Oh my goodness! The Missing Kings drama CD tore our hearts to shreds this week! Thankfully, this chapter was full of humor, and that totally repaired our depressed moods. Hopefully it can do the same for all you readers. As was mentioned formerly, Kateracks and Arait literally wrote this chapter together, that meaning we came up with dialog and facial expressions together and then switched off writing every other narrated sentence. We had so much fun with it! Asking each other, "What would so-and-so say if someone said that...?"
Also, keep in mind 20/20/20.
Quick disclaimer: We may not own the characters of K, but we know them personally. They tell us stuff.
Yata got the idea that this was not the first time Azami had been saved from drowning. As they walked, she put an extra beat in her step to keep her blood pumping, and when he stopped to get his bearings, she continued to dance in place. He had never come into Mikoto's territory from this angle before, and it took him a minute to figure out where they were.
The sun was going down; it was getting colder. That was evident in the way his companion's skin prickled into innumerable goose bumps despite her best attempts. With a sigh, he untied the red sweatshirt from around his waist and held it out to her.
She looked at it like he had just tried to hand her a live animal. "What?"
"Put it on," Yata ordered. "It's cold out here."
"Don't you need it then?" Yata gave her a look that clearly asked Are you stupid? The corners of her mouth quirked upward. "I'm kidding, smart guy. …Thank you."
Yata flushed and turned his head away to hide it while she pulled the sweatshirt over her head so that he missed the wince as she did so. The sleeves hung down over her hands, and the body bagged to her thighs. But it would help keep her warm until they got to where she could change clothes.
She looked good in red. …Well, she would if it weren't for the fluorescent green in her hair. As it was, she looked like a Christmas tree.
He cleared his throat and pointed her around the corner so that they were headed in the right direction for the bar. They walked without speaking for almost a block. Then Yata couldn't take it anymore.
"I dunno, Hayashi, just looking for clues hasn't gotten us anywhere. Without that ninja bastard, we've got nothing to go on. Maybe we should go back to the cemetery and start over."
"You really can't deal with silence, can you?" Azami jabbed.
"Hey, I'm just trying to find Haruna-san, okay? That's what Totsuka-san and my King asked me to do so I'm gonna do it!"
"That's great that you take their orders seriously because you don't much else, but look, Red..." She spun to look at him. "I just got pulled out of a waterway, I'm cold, and I'm tired. Can't we just—AH...!"
The end of her sneeze was muffled when she buried her face in both of the sleeves covering her hands as well as the faint "Ow..."before she grabbed hold of her ribs. Yata scrunched up his nose in a way that showed he was wondering, Did you really just blow snot all over my sweatshirt?
"Are you getting sick already?" he asked her.
"No, it' just my moron allergy acting up again," she sniffled and pushed her hair roughly back from her eyes. Just to appease him, she added, "Besides, we can't go back to the cemetery."
"Why the hell not?"
"Because it's the Black Clan's territory," she reminded him while scratching absently at her arm.
"You don't seriously think Mikoto-san will ask their permission to search their territory for Totsuka-san's girlfriend?" Yata scoffed. "Like they would actually say 'Yeah, come on in; we've got nothing to hide'?"
"No, I just..." She rolled her eyes at herself. "Force of habit."
She scratched furiously at her arm again and then sneezed into the sleeves once more. While her face was buried this time, however, she caught a whiff of something. She sniffed another time just to be sure, then surprised Yata by declaring, "That's what it is!" and hurriedly peeled off the sweatshirt.
"What?" he demanded.
"It's not just you; it's your detergent."
Yata gaped. "You're allergic to soap?"
"No, I'm allergic to the stuff they used to make some soaps smell good. I use unscented. That's why I get hives whenever I'm around your dumb ass."
She handed him the jacket but took an interest in the string in the hood as she passed it back. She pulled it out with the warning, "I'm gonna borrow this."
"You're going to borrow my drawstring?" Yata clarified.
"I'll put it back," she assured him.
"How?"
Azami quirked an eyebrow at him while she used the string to tie the mop of hair that was frustrating her out of her face. "It only takes a safety pin. Honestly, how have you survived this long?"
"How have I...? Shut up and walk," Yata barked and then as an afterthought said, "At least I'm not allergic to soap."
But no matter how much she pushed his buttons (most of the time intentionally), he couldn't stop himself from walking just a bit closer to share his warm aura with her. After all, she'd be no good to them if she got sick. Even so, he couldn't look at her and found himself studying the sidewalk cracks, passing cars, and street signs more than was necessary. It turned out to be a good thing, though, as that was when he noticed the traffic camera. It started to bring a vague memory back to his mind.
To Azami he inquired, "Are those all over your territory, too?"
Azami followed his gaze to the top of the pole and said, "Yeah. I wish I knew how to hack those things. That would be really helpful in finding out where that asshole went."
Yata stopped walking again as the memory of someone telling him they could do just that became clear in his mind. His outburst of, "I know somebody who can!" startled her. She watched in mild curiosity as he dialed a contact on his watch, and together they waited several seconds for the answer. It never came; the call went to voicemail.
"I'll call him again on the way," Yata decided and altered his route. "Come on, we're going to my place."
Azami smirked to herself, knowing he had set himself for what was to come. "Really? Maybe I should go get something more comfortable to change into then."
Yata turned a lovely shade of red that could nearly rival Mikoto's brilliant power. "W-W-What? N-No! Th-Th-That's not what I—"
Azami ignored his sputtering and with a point, continued walking their original path saying, "No, really, I stored all my stuff at the lockers in the subway. I need a change of clothes."
Thus it went that they had to trek all the way to the subway station to recover Azami's things. Once there, they discovered that neither of them had enough money, even if they combined their cash, to buy a ride on the train. Unfortunately, they would have to walk all the way there—very slowly as by that point Azami's body was aching. Despite her best efforts to hide it, her injuries were taking their toll.
The dark haired boy was slumped over a desk when they arrived. The blue light of a computer screen tinted the walls and reflected tiny squares in the lenses of his glasses, which had been displaced by the function keys of the keyboard his cheek was pressed against. His hand still rested on the mouse, even if he had long since stopped using it. He had fallen asleep programming again, a fact made obvious by the pages full of incomprehensible computer language on the screen.
Yata frowned at the sight and then turned to see if Azami had made any progress on the ladder to the loft. To his surprise, she was already almost to the top, but he got the impression that this wasn't the first time she had climbed with only one arm. She glanced around at the dark space uncertainly. Jackets and shoes had been tossed carelessly on the floor; empty containers of take-out had not been bothered to be thrown away. It looked like a bachelor pad, someplace she shouldn't be even if it didn't belong to members of the red clan. She lingered near the ladder in case she needed to escape. This idea of Yata's had better work. She didn't trust this, so-called, Saruhiko already.
Yata called his name but got no reply. Clearly, this was because he had also fallen asleep listening to music and could never hear anything with those headphones in. As he tried to rouse Fushimi, he knocked a half-eaten bag of snacks off the desk, noticing for the first time that their guest was somewhat grossed out by the mess.
In explanation, he excused, "He can be kind of a slob when his head gets super focused on something." Then, pulling the earbud away from Fushimi's face, Yata shook him lightly, "Saruhiko, wake up! I've been calling you!"
"Why were you calling me in the middle of the night?" The condescending inquiry was muffled both by the desk and the fact that it was asked by someone who was still sleeping.
Glancing at the clock that read 11:36, Yata answered, "It wasn't the middle of the night. I started calling you hours ago. You're never in bed before 10." Of course, the reason Fushimi hadn't answered his phone became clear when it was spotted across the loft on his bed, where he wouldn't be able to hear it ring over the music playing.
Compliantly, Fushimi sat up, letting his glasses fall the rest of the way off his face. "So insistent," he complained. For a second, red lines traced random designs in his fair skin where it had been smashed by his awkward positioning, and his eyes drooped like a drug addict. Once he rubbed his face and put his glasses on, however, his normal appearance was restored. Then, he finally realized there was even a girl in the room. Based on the color of her clothes and her overall look, it was easy to tell this was the green girl.
"Misaki, you're with a girl," his friend teased.
"Shut up!" Yata replied defensively, without much ability to argue any of the several things implied in the single phrase.
Behind him, the girl grabbed her side and burst out in spontaneous laughter that couldn't be contained for the sake of being polite, nor to save her ribs the pain. "Misaki? Is that really your name?"
Anger and blush both flared into his face at once, and, through a contortioned smile, he again could say nothing more than, "S-Shut up!"
Fushimi thought Yata's usual cheeky come backs were lacking something. He was pretty sure feelings were to blame, judging by the fact that Yata rubbed the tip of his nose every time he looked at the green girl he had been talking about since they met.
In order to avoid finding himself in the midst of a bothersome situation, Fushimi asked, "So why were you calling me?" He nearly wanted to mock more, asking if Yata was calling because he needed help with the girl, but he decided not to this time. Yata wasn't in the right frame of mind for banter.
"We fought with one of the Black Clansmen today," Yata responded, very matter-of-fact.
Of all the possible reasons he had considered for Yata's call, nothing that serious had ever crossed his mind. It definitely made him stop joking around. This was important. Whether or not they had made progress with the case through their battle, a fight with an opposing clan was never a light matter.
"The Black Clan," Fushimi repeated with some interest. "Did you win?" The question was curt, but that didn't bother Yata.
He tilted his head toward the girl behind him. "Not exactly. We were out looking for clues as to where they might be keeping Haruna-san, and we uncovered a meeting he was having with the yakuza. I took them out while Hayashi let him get away. When we were coming back, a traffic camera reminded me, you've mentioned before how it would be super easy for you to get the footage from one of those, so we can see where he went."
Behind him, Azami's brows furrowed, and she opened her mouth as if she had a protest to make in his recounting. I didn't let him get away. And it wasn't entirely your own idea! But the thought was as far as she made it. She was just too tired at this point to make much of a fuss.
Instead she announced, "I'm gonna go downstairs and change."
Fushimi watched her go and then turned his attention back to his short friend, clicking his tongue. He had never said, 'Super easy.' That would give too many people the impression that he would do it for them on request. Who did Yata think he was anyways, spouting things like, 'Super easy'? That moron probably couldn't even understand a single line of code. Was the dark haired boy capable of hacking into the traffic cameras? He would never say, 'Super easy,' but hell yes! It would take about an hour maybe. Two, his mind corrected as a yawn devoured his face, because you're tired.
"Hey!" Yata scolded, jolting him out of his thoughts with a hard smack to the shoulder. Fushimi plunged forward—clearly having been caught off guard—and the cursor, guided by his hand on the mouse went berserk. "Quit sleeping and get working already!"
In stark contrast to the vanguard's enthusiasm, Fushimi's light click of the tongue and emotionless voice almost sounded bored rather than tired. "I am working," he affirmed.
Yata watched the screen intently for a few moments as if verifying the truth of his friend's statement. Understanding none of it, he muttered an excuse that was nowhere near apologetic, "It didn't look like it."
Completely ignoring that last remark, Fushimi pushed his glasses further into position and ordered with a brush of his hand in the air, "Make yourself useful. Get me a coffee or something."
Both the insult and the tone in which it was said infuriated Yata, and he stomped one foot down hard on the edge of Fushimi's chair. "If you don't start taking this serious, Saru, I'm gonna be your coffee!"
Raising his left hand, Fushimi halfheartedly shoved Yata's face away. He obviously wasn't afraid of the threat. "I won't accomplish anything with you yelling," he pointed out dully, and it looked like he was becoming sincerely ingrained in the activity on his computer.
With a huff, Yata went to the cooler by Fushimi's bed where he kept his most common food items and got him a can of coffee. He realized this was about as concerned as Fushimi would ever get. While Yata was useless in electronics, he couldn't help with this task, but it would at least be kind of him to show his gratitude by getting the drink requested. When he set the aluminum can down on the desk, the boy in glasses didn't so much as look at him, much less thank him.
Instead, Fushimi demanded, "Open it." It wasn't necessarily that he was deliberately trying to be rude. He simply omitted all of the words that were polite.
Grumbling to himself that it isn't difficult to say, 'please,' Yata did as asked. It was such a small thing, after all, just to open the can for him. Still, Fushimi made no effort to reach for the beverage. Keeping his eyes and both hands affixed to the computer, he opened his mouth like a baby bird waiting to have food regurgitated for him. Rolling his eyes at that laziness, Yata picked up the can. Halfway to his friend's face, however, he realized just exactly what he was doing and slammed the drink back down on the desk, causing a little to spill.
"The hell?" He questioned furiously. "I ain't gonna serve you! I see what you're doing, and I ain't gonna fall for it!"
The smirk on Fushimi's face clearly showed that he had only been messing with Yata, trying to see just how far he would go without catching on. He chuckled slightly and grabbed the coffee himself as the shorter boy stormed off.
Yata began the descent to his room, intent on playing a game on his hand-held device while he waited to hear the results of of Fushimi's handiwork. He didn't give any thought to the fact that there was a girl in their hideout who could still be changing clothes. And indeed she was; though, she was half finished by that point.
He froze in the middle of the ladder at the sight of the bare back facing him. At first, he was merely shocked by the prominent feathery wings that were tattooed on each shoulder blade and curved gracefully down either side of her spine to just above her hip bones. In between her shoulder blades was scrawled a message, but a strip of black and blue bruise that crossed from the base of her neck to under her right shoulder made the words hard to read. Dark was beginning to spread from her back to her left side where she'd been holding her ribs. Clad in cargo shorts, it was easy to see the gash in her left calf, too.
Yata felt anger burn into his gut at the thought of how that black bastard had beat up on one of his team, but it abruptly turned to cold sweat when he realized Azami was not one of his HOMRA family. She was a girl and she was topless in his room.
He did his best not to scream, but some nervous movement he made caused one sneaker to slip off the rung he was perched on with a loud squeak. He let out a little yelp then and flailed to keep hanging on with his sweaty palms. Azami looked over her shoulder at him, shirt pulled over her arms and smiled in laughter rather than suffering the pain of making the noise again. Yata's eyes grew to the size of saucers.
"Up or down?" Azami questioned him calmly, not caring either way.
"I-I...I-I-I...I-I'll..."
Azami's grin grew at his unintelligible reply, and she risked a snicker.
"I-I'll, um...w-wait up here!"
He hurriedly scrambled up the ladder once more and sat on the floor with a huff of relief. Now what was he supposed to do? Up here was irritating, but down there was terrifying!
Kindly enough, a minute later Azami emerged from underneath the loft and reassured him, "It's safe to come down now."
"Oh...um...okay..."
He cautiously made his way to his bedroom, knowing fully well that Azami had packed all her stuff into the backpack slung over her good shoulder, but still not trusting that all of her unmentionables were out of sight. When it appeared to be true, he proceeded to his bed in search of his game. He snuck a look at his female companion when she sank into his couch and bent down to examine her calf. It was still leaking blood toward her now clean socks.
Yata quietly made his way to the bathroom and searched for any gauze they might have left after his last injury. No luck there. He went to the kitchen and checked several drawers there as well. Nothing.
Hands on his hips, Yata called upwards, "Saru, where did you hide the gauze?"
There was a grinding from the upper level as Fushimi opened a drawer to his desk. A second later, a roll of white came flying over the banister and nailed Yata in the head. Grumbling, the skater approached the couch and held out the supplies.
Azami looked up and accepted the proffered bandage with a little surprise. "Thanks."
Soundlessly, Yata went back to his space, flopped on his bed, and resumed his last checkpoint in his racing game. He managed to get through the first lap before his mind lost focus, and he crashed. He started over, but Azami hissing through her teeth drew his attention away again.
She noticed his eyes on her and asked, "Oh...is this okay?" as she gestured to the kotatsu she had her sneaker propped on so she could wrap her leg. Yata just stared silently and then went back to his game. The sound of crunching metal meant another wreck.
"Okay then..." she muttered to herself and continued her wound treatment. A couple minutes passed and then there was the noise of screeching tires and breaking glass a third time. Her eyes flicked across the room once more as she secured the knot of her bandage. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," Yata answered shortly.
Two hours went by very slowly. Deciding the skater would not be a good conversation partner to pass the time, Azami got up to run some cold water over the rash on her skin. Then she returned to the couch and picked up a nearby nerd magazine to read. Yata eventually fell asleep with his hand-held console on his chest. But thankfully, Fushimi's intense keystrokes slowed and, with success, he peeked his head over the rail of his loft.
"Misaki." There was no response, and with a frown, he tried again louder. "Mi~sa~kiiii..."
Azami looked up from her third magazine and across the room to where she had last seen the chestnut-haired boy in question. He was still there. She smiled up at the other with glasses.
"He's dead to the world."
Fushimi clicked his tongue and moved back toward his monitor, muttering about how if he didn't care enough to stay awake, Yata shouldn't have disturbed his sleep in the first place.
Azami rose from the couch and limped to the ladder, grateful to have some sort of entertainment. She climbed to Fushimi's space before he could shut off his computer and offered, "Maybe I can help."
Fushimi looked back at her with obvious disbelief on his face, wondering, Who told you you could come up here? Azami didn't notice, though, because she had looked past him to the frozen image on the screen. She recognized the scenery as the street right outside the studio.
"Whoa, that's way cool!" she exclaimed in excitement, and Fushimi took his chair again when she moved in for a closer look. "How did you do that?"
Fushimi turned to the screen. "All government facilities use the same password configuration. It's really just a matter of finding a disgruntled employee, taking their last name, and—" He paused, noticing the slightly glazed look in her eyes in spite of her supposedly attentive nodding. It was 2 in the morning; her brain wasn't running on full capacity, so he cut the explanation short. "Their security is weak. I got in."
"That easy? You're awesome!" She smacked him on the back.
Fushimi jolted forward, and his glasses went off-kilter. As he straightened them, he thought maybe he'd discovered something about this newcomer. "So you're one of those people..."
Azami turned away from the captured image. "Huh?"
Several words came to Fushimi's mind: loud, obnoxious, arrogant, easily impressed. It reminded him of a female version of someone else he knew. He waved her off.
"Nothing. Where did you say you found him again?"
He tapped a couple keys, and the image vanished, being replaced by a grid-like map of the city.
"The warehouse district by the docks."
He narrowed the grid to the area. Azami studied the map for a moment and then leaned in to tap the monitor. "Here. This one."
Fushimi brought up the camera picture, and she nodded that it was the correct spot. He brought up another search bar. "What time?"
"Just before seven."
He rewound the feed to seven o'clock, and then slowed until he saw motion, at which point he hit play. Instead of a ninja, though, he saw the side of a building explode in a fiery blaze of glory that launched a female figure from the third floor.
Beside him, Azami rushed to say, "It was before that. Maybe around back."
"Was that what Misaki meant by 'you let him get away'?" Fushimi questioned her as he switched cameras.
"Well, I...pissed him off, and he dropped a pipe bomb on me. I kinda...had to jump..."
"Ah," was the male's reply, and he rewound the feed once more. Clearly, the Black Clansman would have left the building before the ruckus. Sure enough, moments before, a shadow ran out the back door at ground level. Fushimi now had a target and a direction. It took him no time at all to track the ninja back to the cemetery.
Azami slumped. "That place again..."
Fushimi clicked several more cameras. Their quarry was no longer visible.
"He's gone," Azami gaped.
"Not exactly," Fushimi corrected. "There a reflection in this headstone." He zoomed in on the mentioned area to show her what direction it was and then moved to the next view. "He's not in this frame at all. So he's got a passageway somewhere in between these two points." Bringing up the map again, he highlighted the appropriated section of the cemetery.
She looked at him. "Should we go without Red?"
Fushimi shook his head and stood. "I've earned a couple hours of sleep first."
Azami nodded. "Oh, right...I guess I'll..."
He waved off toward the living room. "He won't wake up 'til morning. You can sleep on the couch."
To be continued...because we ALL know Yata will not be okay with this when he does wake up.