Brothers in Arm
"How do I fix this?"
On the desk, laid out upon the laptop screen, Gekkogahara's rabbit avatar let its wand drop. Likewise, its ears nearly drooped to shoulder-height as it said, "I'm sorry, Kirigiri-san. I've only had a few sessions with him, but it's clear that Naegi-kun truly believes what he says. His worldviews are far too deeply ingrained to be shaken off that easily."
Kirigiri took a deep breath and held it. "There has to be something I can tell him to make him see how unreasonable he's being."
"In an ideal world, there would be. My job would be much easier if everyone worked like that." A couple of little sparks flew from the wand as it waved. "But they don't. Even if he's objectively wrong, all of this makes sense to Naegi-kun. His beliefs are based on his feelings and experiences. If you try to tell him he's wrong. . . it takes a lot to believe someone else over yourself. Nobody likes to feel wrong or humiliated. If you tell him he's stupid, he could turn against you, or double-down out of spite. I know that isn't the path you want to take."
Her fists tightened. "Then what you're telling me is I can't do anything."
"But you already have done so much," Usami said. "You said you directed him away from planting a very dangerous idea in Kuzuryu-kun's head."
"That wasn't anything meaningful," she said dismissively. "I merely suggested that he adjust his trajectory. He's still trying to chase Kamukura-kun off the island."
"That doesn't mean what you accomplished is meaningless. He might still be doing the same thing, but it's less dangerous. That's important."
"Important. . ." She mulled over the word, turning it over and over in her head. With each revolution, it took on less significance. "I don't think so. It's a small gesture. Nothing's truly changed."
"But Kirigiri-san, that is therapy." Usami clapped its hands together. It looked excited, if virtual plush rabbits were capable of such things. "Treating someone like Naegi-kun isn't about finding a reset button that will make him how he used to be. What we want is to break destructive cycles and replace them with something more positive. To guide him along a path that will make he see the world as a brighter so that he isn't living in fear. It's unlikely he'll ever be normal again, but if he's happy and healthy and can live on his own, he doesn't need to be."
Her clenched fists were beginning to ache, now. She loosened them and rubbed the sore flesh of her palm, regretting as soon as she started. It felt like a weakness, somehow. Like a failure.
"I understand what you're saying," Kirigiri said. She didn't look at the screen, but at the wall of her motel room. It was bare, as if mocking her lack of accomplishment. "I don't know if that's something I'm capable of."
"Kirigiri-san, think about how much you've already accomplished compared. Even if you've only done one thing, you know so much more about what he's thinking. Do you remember what happened when you two opposed each other on the journey here? Would you say things this time are easier or harder?"
"It feels like it's been easier." She couldn't deny she had much more information on the inner workings of Naegi's mind this time. How long would that last, though? "But for how long can I play along? I can't follow him down the road he's taking."
"If it does come to the point where he is an inevitable danger to others or himself, you'll have to take more forceful measures," Usami said. "Oh, Kirigiri-san, don't mistake comradery for collaboration. I'm sure Naegi-kun would love your help, but I don't think he expects it. I suspect that feeling he has your acceptance is enough to satisfy him."
"He could get that from anyone. There's hardly any restriction on who would listen to him here," Kirigiri pointed out. "If I didn't accept him, he wouldn't care. He would find someone else."
"Would he, I wonder. . ." Usami stroked her chin.
"It's the logical path of action."
Gekkogahara's – not Usami's – chin lifted a little to see her more clearly. As their eyes met, Kirigiri felt as if her deduction had a massive hole in it.
"I don't think he would," Usami finished. "But there's no need to talk about that now. Kirigiri-san, here's my suggestions: keep listening to him, keep trying to redirect him. Don't make yourself his enemy."
"I'll try." It was the most confident answer she could give. How could she be more optimistic, with Naegi as wretched as he was?
Once again, a weight settled upon her shoulders and her spine ached with the strain. She stretched, letting her shoulders pop. As much as she wanted to rest, there was another question she needed answered:
"And what of Kamukura-kun?"
"Kamukura-kun is. . . very difficult to understand," Usami confessed. The rabbit's ears sunk all the way down until she would be able to tie them together like a bow under the rabbit's chin.
"I can't say I'm surprised." She'd been expecting it, in all truth. That didn't make it less disappointing.
"Kirigiri-san, how are you feeling about all of this?"
"I'm fine," she said reflexively. "I haven't given up."
"But how do you feel?"
It was the same question, but it felt different. This time, although Kirigiri meant her answer to be the same, it wouldn't come to her. She choked on it halfway.
"Don't forget about yourself," Usami said. "Nobody should climb a mountain all by themselves. It's okay to take breaks."
"You don't know what could happen during those breaks . Enough has already happened during the times I did let my guard down." She crossed her arms. Usami's words were simple statements with no heat behind them, but they felt like an attack somehow.
"Fatigue affects everyone. If you want to make sure you're in tiptop shape when you're dealing with Naegi-kun, then you need to take care of yourself, too. Nobody should do this alone."
Kirigiri glanced at the door behind her, at the small space between wood and floor. There were no unusual shadows there; nothing to indicate anyone was listening.
"I am alone." She breathed the words out. "Almost everyone will be happy to murder each other at the slightest provocation."
"Okay," Usami said after a moment, not arguing. "Trust can be given in pieces. Maybe you can't trust anyone with everything yet, but that doesn't mean you can't trust them at all. They're your friends, too."
"But I can't trust them."
Gekkogahara thought about that for a while. "Hm, what about Alter Ego? Unfortunately, your copy doesn't possess the therapeutic functions it was originally commissioned for, but I can promise he'll keep your secrets."
She hadn't made a conscious decision to move, but she looked at the cellphone tucked snugly in her pocket, as it usually was. She pulled it out. Alter Ego was a computer program. Nothing more than electrons flowing through metal and a cluster of switches. But he also was her ally, her friend. And he was almost always there, waiting in her pocket.
There was a knock at her door. Asahina called through the wood, "Kyoko-san, you have a visitor."
"One moment," she called to Asahina. "Gekkogahara-san, thank you for your guidance. I will talk again with you later."
She closed the laptop, opened the door, and the wood was almost immediately replaced by a living barrier. Pekoyama stood in the threshold, stiff as a board. The lenses of her glasses were nearly white from the glare of the sun.
"How could you let this happen?" Pekoyama demanded.
Kirigiri frowned. "I hope you're not suggesting that I asked Naegi-kun to confront."
Pekoyama said nothing, but she stopped trying to burn her alive with her glare. Kirigiri accepted that as an apology.
"How bad is it?" Pekoyama asked. "How is it compared to last time?"
She sighed and blew a stray piece of hair away from her eyes. "He's not trying to kill me."
"Then, better?" The tiniest smile lit up Pekoyama's face, making her look a couple of years younger.
"No. He has a different target."
There came the age again. Pekoyama looked older than she should, but how could anyone blame her? More than anyone else in Ultimate Despair, Pekoyama last few years had been incredibly stressful.
Kirigiri moved aside. "Come inside. Both of you, if you so desire."
There was only one chair. That was fine. She took the edge of the desk, leaving their guest with the seat, although Pekoyama refused to take it. She didn't even look at it. That wasn't a surprise. Kirigiri didn't know much about the habits of the innermost members of the Kuzuryu crime family, but Naegi did and he liked to blab. Pekoyama Peko, raised as a servant, as a tool. How scandalous would it be for the servant to take a char when anyone of any importance was present?
"Thank you for coming, Pekoyama-san," Kirigiri began. "Firstly, I must inform you that the information we have given you is confidential. You know that some of your classmates will see Naegi-kun's turn to a despair as a good thing and would sabotage our efforts to save him. Truthfully, I would have rather kept this within my class, but we need your help. We need you to act as his shield: deflect your class's parental instincts while satisfying Naegi-kun's need to feel include. You will not be alone in this endeavour. We have already invited Tsumiki-san to join us, and I intend to invite the Imposter as well."
"What about Fuyuhiko?" Pekoyama stuttered on the name. This was, Kirigiri reflected, the first time she had heard Pekoyama used her master's given name in front of others. "He is fond of Naegi-kun and has a strong distaste for despair. Fuyuhiko would want to help. I promise that Fuyuhiko would do everything he could to protect Naegi-kun."
"I know he would, but Kuzuryu-kun can also be rash. That makes his protective instinct a problem." Kirigiri paused for a beat and then took the plunge. "Naegi-kun wants to kill Kamukura-kun, or at least drive him off the island."
"Kamukura?" Pekoyama's chest heaved. Her glasses jumped on her nose, so strong was the twitch. Her mouth opened slightly in an expression that Kirigiri recognized all too well.
"You've fought him before," she observed out loud. "You lost."
Pekoyama did not try to deny it. "Kamukura-kun is a monster. I don't see how Naegi-kun could stop him."
If Kamukura were in his prime, then it would be impossible. But given his – their – current states. . .
"Then do you understand why I cannot allow Kuzuruyu-kun to join us?"
"I. . . do." Pekoyama slumped. If she had been against a wall, she would have slid down it.
"Thank you for your cooperation." She extended her hand to Pekoyama, who shook it solemnly. Ah. One more task completed, another line drawn between Naegi and the abyss. Pekoyama, still straight-backed, marched towards the exit like a soldier off to the front lines. How dramatic.
Once she and Asahina were alone, Asahina gestured at the laptop. "How'd it go."
"Speaking with Gekkogahara-san was useful. She gave me some very useful advice."
The other woman shuffled her feet. "And what about. . . ? Um, are you okay?"
Kirigiri blinked. Had she betrayed something?
"Sorry!" a flustered Asahina said, misreading the silence. "It's just. . . This is a big thing, and I'm freaked out. Not that I'm saying you –"
She reached over and squeezed Asahina's hand. "I'm not offended. You're right: this is a big thing for everyone."
I think the truth is I'm not okay. I haven't been for a while. Part of her wanted to force those words out. But too much of her resisted, closing her throat when she tried. She settled for threading their fingers together.
"Thank you for asking," Kirigiri said honestly. "I. . ."
Asahina gave her a long look. "You don't need to say it. I know."
Relief swept over her. Just the knowledge that she wouldn't have to admit it out loud made her burden lighter.
"Tell me how I can help," Asahina urged.
And she would have, but there was one problem:
"Can I trust you?"
"Huh? Of course, you can! Why would you ask that?"
"It wasn't long ago that I had to dump a soup vat laced with poison," Kirigiri reminded her.
If anything, Asahina looked embarrassed, which wasn't a promising reaction to the reminder. So be it. But as Kirigiri meant to leave her there, to let her contemplate the consequences of her actions, there was a strangled, choking sound.
"I. . . saw them."
"You saw them what?"
"They. . . cried."
She waited for the point to be made. An observation wasn't much without a theory behind it. But a despondent Asahina said nothing else, meaning it was up to her to parse a meaning. Asahina had seen them cry, but hadn't they all? Tsumiki cried everyday. What was so special - ?
Oh. Asahina rarely interacted with Class 77, which meant there was realistically only one event where she would have seen enough tears to make an impact: Naegi's mock funeral.
"And what did that mean?" Kirigiri pressed. She had to make sure they were on the same page.
Asahina shrugged with one shoulder. "I dunno. I mean Nanami-san was their classmate, so. . ."
"You don't need to make excuses for them," Kirigiri said with an arched eyebrow.
"Right. Sorry. I mean. . . I get that, I guess. She was their classmate and they all like each other. But there were some other people they were honouring, too, and they seemed upset about them even though they saw that video, so. . ." Asahina rubbed her upper arm and trailed off.
"Do you trust Naegi-kun?" Kirigiri asked her. She watched Asahina closely, ready for every twitch.
"What kind of question is that? Of course, I. . ." She coughed. "Um, I mean not right now, but when he's normal again, I will."
"Even though he may intend to sacrifice some of us in the name of his pet project?" Kirigiri pressed. "Even knowing that last time he was in this state, he tried to murder one of his friends?"
"That's not fair. It wasn't him. It wasn't his fault," Asahina complained. "You can't judge him like that."
She nodded, triumphant. "And that isn't so different than Ultimate Despair."
"That's. . .! That's not fair," Asahina whispered.
As it rarely was. Kirigiri asked, "Do you believe he'll get better?"
Her eyes blazed. "Of course, he will! Naegi-kun doesn't give up."
"I agree. He'll get through this. As will they."
At first, Asahina was silent. Then she choked out some harsh laughter. "And here I thought I was going to be comforting you."
"You are," Kirigiri said. "Knowing that you stand beside me ready to face the future is all the support I need."
She still didn't know whether Asahina could be fully trusted. Better to err on the side of caution. But, at least, she thought Asahina had learned something, had made some progress. Maybe one day, Kirigiri could trust her with the whole truth. She would have to be patient until then.
Kuzuryu was waiting for her under the shade of a palm when she returned. It was the furthest Tsumiki would allow him to roam from his cabin, although they both knew the Ultimate Nurse's preference would be pure bedrest. Alas, as it were, the Yakuza bowed to no one, not even a medical professional who undoubtfully knew better.
"Hey!" Kuzuryu shot up to his feet as Pekoyama drew near. "How was it. . .?"
He barely got the question before she was on him. touching the edge of his eyepatch. Kuzuryu had discarded the swirl-patterned eyepatch he had worn before removing Enoshima's eye, disgusted by its implication. The one he donned now was plain, carved from the fabric of an old suit-jacket.
She clicked her tongue. "How it is? Does it hurt? It smells okay, but we should. . ."
"I'm fine!" He swatted at her hand. "Leave it alone."
That was an impossible order. Infection was a killer and she, his shield. She poked and persisted until he relented, and they retreated to the safety of his cabin so she could complete her task without anyone watching. She remove the eyepatch and placed carefully on the nightstand beside his bed as he waited impatiently on the mattress.
"How is it?" he demanded. Away from everyone else, he seemed much more concerned about his recovery.
"I do not see any problems," she said, even as every instinct inside her screamed at the hole beneath the eyepatch.
He nodded jerkily. "Okay, that's me dealt with you. What about you? What did Kirigiri want?"
The question was automatic, and she barely kept herself from answering.
"It's really as hush-hush as Kirigiri says, huh?" His heels knocked against the bedframe agitation.
"Is that okay?" she asked slowly.
"How long have we known each other? Twenty-two years? Then that's twenty-two years me and my family spent trusting you with my life. I think I can trust you to know when to keep a fucking secret."
"Thank you."
She had a strange urge to touch him. To stroke his hair or do something similarly invasive. She busied herself with fetching his eyepatch, drawing her fingertips across the abrasive material.
"Is what Kirigiri wanted really that important?" Kuzuryu asked.
"It is," Pekoyama answered.
"Fuck. Alright. We in danger?"
Her insides tensed. "So long as I breathe, you will be safe."
His eye did a weird twitch, as if he just barely stopped himself from rolling it. "What about you?"
"We should be safe for the time being."
"If you say so, that's . . . enough, I guess."
He mumbled the last part into his collar, as if it were somehow sappy.
"Is something wrong?" she asked.
"What? Why would anything be wrong? I'm fine. You're fine!" Something crossed his face. A wonder, of sorts. "Huh. We're fine. That's weird. Okay, not weird, just unexpected. You see Nevermind lately? She was a mess last time I saw her."
"What are you trying to say?" Pekoyama asked him.
"Just. . . We're lucky, y'know. We're both fine. So, uh, whatever Kirigiri has you wrapped up in, make sure it stays that way."