practiced eye taking in his anger, his weakness, his indignation . . . and the way his body curved ever so slightly in Akira's when he forgot to hold himself upright.

"Nah," she decided. "I trust his judgement. So anyway, I can sell you some of my special medicine that should put him right out, and work on his blood pressure at the same time. I've give you a good rate . . . let's say 25,000 yen? Ah, just be careful not to overdose—he's skinny, for all that he's so tall."

She spun in her swivel chair so she could rummage for the medicine in her desk drawer. She continued with, "As for the bondage materials, I can have those in a couple days. Let's say 50,000 for the intermediate set? Yeah, I think you two can handle that."

Akira paid her, glad that he still had some savings tucked away from their days trawling Mementos for shadows. God bless Iwai for buying all their weird shit all that year. Then again, he'd once admitted to Akira that he got an even better price for all the stuff they'd sold him, and put the majority of it away for Kaoru's college education.

(Akira not-so-secretly thought that Iwai and Sojiro were in the running for the Best Adopted Dad Ever award, and were they ever to come together, all of Tokyo would fold before their gruff kindness, and absolute love for their makeshift families.)

Takemi bid them farewell, and as Goro had been (somewhat) well behaved, Akira decided a reward was in order. The first stage of this was undoing the handcuffs, as Goro was still nowhere strong enough to escape both him and Morgana, and allowing him to walk back to Leblanc without that level of supervision.

"I think it's time for baby's first bath," he told Morgana, quietly, as they walked back to Leblanc. "Do you wanna hang out with Futaba for the next hour?"

Morgana eyed him suspiciously, but acquiesced easily enough. "An hour off of Akechi-watching duty? You seriously had to ask?"

"What are you muttering about?" Goro asked.

Rather than grace him with a reply, Morgana leapt out of the bag, winding his way towards Sojiro's house. He went with unexpected haste, and Akira figured he was either sick of Goro (which was a strong possibility) or that Futaba fed him human treats (which was an even more distinct possibility).

"You were good in there," Akira said, when they were just outside Leblanc's door.

"What? I was not. I was—"

Akira tugged him into the laundry mat, which was perpetually empty even though it was the only one in town. Mysteries of this aside, he took advantage of it to pull Goro into a hug.

"What are you doing? Let me go!"

"Shhhh," Akira hushed him. "Do you want people to come and see?"

That quieted him, although his body was still ramrod stiff against him. He made no move to push him away, and that meant he knew resistance was futile . . . or he was beginning to be honest about how much he liked being touched.

(Akira really hoped it was the latter, but couldn't help but acknowledge the former was more likely.)

"You were good in there," he reiterated, bringing his previously cuffed hand up so he could stroke the back of Goro's neck. His fingers sifted through his soft hair, smoothly caressing his warm skin. Like magic, Goro sagged in his hold, biting back a hum of relief.

He's so desperate to be touched, Akira thought. This was both a good and bad thing, because it spoke of his years and years of abuse and abandonment, but was also the key to 'turning him light side,' as Futaba called it.

"I hate it when you do this," Goro murmured, his neck bent so that his head was nearly resting on Akira's shoulder.

"Do you?" Akira asked lightly, his fingers digging in just a little to massage the muscle. Goro huffed and then relaxed further.

"Because this is your reward for being good," he continued, continuing his massage. "You were yourself and you didn't hurt anyone, or insult the doctor, or even be dismissive. That was a decent interaction, and I'm proud of you. But if this is a punishment rather than a reward . . ." He trailed off, and slowly brought his fingers away from his neck.

Goro said nothing, but he leaned back, bringing his neck back into contact with Akira's hand. His eyes were downcast, and Akira thought he could feel his vulnerability. Goro had been one of his strongest social links back then, and nothing had changed now. Although he didn't known him the same way he knew Ryuji, Ann, or Morgana, there was a thread that connected them that could never be snapped. Perhaps it was through that link that he knew just what to do . . . and how far to push him.

For now, he backed down. "Good," he murmured. "Now, are you ready for the second part of your reward?"

Goro sucked his lips in. "What is it?" He asked in a quiet voice.

"Time for a real bath," Akira revealed. "And if you're good for the rest of the day, I'll wash you all over tomorrow."

Goro flushed and stumbled past Akira into the bathhouse. After a moment, Akira smiled and followed after him.

….

...

Sunday afternoon was the day of the Double Date, or so Ann insisted on calling it in all caps in her texts about the subject, and thus Ryuji found himself sitting across from Shiho and her boyfriend, Jun, wearing his slightly-better-than-casual clothes, and suffering Ann kicking him under the table when he didn't act boyfriendy enough. From the amused glint in Shiho's eye whenever he winced, she was totally on to what was going on underneath the table.

Jun did not, however. He was like a walking stereotype of the goody-two-shoes student council president with his glasses, perfect posture, and khaki pants and button down shirt combo, and clearly thought Ryuji was mentally not quite up to par.

"Is something bothering you, Sakamoto-san?" He asked in a stiff voice. Had it been socially possible to use polite speech in a Big Bang Burger, he likely would have tried.

Shiho hid a smile behind her hand, and damn it if Ann didn't look kind of smug, too.

"Nope," he said flippantly. "Anyway, you were telling us about some big project you had worked on during the school year?" Personally, he thought that was a good save, but from the way Ann it back a groan, it was not the right call.

Ryuji understood why several minutes later when Jun was still talking about the boring minutiae of his old student council. He didn't listen—details were only important when they resulted in shadows kicking your asses or the palace abruptly crumbling down around you—but he did take that time to form an opinion about him. Jun wasn't a bad guy, per se. He seemed kind and considerate enough, very respectful, and clearly was proud of Shiho's academic achievements. But he was also dry, stiff, boring, and a little stodgy. Ryuji bet he would be one of those conservative old men who yelled at kids for playing on the streets, or demand that every student dye their hair black.

Judging from the censorious looks he'd been casting him and Ann—whose hair was naturally blonde, c'mon—Ryuji thought he was right on the money with that one. Maybe it wasn't just her hair, though. He had been giving Ann snooty looks the entire time, now that he thought about it. That was odd, because that was normally not the type of looks guys gave Ann. Usually it fell somewhere between open admiration because she was a total hottie, or open dislike because they figured they'd never get with her. Yet Jun was giving her the exact same amount of disapproval he was aiming at Ryuji, with no real heat to back it up.

Weird, Ryuji thought. Between him and Ann, one of them was almost guaranteed to push his buttons. His odd passivity was maybe the best thing he could say about him. Honestly, he was more than a little disappointed in Shiho's taste in men. Jun wasn't a total scumbag like Kamoshida, but he just wasn't enough.

Over the past year Ryuji had come to be friends with Shiho and now he considered her one of the more awesome girls of his acquaintance, in a pool that included Ann, Makoto, Haru, and Futaba. For that reason alone, Ryuji felt that she deserved someone better, but it was something more than that. While he would openly admit points in her favor for never (accidentally) hitting him with her whip, knuckle-dusters, or huge-ass axe, there was just something special about Shiho that drew him in. He could only assume it was the same for Ann. Shiho was so patient and calm and kind, and had a way of diffusing situations where he and Ann might lose their tempers, or just get over-excited. She had this inner strength which had been tempered from her real life experiences, and Ryuji really respected that. It reminded him of his mom, and how much she had suffered on her own.

When he thought of it that way, wasn't it only natural to care for her and want the best for her? And if it felt a little different than his concern for the female Phantom Thieves, maybe it was because he'd never witness Shiho kicking ass with her spirit of rebellion, i.e. her persona?

And if he was maybe daydreaming about Shiho turning to Jun and breaking up with him right now, it was only because he was a massive bore and she deserved someone more interesting, right?

Right, Ryuji thought. I'm sure that's all it is.

...

At that exact moment, Ann Takamaki was entertaining a similar train of thought.

Good freaking lord, if this pompous windbag does not shut his mouth, I will do it for him.

That Shiho's boyfriend was unutterably boring was was not the only point on which Ryuji and Ann agreed. Ann, too, wished her friend would break up with him, but for slightly different reasons than Ryuji. She was not working through confusing feelings for Shiho Suzui—she loved this girl like a sister, and would slit the throat of any unfortunate circumstance that might rear in her path forthwith—but she was having trouble determining why Shiho was wasting her time with this guy.

Can't she just date Ryuji and get it over with? Ann wondered as she toyed with the straw in her drink. I mean, we all know that's where this is going.

Well, maybe not Ryuji. He might not have gotten there yet, she allowed a moment later, thinking back to Akira's smirk when he'd listened to Ryuji talk about Shiho for five minutes straight at his welcome home party. He'd thrown her an amused smile, and it'd gone straight over Ryuji's head.

Ryuji's got a thing for Shiho, huh? He'd asked a few minutes later, when Morgana and Ryuji started bickering again.

She'd playfully sighed, but deep down, she was kind of excited about it. Akira was the most important friend she'd ever made, no question, but the ones she loved the most were Shiho and Ryuji. Although they had never led her through hell and back—almost literally, when one considered the location of the depths of Mementos—they were still the ones closest to her heart. When Ryuji had disappeared right before her eyes, her panic had been worse for him than for anyone else. She had been desperate to help him in the exact same way she had been desperate to save Shiho, and from that moment on, they were linked in her mind.

So just date each other already! She inwardly commanded them both. Shiho, this is on you, girl, because Ryuji is an idiot, bless him. Just get over your nervousness and confess your affection for his freakishly tiny eyebrows, already!

Her musing was interrupted by Shiho excusing herself to go to the bathroom. Ann privately thought it was because Jun had gotten too boring to bear, but allowed that Shiho had drank her entire cup of water in about 10 minutes. As had she, actually. Maybe she should offer to get refills—

"Sakamoto-san, would you mind getting refills for our girlfriends? Their cups seems to be empty."

While Ryuji tried not to sputter about Ann being his girlfriend, she took the opportunity to size Jun up. Polite, sure, but it was also an obvious ploy to get her alone.

Here it comes, she inwardly sighed. The lechery.

At least it would all be over, after this.

"Yeah, Ryuji, could you top us up?" She asked, batting her eyelashes. This made him tense and eye her like she was a predator on the savanna, and he her prey. He acquiesced without a fuss, thought, and Ann gave serious thought to pretending to be his girlfriend more often. It was almost as effective as cracking her whip in his general direction.

She fixed Jun with her most challenging glare as soon as he was gone. Better to get this over with, then Shiho could just dump him already, and—

"Sakamoto-san and yourself are alumni of Shujin Academy, correct?"

"Yes?" She responded, a little confused at this opening. How was he going to slide into the 'I want you more so let's skive off for kisses' talk with that opening?

"So Suzui-san was at Shujin before she transferred?" Jun confirmed.

"Yes?" She responded in the exact same tone of voice as she had earlier. "But all of us were at the same middle school, before that. That's how we know each other so well."

Well. Kind of.

Jun nodded importantly. "Suzui-san was one of Kamoshida-san's abuse victims, wasn't she."

Ann stalled. This was not at all what she expected. Also, hadn't Shiho told him all this already? Time to play the dumb blonde. "Uh, I'm sorry, but what are you talking about?"

Jun grimaced. "That's deplorable. I truly pity her."

That was just little enough that Ann couldn't quite tell how to react. "Pity is not what any of us feel for Shiho," she said carefully. "Kamoshida hurt a lot of people in the school, and I don't pity them, either."

He waved that aside. "Be that as it may, that's not what I'm talking about. She's an attractive young woman, and a very talented volleyball player—she must have been one of the girls on the team that he sexually assaulted."

He shook his head, his expression grim. "I hadn't even suspected until Ryuji mentioned several of the teachers by name. I wish I'd known. I would have handled things differently."

"In what way?" Ann asked, icily. She still wasn't sure how he felt about all this. He seemed sincere about Kamoshida being a general dick, but he didn't seem upset for Shiho.

Jun looked at her pityingly. "You're her friend. You wouldn't understand."

Ok, now her hackles were raised for good reasons. "No one ever will if you don't just say it," she said, intentionally keeping her voice light. From over his shoulder, she glanced Shiho making her way back through the crowd. She'd be in earshot in only a matter of seconds.

He sighed. "Suzui-san is a good girl, but . . . surely you can see how this tarnishes her? Now, I'm not lumping her in with the easy girls of today," here he eyed her up and down, leaving his opinion on her quite clear, "But neither is she one of the pure-hearted girls one considers appropriate for marriage. My path forward is clear. Today marks the end of our relationship."

"Would you have said it that clearly to her face?" Ann asked, taking care not to look up at Shiho, who had heard enough, if not all of that.

"I would endeavor to put it more gently, of course—"

"Because she's standing right behind you," Ann said bluntly. "You heartless bastard."

Jun fixed a guilty expression on his face—and it was absolutely manufactured, this asshole absolutely thought he was doing the right thing—and turned to Shiho. Shiho, bless her, wasn't breaking down in tears or recriminations. She merely watched him with a stoic expression, as if he were simply one more trial to be weathered.

"Suzui-san, I regret to tell you that I must break off our relationship," he said.

Before she could respond, however, Ryuji came back with the drinks. "Yeah, so I got you a lemonade, Ann, because I figure . . ." He trailed off when he glanced up and took in the tense faces and body language of the group. He looked from Ann to Jun, but it was Shiho's expression that made up his mind. Rather than hand either lady their drink, he doused Jun with them, soaking him through.

"What the hell?" Jun cried, jumping up from the booth, shaking out his soaking clothes. "What is wrong with you?"

"You know, I have no idea why I did that," Ryuji admitted. "But from the looks on my friends faces, it was absolutely needed. So here's a better question, buddy. What the hell did you just do to make that necessary?"

While not as tall as Akira or Yusuke, Ryuji was taller and stronger than the average Japanese male. He had at least three inches and twenty pounds on Jun, and when he drew himself up menacingly, the disparity became apparent. Jun backed down without pushing for a fight, hurriedly excusing himself and racing from the restaurant.

Ryuji looked over at Shiho, and then Ann. "So should we chase him down or what?"

"Shiho, I'm so sorry," Ann said, knowing that Ryuji would never actually act on that threat. The fear of becoming like his abusive father was too strong. "I had no idea he didn't know you were from Shujin, so when he asked I just admitted it!"

Shiho shook her head, looking far less upset about all this than Ann would have guessed. "Ann, it's not your fault." She even laughed a little before admitting, "Actually, I don't even feel sad, right now. I know this is what I have to look forward to for the rest of my life—people looking down on me because of what that man did to me. But you two don't care, and you mean more to me than anyone else. So thank you. Thank you for standing by me."

"Um, I'm still not sure if I get what just happened, but should we hug you now?" Ryuji asked with absolutely zero tact, but a generous heart.

"Shiho!" Ann exclaimed, overcome with love for her best friend to think on that. She dragged both in for a hug, ignoring the looks they were getting from the diner's other occupants. Shiho folded into her embrace easily, wrapping an arm around her and one around Ryuji. Ryuji tensed, clearly unsure where to put his hands . . . but then settled on folding them around both, tugging them in so they were one solid unit, rather than three.

"Thank you," Shiho whispered, crying a little.

"No problem," Ryuji answered. "Shit. I don't even know what's going on, I'm just glad you're hugging me and not hitting me."

...

A week after his final suicide attempt, Goro was well enough to be on his feet for more than a half hour at a time, and had regained enough of his fine motor movements to not be a danger in the kitchen. Akira, who knew he was suffering from immense boredom on top of his rage, PTSD, and everything else, put a plan into action. In the evenings, for the hour or two before closing, Akechi would help Sojiro down in the store. Akira and Morgana would be on hand in case of emergencies, but giving Goro something to do that wasn't physical therapy, napping, eating curry, snarking with Morgana or running both and from Akira's touch could only be beneficial. Also, Sojiro enjoyed slave labor, as he only had to pay him in food and lodging.

It was a win-win situation for mostly everyone, even if Goro bitched and moaned until Sojiro snapped him on the head with a cleaning cloth. Morgana had snickered, but Akira had stepped in later and made Sojiro promise no more physical punishments.

(No more, Boss. I mean it.

If it's what gets through to him . . .

He was physically abused his whole childhood. It'll get through to him all right, but what does that make you?

. . . Fine. But don't come running to me when he's not listening to anything you say.)

Tonight was one of those rare busy nights where two or three of the booths were taken this late in the evening. Sojiro was much too busy to even think of punishment via washcloth, and Goro was too smart to think of either escape or of public suicide. When he was surrounded by people he kept his head down, skull cap on, and attempted to complete his work with all diligence and speed. No part of him liked failing, even for tasks as simple as this.

Akira usually helped out, as it gave him an opportunity to watch over Goro's rehabilitation, as well as to feed him carbs from their pastry shelf to assist in his weight gain, and to admire the sight of him in the shop's pink apron. That night, however, Futaba had slunk through the cafe door, veering past the customers in order to set herself to rubbing Morgana's head with a will. She greeted Akira and Sojiro as normal, but her failure to hold eye contact with Akechi when he glanced up and nodded to her set off several of Akira's internal alarm bells.

She had been one of the least squeamish members of the team when it came to him, even when she knew he was betraying them. What had happened to change that? Akira wondered, and a quick glance with Sojiro showed that he was puzzled too.

"If you watch him, I'll find out what's going on," Akira offered in an undertone.

"Just don't take all night," Sojiro sighed. "He's crap at making anything other than the full-bodied blends."

That Goro had managed to successfully make any kind of coffee with only ten minutes of half-hearted instruction—Sojiro had not warmed up to the lad, no matter how strongly his natural font of kindness floweth—spoke to Akechi's natural talents. Not for the first time, Akira regretted how his life had become so twisted. Also not for the first time, he wondered if this was how Kamoshida's Olympian ex-teammates felt, or Madarame's peers, or Kaneshiro's family and childhood friends upon seeing how they had turned out. They must have known their good qualities, or at least their non-evil ones.

Haru would know exactly how he felt, because for all that he had hurt her, she loved her father.

Not that I love Goro, or anything, Akira told himself, a little too quickly. I'm just invested. And maybe a little sexually attracted to him.

He did love Futaba, however, as the little sister he'd never before dreamed of having but now couldn't imagine living without. So, with a crook of his finger and a tilt of his head, he gestured her to go on upstairs with him. She set her shoulders like one of the doomed heading to the gallows, but followed.

Akira made a little show of settling her onto the sofa, but she immediately pulled her knees up to her chin and clutched them in a variant of her signature pose. He then proceeded to stare at her dolefully until she began to sweat.

Then, and only then, did he say, "Futaba, have you been keeping something from me?"

"Rawghrhahg!" She exclaimed succinctly, throwing up her hands in the air. "Those eyes! Don't give me the sad eyes! Ugh," she tried again. "Screw Yaldabaoth. You're the final boss!"

Akira continued giving her said sad eyes, calling upon his inner Shinya Oda to give them added lustre and quiver. "You can't even tell me?" He asked. "Don't you trust me?"

Futaba's heart could take no more. "Ok, ok! I give! Show mercy, Akira!"

"Only if you tell me," he said, snapping back to normal.

"Aughhghghghg," Futaba groaned, with the same weird consonant clusters that she used while typing. "Yes. Kind of. You're gonna make me tell all, aren't you."

"Begin whenever you're ready," Akira allowed magnanimously.

Futaba groaned again, but after a few moments of settling herself, peeking up at Akira to see if he was angry, she began. "Ok, so . . . you know how I couldn't sense Akechi when he was just 'the guy in the black mask?'"

Akira nodded. "Yeah, when Yaldabaoth hid him from us."

Futaba's face squinched in consideration. "Well, actually, I think it may have had more to do with Loki, than Yaldy. 'Cuz I could sense him as Robin Hood, but even when we were battling, it was hard to tell what he was gonna do when he was fighting as Loki."

That was interesting, but no longer all that useful. "And . . .?"

Futaba winced, averting her eyes. "Remember how I told you I couldn't sense Akechi after the bulkhead went up and they shot each other?" She licked her lips nervously. "I lied."

Akira stilled, striving to keep his expression as neutral as possible. Perhaps he didn't quite succeed as Futaba continued on in a rush, "What else could I have done? Only you, Ann and I were still standing—Morgana was electrocuted, Inari and Haru were out for the count, Makoto was only one or two hp away from that, and Ryuji was burned and could hardly stand . . . no one had any SP left, and there was no time to eat any of Sojiro's curry! I figured it was best to honor his sacrifice and make sure everyone else got out ok."

Hp? Sp? Akira thought, before letting it go. Must be some video game speak.

"Even if it left him to die?" He asked instead, his voice serious.

Futaba ducked her head to her chest. "I'm sorry," she said in a tiny voice. "But at the time, I wasn't sorry. I did what I had to do. Even now, knowing how guilty it makes me feel, I think I might choose it again."

She glanced up at him. "Are you mad? Do you still want to be friends with me, even knowing that I . . . I made that decision?"

He looked down at her, huddling like some small, red-haired woodland creature. His heart throbbed in his chest. "C'mere," he murmured, his arms spread indicatively, and in a second flat she was hugging him fiercely. He wrapped his arms around her and let the moment hold before admitting, "I had wondered if you'd lied when Akechi turned up alive. It's not beyond the bounds of possibility that Yaldabaoth saved him, but the dead are dead and there is no returning."

"I'm sorry—" she started, but Akira interrupted her.

"No, no. Don't be. You did what you had to, and I don't blame you for it."

She angled her head up, her dark eyes wide from behind her glasses. "You don't? Why not?"

Akira shrugged. "Well, I don't blame Akechi either. I think I'm not wired that way. Hate is . . . really hard for me. So is judgement."

Futaba frowned up at him. "What does that even mean?"

Akira took a moment to gather his thoughts. "You're not just a hacker, Futaba. When you were Medjed, you were a cracker. I know the difference—computer hackers build, crackers break. Information is dangerous at the best of times, and while you're on our side now, were you always working for the good of humanity? Or were you working for your own self-interests?"

"I . . . Well . . ."

"No matter your answer, my feelings for you won't change," Akira finished. "I can't care for you any less than I do now, no matter what you've done. That's what I mean about hate and judgement being hard. I think I just have to forgive, even if it's just on a personal level."

Futaba buried her head against Akira's chest for a long moment. Her body trembled, but it wasn't with the indicative wracking of sobs. Finally, speaking directly into his sternum so her confession was mumbled, she admitted, "I'm the reason why my uncle's debt was compounded. He gambled, sure, but I made sure he lost, and then I found ways to increase the rate of interest after he'd taken out loans. I thought he'd lose custody of me if he had no money, although I never expected Sojiro to save me. As Medjed I might have hurt even more people," she admitted. "I can't be sure. I never tried to, but I guess I did destroy the lives of crackers who infringed upon my name and territory. And some other assholes who said girls can't code. And—and . . ."

Futaba began to cry, the pain of her sins fresh on her heart.

"It's ok," Akira said, although he did not make her stop crying. It was good to get it all out, he knew from experience. "That's not who you are anymore. You're Futaba: my beloved little sister, navigator, teammate, and friend, and that's just for starters. What else do you think you can grow to be?"

She sniffled and perked up a little. "The great and amazing Alibaba, and a kickass Phantom Thief?"

"I was thinking something along the lines of Kaoru Iwai's girlfriend, but that, too."

Futaba managed to land a knuckle punch on him even when hugging him. "He's just my study partner! For one class! Ugh, Sojiro needs to stop talking about that, already."

Akira, who had firm hopes that Futaba and Kaoru would make an alliance of some sort (because then Sojiro and Munehisa could hang out, and he had strong hopes for the instatement of their Best Adopted Dads of Tokyo Club) merely smiled. Young love would find a way, unless they weren't actually in love, in which case study partners and friends would have to do.

"But do you really mean it?" She asked. "About being your little sister?"

"Only if you want me to be."

Futaba nodded. "Yes, please." Her smile grew impish. "Does that mean I can call you big bro, now?"

Akira chuckled. "I'm looking forward to it. And if you want, you can even call Sojiro 'Dad.'"

Futaba grinned. "Well, let's not get too carried away . . ."

"You're right. He'd probably have a heart attack of sheer joy."

She nestled her head against him once again. "But we're family, now? Really really?"

"Really really," he promised her, and meant it with all that he was.